#some method solving tips that i think would help but what am i supposed to do! i don't want to undermine his teacher's authority+ i don't

[zaggyzoo]

ngl i feel like my "student" isn't taking studying seriously lately and it's frustrating bc they're doing stuff that's like. the basics and it's gonna be hard in the future if he doesn't have these down so :/

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1  -  Chapter 2

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and sex. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: The story is placed between season 1 and season 2. Thank you for everyone that encouraged me to keep going. I have to wait for my local drop of serotonin to get fully Laszloed to go through this.

Lyra’s Contellation, Illustration taken from Uranographia by Johann Bode

Routine. Routine is comfort. Habit stabilises the character.

If you follow a routine, you won’t ever be victim of imprudence, of evil jokes of fate. The stability earned through calculated and repeated actions brings a sense of fulfilment that forbids other thoughts to come bashing in, breaking rules, breaking hopes that a solid scheduled routine forbids to have. I take my time to begin this week, I planned the things to do, the next steps for the case, the people to meet, the resources I am allowed to contemplate. I feel good, I feel back to myself and the events of the weekend seem far from me and my own perception. I probably got ahead of myself, carried by some instinctual though and random rush of emotion, to be always in contact with the same people and mostly kids probably doesn’t help my stance in the presence of other adults. I feel silly now reading back the last page, I felt tempted to tear it off, but to keep it there should be a small memento of not losing my temper so easily. I read it over and over and I know I am not as charmed as I thought I was. I am just lonely. I have always been and it is normal to face ups and downs even for a man of my age who is more accustomed to it.  To desire a partner is a natural instinct, to find somebody attractive is meant by nature, it is the body calling for the natural fulfilment of the reason we are put on this very Earth.  But even in a state of nature my own condition would be forbidding me to be part of the natural process of growing my own kind. I am the type of male that would be excluded because of his impossibility to give the protection to the pack, therefore it is just more reasonable to me to adapt to my condition. No matter what my Potentia generandi might be (the ability to procreate).

With all the smugness that characterises him, Niki showed off that he passed my challenge. But to be really of an help to his antics I didn’t show any kind of surprise. I treated him like he did the bare minimum, like he didn’t prove me any kind of superiority. He has a natural attitude toward challenging the figure of power, he is trying to overpower me, but I won’t satisfy his need. I have noticed he has a very technical brain, he finds ways to solve problems in ingenious way and not by throwing himself into the task. I proceeded giving him to work on a clock, an old broken one we had in the institute, one of the kids hit it with a ball years ago and nobody ever worked on repairing it. I gave him the clock, a couple of screwdrivers and a book. He called me a number of German names I won’t transcribe, but it gave me a certain amount of satisfaction. If my intuitions are right, I am sure the clock will be repaired by next week.

Analysis of the victim’s body through John’s eyes. The drawings and sketches are as detailed as I requested, all of this thanks to you joining him. I deal with art critic section, I am used to notice these things. You assure me, you play yourself low and I wonder why, nevertheless you did notice things neither John or I did, which pleased me. It fooled me, distracted me from my purpose to not give in to your witchery, as I leaned closer watching your pale hand move across the pages tracing this or that line, showing how this must be done with the killer on this side and not that side, with words so deliciously elaborate, your way of composing your speech is compelling, you could sell the drawing of a kid like it was a Botticelli. I noticed the shape of your hands, the way you move them, I wonder if you play an instrument, or played, some habits just stick with you through life. I focused on taking notes, your ideas and instructions giving me a new point of view, a new stimulus. What if that is the only way the killer can communicate? Or what if this is the communication that works for him? Could our killer be mute or deaf? Or that’s how society made him feel? This man, or woman, needs a listener and I am afraid that now, since he got our attention and the public’s, he won’t stop. Another killing could be just as close.

Scheduled: meeting with the parents of Alex Garel for new admission, Monday next week at 11 am. Love at first is a fetish and like all fetishes it is based onto an object that hides a deeper meaning, like gloves mean hands, to love at first sight means to see somebody that you think, and think only, to have the chance to share not only a sensual kind of bond, but an intellectual. Love at first sight is based onto not knowing someone well enough, but having the time to idealise most of that someone. I can see why I feel this attraction, using a particular phrase that Sara often mutters when investigating: you tick all the boxes. I know you do, your beauty is everything but conventional, you’re the kind of face that painters would paint and musicians would write hymns about, but any animal on the street would never be allowed to see. You have the grace of the body and the fire in the eyes, and then you speak. When you speak, I realise, you could bring the world to its knees. Also, you never speak out of context, and if you do it is to ease somebody’s position. You do it often with John or with Stevie, you say something really silly in order to put them back to a place of comfort. Some women would call it self deprecating, but I see that you only pick wisely your fights and your wins. You don’t need to earn your peace and quiet by neglecting, but by lifting up the others. I wonder if you do it with me too, if your silences are just you allowing me to be in a better place while instead your judgment is tearing me apart. I shouldn’t care, but I keep wondering, sometimes I take my time to answer you, I analyse every shade, every peculiarity of your question, I am looking for sarcasm, for a condescending voice, for something to hang on and bare you open. To prove myself you’re not perfect. But deep down I know that you do, you judge me and you do well.

Mother never said so. That’s what one of the girls in my care said today. Ursula. She is tough. Skin as thick as an alligator and the tendency to pull her own hair at night or when under a massive amount of stress, enuresis alongside erratic episodes of mutism. I tried the soft approach, it didn’t work. She is too accustomed to be indulged. Therefore today I pushed her a bit overboard, I teased her over opinions on the female body, the female role, she is only 12, but she is soon to bleed, she knows, I can tell from the way she clenches to her skirts, from the way she looks at me as a threatening figure. I am the incarnation of danger to her. Under her steady silence, I pushed a bit more, asking how her mother taught her to be nice and submissive. Does her mother tells her she is going to be a good wife? The phrase, which I reported at the top of the page, surprised me.  What is her mother teaching to her then? What closed her so much, locked her soul away, making a small bird like this choose the silence and the retirement of self inflicted pain over, what? Mankind? Or just Men? Is that even a curse? Should I cure her from a truth that her own mother whispered to her ear one night before bed and made a child decide that the world wasn’t a place to share her time with? Am I the man supposed to teach her that men are worth of trust? In the eyes of modern society, who measures its own value over the modesty of the women, she would be a champion, but at what price? I can’t in any way let her parents bring her back home after our recent meetings. Nevertheless, I have to make up my own mind on how to give her troubled soul ease without making her believe in fables. I, as a man, regard myself not worth of any of the trust they expect me to teach her.

In all of my years practicing with people’s feelings and traumas, I challenged myself to find those same traumas within my own mind. It is a tricky game, terrible, anguishing at times. But it straightens me, the pain of others, the pain of kids mostly, so unadulterated and pure, breaks the curtain between me and the lies that I often surround myself with. Pain is made of method, you can open it up, you can scrutinise it, part it piece by piece dividing it in sectors and, partitions, centre part, side part, heart of the problem. Pain is reliable. Happiness is not. It is random, cruelly sudden, unexpected, it washes over you in such deflecting way only to leave you alone a moment after ashamed and alone. I saw you again today. You were in a table full of what I could only guess as your former university colleagues, I saw pain in you, not heavy but constant. Annoyance, a bit of sadness. Your head titling on side and your eyes drifting on the left, you’re imagining something away from them.  A place? An object? Or maybe someone? Your hands play circles at the bottom of the flute of your drink like kids do, your smile only one sided. I don’t see you speak at all, only listen.  What could keep your voice down? I almost gulped down my own breath as you looked up and I realised how I must have looked. I was having lunch on my own, in a very private table and even entertaining myself with a newspaper on the side. I wish you didn’t, but you came over, your eyes shining.  Did I save you? Or maybe I was just a good excuse to leave that painful meeting behind. Don’t be so nice to me, it is not healthy. Don’t look at me like you expect anything more from me than me listening. I won’t smile back at you, I won’t give you care, attentions or thought. I won’t lean for your perfume, I won’t obsess over that dress you wore, that pin that adorned your neckline keeping your undershirt in place, a silver robin, I remember. I won’t remember the number of the buttons on the side of your glove, three. I won’t observe the little moles just under your ear. A small constellation, I later realised, hidden between your ear and the beginning of your neck. I don’t need to check in my books. It is a constellation. It is Lyra. Why? Why you must be like this? Are you the Lyra? Are you the instrument of Orpheus come to me to drag me out of Hell? The Tartarus holds my soul and you should know already, I am not worth the quarter part of Eurydice to be saved and she never came back anyway. I won’t be now recollecting the way your teeth sunk in the inner side of your cheek when you apologised for the annoyance.  You apologised twice, I ignored you both times with a raised hand to request peace and silence. I am not letting you in.

Reserved: Tickets for Wednesday’s evening Traviata by Giuseppe Verdi. The guest female lead promises a beautiful show.

Leonardo, as I am learning through Paul Valery essay, is who I would define as a figure of projective identification of the Subject or, to better explain it, of the knowledge of the Subject that formed and grew through the use of sketches in the experience of the Artist. I have always thought that the finest form of art was the representation of knowledge duly undressed by any personal identification. Leonardo, instead, proceeded to represent the figure through the essence of the artist, a representation technically unlimited on objects and symbols and that keep expressing the transformation and development of Leonardo’s own being.Some artists are testimony of the destruction of the world, of the loss of eternal beauty over decadence. And then you have Leonardo, who creates an art that is the gravity of the world’s system, of the nature, of thoughts and abstractions. I wonder if our killer does the same, if the way they presents the victim through their own personal view, if what we can read there it is their stories, their pains, their needs. Their happiness and troubles. What are they trying to tell me?  I need to know, I need to know to save a life, of course, but I also need to know to be able to sleep at night. Hair, hair are the epitome of femininity in any era. I keep studying Ursula and her habit to pull the. I took notes on it: she picks them by the bottom, slowly separates them until she gains an amount her mind defines satisfactory and then she rolls her finger and pulls, she does it until her finger is empty and there are no hair left. I find her process incredibly interesting. In men’s case the display of physical attributes is not as vital, a beard can be appreciated but does not modify the power of seduction of a grown man. On the contrary, for women hair are a vital part of their attractiveness toward the opposite sex, society sees the hair of a woman as part of their vital characteristics, also in ancient times for a woman to cut her hair or have her hair cut was a sign of deep separation from the society. Only heroines or whores wore that mark and the association of the two is so rooted into the way society always parted the role of a woman in two that it is nauseating to think of. I am still fearing to let Ursula go away, the repulsion that she is showing toward her own body makes it difficult even for me to crack her shell open as a man, but my deepest worry is when that hate will take a scarier and deeper tool on her. How a girl with such  a fear of what her body can do, like sex or pregnancy, can endure in the future to have an husband? Or even to be courted by anyone?

John is helpless and I admire him for that. He doesn’t hide it, he just is. He is vulnerable and exposed, he is an open well bursting with doubts and feelings and troubled waters. He is genuine in a way I could never be. Maybe that’s why I despise even more him talking about you, how he sees you every morning, how you greet everybody, how you behave even with interns, how you like your coffee.  Your talents, your wits, how you said this and acted like that and reasoned through him. How you forbid him to drink even when he felt tempted. How you stayed late over to help him collect all the informations I requested him to get. To him. Not to you. The evil demon of envy scratching in the back of my head screaming like a siren out in the sea, he demands to be heard, he demands to be allowed a part in this game. I won’t allow him that. I won’t allow myself any of that. This is a pure game of chess, if I give in a pawn now, I will lose my knight, and I know it. I advice him to not be so closed minded when he praises you, only to get surprised by the charms of a natural logical mind. I find a way to hurt him, he is an easy target, I look at him as his eyebrows twitch and he summons his patience on me. He lost the plot about you already, his bruised pride taking over. You won’t come into my life.

“Un dì, felice, eterea, mi balenaste innante, e da quel dì tremante vissi d'ignoto amor.”  (“On a day, happy and ethereal, you appeared in front of me and from that day, trembling, I lived on an unknown love”)

The words of Alfredo in the first act of the Traviata keep running through me, a chant that won’t let me go, almost painful. The Opera House, that was my hiding place, a place where in plain sight I could let out myself, unleash. The catharsis of the characters involved running through me, I didn’t need anything but their voices and those musical instruments to let out my fears, doubts and anger. When Alfredo came to the scene tonight, the lights were strong and slightly pinkish, the performer bursting out of the seams with passion. My eyes diverted only to see you there. Alone. Those blinding lights gave you the the radiance of a vision singing the notes of greek myths and heroes, that dark blue evening clothing rang through my eyes like it was a bright yellow, the little shiny details that adorned you so clear against the heavy lighting to look like transparent pieces of water collected to adorn your beauty. I wasn’t me, but Alfredo, and I was helpless against you sitting so far and yet too close from me. I was naked in front of thousands. I am aware of the effect you have on me and our last conversation was barely regarded as one. This is infatuation, this is the pure work of a lonely mind and not something worth of any of all the words that I am dissipating here. Yet. I saw you cry at the climax of the opera, Violetta, the protagonist, heartbroken falling on stage consumed by pain and regret for her lost love and ultimate sacrifice. Your eyes shone as you tried to hide the tears and collect yourself. Through my binoculars, I saw your throat tremble and gulp down something more than just a sigh of pain. Your jaw clenched, your gloved hand moves to hide your shaking lips. I reckon, I have never seen such sad lips look more inviting. You look at the wall on your side breathing through your nose and not even that can save you by the strength of the voice of the soprano. You’re defeated and so you brought a fine silk handkerchief to your eyes, your shoulders bent inward in self defence.  The Opera won. It won you like it always wins me. I wonder if you felt like this because of a past lover, somebody that broke your heart and made you feel wrong in any way.  And because of that little wonder it is even more clear to me why I am a man worth of no trust. Because for a moment, I know, I wished to be the one that broke your heart. That gave you just the pain you’re inflicting on me so mercilessly by offering intoxicating kindness and beauty.  To own your thoughts, tears and shame. To be the one man you have to look away from. I want to own all of that and, maybe, I will be freed of you the day you’ll be just another human being that hates Dr Laszlo Kreizler.

Tagged @cazzyimagines​ @lieutenantn​ @handmaiden-of-mischief​ @thesunflowersutra​ @zemomybeloved​​ @fictionlandslanddreams​ @charistory​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @apparrio​ @hb8301​ @whatawildone​

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[straymackerel]

idk if your requests are open but if they’re not then feel free to ignore this. 😅 id like to request an imagine with dazai having a long, deep conversation with his new co-worker who happens to be a former member of the port mafia but she left for obvious reasons and only fukuzawa knows for now but ofc dazai being dazai, he’s sharp af so he decided to talk to her bc one, he understands her and second he developed feelings for her shortly after she joined ada. thanks in advance! 🥰

➽─{done! they were actually closed, but this was such a fun request i made it 2k long (✿´ ꒳ ` )}─❥

You often wonder if it was something you said.

Ever since you joined the Armed Detective Agency, all of your new coworkers have been nothing short of friendly and accommodating. All of them––except for the bandaged mystery who can’t quite take his eyes off of you.

At first you thought it was just your imagination. When he answered your questions dismissively, you thought maybe he didn’t have a way with words. When he bailed on group trips to Café Uzumaki––but only when you were going too––you brushed it off as a coincidence. And when you first ‘caught’ him fixated on you, looking you square in the face from his own desk, you hoped he was actually looking at something above your head or next to you.

After all, in the Port Mafia, you always felt as if you were being watched, precisely because you were being watched. Your every move was silently documented, your behavior acutely observed within a larger culture of distrust and suspicion. You wondered if maybe you carried that instinctive unease with you to your new day job. (The only proper day job you’ve ever held.)

But there was no need for deft maneuvers to realize that this intimidating brunette was, indeed, staring you down in silence. He has no intention of hiding it; he’s openly tracking your movements, peering into your essence. And the most unnerving part of all: he’s smirking half of the time. If you didn’t know any better, you would confront him the first chance you got; but your situation is precarious, delicate. You have no business drawing attention to yourself, a former member of the Port Mafia. Sure, the President is already aware of your circumstances, but the Mafia has engrained the virtues of secrecy into you. You hope to keep your past on the down low.

Besides, there’s something off about this brown-haired detective. Something you realized at the beginning of your employment, way before he started staring into your soul. Something you hope you’re wrong about.

So you wait it out, anxiously. Drained by the presence of your colleagues, you find yourself in Café Uzumaki alone one slow-moving afternoon. The paperwork was piling up, the tension in the air almost tangible as Dazai declined yet another offer to do actual field-work with the others in favor of keeping tabs on you (unbeknownst to anyone else). You’d left the office at your earliest convenience, hoping to relax in the corner with your favorite beverage.

It is all you can do to keep from spewing the profane as he invites himself to your table, waltzing in without a care in the world. 

You’re trapped.

Ordering himself a double shot espresso, your coworker ignores your apparent apprehension as he gets comfy in his booth seat. Downing his drink while you’ve barely touched yours, he glances behind him to check out the waitstaff. No words are exchanged until the baristas are out of earshot.

“Well, you certainly seem to have a vested interest in me,” you say in the most nonchalant manner manageable––nervous because of his constant surveillance, but also because he’s quite handsome for a borderline stalker.

“You can drop the tight-lipped smile,” Dazai replies, eyes darkened.

You lower your voice, hackles raised. “How much do you know?”

“I suppose it’s all speculation, but my hunches are rarely wrong. You chose to work at a detective agency after all.” Though he’s avoided your question, the look on his face tells you everything you need to know. Eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth upturned, he most definitely has your former occupation pegged.

“What gave it away?” is the only thing you can think to say.

“Are you sure you want to know?”

“Perhaps it will aid me in playing detective,” you quip. He chuckles dryly.

“Oh, where to start. That concealed weapon you carry––it’s not issued by the Agency. Though its outline is comparable to our standard Beretta 92FS Inox sidearm, there are some subtle differences, even when it’s tucked away and wrapped in cloth.” You raise your eyebrows, surprised that anyone would notice.

“The way you move soundlessly and seamlessly,” he continues, not bothering to pause. “It’s obviously second nature. You hardly make a sound if you can help it. And then there’s your understanding of the underworld, even though you try to hide it. You obviously know much more than you let on; your knowledge is too convenient. You claim to know just the perfect tidbit or two for a case, having overheard a street vendor or a barkeep, but the expression on your face is all too telling of a certain sense of pride. Such a seemingly mild-mannered sweetheart as yourself. Did you know that when you flinch at violence, you always react a hair slower than everyone else, as if you’re simply following suit? Also––”

“Okay, OK, I get it,” you say, defeated. “So that’s the reason why you’re leering at me every day? To add to this never-ending list of yours?”

“Well...” Dazai’s voice trails off. His features relax for the briefest moment, more alarming than reassuring to you. And then that nagging thought resurfaces. That is, the very first thing that came to mind when you were first introduced to him. Again: something you hope you’re wrong about.

“You’re quite suspicious yourself,” you interject. “Let alone your little stalker habit... you have the same name as him.” The corners of his eyes crease. 

“That’s an odd way of putting it,” he says with a hint of mirth in his voice, and not a smidgen of denial. Fuck.

Logic dictates that you should be scared shitless right now, sitting across from one of the most dangerous men in Mafia history. Logic dictates that you should’ve used more covert methods of uncovering his past. Straightening up, you tell yourself not to think about it.

“Well, I was under the impression that Dazai Osamu was only a legend and nothing more. I mean, a teenage orphan prodigy who threw their life as a Mafia exec away, only to disappear forever? Sounds like bullshit,” you state with as much cool-headedness as you can muster.

“I take that personally!” he gasps, twisting his arms every which way in mock offense, as if to shield himself from your harsh commentary. 

“You didn’t consider changing your name?”

“Not even once.” He winks, to which your heart may or may not skip a beat. Are you scared, or oddly enamored?

You push your cup along your side of the table. “How come you turned tail too? You had the status to do literally anything you wanted.” He brushes it off.

“What is this, my interview? The last time I checked, you were the one on trial,” he says, waving his hand like he’s batting your assertion out of the air.

“I’m on trial?” you ask, the cup coming to a stop. “Do the others have suspicions as well?”

“Oh no, nothing in particular to go on. Though Ranpo most definitely has you figured out,” he says, to which you startle. “...but he couldn’t care less, so don’t worry.” You unintentionally sigh relief as he continues: “My colleagues have this peculiar way of testing their new recruits. We call it an ‘entrance exam.’ And before you ask, I’m not responsible for administering yours, but I might be able to push you in the right direction.”

“Any hints?” 

He shakes his head, “Not really. No general tips or tricks. I need some more information,” he says, leaning in a bit. “So tell me about yourself. Why leave the Mafia for the ADA?”

You press your lips together, realizing he’s asking you the very same question he himself dodged moments ago. “I needed a change of atmosphere. And scenery. I wasn’t quite taken up with the constant death threats and daily bloodshed.”

“Oh, death threats? And bloodshed? I don’t suppose you were on the receiving end?” Dazai asks, one eyebrow cocked.

You laugh a restrained laugh, nodding. “I wasn’t. But those kinds of tactics... they aren’t in my nature. Everything about that job was suffocating, and I just couldn’t do it anymore.” Dazai looks at you thoughtfully.

“It’s interesting, though. You carry your past line of work in all of your mannerisms. Any chance you were born into it?”

You nod again, “Not my choice.”

“What a coincidence.” He flashes a toothy smile, silence thickening the air. You scramble to break it, eager to talk about something else.

“...So? Any advice for my test?”

“I’d be a little more forthcoming if only you’d tell me the full truth,” Dazai responds, and your face falls.

“What do you mean?” Your strained voice comes out meeker than you’d like, and it’s Dazai’s turn to sigh. He leans back into his booth seat, as if a little distance might solve your unease.

“I lost someone. The best friend I’ve ever had. He told me I wouldn’t find what I was looking for in the Mafia, so here I am. And I’m pretty sure you have someone like that too.” How does he know? Why is he telling you this? Your hands––they’re clammy. You turn your gaze to your lap, realizing that he’d dismantle anything but the truth. There are no options but one.

“It was... a family member.” More silence. Is your nose getting red? You hope your nose isn’t getting red.

“The Mafia threatened them?” he prods.

“They were collateral,” you say slowly. You hadn’t expected to talk about them today. You hadn’t expected any of this from a coworker who kept you at several arms’ lengths for days. Another coworker might respond “that’s horrible,” or “I’m sorry for your loss,” but not Dazai.

“Dazai, do you ever wonder if it’s our fault they got hurt?”

“No,” he replies immediately. Then he hesitates. “I mean, yes, and for a very long time, but not anymore. Evil will do evil; if not to our loved ones, then to someone else.” 

He’s right. Of course he’s right.

“But does it make it any easier?” You peer at him, hopeful, and he dismisses your expectations with a quick shake of the head. “Right.” Pause. 

“But you’ve come to the right place. Unlike the Mafia, this is an environment where you can heal. Sometimes the wounds reopen,” he says, “but I promise you that your feelings will go towards something productive.” You swallow, blinking back would-be teardrops. The salty marinade seeps back into you.

Then, under your breath: “Okay.” “Thank you.” 

“Of course. I could talk about this all day.” The tightness in your throat dissipates, the water in your eyes no longer threatening to spill.

“So, the entrance exam? I’ve told you everything now,” you pry. He thrums his fingers, amused.

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. I figured pretty early on that you would be okay. You’re gonna pass just fine without my help––I only wanted to get to know my new coworker better.” His fingers stop as he gauges your response.

“Wha–?” This guy! He played you, straight to the verge of tears..! Shoulder tense, you jump to your feet.

“Sorry to deceive you. I’ll see you upstairs, then.” Jeez, the bandaged bastard’s already heading out!

“Wait!” Cheeks flushed, you’re unsure why you’re calling out to him, but it makes him stops in his tracks.

“...Yes?” 

“...You’re not gonna tell anyone, right?”

“I’ll think about it.” Dazai’s coy voice is all but reassuring.

“No, seriously,” you plead, eyes wide. “I really need this. God forbid someone else prompts a retelling of my life story.” He turns to face you.

“Then let’s make a deal.”

“What kind of deal?” 

He steps towards you, leaning in to whisper in your ear: “Meet me in front of this building tomorrow at 10 PM. There’s a restaurant I want to take you.” You feel your mouth open, then close by itself. 

This is it. This is why he can’t look away from you. If he was only observing you, he could, would do it without being so obvious. You’re sure of it now. You replay each once-menacing occurrence of eye contact from the past few days in your head, and you notice something new. Hunger? Want? Even greed? You can see it in his eyes right now. Those eyes, they threaten to dance around, maybe even travel a bit... lower. 

(You jest yourself. ‘Once-menacing?’ He’s still menace, still a danger.) He turns away, heading for the door again, not waiting for a response:

“Don’t be late.”

A chill runs up your spine. It’s a mix of fear, and bitterness, and panic, but most of all... 

A growing anticipation.

[zuffer-weird-girl]

I'M LATE I KNOW OKAY I HAVENT BEEN ON MY BEST FOR THE PAST MONTH IM SORRY

Kai handsome man come back to ussssss 😫

Okay, first I gotta apologize for not being activated for a while due to personal problems. But little by little is getting better.

Second, Happy late (supposed) birthday my dear Overhaul amazing Kai Chisaki!

Not so pointless day

You blinked a bit when some rays of the sun rose invaded the room and hitted the slightest the bedsheets and on your face, indicating that it was finally time to get up.

You turned ever so slowly your face to see the man right behind you. Peaceful sleep on his handsome face, one thing that it was rarity due to his late work hours... a smile appeared on your lips at seing your lover so relaxed and you had to really control yourself to just not carress his handsome face or to even kiss him.

You already had plans today. And since you got Pops and most of the subbordinates of the Shie Hassaikai by your side on this idea, there was no way Kai would know about this! And you had to be extremely careful or your boyfriend would end up discovering everthing!... much like last time.

You shifted a bit to ever so slowly left the bed sheets for you to slide your legs out of the bed on the cold floor... but just when you were about to lift up, you had noticed that Kai was with one arm wrapped around your midsection.

Great. Just on the day you just couldn't be on the bed cuddling with him and just couldn't wake him up, he HAD to have a grip on you. Perfect. Just GREAT.

Cursing under your breath you slowly lifted his muscled arm up enough for you to slide on the bed and gently place it back down. You tip toed, still with looking at Kai, and just when you had reached the door of the bathroom you made the mistake of sigh in relief.

"I know what you're pretending to." His low and full of sleep voice manifested from the bed and you immediately cringed.

Curse his light sleep.

"H-Hey!!!" You smiled sheepish even seing that he didn't open his eyes still "Morning hands-"

"Get back on bed. Is early as shit and I don't have work." He mumbled with a hand on his face, groaning when he opened his eyes a bit only to close then again due to the sun light.

You giggled at his words, knowing that only when Kai was tired that he didn't care to let out one or two curse words.

"I would love to, but I've got plans and-"

"Yeah and you're not doing it." He said nonchantly, sending one eyed glare at your direction "Once again, I knwo what you're planning, and that's not happening."

"Wha? What are you talking about?" You felt a drop of cold sweat on the back of your neck, yet you did your best to hide your nervousness from Chisaki.

"Don't play dumb now (Y/n). You and I nnwo what day it is. And you're not doing shit." He growled while getting up on his elbows to fully stare at you from the bed.

"I didn't plan anything!" You lied, lifting your hands up in false defense as he arched one eyebrow at you, clearly not believing your words.

"Of course. Then you wouldn't mind to get back on the bed now?"

"Actually..." you poked your fingers together as you looked everywhere but his amber eyes "I-I.. I promised that I would help Pops on the garden!"

"What?" He arched his eyebrow even more, standing from his bed "No you didn't-"

"Yesterday! I-I promised him this and I couldn't just-" you forced a laugh when he got up and crossed his arms while staring you down, getting just a bit distracted at the show of his muscles "Deny it, right?"

"You're the worst liar I ever laid my eyes on (Y/n)." He nonchalantly spoke as you cringed even more before dead panning.

"Wait, is that a compliment or-" he interrupted you with kiss, shutting you up pretty quickly. His hands travelled down to your waist as he bitted lightly on your bottom lip to allow you to give him a entrance.

You sighed and moaned a bit at his touch and the kiss before he broke apart only to trail hot fervent kisses on your neck to stop right by your ear lobe to whisper huskily.

"I guess that maybe if you want to surprise me on this pointless day, then at least I got to choose what I want." He nibbled a bit on your ear lobe "Dont you agree my angel?"

Just when you were getting on his trap, a knock on the door made him grunt and you pout a bit.

"Master? Pardon me but we have to get out to solve a few things."

"Nemoto..." he growled in your neck and you remembered your plan on a flash, giving your best to not smile in yeargness.

Kai started to glare at the door and straightened his back up "I have sure that it was talked that this day I had a break." He said in annoyance, still holding you close to him.

"I do know of that master, and excuse me for this. But it is something important that can't just be waited." He rolled his eyes at that before looking at you, mentally either cursing poor Nemoto or apologizing to you.

"Go." You smiled warmingly at him before pecking his lips "We can continue this later when you come back." You whispered lovingly at him and mentally yelped in glee at the half smile he gave to you in a minor of seconds before he returned to his serious expression, telling Nemoto to give him a minute.

"Luckily it won't take much time." He muttered while picking his white tie and putting around his neck "Don't mess neither burn the house down while I'm out."

You scoffed playfully while getting up to tie his tie for him, smirking at the serious look he gave to you but knowing how he secretly loved the action.

"Right mister future leader of the yakusa." He growled while rolling his eyes, getting out and grabbing his jacket.

"I will see you in some hours." He said, subsconciously waiting for the three words he never had courage to say to you but secretely craved to hear it.

"Right! Bye!" You waved cutely at him, giggling at his deadpan look and a hint of dissapointment of not hearing an 'I love you'.

Just when Kai got out he nodded at nemoto who greeted him. Sneakily you poked your head out and smiled wide at Nemoto.

"Thank you so much!"

"Is not a problem (Y/n) sama." He bowed a bit "Which hour we have to get back again if you dont mind me asking?"

"I will send you a message or Rappa. Think only you both can take care of distracting him enough?"

"Rappa is an expert. He just doesn't have to die. While I have my methods." He smirked before waving at you politely when he got called out again as you got out of your room with a determined look.

"Is now or never!" You said to yourself just when Kai left the house. Chuckling while making your way to start the whole thing you had planned ever since the start of this month.

~

"And here I thought that you were joking when you wanted everthing perfect." Kurono muttered while double checking for any dirty on the halls as you got a message for a friend of yours that the cake you ordered was coming and was just to pick outside.

"We're talking about Kai here." You giggled as Hari was quiet for a minute before nodding with a 'fair enough'.

"GeT thE FuCk OuT Of My WaY ClEaNInG ThE FlOOr Is-"

"STOP YELLING AND JUST CLEAN IRINAKA!" Hojo shouted after Joi as he dried the floor right before him.

"I have to admit that I am surprised to see that you got everyone on the Hassaikai to collaborate." Kurono muttered as you both got out and you thanked the delivery man while picking up the box with a huff before thanking Hari for offering to carry it instead.

"I talked with you and Pops first."

"... That explains a lot." He peeked inside the box and whistled "Kai is going to freak out on all of this. You know more than I do that he hates surprises."

"But this one is a good surprise!" You whined while opening the door "How could he hate it?"

"Because it involves his birthday (Y/n)." He said suddenly on a serious tone as be walked along sides you to place the neatly cherry and vanilla cake on the center of the table.

"You do know already he doesn't give a shit neither celebrate it. Heck, it took him even begging Pops once to not celebrate his birthday when he made 16."

"I know." You sighed and looked at the clock "But at least one good memory I want to give it to him when this day comes. Is not fair that on my birthday he buys almost a whole market and on his birthday he says something like 'I just was born'; 'Nothing special happened on this day' or the worst: 'Why celebrate something that is not valid?'" The white haired man couldn't help but chuckle at your imitation of Kai before apologizing at seing your serious face.

"Well, he is not much of someone who celebrate those things."

"He can't complaint it if it isn't something giant!" You exclaimed just when Pops entered and chuckled at your dramatic action.

"I am relieved that my boy got someone like you to take care of him like that (Y/n)." The elder chuckled while you put your arms down with a blush on your face as the asshole in your side snorted.

"So?" He looked around with a serene smile "This was the start of your present for Chisaki. There is more?"

"I actually have two presents for him." You smiled before looking at Kurono "Did you and irinaka were the only ones that got him something asides from me and Pops Kurono-kun?"

"Negative." The man took out one hand of his white hoddie and pointed with his thumb outside "All the eight precepts got him something asides from Rappa."

"Why I am not surprised at this?" You sighed and both men chuckled at your action before Pops grabbed gently on your shoulder.

"Come (Y/n). I want to show you something." You made a surprised sound before Kurono nodded and told you he was going to take care of things while Pops dragged you to his own office.

"Have to say (Y/n), you're a blessing on our lifes." The elder sighed as he made his way to his desk as you looked around in awe.

"Oh! Is nothing!" You smiled at the elder "Kai always say how he doesn't particularly care, but I cam see the bit of... happines when I at least wish him a happy birthday... I guess." You looked at the ground witha shy smile before jerking your head up at hearing the elder footsteps and standing right in front of you with a smile with a coal black box on his hands.

"Seems like you know more of my Chisaki than I do." He opened the box and you widened your eyes with a gasp at seing the jewelry inside.

It was a pair of pigments with the symbols of the ying and yang separated. Both shined at the light of the room and you looked up at Pops with confusion.

"This belonged to me and my wife a long time ago." He looked up at you with a smile "You remind me of her sometimes kid."

He picked up the ying symbol while leaving the box on a table as he put the necklace on you.

"Despite us being japanese. She loved the concept of it, and I bought it. I never actually came to talk about her to Chisaki so I would like this to remain as a secret between us." You nodded a bit hesitantly before he smirked at the sign of you with the neck lace as he grabbed the box.

"The ying yang means two halves which come together to complete wholeness, both the sides are dependent on each other. And as I can tell by looking at you and my... son, you both belong-" he grabbed the yang symbol and hold your necklace, with a 'click', the two pieces were stuck together.

"Together." He showed you before splitting them apart and bringing your hand to his older one to close around the other necklace "Give this to Kai, I have other present for him."

You couldn't even mutter one word of gratitude or any for that matter before your phone buzzed up and you excused yourself to answer it.

~

"Please tell us we can go back." The man spoked as he watched Rappa dodging another attack of Chisaki on a abandoned alley "The situation here is critic. What happened? Well.." Nemoto took his cellphone out of his ear to make Chisaki's companion to hear the whole mess.

"THEY WERENT EVEN DEALERS YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE CLEAN FREAK!"

"Have on your mind that your movements Rappa are EASY TO PREDICT" In one second the man was overhauled and Nemoto hissed at that before bringing his phone close again.

"Sure we can go? Right, thanks (Y/n) sama."

"What about (Y/n)?" Chisaki muttered darkly while sending a cold glare at Nemoto who flinched a bit.

"Fuck."

~

"SOMEONE HOLD THIS FUCKER!" Kurono shouted as Hojo and Setsuno had a firm grip on each of Tabe's arms while Irinaka on his tiny form gripped the man's hair, as Tabe himself said the word 'EAT' franquily while trying to reach at the table.

You and Pops had just gotten back and the elder scowled at the attitude of his workers, like they were some kids.

"Enough is enough!" The elder shouted and everyone grew quiet and lowered their heads "How many years any of you have now? 2 to five now?! Due to your current attitude and behaviour I wouldn't be surprised." The elder crossed his arms as everyone on the room looked down in ashame.

You furrowed your eyebrows a bit before an idea popped out. You eargly went to table full of goods and put a good amount to every precept of each of the things you had ordered except the cake.

"Here! You guys can have those while Kai is not back yet!" You offered each one their pieces and giggled when Tabe just swallowed the whole thing... plastic plate and all.

"You're too good for the mafia (Y/n)." Setsuno chuckled as Hojo nodded with a smirk.

"Right right, every one of you out before Chisaki appear eh?" Irinaka slapped his hands when he returned to his normal form as you gave him a quizzical look before he got down to whisper in your ear "I'm sure the boss won't have it many people here despite all that bullshit."

You pouted and still promised everyone that got out to give them a piece of the cake.

"So?" Kurono came by your side "When the man of the party is coming?"

"By any min-" you flinched as Kurono and mimic grabbed their guns when they heard the door being slammed as some shouts were heard.

"I SWEAR TO FUCKING ALL MIGHT HAVE A CHILL YOU FUCKING SOCIOPATH! YOU ALREADY KILLED ME ONCE TODAY!"

"Repeat a hero's name on my house again. Go on. I dare you." You gulped at hearing Kai's tone of voice, full of wrath and disgust as some parts of the wall were overhauled.

Rappa stormed in the room along with Nemoto as they closed the door with a sigh... not caring about the looks they were receiving.

"Package delivered. I want my fifth bucks." Kendo extended his muscular hand to Irinaka who grumbled a bit and handed him the money.

"Is he..?" Kurono pointed at the door as Nemoto glared at Rappa.

"Furious thanks to someone here who decided to comment on (Y/n) sama again."

"YOU WERE THE ONE WHO STARTED-"

"That's it." The elder commented harshly, again silencing the room "Both are dismissed for now, you guys can come back later if you want anything to eat."

"I would let Rappa to starve boss." Mimic commented as Kurono hummed in agreement, ignoring Rappa's swear words.

You tip toed out of the room the moment the two men left the door, leaving them discussing with each other as you searched for Chisaki.

"Kai?" You called out and the said man appeared with a tired and angry expression. You smiled in sympathy while tilting your head as he aproached you "Rough day?"

"Only a nickname compared to what I had to atture." He growled before slidding his gloved hands through his dark brow looks. "Where the hell is those two-"

"Wait wait wait!" You stepped on his front with your hands on his chest "Can I show you something first?" He arched his eyebrow at you, bit still sighed and with a motion of his hand told you to proceed.

"You have to close your eyes." He deadpanned at that before his face scrunched up in realization.

"I swear to god." He muttered with a hand pinching between his eyebrows.

"Please???"

"I lost count of how many times I told you to not do anything!" He spatted while looking at you with a bit of dissapointment and anger.

"Please my capoo?" You put on your puppy eyes and hold your hands together as he glared down at you.

"I despise you." He sighed before closing his eyes, growling when he heard your yelp of glee and sensing you getting behind him.

"Can I touch you?"

"Washed your hands?" He sighed a d cringed a bit when the soft skin of your hands and arms brushed over his shoulders and part of his face not covered with a mask. "If you run me into a wall I swear that I will consider on overhauling you."

"Sure sure!" You giggled and tip toed due to his height to keep your hands close to his eyes and opened with your foot the door before whispering a 'there' on his ear.

He opened his amber eyes and arched a eyebrow at seing the sweet in front of him before he looked at you in suspense and the whole room. "How many years do you think I have?" He asked nonchantly but you rolled your eyes at him.

"No one is 'old enough' to have a little celebration on your birthday!"

"Is a pointless-"

"Not for me." You said in a serious tone and he seemed surprised at that, but his face stayed monotonous "Kai I love you more than anything! Is not a pointless day if a bunch of people care for you." You pointed at a pile of boxes and he arched one eyebrow at that "Those were some gifts that the eight precepts brough."

"Out of order I suppose."

"Geez dude accept already." Kurono said with a smirk before elbowing Kai on the arm, Chisaki immediately screeching at the area with a glare at his childhood friend, muttering a 'dont touch me'. "(Y/n) had all this work for you man." Irinaka muttered while munching on a snack.

Kai's glare turned into a soft gaze as he looked at you. Hesitation still on him, he grabbed one bottle of sake close to him, inspected a bit before popping it out. Scoffing at the cheers that his old man, companions and partner did at catching that he had accept it.

"Is your favorite flavor of cake my capoo!" You pointed at the cake, not seing his fond smile due to his black mask before he punched Irinaka and kurono for laughing at the nickname you gave it to him as the Pops shook his head with a laugh. Kai was at least a bit eased back for real to yours surprise! You could notice that despite his monotonous face, a little bit of happiness was still on his golden eyes that you loved so much.

"So?" You chirped on his side as he poked his generous piece of cake, mask down to his chin only to eat "Whatcha think??"

He only arched one eyebrow at you before doing something you never expected. He poked your nose with the uttensile he was using, you gasped at the action with the residues of cake on your nose before he smirked devilish at you, throwing the utensils away and catching you off guard by handing you a handkerchief and kissing your temple while no one was looking.

"Not so pointless. Happy now brat?" He muttered before getting to grab another uttensiles as you tried to understand what had just happened.

Bonus!

"How thoughtful and cliche no less." He inspected the yang necklace, you were a bit insecure before smilling widely at seing him putting the necklace around his perfect neck.

"That's not the whole thing!" You chirped before jumping out of the bed and going to the bathroom. He arched one eyebrow before widening his eyes at the clothing you were using. Showing all the parts of your body he loved the most...

"Do what you must do my capoo~" you cooed before crawling your way to his lap "Your final gift my love".

"And the only one I wanted to unwrap." He growled before twirling both of you around so he could be on top "Finally my truly desert." He growled close to your ear before... you know. Long night for the both of you ;)

[fermented-writers-block]

With the recent developments in Mr. Universe and Fragments, I couldn’t help but be reminded of an old thought I came up with several months ago, back when the fandom thought that Steven’s pink mode was simply a heightened emotional state of some kind, and even though we know now that it actually is a stress response reaction, I can’t help but think it might still be applicable here to Steven’s current situation.

TLDR: Over the course of the series, Steven’s views of his mother had fallen and continued to fall very far away from its original pedestal due to the sheer barrage of harsh realities and troubling secrets constantly being upended and revealed, and the shifts in how he has felt about his mother’s legacy seems to tell a very interesting story. One of a long, rocky uphill battle against a mountain of expectations, and a sudden, sharp plunge into a ravine of self-loathing before finding one’s way out of the darkness.

When the original series first started, he looked up to Rose Quartz the protector of Earth, seeing her as the always kindhearted and perfect person whose legacy he felt like he had to live up to. He tried so very hard to be more loving and thoughtful like Greg and the Gems had told him Rose had been like thus far into the show - like he felt they expected him to be if he wanted to stay useful and thus someone they would actually keep around like In Dreams suggests - and he struggled with his constant failures to match up with such an impossible image, potentially even as early into the show as Laser Light Cannon with his desperate pleading for the titular weapon to work.

In the middle of the original series, as he heard more intimate stories about what Rose was really like in person from his family, found out about Bismuth’s bubbling, and had to be told by a stranger that his mother, someone he had been led to believe had always promoted peace, apparently shattered someone, his image of Rose the flawless hero turned into that of Rose the liar with an unknowable amount of secrets that hurt his family immensely. 

He struggled with the question of whether Rose had made him for some untold grand plan, and he felt like he had to take care of the messes that she left behind, putting such a burdensome expectation on himself even though the Gems no longer expected him to be more like his mother. This culminated in I Am My Mom with his attempt to save his family from harm by resigning himself to sacrificing himself and atoning for his mother’s sins.

For the end of the original series, Pearl’s revelation that Rose Quartz and Pink Diamond were the same person the entire time finally gave Steven a fuller picture of Rose the person, someone who was flawed and still had positive qualities, someone who tried very hard to become a better person. He felt like he had really found his space with the Crystal Gems, and they expected him to be himself.

And yet, with the strange and inexplicable glimpses of Pink Diamond’s memories as well as White Diamond's existential questions either inspiring or bringing such a thought to the front of his mind, Steven struggled with the fear that his mother was still alive somewhere deep within his consciousness, and that ‘Steven’ the person had just been a lie the entire time. 

Post CYM and another of his mother’s secrets coming back to haunt him with Spinel, Steven had stopped worrying about who he isn’t. He now knows for certain that he’s not his mother, that she isn’t living in some dormant part of his gem ready to take back control.

But after years of trying to live up to the ideal of Rose the protector, fixing the mistakes of Rose the liar, and doing better than Rose the person with the way he pushed himself to help others, he now worries about - if there’s no one else left to help but himself - who and what Steven Universe is like if he isn’t his mother.

We’ve seen him struggle to deal with this identity crisis in Little Homeschool and Little Graduation, pushing himself to solve problems that he either couldn’t find a working solution towards or likely projected onto others out of desperation from his anxieties over being left behind. 

He expects himself to already do better, already help better, already be better than all of this. His approach of putting other’s problems above his own has worked before, so he shouldn’t be failing if he’s still doing the same thing he’s done before, but with every inevitable misstep and every doubling down on trying to be more like he expects himself to be and failure, the more those expectations feel impossible to ever actually meet.

I’ve been a longtime follower of the Worm Theory ever since @novantinuum made the first post that really kicked things off for it, and soon after Volleyball aired, a thought had occurred to me in light of Steven’s attempt at managing Amethyst’s program.

With Steven’s expression from his cracked reflection at the Reef, I couldn’t help but wonder if Steven might develop the fear that - while he isn’t his mother - he might just be becoming like his mother, and especially in regards to her flaws and repeating her mistakes. 

Let me be clear, I didn’t and still don’t think that the stress from such a fear would be even remotely close to being a major instigator for Steven to become the creature from the intro from his pink mode stress response, but with these newest episodes - particularly the ending to Fragments - it has felt like all of this had come to a head for Steven, and that we’ll soon see one of the actual instigating fears for his transformation in the finale.

In the promo, Steven looks like he’s trying to assure himself that he isn’t a shatterer, trying to reaffirm what he knows about himself in the wake of his accident with Jasper, but with the shot of him clearly leaving Jasper and the Gems behind, I feel that Steven may be struggling with the fear that he’s become like his mother there.

Or rather, the (apparent) reality that he’s become “WORSE” than her.

Even with all the horrible secrets she kept, Rose Quartz and Pink Diamond had never shattered anyone, and yet here Steven is, having done exactly that.

Never mind the fact that it was an accident, never mind that he is still the same kind and loving person at heart, never mind that he deeply regrets what he did, Steven’s sense of identity has been crumbling for a good while now with losing what he defined his life by in his ability to help people, and the fact that he had shattered someone and that said someone immediately acknowledged him as their Diamond could disintegrate nearly all of what sense of identity he has left.

These last few episodes, Steven’s mental health has been on a nasty decline in struggling with feeling like he either can’t rely on his support structure in Greg and the Gems for advice with his problems or that his support structures in Connie and his friends are drifting away, and because of this and how he might feel about himself after what happened with Jasper, the only place he may feel like he should be is on Homeworld.

Steven has put so much weight on himself to be a good person, to be better than his mother and all the horrible things she did, that this might just feel like a confirmation that he isn’t a good person, that even Rose was a better person than him despite the stuff she failed spectacularly at. There’s no more expectations to live up to on top of him, only what he really is now.

He had abandoned his human side in Mr. Universe, and now all that’s left is his gem side - that is, his Diamond side.

Or at least, that’s how it’d likely seem to him. 

It’d feel like the only point of support and belonging he has left is with the other Diamonds, as the one thing Rose wasn’t and tried desperately not to be in the end was a Diamond herself, and he may feel like he should just embrace his place since he’s “just as bad as them.”

Not only that, but he also tried to emulate Jasper’s mentality, coping methods, and appearance in his struggle to find some kind of ‘solution’ for his ‘diamond powers,’ and as such, there’s one final place where he might just be able to get a ‘solution’ - even though there’s no such thing as a full on solution for dealing with trauma.

With that said, while they most likely won’t initially understand or be that concerned with Steven giving up on his humanity to be with them, I can’t help but feel like the Diamonds have changed enough that seeing Steven act “like a Diamond is supposed to” would shake them HARD.

Acting that way had been what hurt themselves and each other for millennia, and they’ve been able to feel happier and create a relatively healthier dynamic between the three of them under Steven’s guidance, so to see Steven turn his back on all of that could make them VERY concerned for him. 

It’d put up an unsettlingly ugly mirror in front of the Diamonds to the people they used to be, and that for as much as they may have wanted Steven to be with them, this isn’t what they had in mind at all.

Perhaps that might end in an ironic reversal of what happened at the end of CYM, where instead of denying Steven as individual from his mother and trying to force him to be his mother out of a callous and arrogant kind of love, White acts out of a fuller love and genuine concern for Steven, and in the heat of the moment, accidentally slips back into some old behavior.

“I only want you to be yourself! If you can't do that, I'll do it! For! You!”

But whatever their response may actually be, this could very well be the second to last major tipping point for Steven at the very least, as at that point, EVERY person and place he thought he could turn to for advice or just finally belong to would likely either feel to him like they let him down or that they’re scared of what he feels he’s become.

Not even the Diamonds themselves feel like he belongs with them, and with how he felt like Connie had flat out refused to marry him instead of leaving an opening for them to talk about it later, I can easily see him extrapolating from the Diamonds’ reactions that he’s become not only worse than his mother, but ALL of the Diamonds.

Of course, the stress and anguish from this fear of himself and what he’s become most probably wouldn’t be the key factor behind him turning into the worm creature, just one of several major stresses that would likely influence such a transformation. 

Like @faelapis has discussed, most of the other contributing stresses had already been unbalancing Steven for a long time towards this direction in his tightrope act, and this kind of recent fear would merely be the final gust of wind to finally push Steven off. 

As for how Steven could potentially be brought from the brink of this particular fear (since I’m withholding speculation on what the exact other stresses could be until we get there), I can see one way that could help Steven with this and his struggle with holding himself to the standard of always being able to help others.

Mainly, with a potential mixture of something clicking for him to help him fully understand his mother’s choices and the self-loathing that seems to have been behind so much of said choices, and for something to help him with feeling like he’s supposed to always be a hero and fixing things, instead changing it to feeling like he’s a person for whom it’s completely okay to make a mistake, like it’s okay for him to not live up to an impossible ideal.

Like he is a human with both the bad and the good that comes with it. 

That just because he has the power to change doesn’t mean that he should pressure himself to never screw up badly even by accident, and that just because he’s capable of screwing up badly even by accident doesn’t mean that he is incapable of learning, growing, and improving afterwards. 

Whether this is accomplished through a combination of Greg and the Gems acknowledging how, even though they love him, they’ve messed up badly while raising him, Connie relating to his struggle to push himself to be better with her studies as well as the shared experiences they’ve been through, and some help from all the other countless people he’s helped over the years, I can’t claim to know.

But even though it can feel hard to do, even though it feels like you’ll never be able to pull yourself out of the dark, even though it may feel like you just keep failing over and over and over again, you can still always pick yourself up and change for the better.

[abeltownshipslittlebitch]

The Eye of the Hurricane

I got this idea after listening to Hamilton and thinking a lot about how Venus Rising ended. Because of how it ended, it was heavily implied that both Five and Captain Myers were infected with the red fungus from Venus stuff, so I decided that would be a perfect angst story.

Five’s POV, 1st person because that’s the only way I can write plus it helps keep Five gender neutral. Present tense. About 2.8K Words.

Since I already said that Five and Peter totally were dating in the Venus Rising shorts in a sperate post and I’m not a bitch who backs down, that will be the stated relationship. Also, the song is Hurricane Workshop, and I took the liberty of changing some of the lyrics so please don’t be mad when you see the lyrics aren’t the exact same. This is like half-assed edited. It’s 3:20 AM where I’m at, so please be kind if you spot any errors! Thank you! Also please for the love of all things good, read the trigger warnings. This is angst for a reason!

Also I suggest reading this on a computer instead of mobile device because things are looking kind of wanky from my viewpoint on my phone, even though it was fine on my computer. So just thought I’d let you know.

Trigger warning: Character death, suicide, murder, self-hatred, guilt, guilt complex, mentions of blood, angst not with a happy ending, one use of the word “fucks”

In the eye of a hurricane there is quiet for just a moment A yellow sky.

Space is not forgiving. It’s endless and dark and cold. Its beauty is deceitful. Its emptiness is ever consuming.

It takes everything in me to tear my eyes away from the endless expanse of burning stars and stifling darkness. I breathe, grounding myself. I look down at the blaster in my hand. It’s so hard to think already, my mind reeling. Bits of bliss flitter through my thoughts, reminders of home, reminders of loved ones. With each inhale come the scents of places millions of miles away. I taste honey on my tongue, hear the laughter of friends that have long since gone.

When I was seventeen a hurricane destroyed my town. I didn’t drown… I couldn’t seem to die.

They’re dead. They’re all dead.

Peter’s dead. Ellie’s dead. Steve’s dead. Amelia’s dead.

And now Captain Myers.

I didn’t want to. Really, I didn’t. But things weren’t adding up. Her speech patterns, her words, dripping with honey and faux hope. It wasn’t her. I tried to chalk it up to paranoia, to trauma-not even from the death. I’ve seen more than enough of that on earth to become numb to it, but I thought maybe I was traumatized from the horror of those creatures in the mountain. I’d never seen anything like them before. I tried to tell myself I was just overthinking, but I knew. It wasn’t her.

Neither was the red that was growing under her fingernails, the red she tried to hide from me.

But she couldn’t hide the bliss that covered her face, and I couldn’t ignore the ringing of voices that echoed in my mind. I remember home far too vividly. I remember happiness more intensely than I have in years, with colors too bright and sounds too perfect and air too clean to be real. It’s a fantasy that tries to disguise itself as something I once knew. That’s what tipped me off. It felt too good to remember.

I knew if I was infected, then so was the Captain.

That’s why I shot her. That’s why her body lays in the floor of the next cabin, covered in red fungus that engulfs her like a blackhole that engulfs that which gets too close.

My breathing is shallow. I had to.

I. Had. To.

I fought my way out. Took everything down far as I could see.

I’ve always been good at this, doing what needs to be done. Some things you just have to do in order to survive and that’s what I did. People needed me on earth to be strong, to bear the burden and carry the weighted guilt so they wouldn’t have to.

So I did.

I learned to move on quickly. I don’t feel guilty about Captain Myers. I had to do it. I don’t feel guilty.

I don’t.

I don’t.

I don’t!

My nails dig into my skin. I can barely understand the words that spill from my tongue. They feel foreign, inhuman.

I’m not guilty. I don’t feel guilty! I’ve done this a hundred times. It’s done now and I have to move on!

Anyone I lost to sickness, to pollution or war between groups hellbent on gaining food and property in a world too far gone to save-I moved on. Even now that I have time to cry, I’m don’t. I can’t. I don’t even know if I remember how.

Still my chest tightens at the thought of all we’ve lost. It betrays the lies I tell myself. I smell honeysuckles and roses when I breathe in, but it hurts. Each rose-scented inhale is met with an exhale of thorns and tightening vines. Or maybe the fungus in filling up my lungs. I’m not sure.

I took this mission to help save my family back on earth. They aren’t my real family, not by blood, but they became family. And I won’t be coming back to them. I failed them.

I already failed my family before I became aware that I was infected. Peter was my family. Peter was my everything, despite the snide remarks and eyerolls and teasing that bordered on cruelty. It was our way of acting out while remaining somewhat professional, since this job does-did-mean a lot to him.

I respected that. I respected him. And then I just stood there and watched as Steve went feral and attacked him, killed him.

My throat burns, and I almost feel relieved when I taste bile on my tongue instead of peaches and strawberries. Something akin to a cry rips from my lips. It’s ragged and raw and why am I still unable to cry, damn it?! 

I should have been faster! I should have been better!

I fought my way out. I looked up and the town had its eyes on me.

I was gifted with creativity as well as ambition. Knowing the ins and outs of basic survival saved my life and others’ lives more than once. Hydroponics, water filters, hunting, farming. My knowledge is what helped me gain friends, despite my violent tendencies and willfulness to kill to survive. Those who allied with me on earth before I joined up with Pandora Haze seemed to think my pros outweighed my cons.

They were right, especially when they found out I’m incredibly loyal to the people I call friends.

Not loyal enough, though. I let the one person I truly, deeply cared about on this mission die.  

They passed their tools around. Total strangers moved to kindness by my ideas. Took enough for me to book passage on a ship at was England bound.

The help of those around me is what gave me the resources to build different hydroponics and gardens for smaller communities. It’s what got someone at Pandora Haze’s attention too. My skills got me noticed, and when they saw how good I was at the obstacle courses and at problem solving, as well as with combat, they asked me to join with the space department because I “showed promise and seemed more than capable to help in saving the human race.”

I never saw myself as a savior of any kind. I still don’t, but they offered payment-food, medicine, tools and tech. Joining is how I met everyone on this mission, and even if fate hadn’t had led me to meeting them, I couldn’t pass this job up, not even the world is literally burning from the inside out and wars are being started over clean water and warm clothes.

One of my friends, Sam, seemed suspicious. He was afraid, mostly because we’d been together for years. He didn’t agree with some of my methods of getting supplies, but he trusted me, and I trusted him. He and I formed our alliance first and the group grew from there. For a long time we were all the other had, so of course he was concerned.

But he became less worried when I kept coming back like I promised I would.

He didn’t want me going on this mission. He said it felt wrong, that he just knew something bad would end up happening to me. I didn’t listen. I had too many reasons to go and not enough to not go.

First reason for me to go was that Peter was going. He is-was-one of the people I enjoy being around in Pandora Haze’s space program. I don’t get to see him much outside of work because it would raise suspicion, and there’s a strict “no dating between coworkers” rule that would cause us both to lose our jobs if anyone found out. This was the one way I could be around him, even if we couldn’t act like we really cared for each other.

The other reason I decided to come was because the pay for this mission was incredible. I’d have food and medicine for not only myself, but for the people in my family. Sam, Archie, Jody, Lem, Ed and his daughter-all of them. We’d be set for at least a few months. That’s more than a lot of people can ask for in the wreckage that we called home.

I fought my way out of hell. I fought my way to revolution. I was louder than our flag when it fell.

So I came here, did this mission which was supposed to be simple, supposed to be easy, supposed to be safe. I feel safe. I feel warm. It’s a deep sense of calmness that threatens to pull me under like the blackness outside would do if I were to open the airlock. I can hear the whispers even louder now, and the taste of sweet fruits on my tongue is ever stronger, mixing with the occasional chocolate I would half with Sam when we were allowed such luxuries.

I can see it in front of me-home, happiness. I still see the pain and destruction and fire, but it seems so much tamer now. There’s less chaos, less bloodshed. I look down and don’t see the stains of the lives I’ve taken in order to stay alive.

It feels good to see this, good to feel this.

That’s why I bite down on my tongue, hard enough to make it bleed, nearly hard to enough to bite it clean off. But my brain stops me, basic survival instincts stopping me from doing too much damage. I don’t have the energy to fight it, and thankfully it’s enough to bring me back down, push the voices of those I love to the back of my mind until they’re nothing but a dull buzz that resonates in my ears.

They’ll be back. This isn’t the worst of it.

It makes me sick to think that, because the voices are not of just of the people I left on earth, but the people I’ve lost.

We wrote in secret. Love letters we hid well. I fought for the people I love and defended them well. And in the face of ignorance and resistance, I fought for new systems to be put in existence.

On earth things are still terrible, people dying, people fighting over resources that will grow more scarce day by day. We won’t be able to stop what is to come. Humanity will fall. After joining up with Pandora Haze, I met many people who tried to come up with ideas to save the world, save humanity.

A smart woman named Janine always had a solution, a plan that was perfect to even the smallest detail. I never talked to her much, but I believed in what she said. She gave people hope, but not through sweet words or circling stories or empty promises. She spoke the truth, told us the work that would need to be done in order to fix things. I think she could have fixed things, had she come up with these ideas quicker. They were perfect, after all. I did whatever I could to get her plans into motion…

But even perfect plans can fail. People are too unpredictable now, all morals thrown out the window. There’s no sense of loyalty, no sympathy or humanity or humility. Venus Colony was supposed to be our big breakthrough.

And when my prayers to God were met with indifference I picked up a gun. I wrote my own deliverance!

I suppose I’m a part of the problem. I was willing to kill and destroy to protect the people I love. Many of the people back on earth have already lost the ones they cared about, so now all they can worry about is themselves. I’m sure I would have ended up the same way if I didn’t know of certain ways to survive in small communities or groups. I survived because I fought, I killed and destroyed and stole and did everything possible to stay alive.

And even that wasn’t worth it. I’m still dying, blood pooling in my mouth from biting my tongue and pain just barely overshadowing the sickly-sweet way everything feels. I can feel the red fungus growing under my fingers. I wish it hurt. I wish it didn’t feel like the not-quite soft sweater Jody knitted for me for my birthday. I wish it didn’t feel like the blanket Archie gave up to keep me warm when I had pneumonia. I wish it didn’t feel like safety and goodness and peace.

I wish it didn’t. I wish it hurt.

In the eye of a hurricane there is quiet for just a moment A yellow sky.

I look down. It’s almost time. I never thought of myself as a coward, but I don’t think I have it in me to use the blaster. I don’t know why. I’ve thought about dying more than once, and most of the scenarios were violent and painful. I mean, you have to think about it in this day and age. Death has always been inevitable, but now death is always on your heels, and it will catch you when you slow down.

I slowed down here. It’s almost caught me. It’s just waiting for me to decide how I’m going to go.

There’s another way I’ll do this, I think. I don’t know if I deserve it-a peaceful death. After all I’ve lived through, after surviving this long when everyone else on this mission has died in horrendous and agonizing ways, a part of me thinks I should die painfully, slowly. It’s only fair…

But I can’t.

I was twelve when my mother died. She was holding me. We were sick and she was holding me. I couldn’t seem to die.

There are bracelets in a compartment in the Captain’s deck. I have one of them on. I don’t remember why they were created, what specific reason. I don’t remember who created them either. Amelia’s got some sick fucks working for her, which is probably why she didn’t think my body count was as bad as I believed it to be when I was hired. But whatever the case, I’m glad they’re here.

The bracelets are mechanical, and with the push of a button, needles will poke out, dig into my skin and administer a lethal drug. It’ll be quick. It’ll be painless.

It’ll be a death I don’t deserve.

It’ll be a death that was much more merciful than the deaths I’ve witnessed today.

The friend who would tell me not to do it is in the ground.

At least I’ll get to see them again. I hope I’ll see them again.

I hope I’ll see Peter again.

I wonder if I should leave a message for those back on earth. Will they even see it? Will they even hear it? Can I even trust myself to speak?

I shake my head, closing my eyes for a tad second before opening them again. No. It’s best they just get the message that Captain Myers made. It was safe. It was clean.

Besides, I don’t even know what I’d say. What can you say in a time like this?

The enemies I’ve made won’t have anything on me now.

I swallow down a mouthful of coppery blood, but even it isn’t strong enough to silence the raging voices, begging me to just give in. The fungus is becoming thicker under my fingernails. Red is clouding my vision.

It feels so good, so peaceful. All pain fades away like a distant memory.

I wish I could cry. I wish I knew what to say. I wish I wasn’t alone.

I wish this didn’t all feel so good. I feel euphoric, almost to the point that I don’t want to leave. I can see them all, feel it. It’s so beautiful, so overwhelming and crushing and amazing and I wish it wasn’t.

My breathing is shaky, but the one coherent thought I have it simple…

This ends here.

I can hear what the voices are saying in response.

“Wait for it. Wait for it. Wait for it.”

I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory.

My finger hovers over the button. I’m shaking.

I’m smiling.

I look back out at the glass window, at the stars that burn for me, someone who will never get to write of their beauty, who won’t even have the pleasure of remembering it to tell to my friends when I get back home.

I’m going home. That’s what I tell myself. I’m going home.

Space is not forgiving. It’s endless and dark and cold. Its beauty is deceitful. Its emptiness is ever consuming.

But its there, a sight to behold, too beautiful and chaotic and breathtakingly terrifying for any human’s mind to understand.

This is the eye of the hurricane. This is the only way I can protect my family.

I feel a tear slide down my cheek, and while I don’t mean to, I laugh.

“Wait for it! Wait for it! Wait for it! Wait!”

I press the button.

@dorkylittleweirdo​ @midwestern-runner-five​ @runnerfiveready​ @running4chaos​ @poeticllamasofdestruction @pocketsizerudy

[rushingheadlong]

Take My Breath Away - A Brian x Reader fic

Summary: Brian has a thing for drawing sex out for as long as possible, but it's harder to do that when breathplay is involved... at least until you come up with a bit of an unorthodox solution: corsets.

Wordcount: ~20k

Tags/Warnings: 18+; Unspecified reader (including smut with ungendered language); Kink exploration and negotiation

Kinks: Corsets; Breathplay including choking; D/s, mentions of switching but with a focus on sub!Brian, some subdrop and aftercare; Dirty talk; Orgasm denial; Penetrative and oral sex

Notes: I set out intending to write a short 5k companion piece to my earlier corset fic… and then everything spiraled out of control and this happened. A huge thank you to @tenderbri​ and @jackolynsparrow​ for being my cheerleaders, letting me bounce ideas off them, and helping me edit this monstrosity. I hope you all enjoy this fic as much as I enjoyed writing it!

[There are also more detailed notes about corsets at the end of the fic if you are interested in that!]

It begins almost on accident.

You’re half-watching a movie with Brian. He’s pretending to read and you’re pressing kisses along his neck, trying to entice him to pay attention to you instead of his book. The TV isn’t turned down low but it’s still easy enough to ignore, at least until there’s a flurry of shouts and action and you glance back to see that the tight-laced heroine has fainted in her corset.

You almost laugh at the cliché of it all, but then you hear Brian’s breath hitch at the scene on the TV and you turn to him with a knowing smirk. “See something you like, Brian?” you tease, trailing one hand up his chest and settling it lightly over his throat.

“You know I do,” he answers, arching up into your touch.

“Maybe I like hearing you say it.” Your hand slots into position under his jaw, thumb and forefinger pressing up underneath his tongue to restrict his breathing. It’s safer than pressing down on his arteries and making him pass out, though you know how to do that too if that’s what he wants. “Use your words, babe. Tell me what you want.”

“This,” Brian says, voice strained from the way you’re practically forcing his jaw shut. “Just this, don’t wanna pass out, just- Y/N, please-”

You lean down and kiss him, and neither of you last long after that- mostly because you can’t make this last long, not when Brian’s neck is literally on the line. You jerk him off quickly, your other hand pressing hard against his throat, and Brian's hands fumble against you as he struggles to keep breathing but that’s alright, because the sight of him coming undone and his first gasp when you remove your hand are enough to tip you over the edge anyway.

The routine after that is familiar: check for bruises and damage, even if you’re confident there aren’t any, because you can never be too safe; clean off yourself and Brian while he’s still catching his breath; grab a glass of orange juice and wrap your arms around him to stave off the subdrop that he falls into as easy as… well, as easy as breathing.

You like the routine. It’s comforting and grounding, and lets you check over Brian without worrying that you’re missing some important step. But lately the sex itself has felt like part of the routine as well, or at least the breathplay part of it has. Funny how one of your more dangerous kinks has become so methodical that you’re almost bored by it.

And Brian feels the same way. You've seen his small moments of displeasure in the past, but this time when he curls up around you after you’ve checked up on him he sighs and mumbles, “Always wish we could make that last longer.”

You bite back a sigh of your own, and instead press a kiss to the top of his unruly curls. “I know.”

Because you do know. Brian’s always had a thing for drawing scenes out for as long as possible. When you tie him up he’ll gladly stay in bondage for hours, and when he feels like being in charge he enjoys teasing you until you’re nearly incoherent with want. It’s harder to do that with the breathplay when you need to be careful about not leaving marks around his neck, and when keeping one hand in the correct position on his throat inherently limits your options for different positions.

If Brian had his way he’d spend half a day struggling to breathe, each inhale careful and deliberate and shallow, and you’d love to see him in that position… but if there’s a way to make it work, without leaving behind damning evidence, you have yet to figure it out.

“We could try the mask again…” Brian tries to suggest.

“No, Bri,” you tell him, as gently as you can. “The last time we tried a mask you panicked. Same with the gag.”

“But if we tried a different style-”

“Brian.” You gently grab his chin and move his face so he has no choice but to look at you. “You know that I am willing to try almost anything to make this work. But you hate having your face covered, and so the masks and gags don’t work for us. I’m sorry, but they just don’t.”

Brian whines and when you let go of his face he burrows it into the crook of your neck, hiding there as he admits, “I know, but I still want…”

“I know,” you say again, as you wrap your arms around him and hold him close, only this time you add, “We’ll think of something eventually, I promise.” Because right now, while he’s still coming down from this particular high, he needs that promise even if you both know that you may not be able to keep it.

And because you want to keep the mood light, you joke, “Maybe we should just get you a corset like that woman in the movie.”

Brian snorts, and you can feel his smile where he has his face hidden against your neck. “Right. I don’t think putting me in lingerie will solve the problem.”

“Hey, you never know!” you say with a laugh… and now that you’ve gone and said it, you find that you can’t get the thought of your mind.

Something about it sticks with you, for the rest of the night and the next day while Brian is at the studio. Why shouldn’t it work, after all? Corsets are designed to bind, to constrict. Even if the fainting is exaggerated for Hollywood, there’s still a kernel of truth to it. Better yet, with nothing touching Brian’s neck or face, the danger would be more limited, the chance of outright panic lessened, the marks- if there even would be any- more easily hidden…

“Everything alright, Y/N?” Brian asks, later that evening after dinner. You’re both sitting on the couch, almost in the same positions as you were the previous night, before the idea of corsetry had ever crossed your mind. “You seem… well, a bit distracted.”

“I’ve been thinking about our little problem from last night,” you say, because there’s no point in lying to Brian about something that directly concerns him.

Brian gives you a curious look. “The breathing problem?”

“That’s one way to put it, I suppose,” you say with a laugh. “But yes, I’ve been thinking about that.”

“Y/N…” Brian reaches out for your hand, and you lace your fingers with his. “Look, you know what I want, but if there isn’t a way to do that then there’s nothing we can do. Worrying yourself about this isn’t going to change that.”

You take a deep breath, and turn so you’re facing him properly for this conversation. “That’s the thing, though. I might have a solution.”

“Really?”Brian asks. “What is it?” He looks both surprised and tentatively hopeful and you bite your lip, nervous to share your thoughts despite knowing that you have to.

“I was joking when I mentioned it last night, but then I started actually considering it, and… Well, it’s corsets,” you tell him.

Brian lets go of your hand, his face twisting up into an unreadable expression. “You’re not serious.”

“I actually am,” you say. “I know it’s a bit out there, even for us-”

“It’s lingerie,” Brian says, an echo of what he had said the night before.

“And you wear women’s clothing on stage, and a collar at home when the mood strikes you,” you point out, and Brian predictably doesn’t have a response for that. You sigh, and ask, “Will you at least listen to my thoughts about this, before you completely write it off?”

“Alright,” Brian says, after a moment of consideration. “I’ll listen.”

“Thank you,” you tell him, and you do mean it. “So. Let’s assume that we do this properly.” Because if you were to try this, there’s no question that you would handle everything properly. “We’d get a corset that fits correctly and that was designed to be laced that tight, so I think it would be safe to assume that this would work, at least to some extent. Agreed?”

Brian nods.

“So, let’s pro/con this,” you continue. “Pros: It wouldn’t cover your face, so you’re less likely to panic like you did with the mask and gag. It doesn’t touch your neck, so it’s probably safer-”

“I think that’s a stretch,” Brian interrupts.

You roll your eyes. “Fine, we can debate how safe it is, but at least it wouldn’t leave marks on your neck like a belt or noose would. And any marks it left on your torso can be hidden by your shirt- I mean, assuming you can bring yourself to do up an extra button if you need to.”

“Oh, you ass,” Brian says, but he’s laughing as he says it.

You grin and ask, “Can I continue, or do you want to keep insulting me?”

“No, no, by all means, keep going,” Brian says. He’s starting to relax a little now, and you’re glad to see it. You really do think that this could be the answer to all of your problems, and you would have been irritated beyond words if Brian had stubbornly dismissed it out of hand.

“Well, there’s also the fact that we already know you like tight bondage, and you particularly like it when I tie you in a harness,” you point out. Brian had told you once that he liked the feeling of being “held” by the rope, and you imagine that a corset would provide a similar sensation. “And corsets are designed to be worn all day, so surely it could handle a few hours of being laced maybe a little tighter than usual.”

Brian shifts at that idea, his face starting to flush with desire at the very suggestion of being in any sort of scene for several hours, and you know that he’s starting to come around to the idea. “And the potential cons?” he asks, his voice dropping a note lower than it had been before.

“The expense, for one. I can’t imagine buying a proper corset will be cheap,” you admit. “Not to mention actually getting the corset so it’s sized correctly for you, and making sure we know what to do with it once we have it. I still say that cutting you out of a corset will be safer than trying to pry a mask off your face if something goes wrong, but I’d obviously rather not get to that point at all.”

You shrug, just a little, and add, “That’s all I have, really. What are your thoughts?”

Brian is quiet for a moment, and it makes you a little nervous. He’s always been thoughtful, prefering to mull over his options before making any decisions, but given how eager he’s been recently to find a way to make this kink work you were expecting a bit more of a reaction than this.

And then Brian lets out a small huff of laughter and shakes his head and says, “Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting this, and it’s- Well, it’s a lot.”

You reach for Brian’s hand again, and you’re glad that at least he doesn’t pull away from you now. “A lot in a good way, or in a bad way?” you ask.

“Good, I think… but it is quite a bit to consider and I’m having a hard time getting past it being a corset,” Brian admits. “I know that at the end of the day it’s just another piece of gear, but even so it still feels different than anything else we’ve bought or tried before. Not to mention that just getting the damn thing seems like it’ll be an ordeal, and-”

He sighs and you squeeze his hand gently, giving him the space to gather his thoughts rather than pushing him to speak before he’s ready.

“I want to find a way to make the breathplay last longer, you know I do, but you weren’t wrong when you said that the masks and accessories don’t work for us,” Brian says at last. “I’m worried that this will just be another disappointment, only this time we’ll be out a lot more time and money and stuck with something specially made for only me that I am not wearing outside of this context.”

“But it could also work,” you point out gently. “Doesn’t that make the risk worth it?”

Brian smiles, a little crookedly, and jokes, “Well, it wouldn’t be breathplay without a little risk…” You roll your eyes and knock your knee against his, but Brian just laughs and moves his leg so it’s pressing fully against yours. “Do you really think this will work?”

There’s a hopeful sort of note to Brian’s voice, even though he’s still holding himself back. The disappointment of the last few failed attempts had hit him hard, and you aren’t surprised that now that he’s not coming down off a scene that he’s a little more wary about trying something new.

You want to reassure him that this is the perfect solution to your problem, nothing to worry about, everything will finally work out for the two of you this time… but Brian would see through the lie in a heartbeat, and if there’s one thing you’ve learned from exploring these sorts of kinks with him it’s that they only work if you’re both open and honest every step of the way.

“I don’t know,” you tell him, because that’s the only answer that you can really give him. “I think it’s the best option that we’ve come across in a long time, and I’m more hopeful about this than I was with the gag… but I just don’t know. You might panic once it’s put on or not be able to tolerate wearing it long-term. Or maybe a properly-designed corset won’t restrict your breathing like that at all, I have no idea.”

You take a deep breath and smile at Brian, and that alone is enough to get some of the concern to fade from his eyes. “But I do know how much you enjoy breathplay and how much you want to find something that will work for longer than a few minutes at a time,” you tell him. “So if this has even the slightest chance of giving you that… Why shouldn’t we at least make the attempt?”

Brian smiles back at you, bright enough to dispel your lingering fear that you’d gone too far with this suggestion. “You’re right. After everything else we’ve already tried, I suppose this is worth a shot as well.” He laughs, sounding almost disbelieving of his own words, and adds, “God, I can’t believe I’m going to wear a fucking corset.”

You laugh as well. “Well, provided we can figure out where to get one.”

You bite back the other comments you want to make, the ones about how lovely you know he’s going to look wearing it, because you can tell where Brian’s boundaries are with this and you know he won’t appreciate the compliment- at least, not right now.

Instead you close the distance between you and Brian, small as it may be, practically climbing onto his lap and draping your arms loosely around his neck. Brian’s hands settle on your hips, his fingers dipping under the hem of your shirt to tease along your skin.

“Well, hello there,” Brian says with a broad, easy grin. “I’m assuming you’ve finished with our little conversation, then?”

“I think we’ve made enough big decisions for one night,” you say lightly. “If you wanted to keep talking about the minutia of this I guess we can do that, or we can do something a bit more fun…”

“Oh, is that so?” Brian’s hands start drifting higher, pushing your shirt up as he goes, and he leans in to press a few gentle kisses along your neck. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

You gasp and arc into his touch, and breathe, “Whatever you want.”

You catch a glimpse of Brian’s brilliant smile before his lips catch yours in a fierce kiss. You’re momentarily overwhelmed with just how much you love this man- and then Brian gathers you in his arms, picking you up as he stands from the couch, and you shriek in surprise and delight as he carries you towards the bedroom.

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

You immediately dive into research about corsets, at least as much as you can with the resources available at the library, and what you find doesn’t seem promising at first. You’re head spins with endless lists of measurements and jargon you don’t understand, and you still can’t figure out if this will actually work the way Brian needs it to or if that’s all just Hollywood nonsense.

Even the few shops you manage to find that sell corsets don’t seem likely to work for your purposes. The lingerie stores seem to sell mostly fashion corsets, which probably can’t lace tight enough even if you could get them to fit on Brian’s body, and the wedding boutiques are an immediate no-go from the start.

In the end it’s Brian who comes up with a solution- or at least, that’s what you can only assume has happened when he comes home from the studio one day in a bit of a whirlwind and says, “Fred’s found a corsetmaker for us.”

You blink in bemusement, listening as he sheds coat and keys in the foyer and waiting until he pops his head into the living room before saying, “Hi, honey. Mind explaining how Freddie got involved in this little project of ours?”

Brian huffs in vague amusement, and crosses the room to give you a quick kiss in greeting. “All I did was ask him if he knew any designers who also did corset work, since we weren’t having any luck finding someone on our own,” he says, leaning over you as he talks.

But it seems that’s the extent of his explanation, because he straightens back up and asks, “Do you want tea? I think I’m going to make myself a cuppa.”

“I would like a bit more detail about Freddie and this corsetmaker,” you say. “But yes, I’ll take the tea as well.”

Brian, it seems, is in somewhat of a mood, because he continues the conversation as he walks away, calling over his shoulder, “Like I said, we weren’t getting anywhere and Freddie knows loads of designers and artists so I thought it couldn’t hurt to ask him…”

You stand up and follow him into the kitchen, leaning against the doorway and watching as Brian fills up the kettle and pulls out your mugs with a bit more verve than usual.

“...and obviously I didn’t tell him what it was for. I might have actually implied that it was for you, not that it did me any good because he came back to me today with a name of a corsetmaker who he said would treat me quite well.” He huffs and braces himself against the counter, and you can see the line of tension in his back. “What is it about me that makes it so obvious that I’m going to be the one wearing lingerie?”

“Why does it bother you so much?” you ask, far more quiet than Brian’s own testy ramblings.

Brian clearly hadn’t heard you follow him, because he startles at the sound of your voice and turns to face you in surprise. “Why wouldn’t it bother me?”

“Because like I pointed out before, you’ve worn women’s clothing in the past. Quite frequently, in fact,” you remind him. “Why is this different?”

Brian gnaws at his bottom lip, clearly fighting to find the right words to explain this. “Because, being told that I look like I should be wearing something like this feels like people are making assumptions about me,” he finally admits. “I just wear clothes that I like, regardless of whether they’re intended for men or women. It has nothing to do with what I like in the bedroom, and I hate feeling like people are drawing those sorts of conclusions based on what I wear. They’re never completely right anyway, and it always feels demeaning and degrading.”

There’s a horrible and heartbreaking sort of logic there, especially when combined with what you know of Brian’s deep-seated self-esteem and body issues. You know that society at large doesn’t look favorably on men wearing lingerie, and certainly doesn’t consider them to be much of a man at all. In that context, Brian’s initial visceral reaction against the corset makes a lot more sense.

“Have I ever made you feel that way?” You hate how small your voice sounds as you ask the question, and you hate that you have to ask it at all.

“No,” Brian says immediately, without hesitation. “Never. It’s always just been me, getting too caught up in my own worries about things. Which is exactly what happened today with Freddie, because I know he wasn’t insinuating anything, but I still…”

The kettle goes off and Brian turns away and busies himself making the tea rather than finishing that sentence. You stay quiet, knowing he needs this moment of privacy to gather himself and his thoughts.

It’s a testament to how worked up Brian is that he’s not quiet as he thinks over his next words. The silence in the kitchen is broken by sighs and frustrated huffs, until Brian all but slams the kettle back down and bites out, “It’s one thing, you know, when I have those knee-jerk reactions around you, because you somehow always know what to say to help me actually think things through and calm down. But now I have a phone number for a corsetmaker who I’m going to have to discuss this with and it’s- it’s a lot harder to feel good about this now that other people are involved.”

That gets you moving forward so you’re standing next to Brian, one hand coming up to gently rub his back- but then Brian turns, pulling you into a tight hug and burying his face against your shoulder, and all you can do is hold him as he shakes in your arms.

It’s a long time before Brian pulls away, and when he does he looks exhausted and embarrassed. You kiss him softly to cut off his feeble attempt at an apology, and ask, “Do you want to go sit in the living room?”

“I want tea, but I think it’s gone cold,” Brian says instead, picking up the cups he prepared before his small breakdown. They’re both lukewarm at best, and he dumps them into the sink as you quickly refill the kettle and start heating it again.

You stay pressed close to Brian’s side as you wait for the water to heat up. He doesn’t move away from you but he does say, “I’m fine, you know. I just let it get to me a little too much for a moment there.”

“Are you sure?” you ask. “Because I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this if you’re not comfortable with it.”

“What other choice do I have?”

You can’t hold back a small, frustrated noise at Brian’s question. “Any other choice in the world, Brian! We can take this entire stupid idea and shove it for all I care, because your comfort is more important than some damn kink!”

“But I do want to give this a try.”

It’s said quietly, evenly, no heat or urgency in Brian’s voice, just a statement of fact- and for a moment, you almost hate him for that. You want Brian to be angry so that you can be angry, so you can push and needle at him until all of his insecurities are laid bare for you to systematically refute until there’s no part of Brian that still feels like his self-worth can be determined by his kinks or his clothes.

But you know that’s not the best approach to take in this situation, so instead you take a slow breath to ground yourself and ask, “Then what can we do to make this as stress-free as possible for you?”

You half-expect Brian to respond with “Nothing”, and are bracing yourself for the frustrating conversation that is sure to follow. But instead Brian actually considers the question, humming thoughtfully as the kettle whistles and he remakes the tea for both of you.

“Can you call the corset shop?” he asks after a moment. “If they’re going to have a problem fitting a corset on a man…”

Brian’s voice trails off again and when it’s clear that he’s not going to finish the sentence you say, “I can call.” Because if the conversation goes badly, you know you can handle that better than Brian will. “Is there anything specific you want me to ask them, besides that?”

“If they can make it from my measurements, without me needing to go in at all?” Brian jokes weakly, but it falls somewhat flat and he sighs, and says, “We do need to make sure that they’ll be discreet, and I’d rather not have to ask Jim for an NDA for them to sign.”

You bite your lip to stop from laughing at the mental image of Brian having that particular conversation with Jim Beach. “I agree. Let’s try to not to tell anyone else about our plans, shall we?”

That gets Brian chuckling, and it’s such a relief to hear that you find yourself smiling brightly up at him. “Yes, well, at least telling Freddie got us the name of a corsetmaker, which is more than we had before,” Brian points out. He hands you your cup with a smile of his own and kisses you on the cheek. “Come on, let’s go sit down before we ruin this tea as well.”

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

The next morning you wake late, after Brian has already left for the studio, and as you stumble into the kitchen in search of caffeine your eyes fall on a small note left on the counter. Corsets by Charlotte, it reads in Brian’s handwriting, followed by a phone number.

Right. You did say that you’d make the initial phone call…

Even setting aside Brian’s insecurities it does make more sense for you to call anyway. You’re not recognizable like he is, and you have more time and privacy on your hands than Brian does on recording days, but you still find yourself jittery as you dial the number and listen to it ring, nervous about everything even though you know you shouldn’t be.

The call connects and a bright voice on the other end says, “Costumes by Charlotte! This is Vicki speaking, how may I help you?”

The Costumes part of the greeting throws you for a loop and you find yourself stammering, “Ah, I’m- Well, I was told that you might sell corsets…?” You desperately hope that Freddie’s information isn’t outdated, because you’re not sure where else to turn if this lead is a dud.

“We do, but you’ll have to talk to Charlotte directly for that. Hold on a second, let me get her.”

You tap your foot nervously as you wait, twisting the phone cord around your finger, and you jump when a new voice suddenly says, “Lottie here! Vicki says you’re interested in buying a corset?”

“I am.”

“Wonderful! Corsets are a bit of a passion of mine, so it’s always a treat to get a new order,” Lottie says, and even through the phone she sounds genuinely excited. That already puts some of your worries at ease, even before she asks, “Now, is this for yourself, or for a friend…?”

You bite your lip, hesitating for only a split-second before quickly deciding that you can’t beat around the bush with this. “It’s not for me. It’s for my boyfriend.”

“Alright then, that’s not an issue at all,” Lottie says easily. “Do you know what he’s looking for in a corset?”

She sounds matter-of-fact about it and you slump against the wall in relief. “To be honest, this is pretty new territory for both of us. We don’t exactly know what all the options are for everything.”

“Not a problem! It can be pretty overwhelming for beginners,” Lottie says. “Let’s start with the basics. Why does he want to wear one? Is it for fashion, for medical reasons…?” You hesitate for another moment and Lottie laughs lightly and says, “Would it be easier to just make an appointment to come into the shop and we can discuss everything in person?”

“Probably, yes, but… Well, you see my boyfriend is a bit well-known, and given the nature of all of this-”

“I understand, and if it’s any reassurance he’s not the first public figure I’ve made a corset for. Not even the first male one, in fact.” Lottie reassures you, which certainly piques your interest.

“The storefront is fairly discreet, especially since we branched out and changed the shop name to Costumes,” she continues. “We can schedule an appointment in the evening after regular business hours are over, so there’ll be no other customers, and since I handle all of the corset orders myself you’ll be dealing with me directly. And, of course, if you want me to sign an NDA I have no problems doing so.”

You are so grateful for her no-nonsense response that you don’t hesitate to make the appointment. You’re pretty sure that the band doesn’t have studio time scheduled for Saturday evening, but Lottie reassures you that rescheduling won’t be a problem if something comes up and you take her word for it.

You jot down the shop address on the note that Brian left and tack it to the front of the fridge, where you let Brian discover it when he gets home that evening. You fill him in on the brief but illuminating phone conversation as the two of you make dinner, and you’re pleased to see that Brian is genuinely and enthusiastically excited about the upcoming appointment.

You’re even more pleased when, later that evening, he pulls you into the bedroom to work out some of that excitement with you.

He knows your body as well as you know his. He knows the spots that make you squirm, make you sigh, make you scream- knows where to kiss and where to bite, knows how to bring you to overwhelming pleasure again and again with his mouth and his fingers, and his cock when he finally, finally, pushes inside you.

And as much as Brian loves to tease you, once he finally starts fucking you he doesn’t hold back at all even as he remains attentive almost to a fault, bringing a hand between your bodies to make sure that you reach your peak before he follows you over that edge.

Brian collapses on the bed next to you, breathing heavily and fumbling for your hand. You find his and gently lace your fingers together, knowing that Brian likes little gestures of contact like that after sex. There’s still a vulnerability to him in the afterglow, even when he doesn’t sub and even when kink isn’t involved at all, and after several minutes you kiss Brian on the neck and rouse yourself to get a washcloth to clean up- despite Brian’s protest that he was just about to do that himself.

Brian’s excitement lingers for most of the week, but his nerves return with a vengeance when Saturday morning finally dawns. He frets about the house for most of the day, tense and on-edge, and nothing you try seems to calm him down. You half-expect him to call the whole thing off, and you’re more than a little surprised that Brian doesn’t hesitate or put up any protest when the time comes to leave for the appointment.

“Are you sure you’re alright with this?” you ask as Brian parks the car and sits for a moment staring at the storefront across the street.

“Yes. I’m fine.” Brian turns to you and smiles, and it’s a little forced but he doesn’t really look like he’s dreading what’s to come. “A bit nervous, but I think I’m allowed to be.”

“You are,” you agree. “Shall we get on with it, then?”

Brian takes a deep breath but nods, and the two of you finally step out of the car.

The storefront is closed, but as you approach the door it’s opened and you’re greeted by a brightly smiling young woman. “I’m Lottie,” she introduces as she ushers you inside. “I’d ask if you’re my evening appointment, but I can’t imagine any other reason why Brian May would be stopping by my little shop.”

Brian laughs, self-conscious, as Lottie closes the door and locks it again. “Yes, that would be me. Guess it was too much to hope that I wouldn’t be recognized.”

“The hair is a bit of a giveaway,” Lottie jokes. “And, of course, I know Freddie from university. He always said he’d send business my way, but I wasn’t expecting it to be one of his bandmates!” She laughs and shakes her head, before adding, “But come on, let’s head into the back and we can have a nice little chat about what you’re looking for here.”

She leads the way to a smaller room in the back of the store, with several ready-made corsets hanging on a rack in the corner and a few chairs set up around a table. Once you’re all seated she grabs a notebook, smiles at the two of you again, and gets right to the point. “Forgive me for being blunt, Mr. May, but you’re looking for a corset for, shall we say, intimate reasons, aren’t you?”

Your eyes immediately bug out in shock and Brian’s face flushes bright red with embarrassment. “I, ah, I don’t really see why the reason is important-”

“On the contrary, it’s very important. Why a corset is worn determines how it is made- what materials are used, what size it is, how much stress it can withstand…”

Lottie jots down a few notes, and then sets her pen aside and folds her hands over the notebook, giving both of you a no-nonsense look. “I don’t believe in beating around the bush with this, so let me lay all of my cards down on the table and you can decide if you want to proceed or not. Prices for a custom-made corset from me begin at £30. It will be fitted to you perfectly, so there are no returns after it’s made.”

You and Brian exchange a quick look, before he says, “The price isn’t an issue.”

“Well I’m certainly glad to hear that,” Lottie says. “Now, if I’m wrong about why you want the corset please let me know so I can make sure we’re on the same page here with regards to its construction but I do need to know something about what you want out of this.”

When neither of you are quick to say anything she sighs and adds, “If it makes you feel better, most of my customers buy for modelling or fetish play since corsetry isn’t exactly fashionable these days, so if that’s why you’re here I don’t mind in the slightest. I only mind when I need to make something for a wedding.”

“Why do you mind if it’s for a wedding?” you ask, curious.

Lottie smirks and says, “Because it is a nightmare dealing with picky brides.”

Brian laughs, and you’re surprised to hear how genuine it sounds. When you glance at him he seems fairly relaxed, considering the setting and the conversation so far, and that helps you calm down a little as well.

“I can see why Freddie recommended we come to you,” Brian says, sounding amused despite himself. “And…” He huffs and, with a small shake of his head, admits, “Yes. You’re right about why I’m here. Can I ask how you knew, though?”

“Like I said, models and fetishists make up the bulk of my corset clientele- outside of film productions, of course,” Lottie says. “You’re not a model, and you’re certainly not going to wear a corset for one of your concerts, so it was an easy guess from there.”

“Easy. Of course,” you mutter. Brian grabs your hand underneath the table and gives it a gentle squeeze. His palm is a little clammy, a testament to his lingering nerves, but if he hasn’t bolted from this conversation yet you suppose you can’t get too testy about Lottie’s bluntness.

“Now, can I ask where your interests more specifically lie? Do you need this to be practical, or is it purely decorative?” Lottie asks.

“Practical,” Brian says. “I, ah-” He clears his throat but doesn’t finish that particular sentence.

“Thank you, that’s good to know.” Lottie quickly scribbles a few more notes, and then stands abruptly and grabs a tape measure that’s hanging off the end of the corset rack. “Please stand up, Mr. May. I need to take your measurements.”

Brian stands and you watch as Lottie wraps the tape measure around him and takes several quick and precise measurements along your torso. Brian stands completely still, eyes locked with yours and a look of bemusement on his still-flushed face as Lottie works.

“There, that should do it for now,” she says after a moment, tossing the tape measure aside again. “Now, have you worn a corset before?” Brian shakes his head and Lottie tsks. “Do you want to try one on?”

Brian gives you a questioning look and you shrug, and tell him, “I think it’s a good idea, if you’re comfortable with that. I’d hate to spend this much money only to get home and find out you hate it.”

“That’s a fair point,” Brian agrees, turning to Lottie, “Alright. Let’s try one on, then.”

Lottie takes a moment to find a close enough match for Brian’s measurements and from there she makes quick work of wrapping it around his body and doing up the clasps in front. “Now, you always want to fasten up the busk in front when it’s fairly loose,” she explains as she steps around to the back and gathers the laces in her hands. “I won’t do this up too tightly, just enough to give you a bit of an idea…”

Brian is facing you and you can see the exact moment that the corset starts to tighten. He gasps quietly and his eyes widen in surprise - but you can tell from the look on his face that it’s not a bad sort of surprise at all, and you shift in your seat as you watch Brian adjust to the sensation.

Lottie ties off the laces after a moment and says, “There, that’s not too tight, is it?”

Brian shakes his head quickly. “No, not at all.”

“Good-” The rest of her response is cut off as a phone rings elsewhere in the shop. She sighs in irritation and says, “Sorry, if you’ll excuse me for a moment…” before ducking out of the room.

You stand up quickly and round the table to stand in front of Brian. His earlier hesitation has been entirely replaced with arousal, and it matches what you’re feeling yourself as you give him a slow once-over.

“You look good in that,” you tell him. You want to shower him in a thousand compliments but you’re not sure how they would be received, so instead you find yourself asking, “What does it feel like?” Brian doesn’t answer right away and you hum impatiently and add, “Compared to our usual sorts of games, anyway.”

Brian rolls his eyes at that but he says, “It feels… different.”

You laugh softly, just a little, and tease, “Well, I should hope it feels different than a hand around your neck.” You press up against him, hands dropping to his waist- and, god, it’s barely cinched in at all but he still feels smaller under your touch. It’s such a small thing, but it makes you flush with a twisted sort of desire. “Describe it for me, baby. I wanna know what it feels like.”

Brian groans, breathy and a little needy already even though you’ve barely done anything. “It’s just there,” he says. “It’s not uncomfortable but I can feel the pressure of it all the way around me and I can’t get away from it. Every time I breathe I can feel it, and if I try to take a deep breath I can’t, and-”

He whines and rocks against you, desperate despite himself, despite the fact that you’re almost in public, and Lottie could be back at any moment. “It feels so good, Y/N, god-”

“Yeah? I’m glad to hear that.” And you are glad that this harebrained scheme of yours is looking like it’s going to be a success, especially given Brian’s earlier nerves, but the sight of Brian coming undone in front of you is eroding away your control as well. “Now just imagine how good it’ll feel when I pull it even tighter,” you purr, smirking as Brian tries to bite back a whimper at the suggestion. “Or if I do this as well…”

And you move one hand, slowly, to rest over Brian’s throat- not pressing in, not here, but even that smallest of tease is more than Brian can handle and he arches into your touch, begging, “Y/N, please-”

You hear footsteps approaching and step back just before Lottie reenters the room- and frankly, it’s not a moment too soon. You’re not sure what you would have done, how far you would have gone, but you’re pretty sure you would have regretted it after the fact. You’re thankful that at least neither you nor Brian are aroused beyond what’s easily hidden, and if Lottie suspects anything she’s tactful enough not to mention it.

“My apologies for that, let me get you out of that corset now…” Lottie says, untying and deftly loosening the laces. “Feeling alright, Mr. May?”

“Yes,” Brian says, dark eyes locked with yours. “Perfectly alright.”

“Wonderful!” Lottie says. She hangs up the corset as Brian sits back down. You want to touch Brian, tease him, make him keep begging for you… but you settle for finding his hand again underneath the table, and gripping it a bit tighter than you had before.

“Now then,” Lottie says as she joins you at the table, picking up her pen and giving both of you a bright grin. “Let’s talk about your corset now, shall we?”

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

“I’m sorry for almost starting something back in the shop. We have our rule about no public play for a reason, and I shouldn’t have pushed you,” you apologize the moment you and Brian get home.

Truthfully, that’s not all that you feel uncomfortable about. Despite knowing about Brian’s insecurities and reservations with this, you still found him so gorgeous in the corset that it almost took your breath away. You don’t know whether to compliment him or offer up an apology, but you’re pretty sure neither would be welcome so you don’t voice that particular thought at all.

Brian shakes his head and is quick to reassure you, “Believe me, you didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to - and nothing I haven’t done to you once or twice before myself. And you stopped things before we actually went too far. I certainly wasn’t thinking straight enough to hear Lottie returning.”

“Did the corset actually feel that good?” you ask. “It seemed like you enjoyed it, but…” You shake your head. “I don’t know. Maybe I was just expecting more breathlessness, but you seemed fairly composed. I mean, all things considered.”

Brian takes a moment to consider his answer before he responds, and you like the reassurance of knowing that whatever answer he gives is going to be true, not just the first thing that popped into his mind.

“Breathing in it was easier than I expected, once I adjusted to it,” he replies. “Maybe that will change when it’s laced tighter or when there’s more exertion involved- I mean, it probably will, I would expect it to, at least. But I did enjoy how it felt today. It still felt restrictive and…”

He hums, searching for the right words to describe it all. “There was a threat to it all, I suppose. Every time I breathed I felt that restriction, and even if it wasn’t much the possibility of more was always there. And you know that I enjoy being teased with choking almost as much as I enjoy the act itself.”

You laugh a little, because it’s true and because Brian’s explanation lifts a weight of worry off your shoulders. “I’m glad that you enjoyed it, and I, for one, enjoyed seeing you in the corset as well,” you tell him, hoping that that little bit of honesty isn’t pushing too far. “I think once yours is done being made, we’re going to have a lot of fun with it.”

“That sounds like you’re already plotting things…”

“And you aren’t?”

Brian grins at you, a little wickedly. “No, I definitely am,” he admits without reservation. “But I’m very curious to see what you come up with as well.”

“Mm, of course you are.” You push Brian back against the wall, pressing in close to trap him there, even though with his height advantage it would be easy for him to get away if he wanted to… but you know he doesn’t want to. His eyes are wide and dark with desire, and when you slot your thigh between his legs you can feel that he’s already (or still) half-hard.

“I bet that’s all you’ve been thinking of since you put that corset on in the shop, isn’t it?” you purr. “You were sitting there pretending to be so calm while we talked about your corset, but the entire time all you wanted was to get laced back up as tightly as possible. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” Brian gasps. He rocks against you and tries to lean down to steal a kiss, but you keep just out of his reach, brushing your lips barely over his but not giving him what he wants. “Please, Y/N…”

“Please, what?” you tease. “Please kiss you? Please touch you? Please tell you all the dirty plans I have for you once I get you into that corset?”

“Yes- yes, all of it, please-”

You surge forward and kiss him roughly, hotly, tangling one hand in his hair to hold him in place as you undo his jeans with your other, shoving them down just far enough to pull out his cock.

“You wanna hear what I’m gonna do to you, baby?” you murmur against his mouth as you start to stroke him, teasing at the head of cock and smirking as he whines and bucks into your touch. “Gonna lace it so tight, Bri, you won’t be able to think let alone breathe, and then I’m gonna pull it even tighter. Gonna tie you up and leave you like that for hours, darling, leave you squirming and panting for me…”

Brian is squirming now, thrusting desperately into your hand and writhing against you. Normally you’d be inclined to punish him for that but he looks so beautiful like this, coming undone so easily and with the barest amount of effort, that instead you speed up your strokes to hurry him towards his orgasm.

“Maybe I’ll be nice and play with you, make you come over and over until you can’t catch your breath at all and you’re begging me to stop.” You twist your hand and tighten your grip in his hair, and he’s so close now, whimpering and shuddering beneath you, and you lean in close to murmur in his ear, “Or maybe you’ll be so fucking turned on that I could leave you there alone and you’d come completely untouched all over your pretty little corset-”

With a loud cry Brian’s orgasm crashes through him and he clings to you, shuddering and gasping as you stroke him through it, until his knees buckle and you ease him to the floor. He leans against you, panting and shaking, and you give him a few moments to recover, carding your clean fingers gently through his hair to ground him.

After a few moments he nuzzles against you and you gasp, biting your lip as you try to stop yourself from grinding against his face. “Babe, you don’t have to-”

“Let me, please,” Brian mumbles, still clearly coming down from his orgasm, but he reaches up to undo your jeans, and how can you possibly deny Brian anything right now?

Brian’s mouth is positively sinful, his tongue quick and clever against your most sensitive parts, even when he’s sex-drunk and so far under that you can gently tighten your grip on his head to guide his movements to the exact rhythm that makes you see stars.

“Bri… Brian…” you pant, feeling your peak approaching almost embarrassingly quickly. “You’re so good for me, so fucking good…”

Brian looks up at you with slightly glazed but adoring eyes- and that’s enough to tip you over. You buck against Brian’s face and he groans against you, the vibrations of it making you cry out in heightened pleasure. When the sensations become too much to bear and you take one stumbling step back, Brian’s mouth is soaked with spit and come and you moan at the sight of it all.

You kneel down as well, gathering Brian in your arms, and he slumps against you as the two of you catch your breath. You kiss the top of his head and murmur praises that are mostly lost in the mess of Brian’s hair, but he nuzzles against you with a happy sigh so you know he understands the intent behind your words at least.

It’s only later, well after you’ve both gotten cleaned up and moved on with your evening, that Brian brings up corsets again. “You know, you’re more into the corset thing than I was expecting you to be,” he remarks, out of the blue.

“What do you mean?” you ask and you give him a curious look. You’ve always been supportive of Brian’s kinks, like he is of yours, so you’re not quite sure why he’s surprised now. “I know how much you like the breathplay. Why wouldn’t I embrace this with you?”

Brian shakes his head. “No, no I mean- the corset itself. You, ah- you seemed to enjoy seeing me in it, even aside from the breathplay aspect. And you really seem eager to lace me up in my corset when it’s done.”

“Why wouldn’t I be eager to lace you up?” you ask, because it’s safer to focus on that than the rest of Brian’s question. “Honestly, I never thought of it before but seeing your waist cinched in like that… It’s like when I tie you up and use the rope to accent certain parts of your body. It’s like I can physically see the control you give me in those moments, and I like that.”

“Oh. Huh. That would make sense,” Brian says, voice thoughtful. “So it’s not really about the corset itself at all then?”

You can feel your face start to grow hot with embarrassment. For a moment you seriously consider lying to Brian even though you know that wouldn’t be fair to him, but you finally admit, “All kinks aside, you did look very nice in the corset, Brian. It was very flattering on you, but I didn’t want to say too much and make you uncomfortable-”

“Y/N, it’s alright,” Brian interrupts, with a small laugh. He kisses you, soft and tender, before adding, “I don’t have a problem with compliments if they’re coming from you. Especially when I’m subbing, you know that.”

You do know that. Brian thrives off praise and adoration, which is good because he always looks gorgeous and he makes it so easy to shower him with a thousand well-deserved compliments. But you’re still nervous about this, and you can’t help but ask, “Are you sure? You were so worried about the idea of the corset at first, that I don’t want to cross a line anywhere…”

“I appreciate that very much, but I honestly don’t think you will,” Brian tells you. “And if you do, I’ll speak up and we’ll talk it over, like we would for anything else. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree, and you manage to give him a small smile.

Brian’s reassurances have soothed away most of your lingering unease and guilt. You curl against his side, sighing contentedly as he drapes an arm around your shoulders to hold you close, and you ask, “Anything else on your mind?”

Despite the conversations you’ve already had, and the time its taken to even get this far, you’re not naive enough to think that you’ve adequately discussed every subject or angle with this. You also know that it’s not really possible to do that, but you wish it was. You wish you could analyze every single detail so that when the scene was finally underway there were no hiccups and no reservations and nothing ever went wrong.

Even if you don’t say any of that Brian knows you- and your anxieties- far too well. “Nothing else right now,” he says. “If anything else comes up we’ll talk it through, but I think we’ll be alright. All we can really do now is wait for Lottie to finish the corset anyway.”

And, as it turns out, you don’t have very long to wait for that after all. Brian has his first fitting a few days later, which he insists on going to alone- “So we don’t get up to any more antics in the shop,” he jokes- and it’s only a week after that when Lottie calls to let you know that the final corset is ready to be picked up.

“Are you sure you want me to come along? Maybe I won’t be able to control myself this time…” you tease as Brian hands you your jacket and ushers you quickly out of the house. You’re both eager to get over to the shop, and Brian isn’t bothering to hide his excitement at all.

He laughs as he opens the car door for you. "Lottie wants to go over proper lacing techniques with us, so we need to control ourselves- at least until we get home.”

As with last time the shop is closed when you arrive, and Lottie greets you with a bright smile. “Can I just say, I’ve had a wonderful time working on your corset,” she says as she leads you into the same room as before. “Especially after-” She laughs, glancing at Brian, and says, “Well, let’s just put this on you and see how it looks!”

You give Brian a curious look, but he just smirks and strips out of both his jacket and his dress shirt, leaving him only in a thin t-shirt.

“Now, the oils of your skin can damage the fabric- and this isn’t something you can just throw in a washing machine, you know. I’ll send you home with a liner or you can wear a t-shirt like that one,” Lottie says.

You have a moment of wondering what Brian would look like wearing less than he is now… a tank top perhaps, to show off his arms, or just the liner that Lottie mentioned so all that beautiful skin is on display for you… and then you notice the corset that Lottie is wrapping around Brian, and you nearly lose the ability to think entirely.

The original corset plans had been straightforward and simple: all white, in a simple but sturdy cotton fabric. Functional first and foremost, and decidedly understated to avoid something that looked too much like lingerie and would trigger Brian’s insecurities.

The corset that Brian is wearing, that Lottie is carefully tightening, that has Brian gasping and flushing and looking at you with dark eyes, is not that corset.

This one is still white, technically, but now sewn up in a heavy brocade with a subtle pattern that shimmers as it catches the light. The corset is trimmed in black, with black laces that Lottie ties off with quick precision… and black lace appliques now decorating the middle of the corset, resting along Brian’s hips and drawing the eyes to point where his waist is cinched in.

You only realize that your mouth is hanging open in shock when you hear Brian’s soft laugh. “You like it, then?” he asks, with a knowing little smile. “After our little conversation, I asked Lottie to change up the design a bit when I came in for that fitting.”

“Like it?” You let out a breathless laugh and, unable to help yourself, surge forward to kiss Brian, though you keep it brief and chaste. “Baby, I love it. You look absolutely incredible.”

And he does look beautiful. His cheeks are rosy from both arousal and a hint of embarrassment but he’s beaming at you with a wide smile, and when your hands settle around his waist he makes an aborted move to rock against you, before he catches himself and stops.

“I’m very glad you both like it,” Lottie says, with a smile of her own. “Now, there’s one last thing to discuss, and that’s how to break the corset in.”

Some of the dazed excitement fades from Brian’s eyes, but he asks, “What do we need to do?”

“I usually recommend the 2-2-2 method. Tighten it by two inches, for two hours a day, over a period of two weeks,” Lottie says.

“Two weeks?” Brian echoes, sounding dismayed.

“Obviously once you leave the shop I can’t control what you do,” Lottie says. “But if you try to lace it too tightly right from the beginning you can damage the corset, or hurt yourself if you’re not careful. That corset can lace in tighter than two inches and your body isn’t used to that, after all.”

“We’ll break it in, don’t worry,” you tell her. Brian huffs, and you give him a pointed look. “There’s no harm in taking your time with some things.”

Brian’s eyes widen as he picks up on the hidden meaning in your words. The whole point of this new adventure was, after all, to find a way to take your time with the breathplay. Maybe this wasn’t quite what you had expected, but your mind is already racing with possibilities for the next two weeks.

“Good. I hate seeing my hard work ruined by someone’s impatience,” Lottie says. “Now, the corset is laced in about two inches now, so that’s what you’re aiming for over the next two weeks. And I think that’s about everything so, Brian, do you want me to take that off, or do you want to wear it out of the shop?”

Brian looks at you questioningly, and you give him a small shake of the head and a tiny shrug. You may take on the dominant role when it comes to the breathplay, but this isn’t a decision you can make for Brian. The thought of Brian driving home with a corset hidden under his jacket makes your entire body light up with desire but neither of you are typically ones for public play, and you won’t force Brian even further outside his comfort zone.

“I think I’ll wear it home,” Brian says, and you have to bite your lip to hold back a moan.

“Wonderful! Now, as we discussed at the fitting, the final cost is £50. I’ll have your invoice ready for payment up front whenever you’re ready,” Lottie says, and then she leaves the room.

It takes more effort than you thought was possible to let go of Brian’s waist and take a step back. “I want to fucking ruin you right now,” you say in a low voice. “God, Brian, that corset is stunning- you’re stunning, I can’t stand it-”

Brian exhales sharply, and when he reaches for his shirt you can see that his hands are shaking slightly. “When you told me that you liked how I looked wearing the corset, I wanted to make sure the final product was something you’d enjoy as well.”

“I would have enjoyed seeing you in the plain corset we originally planned… but I can’t deny that I do love the changes you made.” You give him a quick peck on the cheek, because you don’t trust yourself not to get carried away if you kissed him on the lips, and you do up two more buttons on his shirt. “You can’t leave this as open as you usually do, darling, or someone will see our little secret.”

Truthfully, there's nothing to see once Brian has his jacket on. His clothes are loose enough to hide the cinching around his waist, and only his ramrod-straight spine gives away the slightest hint of what’s hiding beneath the surface.

You steal the car keys from Brian when you leave the shop, telling him, “I think you might be a bit too distracted to drive right now.”

“And you’re not distracted at all?” Brian says dryly- but his composure is ruined as he sits down in the car. “Oh, fuck,” he groans, already sounding strained. You watch as he tries to arch his back to find a more comfortable position, but there’s no give to the corset. “Sitting is, ah, harder than I was expecting…”

That’s not the only thing that’s harder. You can see the tell-tale bulge in Brian’s jeans, and he’s not the only one affected by the situation. Brian squirms in his seat the entire drive home, the worst sort of temptation, and you grip the steering wheel so tightly that your knuckles are practically white.

As soon as you get home you lead Brian into the bedroom. You kiss him roughly, drawing it out long enough to strip off Brian’s jacket and coat, undo his belt and push his jeans down his thighs. When you pull away you’re breathless, and Brian is gasping as he struggles to draw enough air back into his restricted lungs.

“Color, Bri?” you ask, and his answering, “Green,” is breathy but his conviction is firm.

“Good.” You take a step back and start to strip off your own clothes as you order, “Finish taking your jeans off and kneel for me.”

“Pants too?” Brian asks, as he quickly pulls off his jeans.

You shake your head, and sit down on the edge of the bed, naked. “No. Leave them on- and kneel, Brian. I won’t ask again.”

Brian sinks, slowly, down to his knees with a quiet gasp. “Oh- oh god, Y/N, you have no idea what this feels like…”

He reaches down to touch himself but you stop him with a sharp, “No, Brian. Hands behind your back. You’re not to touch yourself, do you understand?”

Brian moans but he does as you say. He grips his wrists behind his back and looks up at you with eyes blown wide with lust, panting and trying so hard to stay still for you.

“Fuck, Bri, you look gorgeous, so fucking gorgeous, babe,” you praise, reaching one hand down to touch yourself. You’re not going to last long but that’s okay, because you know this is only the first of many scenes like this. “You’ve never had better posture than this, honey, should’ve gotten a corset ages ago just for that alone…”

Brian whines, needy, strained. He squirms but the steel-boning and heavy fabric of the corset have such little give that even as he shifts his entire torso remains straight and unyielding. “Y/N, please, let me taste you, let me touch you, please-”

“Not today,” you tell him, groaning as your fingers tease over yourself. “Today you’re going to kneel there and describe what it feels like while I get myself off.”

“You know what it feels like,” Brian tries to deflect. “I told you that first day we went to Lottie’s shop-”

“Tell me,” you order. “I want to hear it now, when you’re kneeling in front of me in your corset, when you’re laced down two whole inches and so fucking desperate for me.”

Brian whimpers but he is desperate and he starts to babble, “Fuck, Y/N, it feels- it feels tight and strong and- and there’s no give, not anywhere, and the pressure feels sharper when I’m not standing, and- and-”

Brian is trying to subtly rock his hips, but you let it slide. You can see how the corset limits the movement, even around his hips, and anyway there’s nothing for him to rub against, no way to get friction against his painfully hard cock. He looks nearly wrecked already, even though you haven’t touched him, even though the corset is nowhere near as tight as it can go, and it’s enough to drive you wild.

“How does it feel to breathe in it?” you ask, speeding up the movement of your hand, your other drifting up to ghost across your chest, tease along your nipples. “What’s it like to feel it against your chest with every inhale?”

“Good, it’s so good, it’s so fucking good,” Brian moans, shameless and desperate. “I can’t- it feels like I can’t catch my breath, feels so good, Y/N, please let me come-”

Brian’s begging tips you over the edge and you cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, so hard that your vision almost whites out, and you shake and writhe on the edge of the bed as you work yourself through it, Brian’s moans and breathless panting sending fire licking up your spine, until you collapse, boneless, against the bed.

Brian is still whimpering and begging, and when you look down at him you can see that he’s still kneeling in the same position, his hands still behind his back, though he’s practically shaking with need. He’s so turned on that he’s winding himself up without you needing to do anything at all. Even if he had no problems breathing in the corset under normal circumstances, he’s panting so heavily, breathing so shallowly, that you know that he has to be feeling light-headed by now.

You sink down to kneel in front of him, gathering him in your arms and murmuring, “You can move, Brian, you did so well, you’re so good for me…”

Brian’s hands immediately fly up to cling to your shoulders and he begs again, “Please let me come, please please let me come-”

“You can come when the corset comes off,” you tell Brian and the noise he lets out would have been a sob, if he had enough breath for it. “The first time you come while wearing that is going to be after we break it in, when it’s laced as tightly as I can possibly get it. So you’re going to stay like that, laced up and desperate to come, until today’s two hours are up. Do you understand?”

Brian whines and buries his face against your neck, but he nods and you can feel him trying to calm down, to take slow and deep breaths despite the corset restricting his attempts.

“Color, Brian?” you ask again, because even though you’ve played similar games with Brian in the past the corset brings an entirely new element to this and you need to be careful here.

“Green,” he says, without hesitation, and his voice sounds a little more calm than it had been even just moments before.

“Good boy.” You rub one hand along his back, and press a kiss to his temple. “My perfect, good boy.”

You feel Brian shudder at the praise, before sagging against you- at least, as much as the corset will allow him to.

———————————

You and Brian learn a lot about corsets over those first few days. You learn how easy is it to lace Brian’s corset to the required two inches, and how easy it would be (will be) to lace it even tighter. Brian learns how to breathe without hyperventilating, and how to get to that point when he wants it. You learn the patterns that the corset leaves on Brian’s skin, and he learns how quickly they fade and how to hide them if they linger.

You both learn that two hours is a fickle amount of time. When Brian isn’t laced up two hours can pass in the blink of an eye, but the moment he puts that corset on two hours feels like a small eternity. You don’t always start a scene when Brian puts it on, but regardless of how those two hours are spent you’re firm on not letting him come while he’s wearing the corset. Maybe it’s silly of you, but you want the first time you properly and fully explore the breathplay possibilities of the corset to be something special.

And then, barely a week into breaking in the corset, you learn that Queen are almost done with this block of time in the studio. There’s a break planned afterwards, before they return to recording later in the year, but you know that they’ll still want these first few songs to be perfected before the band goes their separate ways for a few months.

Brian’s days start getting longer, beginning earlier and running later into the evening. He comes home half-exhausted, puts off being laced into the corset for as long as possible, and when you do take it off there’s no frantic desperation to come. Brian falls asleep early, leaves before you wake up in the morning, and it’s an unfortunate routine that you’ve grown used to over the years but it feels wrong, somehow, now that you’ve fucked up the timing and mixed kink in with it all.

On the third-to-last evening of breaking in the corset, Brian dozes off on the couch while still wearing it. Unable to properly slouch in his sleep, Brian’s head is instead slumped against the back of the couch while his torso remains rigidly held in place by the corset. It looks like a horrifically uncomfortable position to be in and, even though you know he needs the rest, you gently shake him awake.

He blinks blearily at you and tries to shift, forgetting in his exhaustion that he’s still wearing the corset. He groans as it restricts his movement and the sound does absolutely nothing to rile you up.

“Sorry, but you would’ve had the worst crick in your neck if you kept sleeping like that,” you apologize, gently brushing his hair away from his face.

“‘s fine,” he mumbles. “How much longer do I have to wear this tonight?”

And in that moment you are so done with this entire process, and you say, “We can take it off now, if you want.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

“Yeah, well, you’re fucking exhausted and the last thing you should be worrying about right now is this damn corset,” you say, a hint of frustration creeping into your voice despite your efforts to remain calm. “Maybe we should put the whole thing on hold, just until you’re done recording.”

Brian, stubborn as ever, shakes his head. “No, we’re almost done, let’s just see this through and-”

“And what?” you interrupt. “Even after we break it in, I’m not tight-lacing you in it when you come home from the studio half-asleep every day!”

“I’m not asking you to. Let’s just finish these last few days of breaking it in, and we can set it aside until the band goes on break,” Brian says.

“There’s only a few days left, though. Why don’t we stop now and pick it up again later?” you ask.

Brian sighs, closing his eyes and slumping down as much as the corset will allow. “Because it’s important to me that we do this properly first.”

“But-”

“Y/N, please,” Brian cuts in. “I’m too tired to fight with you about this now. All I’m asking is that we finish out the next few days, so that when I’m not dead on my feet we can jump straight back into this.”

You immediately feel awful for pushing the issue so hard right now. You kiss Brian’s cheek and apologize, saying, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to pick a fight, I just hate seeing you this tired.”

Brian sighs. “I know. But honestly, apart from how it restricts my movement the corset isn’t that uncomfortable laced like this anymore. We’re doing something right here with breaking it in, and I want to finish this so we don’t have to worry about it later.”

“Alright,” you agree. You’re still not thrilled at the idea of Brian putting himself through this for the next few days, but it helps to know that he’s not in pain during these two hours- just tired beyond belief, which he’d still be even without wearing the corset. “Well, to answer your original question, you only have about twenty minutes left of wearing it tonight.”

“Good, because I just want to go to sleep.”

You laugh softly, just a little, and you can’t help but tease, “Yeah, that was obvious from your little cat-nap…”

Brian smiles and lets his eyes slip shut again, just for a moment, before he slowly forces them open with a tired blink. “Well, another week or so and we’ll be done in the studio, so…”

True to his word, Brian finishes breaking in the corset over the next few days, after which you’re more than happy to leave it hanging in the closet until Queen is done in the studio and Brian can rest up a bit. You do your best not to fuss over him too much, knowing that his patience wears thin when he’s running on fumes like this, and you count down the days until he’s done recording.

And then Brian tells you that Queen has extended their studio time by another week. Silently, you wonder whether the universe has decided to just conspire against you to make sure that you and Brian never get the chance to have wild, kinky sex ever again.

Aloud, you tell Brian, “Okay but, for the record, I kind of want to strangle whoever suggested that you keep working yourselves to the bone.”

He lets out a bark of laughter and asks, “Do you promise?”

You recognize that spark of amused mischief in his tired eyes and sigh, but can’t quite keep a fond smile off your face. “You’re the one who asked for more studio time, aren’t you?”

“It’s mainly my song that’s holding us up so, yes, I did,” Brian says. “I’m sorry, I know you’ve been waiting for us to finish recording so we can properly try out the corset, but-”

“But Queen is more important than that,” you interrupt gently. “It’s fine, Brian, I don’t mind.” He gives you a look and you roll your eyes, adding, “Fine, I mind that you’re not getting nearly enough sleep these days, but honestly the kink can wait.”

You take a step closer to Brian and drop your hands to his waist, hands sliding up under his shirt to stroke along his back and sides. “Besides,” you say in a low purr. “The longer we wait, the more time I have to plan things out… maybe I won’t be strangling you, darling, but I promise everything will still be better than perfect.”

Brian whimpers, and you can feel him shiver at your gentle touch. “That’s not fair, Y/N.”

“What’s not fair, baby?” you leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

Brian tries to chase it but his movements are slow and sluggish, and he whines low in his throat when you pull away. “Teasing me when I’m too tired for sex,” he says, a mumbled complaint that makes your heart ache with fondness.

You lean up to give him a proper kiss this time, and even though you know he’s exhausted you still enjoy the way he melts against you. “Who said anything about sex?” you ask, the words almost lost against Brian’s lips. “Just let me take care of you, Brian. Let me make you feel good.”

Brian moans softly, but he’s still holding back. “If I come, I’m gonna fall asleep before I can return the favor.”

“I think I can take care of myself for one night,” you tell him, trying not to laugh. “Come on, Bri. Let’s go to bed.”

Brian is soft and pliable under your touch, but he really is too exhausted for you to feel good about teasing him too much. You help him strip out of his clothes, and once he’s spread out on the bed beneath you you don’t waste any time in taking his cock in your mouth even though he’s still a little soft. He finishes growing hard on your tongue as he cries out and shakes beneath you, his hands holding your head even though he doesn’t have the energy to direct your movements.

Brian may like it when you draw things out, but tonight you’re quick to swallow him down almost to the base, drawing back to tease at the head of his cock only when you need to breathe, and it only takes a few repetitions of that before he arches up and comes deep down your throat with a wordless cry. You swallow around him a few times before drawing back to suckle at his tip, only stopping when his moans and whimpers start to take on a note of pain.

He does fall asleep before he can make any motions about wanting to get you off as well, but you expected that and frankly your own pleasure is the last thing on your mind at the moment. You curl up next to him in bed and pull the covers over both of you, and when Brian is once again gone before you wake up in the morning you just remind yourself, yet again, that he’ll be done with this stretch of recording soon enough.

Brian calls you from the studio on the last day they have booked and you brace yourself for him to tell you that they’re extending things yet again. But instead he tells you, tired but cheerful, that they’ve wrapped up the songs they were working on and are going out to celebrate, just the four of them, that night.

“I mean, if you don’t mind, that is,” Brian adds at the end of his rambling explanation.

“Why would I mind?” you ask with a laugh. “Go out and have fun, you guys deserve it.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end of the line before Brian says, “I didn’t know if maybe you had plans now that we’re done in the studio.”

You know what Brian means immediately. “I told you, Bri, we aren’t doing anything until you’re well-rested again,” you tell him. Brian huffs, and before he can try to talk you into this you add, “No. I’m not taking any risks with this. You can wait another day or two, it won’t kill you.”

“Maybe it will, you don’t know,” Brian says, and you don’t feel bad about laughing because you know that he’s joking now. “You sure you don’t mind me going out, though? I’ll probably be back pretty late.”

“I don’t mind, honestly,” you assure him. “Go out, have a few drinks, tell the others I said hi. I’ll see you when you get home, whenever that is.”

You aren’t expecting Brian to be out too late, given how tired they all have to be by this point, but it’s still nearly 10 o’clock by the time you hear his key in the lock. You can hear him fumbling with it, and you get to the door and open it before Brian manages to figure out how to do it himself.

“Y/N!” he says, with the loud exuberance that only drunk people seem to manage. “‘s you!”

“Yes, it’s me,” you say with a laugh. Brian is swaying unsteadily on his feet and you’re quick to wrap an arm around his waist to hold him upright as you close the door and start carefully shuffling him towards the bedroom. “Seems like you had a good night out.”

“Was fun, but I missed you,” Brian says. He tries to nuzzle against you but leaning down throws his balance off and you both nearly topple over, before you manage to deposit him clumsily on the bed instead.

You pull off Brian’s shoes and wrestle him out of his jeans and shirt, the undressing made difficult by the fact that Brian keeps trying to grab your hand. He whines when you disentangle yourself from him, and as you start to leave the room he tries to stand up and follow you.

“Bri, no, c’mon stay here, I’m just getting you a glass of water and some painkillers.” You push him back down onto the bed and kiss the top of his head. “I’ll be back in a minute, I promise.”

“You better,” Brian mumbles, and you have to hide a fond smile as you duck out of the room. Drunk Brian is always a bit of a handful, but when it’s just the two of you he’s so affectionate and sweet that it makes your heart melt a little.

Brian is lying down in bed when you return, which means you have to coax him back upright to drink the glass of water and down the painkillers. “C’mon Brian, if you don’t your hangover will be worse and you’ll be miserable in the morning,” you try to reason with him.

“‘m not gonna have a hangover,” he insists, burrowing against your side and refusing to move.

“Yeah? How do you figure that?” you ask.

“I’m done in the studio, which means it’s corset time so I can’t have a hangover,” he explains.

You bite back a laugh at his simplistic drunken-logic, deciding that it would be too mean to remind him that you already said you weren’t doing anything until he was completely rested up. However you’re not above using this to your advantage and you tell him, “There will be no “corset time” unless you drink this glass of water and take these pills.”

Brian groans but leverages himself mostly-upright, somehow managing to down the water without choking on it before falling back against the pillows. You climb into bed as well and he rolls over to wrap himself around you. His hair is in your face and you know he’s going to be miserably hungover in the morning, but there’s still no other place you’d rather be than here in his arms.

“Love you. So much,” he mumbles, his voice slurred with both alcohol and exhaustion. “Sorry ‘m drunk.”

You smile fondly at him, even though he can’t see it, and tell him, “It’s fine, and I love you too.”

There’s no response from Brian, but his even breathing tells you that he’s already fallen asleep. You close your eyes and relax in his embrace, and it’s not long after that that you’re asleep as well.

The following morning you wake up before Brian for the first time in several weeks, and you take a few minutes to savor the moment. Brian looks peaceful when he’s asleep, even if the dark circles under his eyes and the stubble along his jaw are a testament to how worn-down he is from the long days of recording. You’re glad that he’s getting some rest now, and even more glad that the band has a nice stretch of time off before they need to do anything else.

You kiss Brian’s sleep-soft lips, and untangle yourself from him slowly so you don’t accidentally wake him up. He mumbles something unintelligible and rolls over into the space you vacated but stays asleep, and you slip quietly from the room.

It’s several hours before you hear Brian moving around in the bedroom, and you put the kettle on and start making toast before he finally emerges. His hair is even more wild than usual and he blinks at you with bleary eyes as you push him down into one of the chairs at the kitchen table.

“How’s the hangover?” you ask him. His answering groan says everything, and you chuckle as you pass over a cup of tea and grab a plate for his toast. “And to think, last night you were convinced that we’d be diving into a scene today…” you tease gently.

“If you put me in that corset I think I might vomit on you,” Brian mumbles. He grabs the cup of tea, holding it in his hands but making no moves to drink it yet.

You kiss his temple as you set the plate of toast down in front of him. “No corsets today, but are you well enough to talk about things? I want to touch base with you again before we do anything.”

He sighs, and rubs at his eyes. “Give me a few hours to wake up first?” he asks, and you agree to that easily. God knows he wouldn’t retain anything you try to tell him now.

Later that afternoon, when Brian is more awake and slightly less hungover, the two of you settle down in the living room to talk. It’s more neutral territory than the bedroom, and you keep a slight distance between the two of you to stop yourselves from getting distracted.

“Before we talk about whatever you have on your mind, can I just ask… You do still want to do this, don’t you?” Brian asks.

He seems genuinely nervous, and that takes you by surprise. “Of course I do! Why, did you think that I had changed my mind or something?”

Brian shrugs a little, and says, “I don’t know. Every time it’s come up lately, you’ve deflected and put it off and I thought… I don’t know, that maybe once we took that break and things had calmed down you were having second-thoughts.”

“No, not in the slightest,” you tell him. “I’m so sorry if I gave you that impression. I’ve just been worried for you, Brian. I was scared that if we did something while you were still tired from recording that I’d accidentally hurt you, or you’d end up panicking during the scene like when we tried the masks and gags. I just wanted to make sure that nothing went wrong when we finally did this, that’s all.”

“Something could still go wrong, though,” Brian points out with a tentative smile. “You can’t control everything with this, Y/N.”

“No, but I can make sure we aren’t taking any unnecessary risks either,” you say. “Which is why I want to make sure we’re on the same page with this now.”

“That’s probably a good idea,” Brian admits. “What did you want to talk about, then?”

“What are your expectations for this scene?” you ask, without preamble. This isn’t the first conversation of this sort that you’ve had with Brian, though it’s been a little while since you’ve had to have one. “How long did you want it to last, how tight do you want the corset to be…?”

“As long as we can and as tight as you can get it,” Brian says. You let out a small, frustrated sigh, but he continues talking before you can say anything. “The whole point of getting the corset was to make this last longer, and I want to explore what that actually looks like… and, frankly, after the two weeks of breaking the corset in I am very much looking forward to getting it laced tighter than just two inches.”

You bite your lip, considering Brian’s words for a moment, before asking, “You’ll safeword if it gets to be too much?” You know that he will, because he has in the past, but you still need to hear that confirmation now.

Brian knows that, and he doesn’t hesitate to tell you, “Yes.” He also doesn’t hesitate to ask you in return, “And you’ll safeword if it gets to be too much for you as well, right?”

“Yes,” you assure him with a wry smile. “And if you panic again, I will stop everything immediately and I’ll cut you out of the damn corset if I have to.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

You laugh, despite the seriousness of the conversation. “That’s what I said back when we first talked about this,” you remind him. “And now look at us, you’re the one eager to get going and I’m the one with all the hesitations.”

“You’re not hesitant. You’re just being safe and practical,” Brian says. “Although, you are killing me a little with the anticipation for this. How much longer are you going to make me wait before we finally do this?”

“A little bit longer,” you say, evasively, and you grin when Brian groans and slouches dramatically down into the couch. “Oh, don’t act like you don’t like the build-up as much as the actual scene itself.”

“I do but this has already been in the works for weeks, Y/N,” Brian whines, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lips that tells you that the complaint is good-natured.

“Yes, so just think about how satisfying it’ll be when you finally wake up one morning and see that corset laid out and waiting for you…” You lean over and kiss him, just a quick peck on the corner of his mouth, adding, “I promise it’ll be this week. I just don’t want to ruin the surprise of when it’s going to happen.”

“Well, alright then,” Brian says, as he pulls you into his lap. “I suppose I can live with that.”

———————————

You don’t do anything else that day, though you know Brian wasn’t expecting you to. The next day you see his look of disappointment when you don’t take the corset out of where it’s hanging in the closet, but he’s still just tired enough that he’s content to spend the day lounging on the sofa watching movies with you (no period dramas this time, though).

On the third day Brian is visibly antsy, which you were expecting. There’s nothing stopping you from doing anything today, except that you just don’t want to. You want Brian nearly tripping over himself in anticipation first… and, you have to admit, you like watching him squirm as he tries so hard to be good and not pester you about your plans.

The fourth day, though…

You wake up and, at first, you act like it’s going to be another normal day. You can see Brian practically biting his tongue to stop himself from asking when you’re finally going to do something, and it takes all of your effort to hold back your pleased smirk at seeing him so eager for this. You’re not going to make him wait any longer and, after breakfast while he’s taking a quick shower, you finally make your move.

You’re familiar with Brian’s habits and quirks, and you know you don’t have long to get things ready. Brian will skip washing his hair today, towel off and throw on a pair of pants in the bathroom, and then come into the bedroom to finish getting dressed. You know this, and so you lie the corset out on the bed and sit perched next to it where Brian will see you the moment he walks in.

Brian doesn’t even make it completely into the room. He freezes in the doorway, first staring at you, and then down at the corset, with eyes that are already blown wide with lust and anticipation. “Y/N-” he chokes out and you grin at his reaction, delighted and amazed that you’re still able to work him up like this.

You crook your finger and motion for Brian to come over. He nearly trips over his feet in his eagerness, and you laugh as you lean up to kiss him one last time before you dive into all your plans. “You ready for this, babe?” you ask him.

“Yes, god, I’ve been ready,” he says, and he tries to deepen the kiss but you pull away and give him a small push back from you.

“Good,” you say, before tossing Brian the liner you had gotten from Lottie. He pulls it on quickly and you wait until he looks at you excitedly, expectedly, before picking up the corset… and holding it out to him. “Put it on.”

Brian makes a noise like all the air was suddenly punched out of him. "What?"

"Put it on," you repeat. Your smile is a bit too sharp to really pass as sweet but that's okay, because you know how much this simple order is affecting Brian. You can see it in his eyes, in the clearly visible bulge in his pants, in the way his hands shake as he reaches out and takes the corset from you.

He wraps it around his body and you tsk, and tell him, “That’s upside-down, Brian. Put it on correctly, now, or we won’t be doing anything today.”

Brian’s face is bright red with humiliation and arousal, but he flips the corset around and fumbles with the latches along the busk. Once those are fastened and he adjusts the corset so it’s sitting in the right position, he grabs the laces and gives you a questioning look. “Do you want me to…?”

“Yes, go on, lace yourself up,” you tell him. “I think I did enough work, lacing you up every night for the two weeks that we were breaking it in. It’s your turn now.”

Brian nods and starts to pull on the laces, letting out a tiny whimper as the corset tightens around him. It’s an absolute treat to watch Brian do this to himself, to watch the expressions he makes and the way you can visibly see his waist shrink as he pulls the laces in tighter. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to hold back a moan of your own, and it takes all your self-control to stay seated on the edge of the bed instead of jumping on Brian right now.

“How tight?” Brian asks. You can already hear the strain in his voice, and can see the shallower breaths that the corset is forcing him to take.

“As tight as you want it,” you say, and Brian lets out a broken moan. “Just make sure you get the lacing lying flat in the back, and tie it off in a pretty little bow for me when you’re done.”

Brian cinches the laces tighter one more time before he twists his arm back to check that he gathered in all the slack from the laces. You know that even doing that much has to be a strain when he’s laced this tightly, and sure enough when he ties off the laces and drops his arms you can see how badly they’re shaking.

“Turn around,” you order. “Let me see.”

Brian does, and you groan as you see just how much Brian has laced down. It’s far more than the two inches you did during the training, but more importantly there’s still room in the corset for it to go down even further. That’s going to be helpful later… if you manage to hold out that long.

You stand up and crowd against Brian’s back, hands dropping down to his now-tiny waist, as you nuzzle the back of his neck. “Perfect, baby, you’re so good, you look fucking gorgeous,” you praise. “So beautiful in your corset, god, you’re incredible.”

And Brian is gorgeous, with his waist forced into an uncomfortable hourglass shape and a flush spreading down the back of his neck and across his shoulders. If you turned him around you know you’d be able to see that flush extending down his chest, almost down to where his nipples are exposed above the top of the corset. You’d be able to see the long lines of his legs, his cock straining at his pants, the corset digging into his hips and miles of exposed skin waiting for you to kiss and bite and suck bruises into.

You wonder, briefly, what Brian would look like if his corset was accompanied by lingerie… The image of Brian in lacy panties or stockings, maybe with a plug inside him so he couldn’t help but squirm as you made him kneel for you, was certainly a delicious one, but you push the thought from your mind. Maybe, down the road, you’ll suggest that to Brian, but not today.

Brian tilts his head back to rest on your shoulder, and you can’t resist sliding one hand up to lay it across his neck. You don’t apply any pressure but you don’t have to- the gesture alone is enough to get Brian whining and begging, “Y/N, please…”

“So good for me, Brian.” You press a kiss to his jaw and ask, “Color?”

“Green, please-”

“And how’s the corset feel?”

Brian groans as he realizes that you’re in no rush to give him what he wants, but he reluctantly replies, “Tight. But it feels so good.”

“And how’s the breathing?”

“Difficult,” Brian admits, with a small huff of laughter despite himself, and he tries one more time, “Please, Y/N, I need-”

“We need to go do the dishes from breakfast, I think,” you say. Brian whines and you’re happy that he can’t see your amused smile at his, admittedly predictable, reaction. “And then I picked up a new album that I want to listen to and then…”

You chuckle, and spin Brian around so he’s facing you and, god, he’s already so far under that if you hadn’t just checked in with him you’d stop everything immediately to make sure he was still alright. “Then we’ll see where the day takes us from there, I suppose. Does that sound alright, Bri?”

Brian nods immediately, because no matter how turned on he is, how badly he already wants to come, this is what he’s been waiting for: being laced up so tight that breathing becomes a challenge, so that every inhale has to be carefully considered, so that simple movements become feats of exertion, and then forced to stay like that for hours, until his pleasure becomes a desperation and he’s so far gone that he’d do almost anything for you if you’d just let him finally come.

You set Brian to work drying the dishes as you wash them, because you don’t trust him to clean them properly with how wound-up he is. Plus, this lets you draw the chore out for as long as possible, far past the point where it’s even believable, because in truth you don’t really care about cleaning up after breakfast. The point of all this is to let Brian adjust to having the corset this tight, before you ramp things up even further, and to stretch out the experience like you know Brian wants.

So you listen as he finds a rhythm with his breathing, though it’s still noticeably shallow. Every time you brush against his arm or you “accidentally” bump hips his breath hitches and it takes him a few moments to bring it back under control. When you finally turn off the sink you pull him into a hot kiss, and it’s so easy to steal his breath and get him gasping against your mouth with barely any effort on your part.

“Go put on the record I left by the turntable, and then sit on the couch,” you order.

Brian nods, eager to move your game forward even though he knows that he’s no closer to coming. You watch, amused, as he leaves the kitchen, so constrained by the corset that it’s reflected in every movement of his body, from his walk to the way he perches, uncomfortable, on the edge of the couch when you join him in the living room a few minutes later.

You sigh and shake your head, putting on an air of disappointment, and tell him, “Sit with your back against the cushions please, love.”

“But-”

You give Brian a look to silence whatever complaint he was going to make. He carefully wiggles further back onto the couch, biting his lip although it does nothing to hide his whimpers as the new position makes the corset dig further into him.

You nod in approval and, without warning, straddle his legs and sit on his lap. His hands automatically go to your waist to help hold you in place, as you tangle one hand in his hair, pulling his head back so you can kiss along his throat, relishing the feeling of his gasping breaths beneath your mouth.

Even with the band on break you don’t dare leave bruises on his neck, but you risk a bite at the edge of his jaw, where his hair will almost hide it, and you drag the nails of your other hand along his chest above the corset, teasing at his nipples and leaving scratches that have Brian fighting to arch into your touch. But he can’t move his torso with the corset laced so tightly, can’t get enough traction to rock his hips up against you, can’t do anything but sit there, panting and whining and gasping desperately as you do whatever you want to him.

“Y/N- Y/N, please,” Brian begs, barely able to get the words out at all, which only makes you want to make him try to talk even more.

“Please what?”

“Touch me.” The words are gasped out, before Brian tries to draw in a deep, heaving breath only to be stopped by the corset.

“I am touching you,” you tease, thumbing over his nipple and tugging a little harder at his hair.

Brian moans, high and breathy, and only manages to say, “My cock…”

You laugh, just a little, and tell him, “Oh, baby, I don’t think so. If I touch your cock you’re gonna come, and I have far too many plans for you to let that happen now.”

Brian whimpers and squirms beneath you, unable to stay quiet or stay still when he’s this wound up. He tries to say something else but only manages a few broken syllables before he has to force himself to stop, and take several too-shallow breaths to center himself in order to ask, “Can I touch you?”

“I like the sound of that even more, but I think I have an even better idea.” You climb off of Brian, pulling him up off the couch, and quickly strip off your clothes, before sitting back down with your legs spread wide and telling him, “Kneel, Brian, with your hands behind your back. I want to feel your mouth on me and maybe if you do a good enough job, I’ll let you come.”

Brian falls to his knees so quickly that you know it has to hurt, but he doesn’t complain- frankly, you’re not sure he has enough breath to do so even if he wanted to. He obediently puts his hands behind his back and looks up at you, waiting for your nod before leaning down and getting to work.

Truthfully, it’s not the best job Brian has ever done, but you sort of expected that. You’re being more than a little unfair to him with this challenge. The corset makes it difficult for him to get his mouth on you at all, and he can only manage a few brief licks or a gentle suck before he has to pull back, gasping for breath.

“Oh, come on, Bri, you can do better than that,” you say, a little patronizing, and you grab his hair again and pull him down, hard, until his mouth is where you need it the most and his face is buried so close to you that his nose is nearly touching your skin.

And then you hold him there.

One beat, then two, and his tongue is still flicking against you but you can feel him struggling to breathe, can feel the tiny gasp of air that he manages to suck in that you know isn’t enough. You feel his head jerk in your hands as he instinctively tries to pull back, but you hold him in place for a second longer, before easing him away.

He gasps, raw and desperate, eyes blown wide with a panicked arousal that still makes you nervous to see, no matter how many times you’ve indulged in his breathplay kink. He gets off on this, you know that, but you still check in with him and ask, “Color, Brian?”

“Green-” he wheezes, and he’s barely finished speaking the word before you’re pulling him back down.

He works his mouth over you as best he can, all tongue and lips and the barest scrape of teeth in those moments when he fights for oxygen and can’t quite control himself. His mouth and between your thighs are drenched with spit as he sputters and chokes against you. Every time you pull him away so he can gasp in a few shallow and desperate breaths your pleasure ebbs away just enough that you keep pushing Brian further than you usually do, until there are tears in his eyes and his pupils are blown so wide that there’s barely any color left in his irises at all.

“Green,” he gasps, when you pull him away for the last time, anticipating the question before you can even ask it. He tries to lean back down even though he’s panting so hard that it sounds like it hurts, and you have to physically hold him back from suffocating himself against you again.

“No, Brian, that’s enough, you did good, you did so good,” you tell him, carding one hand through his hair and gently scratching at his scalp. “Catch your breath, that’s it, that’s my good boy…”

Brian nods, because there’s nothing else he can do- he certainly doesn’t have enough breath to complain. He shifts and ducks his head, and normally you’d let him rest against your leg but he can’t bend like that in the corset. You want to move him into a more comfortable position while he rests, but you’re not sure that there even is one so you settle for kissing the top of his head and murmuring praises as you watch for any sign that he’s about to pass out on you unexpectedly.

Luckily, that doesn’t happen and, although it takes a few minutes, Brian finally manages to ask, “Did I do a good enough job?”

You remember the promise you made him before having him service you and you smile at him and say, “You did such a good job, baby. In fact, you did so good that I’m going to give you a choice.”

Brian looks up at you with wide eyes and a still-flushed face, and ask, “A choice?”

“Yes, Brian, a choice. I can either return the favor and suck you off now, or....” You push his head back a bit further, putting just a bit more strain on his throat, before you say, “Or we can move to the bedroom to keep playing, and I’ll tighten your corset a little bit more.”

You know what Brian’s answer is going to be even before his broken moan and gasping, “Yes, yes, Y/N, please, tighten it, please-”

You stand up and Brian scrambles to his feet before you can even order him to. You swat his ass and chide, “Behave now. Go to the bedroom, brace yourself against the bedframe and wait for me.”

You take your time, putting away the record that stopped playing ages ago by now, and taking a few minutes to straighten a few things around the living room, just to let Brian’s anticipation build. When you finally walk into the bedroom you’re pleased to see that he’s waiting for you exactly where and how you told him to.

You press a kiss to the back of his neck as you undo the bow in the laces of his corset, being careful not to let it loosen at all. “Good boy, waiting for me so prettily like this…” you praise and, without any further warning, you give the laces a sharp tug.

Brian gasps, the whole line of his body tensing as the corset digs into him a little further, his knuckles white where they’re gripping the footboard of the bed. “Y/N… Y/N…” he says on ragged, panting exhales.

“Hmm, I bet we can still get it tighter than that…” you say, forcing your voice to stay calm and casual even though you’re so turned on just from Brian’s reaction that it’s all you can do to keep your composure.

Brian lets out a breathy moan as you start at the top of the corset and slowly, methodically, pull in each section of lacing as it crosses his back. Brian’s moans get quieter and are replaced with hitching, shallow inhales and soft, desperate whines as you repeat the process from the bottom of the corset, gathering all the slack in the laces in the middle.

You wrap the excess lacing around Brian’s waist a few times, because there’s so much of it now, before tying it off in another bow at his back. “Fuck, Brian, the corset is almost closed,” you say with a low groan, tracing a finger down the laces along his spine. “Another inch or two and both halves would be touching, god…”

“Y/N-” Brian gasps, and he doesn’t even have enough breath to get out please.

“Color?”

“Green,” he manages, but only just.

You’re straying into dangerous territory here, you know that. Brian is past the point of being able to properly adjust his breathing to compensate for the corset, which may have been your goal but also means that you don’t have a larger window of time to play with if you want both of you to come while he’s still laced up.

“Get on the bed, Brian, on your back,” you tell him, and Brian scrambles to obey. He collapses back against the mattress, struggling to move in the corset, and you help push him into a better position while saying, “You’ve been so good, Brian, so fucking good. Gonna ride you now, gonna fuck you while you’re in that corset and finally let you come…”

Brian’s cock is big, almost too big for you to handle without some prep, which today you rush maybe a little bit more than you should. You peel Brian’s pants off, finally freeing his aching cock, but you pass him the condom to put on himself. You’re sure that if you tried to do it, he’d come immediately.

As it stands, you’re still expecting him to come the moment you grab his cock to position it at your entrance and start slowly sinking down, but even though Brian’s head is thrown back and he’s gasping and shaking and crying underneath you, he holds himself together as you start to ride him.

There’s nothing slow about it. There can’t be anything slow about it, not when Brian is hanging on by the skin of his teeth and you aren’t far behind him. You brace one hand against the front of his corset as you ride him hard and fast, and bring the other down to work yourself towards your own orgasm.

“Close, Bri, I’m close,” you pant and Brian doesn’t answer because he can’t answer. His face is bright red and every breath is too small and too shallow, hitching and desperate and just this side of panicked, the sweet spot that you try so hard to get Brian to when you do this but it’s never been like this, never been dragged out for this long, never been so good like it is now-

“Gonna-” Brian gasps, the only warning he’s capable of giving you, but that’s enough for you to move your hand from his chest up to his neck, pushing up sharply under his jaw to cut off his breathing at the source as well and he comes immediately, silently, mouth wide as he struggles to draw in a breath that you won’t let him have.

You let go of his neck before he can pass out and all it takes is another few rocks on his softening cock before you follow him over the edge, crying out as you grind against him and work yourself through your orgasm, sacrificing the last moments of your own pleasure in favor of climbing off Brian to make sure that he’s alright.

Brian still looks dazed and overwhelmed, his face wet with tears, and he’s still fighting to take in proper breaths. Even though your limbs feel like jelly and you’re shaking a little from the intensity of your own orgasm you help leverage Brian upright, enough to wriggle behind him and undo first the bow and then the lacing running down his spine.

As the corset loosens Brian draws in loud, heaving breaths, each deeper than the last. He coughs and gasps and you murmur an endless stream of praise and reassurances as you quickly loosen the corset enough that it’s safe to undo the latches at the busk, and pull it away completely.

Taking off the condom and tossing it in the direction of the garbage is almost an afterthought, but once that’s done as well you pull Brian into your arms and breathe slowly, deeply, telling him, “That’s it, you’re alright, you can breathe, just listen to me, match your breathing to mine, that’s it, you did good, you did so good baby, just breathe now…”

Every breath Brian draws in sounds like it hurts and he can’t seem to stop shaking, even after his breathing calms down and his heart stops racing quite so much. You hope that you didn’t take things too far at the end there and you ask, a little nervous, “How are you feeling?”

Brian mumbles something slurred and unintelligible, and cuddles closer to you. It’s not exactly an answer, and you ask instead, “Color?”

“‘een,” Brian manages, because he can always manage at least that, and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Are words too much for you now?” you ask, and you feel his answering nod against your body. It’s not the first time that Brian has gone nearly non-vocal after a scene, but it doesn’t happen often and you know it’s going to take some time for him to come back up.

You’re prepared for this, though. You lean over the side of the bed, careful not to jostle Brian too much or lose contact with him, and grab the small bottle of juice that you set on the nightstand before. He’ll need proper food and drink sooner rather than later, but for now you coax him into drinking the juice a few sips at a time as you gently wipe the tear tracks off his face.

The juice seems to help his throat as well, because his breathing evens out a bit more and doesn’t sound quite so harsh as you gently shift so the two of you are lying back down on the bed. You pull the covers over you both and stay cuddled close to Brian.

“Get some rest,” you say quietly. “That one took a lot out of you.”

You intend to stay awake, in case something happens and Brian needs you, but you’re worn out a little as well and you end up dozing despite your intentions. You wake up with a start when you feel Brian move away from you, and you bolt upright immediately. “What’s going on, are you alright?” you ask, a little panicked.

“Everything’s fine, Y/N, I’m just going to the bathroom,” Brian assures you. His voice is a little rough, and you can’t tell if it’s from sleep or the scene, but his eyes are clear and the smile he gives you is genuine. He doesn’t look distressed, and frankly he seems more composed than he has after some scenes you’ve done in the past, which helps calm you down.

“Sorry,” you say with a small, nervous laugh. “You just went under hard, and I was worried.”

“I know, but I’m alright now,” Brian says. He leans down to give you a quick kiss, and you watch as he leaves the room. He’s unsteady on his feet, but that’s to be expected, and you can’t see any bruising on his torso. All things considered, he’s doing a lot better than you were expecting.

That makes a little more sense when you glance at the clock, and see that several hours have passed since you and Brian fell asleep. You knew that this would take up most of the day, so you’re not entirely surprised to see that it’s nearing dinner, but that does mean that you need to actually get up and you’re not looking forward to that.

You stand up with a small groan and stretch out, feeling your joints pop, and you busy yourself with hanging the corset back up, getting dressed, and tidying the room a bit. When Brian returns you have pajamas pulled out for him already, and he gives you a kiss on the cheek in thanks before getting dressed.

“How are you feeling?” you ask. “If you can talk about it, that is.”

Brian shrugs. “A little low, a little sore, but not too bad. I don’t, ah-” He scrubs a hand over his face, struggling to find the right words. You give him a moment to collect himself and he finally says, “Can we pick it apart tomorrow?”

You know he means that he’s not up for a detailed discussion of everything that was good and bad about the scene, but you still want to check in a little more than that. “Can I ask one question?” Brian makes a small face, but nods. “Was it good?”

That startles a laugh out of him. “Y/N- Yes, god, it was good. It was perfect, it was everything I wanted, it was-” He huffs and shakes his head. “Yes. You don’t have to worry about that.”

“Good. I’m glad,” you say, and you mean it, whole-heartedly.

“Can I ask you one quesiton now?” Brian asks. You nod and he grins, bright and happy, and asks, “Can we do that again?”

You laugh, and wrap your arms around Brian. He sighs and relaxes against you, and you turn your head to gently kiss his cheek. “Of course we can, you silly,” you tell him. “We spent enough money on that thing, we might as well make good use of it.”

“Good,” Brian murmurs. “Because I really did like that. A lot.”

You bite back a few teasing comments you could make, because by Brian’s own admission he’s still dealing with a bit of subdrop, and that needs to be your focus now. You can joke around and talk more in-depth about it all later, but you have other plans for the rest of the evening and you ask, “Wanna order takeout and cuddle on the couch?”

“Yes please.”

He doesn’t seem to want to let go of you but he eventually pulls away with a sigh. You take his hand, lacing your fingers in with his, and offer him an easy smile. Your usual post-scene routines have all gone out the window with this one, but you still know what he needs in moments like this. Offering him a gentle touch is the simplest thing in the world for you and as easy as…

Well.

As easy as breathing.

———————————

Additional Notes:

First, a disclaimer: I know about corsets, and I know about breathplay, but I don’t have hands-on experience using corsets in kink. The smut parts of this fic have some assumptions made about how a scene would play out, but the rest of the information in the fic is fairly accurate at least with regards to my own corsetry experiences. And as with all forms of breathplay, please make sure that you know what you’re doing before trying anything out!

As for the corset details… Inflation calculators tell me that £30 in 1979 is equal to about £150 today (or $200 USD), and £50 in 1979 is roughly £250/$300 today. Average prices for bespoke corsets range from $200-500 USD today, so all things considered Brian’s is fairly middle-of-the-road.

All corset information is based on what’s common today, because I didn’t feel like researching corsets in the 70s/80s. I know they weren’t very popular back then, outside of niche communities, but I’m assuming it still would have been possible to find a corsetmaker. The shop in this fic is entirely made-up. Lottie’s passing comment about male celebrities wearing corsets is based on an apocryphal story of William Shatner wearing one while filming Star Trek.

Breaking in the corset (or “seasoning” it, as it’s usually called) is a very important part of buying a new corset. Seasoning it allows the corset to form to your body and helps prevent damage to the corset (or to yourself!). Different vendors will have different recommendations for how to approach this. The 2-2-2 method described here was chosen mostly because it’s the only one I felt was feasible the timeframe of events.

Finally, self-lacing is very much possible with both modern and historical corsets, despite what Hollywood would have you believe. Brian’s corset is laced with the “bunny ears” method, which laces towards the middle rather than the top or bottom. This video does a good job of showing how this works.

———————————

Taglist: @jackolynsparrow​ @hammer-2-fall​ @brianssixpence​ @tenderbri​ @doctorqueensanatomy​ @spacedustmazzello​

[thesouthernpansy]

sacred geometry (3/?)

stanford pines/bill cipher chapter 3/? 

ford arrived at backupsmore university ready to put his head down and get lost in his classwork. his new roommate seemed to have come prepared to haul him back out, again.

that, and eat uncooked blocks of ramen.

somehow, that isn't even the weirdest thing happening on campus, and the prospect of strange new mysteries and stranger new friends has ford feeling almost glad to be here.

it's a college au, let's crack some books

read on ao3

For months, now, Ford has been chasing stories, anecdotes from friends of classmates and acquaintances about unexplained lights, disembodied voices, unidentified creatures prowling the quad in broad daylight. He's met with anyone and everyone willing to share their accounts with him—some witnesses have been more hesitant than others, but no one can say Ford has been anything less than persistent. What they can, and have, said has begun to earn him something of a reputation among the student body, though even that has had its uses. Those touched by this nebulous weirdness have begun seeking Ford out deliberately; many of his more close-minded and incurious peers, conversely, have begun deliberately avoiding him.

Both have saved Ford a great deal of time and effort, in their ways.

There's a map that Ford has kept on his person constantly since it was given to him brand new during orientation, now perilously soft where he's folded and unfolded it so many times. It's plotted extensively with numbered red circles, each with their own corresponding entry in Ford's journal, all grouped sparsely along one of three precise, hand-drawn lines. Where the lines intersect they form a perfect equilateral triangle, connecting the building that houses the financial aid department to the Beta Delta Theta fraternity house to the Warbleheim Concert Hall and back again. The shape is clustered so densely with red circles they can barely be distinguished from one another.

“I've been observing the area exhaustively, and all the data I've been able to gather suggests not only that all the supernatural phenomena reported at Backupsmore has a substantial basis in reality, but that the vast majority of it originates in this spot specifically.”

Bill blinks. “I thought we were talking about ley lines.”

“We are!” Ford catches the excited crack in his voice too late to stop it. He clears his throat as discreetly as he can as he turns the map back towards Bill. He taps again at the red triangle, the geographic heart of Backupsmore's crowded campus, and the lines that form it. “These denote the perimeter of the phenomena's epicenter, and they correspond precisely with the mapped ley lines in the area. For all practical purposes, they're the same lines!”

Bill hmms thoughtfully. “A confluence of mysterious and powerful energies at ol' Backupsmore, huh? No wonder so much weird stuff happens around here.”

“Exactly.” Something surges in Ford's stomach, buzzes through his chest and out to the tips of his fingers. Bill gets it.

Gathering the journal from Ford's hands, Bill spins on his heel to glance down at the grid paper carpet still adorning the floor. He looks between it and the equations he's holding several times before waving towards the observatory's open ceiling, mouth slanted sideways.

“So you're, what, trying to figure out if the ley lines are a gemini?”

Astrology. Ford rolls his eyes; some of his beliefs may be unconventional, but they're all backed by known science. Mostly.

“More like keeping track of the correlation between unexplained activity and significant celestial positioning.”

“And?” prompts Bill.

“So far, the data is inconclusive at best,” Ford admits. “But I still believe it's worth recording.”

“Sure, sure,” says Bill, “What's with all this, though?”

Tucking Ford's journal under his arm, Bill twirls a hand over a spot on Ford's star chart where Ford went through the trouble of connecting the stars in Capricornus, one of dozens of constellations that have all received the same attention.

“Let me guess, it's 'a helpful shorthand method for identifying sectors of the sky'?” he asks in a tenor that Ford recognizes, rankled, as an incredibly accurate impression of his own.

“They're not—” Every vector and sector and quadrant of the star chart is clearly, painstakingly, and obviously labeled, which makes it difficult to argue that the additional factor of the constellations doesn't clog it up, make it harder to understand. Still, they're not unhelpful, not for Ford, but to say that would be to admit the full, uncomfortable truth that he's allowed sentiment to infiltrate his otherwise scientifically pristine proceedings.

He settles for “It's complicated.”

“Now we're getting somewhere! What am I sensing here, an old betrayal? A deep, cosmos-related wound?”

“Bill—”

“Who hurt you, Fordsy, what fault did they leave in your stars?”

Bill swoons dramatically against Ford's arm, and the sudden urge to laugh gets tangled with the hook of rising anger in Ford's chest.

“You can't just assume—” he falters, feeling Bill shift to look up at him. What is he even talking about, surely they're both wondering it, now. Can't just assume that he knows Ford, that he can read what and why and how like even Ford's most private and embarrassing motivations are a simple study of reacting atoms; can't assume that Ford wants him to know, wants him to understand, wants him constantly hanging off Ford like Ford's invited the physical contact or even permitted it.

Ford screws his eyes shut, inhales sharply and scrubs a hand under his glasses. He feels the loss of heat when Bill moves away.

“That bad?”

“I know them well, that's all. The constellations were my, my gateway to the rest of the universe, I suppose. I've known them like the back of my hand since I was a kid. The whole back of my hand,” he adds, almost conciliatory. “They were meant to be of a more practical use, eventually.”

“Little Fordsy, still thinking big?”

“I thought so,” replies Ford wryly. “We were going to use them for navigational purposes.”

“We?”

Panic churns briefly through Ford's stomach. He should've anticipated this possibility; he has the barest scraping of experience keeping secrets from anyone who isn't his parents, which is really such a dramatic connection to make, he thinks. It isn't as though he's intentionally been keeping Stan a secret. Still it's reluctant and strangely, fleetingly guilty when he can finally get the words out.

“My, ah, my brother and I. We found this dinghy one summer when we were...who can remember, now, but we spent the season patching it up and making plans about traveling the vast oceans, seeing the world and solving mysteries, exploring the unexplored.”

Ford glances sideways at Bill self-consciously. No one else at Backupsmore knows that Ford has a brother, not even Fiddleford, and honestly Ford has preferred it that way. Every part of their lives was shared until Ford left, no inch even of his impossible childhood dreams left to Ford alone, and if it had been up to Stan that's how it would've stayed.

Somehow, the Stan O'War remains an island in the mess it all came to, surrounded and yet untouched by the anger and resentment Ford's twin precipitates in him. A simpler time, when the whole world was still open to him and he knew with his fierce child's certainty that it he would one day make his mark on it.

Ford sighs heavily. “We were going to find Atlantis,” he says.

“Ugh, Plato again.”

This time, Ford does laugh. Bill curls long fingers around his wrist.

“Aw, look who's got a warm, gooey center underneath all those big brains. You're the full package!”

“Don't mock me,” says Ford.

“I'm not mocking you,” insists Bill. “I'm teasing you. There's a big difference.”

From the corner of his eye, Ford can see Bill's head angled to meet his gaze. He looks down at his hands, instead.

“Where's your brother now?” Bill asks.

“Who knows,” says Ford, venom in his voice. “He was one a one-way street to nowhere the last time I saw him. As far as I'm concerned, that's where he belongs.”

“Sounds like there's a story there,” notes Bill.

“No story that's worth telling. Let it suffice to say that it's his fault I'm wasting my talents in this sad excuse for a school instead of at West Coast Tech, where someone of my intellect and ability ought to be. No offense,” he adds quickly, remembering.

“None taken! I'm here because I want to be.”

Ford's attention snags on this detail. “Really?”

“I know, I know, my intellect and abilities are atrophied and depressed, it's very tragic. Hey—“ Bill points up through the observatory roof at the familiar axis of The Big Dipper. “Tell me about that one, Starman.”

Ford wrinkles his nose at the new nickname. “What about it?”

“Anything! Everything, all the news that's fit to print.”

“Something tells me you already know anything I could tell you.”

“Sure, but I want to hear it from you. What's that one?”

“Which one?” Ford squints to catch the pattern in the cluster of stars Bill indicates without success.

“That one, right there. It's a perfect triangle, look—those three, right next to that reddish one.”

“There's no constellation there,” says Ford.

“That you know of,” says Bill cryptically.

“Because you're making it up right now?” asks Ford, charmed despite himself.

Bill grins, tightens his grip on Ford's wrist just a fraction, his thumb pressed against the soft curve Ford's pulse.

“Humor me,” he entreats. “What's it called?”

Ford knows a vast amount about the heavens, their movements, configurations, and effects, their secrecies and the awe they open up inside him—suddenly, ridiculously, none of it seems like enough. Certainly none of it helps him floundering to find a satisfying answer against the nervous, noisy background radiation of his own heartbeat, of which he is currently all too aware.

“Uh,” he offers lamely. “William?”

"...William?" Bill seems genuinely thrown by the suggestion.

Heat creeps up the back of Ford's neck. "Bill isn't short for William?"

A beat of silence, and then Bill laughs, harsh and loud and bright. “Ha! Well played, Fordsy, nice try. I said it's a nickname, I didn't say it's an abbreviation."

“I see,” says Ford carefully, but his looming humiliation has no time to set in; Bill snaps Ford's journal shut and gestures towards him with the spine.

“What do you know about Lemuria?”he asks. The expression Ford makes in response must be telling. “The Polarians? The Hyperboreans? The lost civilization of Mu?”

“Is this more Plato?” asks Ford.

In response, Bill chucks the journal at him, but he's grinning all the same. “Getting fresh on me! Okay. If you chicken-and-egged the room you'd know that Lemuria came before Atlantis, thank you very much. Those water-logged chumps sank Lemuria like the bag of crystals it was, but you know how it is—a whole bunch of the Lemurian citizens escaped to the far corners of your primitive earth and taught the wide and varied indigenous peoples how to make calenders and build the pyramids and all that mystic stuff. Or maybe they were aliens, were the pyramids aliens?”

If he rolled his eyes any harder, Ford thinks, he would probably sprain something.

“What,” says Bill, “you don't believe in extradimensional intelligence?”

“Of course I do,” snaps Ford. “I also think it's disrespectful to assume our ancestors needed aliens to figure out that a pyramid is the best shape to build for structural impact and endurance.”

Bill beams at him. “When are you done with classes tomorrow?”

“I—what? Why?”

“We haven't had a game in a while. I'd say we're past due for a rematch, wouldn't you? Or we could skip to the inevitable and you could just treat me to pizza.”

Chess, Ford realizes. Bill is talking about chess.

“A rematch,” he says slowly. “You know, I have been practicing.”

“That so?”

“I think I could beat you this time,” Ford tells him. He and Fiddleford have been playing nearly every morning before ecological statistics, and it diminishes the difficultly of Fiddleford as an opponent not at all to acknowledge that the lion's share of the victories have gone to Ford.

Bill tugs at Ford's tie, mussing it before he tightens and straightens and smooths it neatly along Ford's chest.

“We'll have to see about that then, won't we?” He pauses to adjust his sunglasses. “I take it you know where the concert hall is, so meet me there, five o'clock sharp.”

“Are you a music major?” tries Ford.

“Hmmm, getting warmer,” Bill tells him.

“You play an instrument,” Ford guesses.

Shrugging, Bill responds, “I've been known to tickle an ivory or two in my day. Maybe if you're good I'll play for you sometime. You like Vera Lynn?”

“Yes, actually,” says Ford. Something stirs in the pit of his chest.

Bill taps his chest, once, twice, fingers lingering this time.

“It's a date.”

[justsomewritingblogg]

Avatar: TLA  (Part 16 of many)

Request:  None

Requested By:  Nobody

Pairing:  Zuko x reader

Summary:  Avatar Day

Warnings:  Methods of death mentioned.

A/N:  I’m not a huge fan of this episode, but…..here we go.

Word Count:  3K+

  A rumble stirred you from your sleep.  You sat up in your sleeping bag, just as four rhino creatures, with firenation riders atop them, emerged from the woods and began circling your group.

“Give up!  You’re completely surrounded!”  The leader yelled.  A couple archers shot fire-tipped arrows at Sokka sleeping bag just as he crawled out.

“Come on, come on, come on!!”  He shouted, running for Appa.

“My scrolls!”  Katara complained.

“My staff!”  Aang added.  They both ran off, collecting their items.

“Guys, come on!”  You shouted, now fully awake.  They ran back, jumping into the saddle.  “Yip, yip!”  You told Appa.  He flew into the air, but one of the men shot fire, forcing Aang, Katara and Sokka to duck.

“Wait!  My boomerang!”  Sokka shouted.

“There’s no time!”  Katara informed.

“Oh, I see.  So there’s time to get your scroll, and time to get his staff, but no time to get my boomerang!?”  He complained.

“That’s correct!”  She replied.  You flew Appa higher, into the clouds, so that you were out of sight.  You flew for a little while, making sure that the attackers were gone, before coming back down and spotting a town.  You landed Appa, sliding off and walking to the market.

“Sorry about your boomerang, Sokka.”  You heard Aang tell Sokka.  Sokka was currently sitting on the ground, hugging his knees to his chest.

“I feel like I’ve lost part of my identity.”  Sokka confessed.  He stood.  “Imagine if you lost your arrow.”  He told Aang, lifting the hat off his head.  “Or if Katara lost her….hair loopies.”  He gestured.  “Or if Y/n lost her bracelet.”  Your hand instinctively went to your wrist as Katara hugged her brother, trying to comfort him.

“Here’s your produce, ponytail guy.”  The man at the market said before disappearing inside his shop.  Sokka took the basket and frowned.

“I used to be ‘boomerang guy’.”  He muttered, walking away.  Katara paid a man, while you watched Sokka leave.

“Hey!  Watertribe money!”  The man exclaimed.

“I hope that’s okay.”  Katara told him.

“So long as it’s money!  Have a nice Avatar day.”

“Avatar day?”  Aang asked, excitement written on his features.

“You guys are going to the festival, right?”  The man asked, turning around to face you.  You all exchanged looks, before following the man further into town.

“There’s a holiday for the Avatar.”  Aang noted.  “Who knew?”

“Look!  They made a giant Kyoshi float!”  Katara informed, pointing behind you.  You all ran closer.

“And here comes Avatar Roku.”  Sokka noted, pointing as well.  He seemed to be in better spirits.

“Having a huge festival in your honor is great, but frankly, it’s just nice to be appreciated.”  Aang confessed.

“And it’s nice to appreciate their deep-fried festival food.”  Sokka informed, taking a bite of something.  You smirked at him, until Katara said something that drew your attention.

“Aang, look!”  She said.

“That’s the biggest me I’ve ever seen.”  Aang admitted.

“Makes sense.”  You muttered.  A man suddenly ran towards the statues, carrying a torch.

“Now a torch!  That’s a nice prop!”  Sokka noted.  “It’s bright, dangerous, and smells manly.”

You raised an unconvinced eyebrow at him.

“Hey, what’s that guy doing?”  Katara asked, pointing.  The man with the torch ran at the statue of Kyoshi, jumping through the material it was made of, setting it on fire.  He set Roku and Aang’s figures on fire as well.

“Down with the Avatar!  Down with the Avatar!”  Everyone chanted.  Your mouth dropped open in shock.  Your arms fell to your sides.

“What?”  You muttered quietly.  The man threw the torch into Aang’s figure’s eye.  Aang winced.  Katara rushed forward, putting out the fires.

“That party pooper is ruining Avatar day!”  A man shouted.  Aang frowned.  You eyed him wearily.  He jumped, landing on his figure’s shoulder, taking off his hat.

“That party pooper is my friend!”  He declared.  You face-palmed.

“We’re doomed.”

“It’s the Avatar, himself!!”  A man shouted.

“He’s going to kill us with his awesome Avatar powers!”  Shouted another.  Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to them.

“What?”  You muttered quietly.

“No, I’m not.  I-” Aang started, raising his hand.  A man panicked, and jumped into the crowd, hiding.  Aang looked at his hand, placing it behind his back.

“I suggest you leave!  You’re not welcome here, Avatar.”  The man from before informed.

“Why not?”  Katara asked.  “Aang helps people.”

“It’s true.”  Aang assured, floating down.  “I’m on your side.”

“I find that hard to swallow, considering what you did to us in your past life!”  The man admitted.  “It was Avatar Kyoshi!  She murdered our glorious leader, Chin the great.”

“You think that I murdered someone?”  Aang asked softly.

“We used to be a great society before you killed our leader.”  A different, elderly man spoke up.

“Aang would never do something like that.  No Avatar would!”  Katara defended.  “And it’s not fair for you all to question his honor!”

“It was in a different life!  It’s not his fault.”  You voiced.

“Give me a chance to clear my name!”  Aang pleaded.

“The only way to prove your innocence is to stand trial.”  The man informed.

“I’ll gladly stand trial.”  Aang answered.

“You’ll have to follow all our rules.  That includes paying bail.”

“No problem.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“How was I supposed to know they wouldn’t take watertribe money?”  Aang asked.  You sighed, rubbing at your temples as you paces back and forth in front of Aang’s cell.

“So, some people don’t like you, big deal.”  Sokka told him.

“You can’t make everyone happy.”  You added.

“There’s a whole nation of firebenders that hate you.”  Sokka continued.  “Now let’s bust you out of here.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure ya can!  A little, whoosh!  Swish, swish, swish!  Airbending slice!”  Sokka exclaimed.  “And we’re on our way.”

“I think what master swish is trying to say, is that you’re supposed to be out saving the world.  You can’t do that locked up in here.”

“I can’t do that with people thinking I’m a murderer, either.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, it’s one bloody island.”  You grumbled, rolling your eyes.  “We don’t have time for this.”

Aang was silent for a few moments.  “I need you guys to help prove my innocence.”

“How are we gonna do that?”  Sokka asked.  “The crime happened over three-hundred years ago.”

“That’s okay, Sokka.  For some reason, I thought you were an expert detective.”  Aang told him.

“Well, I guess I could be classified as such.”  Sokka replied.  You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah!”  Katara agreed.  She placed her hand on her brother’s shoulder.  “Back home, he was famous for solving the case of the missing seal jerky.”

“Everyone wanted to blame it on the polar-leopard, but I figured out it was old man Jarko, wearing polar-leopard boots.”  Sokka added.  “See, a real eight-hundred pound polar-leopard would have left much deeper tracks.  Okay, I guess I am pretty good.”

“You said all of that in one breath?”  You asked.

“So, you’ll help me with my case?”  Aang questioned.  Sokka thought for a moment.

“Fine.  But I’m gonna need some new props.”  He determined before walking out.  He returned a little bit later, a hat on his head with an attached monocle.  Katara chuckled, and Sokka extended the monocle, looking at her through it.  “What?”  He asked.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“This is the crime scene.”  The man told Sokka.  You and Katara tagged along, seeing if you could be of any assistance.  Sokka scurried around, looking things over.  “This is the footprint of the killer, Kyoshi.”  Sokka leaned over, examining the footprint.  “It was at sunset.  Three-hundred and seventy years ago, today, that she emerged from the temple, and struck down Chin the Great.  After that tragic day, we built this statue to immortalize our great leader.  Feel free to appreciate it.”  He finished, walking away.  You raised an eyebrow at him as Sokka rushed forward, examining the statue.  He stood for a second or two, before running off.

“This temple and the statue were cut from the same stone, and we know that the statue was built after Chin died.”

“So, if they were built at the same time, that means-”

“SHH!  I wanna solve it!!”  Sokka cut his sister off, glaring at her.  He stepped around her, pointing.  “That means Kyoshi never set foot in this temple.”

“That’s a big hole in the mayor’s story, but it’s not enough to prove Aang’s innocence.”

“You’re right.”  He pulled out a long object, and started blowing bubbles out of it like a pipe.  “We need to go to Kyoshi Island.”

“Where’d you get that?”  Katara asked.

“What’s Kyoshi Island?”  You asked, very lost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Appa flew into town, a bell signaling your arrival.  You gazed at the large statue of Kyoshi, thinking that this situation was a little ironic.  One island that loves Kyoshi, and has a statue of her, the other hates her, and has a statue of their fallen leader.

You turned, hearing shouts, and saw a bunch of people dressed in blue run to greet the group.  A man near the front foamed at the mouth, passing out.  Your eyes shot open in concern.

“Where’s Aangie?”  A girl voiced, stomping.  You almost gagged.

“He couldn’t be here, Coco.”  Katara informed.  Everyone groaned, walking away.  Well, almost everyone.  One man remained.  You cocked an eyebrow.  “Oyaji, Aang is in jail.”  Katara explained.  “The town of Chin says that he murdered their leader in a past life.”

“They say it was Kyoshi.”  Sokka added, holding his pipe.

“Kyoshi!?  That’s crazy talk!”  The man, Oyaji, voiced.  “I’ll take you to her shrine.  Maybe something there will help you clear her name.”

Oyaji led you all through town, past several houses.  Sokka jogged, catching up.  “So, uh.  What’s Suki up to?”  He asked.  “Is she around?”

“Actually, she and the other warriors left to fight in the war.  You kids left a big impact on Suki.  She said you inspired her, and she wanted to help change the world.”

“Oh.  Well, that’s great.”  Sokka voiced, though he sounded upset.

“Who’s Suki?”  You asked, eyebrows knitted together.

“I’ll explain later.”  Katara assured.

“This temple was converted into a shrine to Kyoshi.”  Oyaji informed.  “The clerics tell us these relics are still connected to her spirit.  That’s her kimono.”  He told Katara, who was looking at it.

“She had exquisite taste.”  Katara noted.

“Please don’t touch!”

“These fans….these were her weapons, no?”  Sokka asked, picking one up and examining it.

“Also refrain from touching the fans.”  Oyaji pleaded.

“These were her boots?  Her feet must have been enorm-” You cut yourself off, coming to a realization. 

“The biggest of any Avatar.”  Oyaji informed with pride.

“Wait a minute.  Big feet?  Little footprints?  There’s no way-” Katara was cut off again by her brother, who cleared his throat.

“Special outfit, hat and pipe.  Do these things mean anything to you?”  Sokka asked.

“You’re right.  I’m sorry.  Please, continue.”  Katara told him, stepping back.

“There’s no way Kyoshi could have made that footprint.  And therefore, there is nothing linking her to the crime scene.”  Sokka said.  Katara crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

“Brilliant, Sokka.”

Oyaji led Sokka to a painting.  “This piece is called ‘The Birth of Kyoshi’.  It was painted at sunrise on the day this island was founded.  Why, it was today, in fact.  Three-hundred and seventy years ago.”

Sokka made a noise.  “Wait, three-hundred and seventy years ago?!  Are you sure it was today?”

“Well, seeing how it’s Kyoshi day, yes, I’m sure.”

“This ceremony didn’t take place at sunrise.”  Sokka noted upon further inspection.  “It took place at sunset.  Look at the shadows.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.  “Wow.  I didn’t think you were that observant.”  You told him.  Sokka shrugged.

“I try.”

“They point east, so the sun must have been in the west.”  Katara pointed out.

“So what?”

Sokka pushed his sister out of the way before she could answer.  “So if Kyoshi was at the ceremony at sunset, she couldn’t have been in Chin, committing the crime.  She has an alibi.”

“Let’s head back with the news.”  You suggested.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Honorable mayor, we’ve prepared a solid defense for the Avatar.”  Katara started.  You were back in front of Aang’s cell, though this time with the mayor.  And a case.  “We did an investigation and found some very strong evidence.”

“Evidence?”  The mayor laughed.  “That’s not how our court system works.”

“Enlighten us.”  You challenged, crossing your arms.

“Simple.  I say what happened, then he says what happened, and then I decide who’s right.  That’s why we call it justice.  Because it’s just us.”  He laughed again, walking away.

“That is bogus!”  You yelled after him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Everyone loved Chin the Great because he was so great.  Then the Avatar showed up and killed him!  That’s how it happened.”  The mayor stated, walking away with a large grin on his face.  You fumed.

“I can’t believe this.”  You muttered, sinking further into your seat.

“The accused will now present its argument.”  A man said, backing away.

“You can do it, Aang.  Just remember the evidence.”  Sokka directed.

“Right.  Evidence.  Ladies and gentlemen!  I’m about to tell you what really happened!  And I will prove it with facts.  Fact number one!  Uh.”

“The footprints.”  Sokka whispered.

“Oh, yeah.  You see, I have very large feet.”  Aang said lamely.  He pointed down, at his small feet.  You face-palmed.  “Furthermore, your temple matched your statue.”

“Aang, you’re defending your case, not complimenting their architecture.”  You mumbled, running your hand through your hair.

“But, I was in a painting at sunset.  So, there you have it!  I’m not guilty!”

Sokka and Katara both had worried grins on their faces, but tried to be supportive of him.  “He’s dead.”  Sokka spoke quietly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Mayor Tong!  I’d like for the court to hear one last testimony.”  Katara informed.  Recess had just finished.

“I have already told you!  It is just me and the accused!  You can’t call any witnesses!”

“This isn’t just any witness.  I’m going to call…….Avatar Kyoshi, herself!”

Murmurs formed in the crowd.  The man stepped aside revealing Kyoshi.  Or rather, Aang in makeup, and in Kyoshi’s large clothes.  Your eyes shut.  This wasn’t going to go well.

“What are you doing?”  Sokka whispered to his sister once she returned to her seat.

“Well, she is Aang’s past life.  Maybe wearing her stuff with trigger something.”

“I do believe in the power of stuff.”  Sokka agreed, pulling out the extendable monocle.  The mayor stood.

“This is a mockery of Chin law!”

“Please!  If you could just wait one more second!  I’m sure Kyoshi will be here!”  Katara pleaded.

“Hey, everybody!  Avatar Kyoshi, here!”  Aang spoke in a high-pitched tone.  You fought the urge to scream.

“This is ridiculous.”  The mayor noted, walking towards Aang.

“Now on that, we agree.”  You mumbled.

“For the murder of Chin the Great, this court finds the Avatar-” He didn’t get to finish.  Aang was consumed by a tornado, and everything grew dark.  You squinted against the wind, just in time to see the tornado disappear, revealing Avatar Kyoshi.  For real, this time.  She stood taller than the mayor, and perhaps anyone you’d ever seen.  Your mouth dropped open in shock.

“I killed Chin the Conqueror.”  She spoke.  Her voice was powerful and strong.  “A horrible tyrant, Chin was expanding his army to all corners of the continent.  “When they came to the neck of the peninsula, where we lived, he demanded our immediate surrender.  I warned him that I would not sit passively while they took our home.  But he did not back down.  On that day, we split from the main land.  I created Kyoshi Island so our people could be safe from invaders.”  She bowed her head, the tornado returning, and the world brightening up again.  Aang was left in her place.

You and Katara ran over to him.

“So, what just happened?”  He asked.

“I have a new favorite Avatar.”  You informed.  Katara glared at you before returning her attention to Aang.

“Uh, you kinda confessed.  Sorry.”

The mayor stood.  “And I find you guilty!  Bring out the wheel of punishment!”

You sighed.  “Yeah, that’s fair.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The accused will now spin the wheel of punishment to determine his sentence.”

There were many horrible things on the board.  Laying on a bed of needles.  Eaten by a shark.  Mauled by a bear.  Burned alive.  That kind of stuff.

“I said I would face justice.  So I will.”  Aang spoke, walking towards the wheel.  He gave it a spin, and one of the men in the crowd spoke up.

“Come on, torture machine!”

“Eaten by bears!”  Shouted another.

“Razor pit!”

“Community service!”  Katara hoped.  “Please stop on community service!”

The wheel slowed to a stop.

“Looks like it’s boiled in oil.”  The man said.  The crowd cheered.  You groaned.

“We were so close!”  You gestured at the wheel, revealing community service was next.  Suddenly a bomb flew in, exploding.  You turned around, seeing the same men on rhinos that attacked you earlier.

“We’ve come to claim this village for the Firelord!”  The leader announced.  “Now, show me your leader!  So I may-” He cut himself off, giving one of his troops a signal.  The cut the statue of Chin, destroying it.

“Good riddance.”  You muttered.

“-dethrone him.”  He finished.

“That’s him, over there!”  A man shouted, pointing towards the mayor and Aang.  The mayor hid behind the wheel.

“You, Avatar, do something!”

“Gee, I’d love to help, but I’m supposed to be boiled in oil.”  He replied.  You grinned.

“There, community service.”  The mayor said, turning the wheel.  “Now serve our community and get rid of those rhinos!”

Aang smiled, rushing forward and jumping out of the outfit.  You grabbed everything he had so carelessly kicked off.  Aang, Katara and Sokka all took care of the intruders, while you trailed behind them, grabbing Kyoshi’s things.

“Guys!  Be careful!  These are antiques!”  You complained.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“From now on, we’ll celebrate a new Avatar Day!”  The mayor announced.  It was night, and everyone was in town, fireworks being set off into the sky.  “In honor of the day Avatar Aang saved us from the ruff rhino’s invasion!”

“What is this?”  Sokka asked, looking down at the bowl in his hands.

“That’s our new festival food.  Un-fried dough.  May we eat it, and be reminded of how on this day, was not boiled in oil.”

“That’s clever.”  You noted, looking down at the little un-cooked Aang shapes.

“Happy Avatar Day, everyone.”  Katara said, eating one of the ‘Aang’s’.

“This is by far the worst town we’ve ever been to.”  Sokka noted.  You nodded in agreement.

“You can say that again.”

A/n:  We get to meet Toph in the next one!

Tag List:  @pizzamelon7384, @rissa-doodles, @chewymoustachio, @book-nerd-and-a-fangirl, @exo-nova, @emo-plaidin, @dinoromp, @90skid018, @mack-n-size, @thenoblenomad, @importanttyrantruler, @poisonedinventor, @thepixelatedarcher, @hitsugayarose

[thefantasygirl3]

Sleep Deprived Regrets. Chapter 1: Nat

genre/warnings: Hurt/comfort, Healing, Light Implied a*use

Words: 2 940

Summary: Dr. Habit finds himself unable to sleep and feeling rather strange. Going for a midnight walk, he finds someone else is having a similar problem.

Notes: This is the first Chapter in a little series I’m trying to make. Not sure how many I’ll make, but I will try to do at least a few more. Enjoy this introduction chapter.

The Habitat, a place for people with frowns on their faces to come and live until they have found the power to smile again. There were currently twenty-three Habiticians living there, all of which not feeling any better, despite the infamous Dr. Habit’s methods to cure their sadness. He had made this facility into what it is for that exact purpose, yet no progress had been made in that direction. It had really riled up the supposed “smile doctor” and dentist.

That specific night, Boris Habit had been staring out over the Habitat from his high tower above, just watching the people below as they had been heading off towards their rooms. They did have a strict bedtime, so it wasn’t the wisest decision for anyone to disobey that. Who knows what Dr. Habit might do if they did?

Well, one person did, but they would not be living through that nightmare again.

The green-skinned man let out a deep sigh as he finished scanning the area and saw that no one was left roaming outside. Great! No one to worry about! Now he could head to bed himself and call it a day.

Habit pulled back the covers of his bed and shimmied his way into it. When he was settled in, he cuddled up in his bed and made himself all snuggled up and comfy. The he finally gave out a small yawn and closed his eyes, to drift off into slumberland.

…

It had been half an hour of shifting around and keeping his eyes tightly shut in an attempt to keep himself sleepy and ready to fall asleep. But try as he may, he just wasn’t doing it. The man stayed awake and not unconscious like he wanted. It felt so irritating, like a jittering in his body that was just getting stronger the more he tried to relax himself. His heart was beating rather hard and it made his limbs and head throb, like a damn headache.

“I CAN’T SLEEB!!!” he suddenly shot up and yelled out to no one while gripping his blanket in his long, claw like hands. It really bothered him that he couldn’t fall asleep at his own set “Beddy-time”. He was supposed to sleep! He couldn’t be awake still! Annoyed, the dentist got up from the bed and started pacing back and forth beside his bed, trying to figure out how to solve this huge problem.

Maybe Habit was just feeling restless! Yeah, it had been an uneventful day that day and maybe all he needed was to work off all that bundled up energy! “Y don’t I “go” out n’ walk around unteel I feel sleeby! No 1 is out rite now!” he told himself, as if he was trying to convince himself of it being a good idea. Though he wasn’t sure why he felt such a strong objection towards the idea to begin with.

He felt so conflicted. Habit wasn’t supposed to be awake. He was supposed to be ASLEEP in his BED! He was not supposed to be wandering around the habitat like some sort of lost puppy. But at the same time… that night felt off. The feeling was… just odd. He could compare it to something he’d feel when he’d get lost in a video game. Like when you explore around and stumble across an area that you were not supposed to go to yet. Or lingering around an area when you are supposed to continue forward to the next, so it feels like aimless running around with nothing happening. That was pretty much to a T his current experience.

As the man snapped himself back into reality, he was staring at his long sharp finger, placed firmly on the elevator’s down button that he was standing in. It closed and started descending.

It was dark inside the boiler room. Boris had hoped that walking out of that long, cramped, dark hallway through the large metal door at the end would lead him into a brighter area. He was obviously mistaken. Carefully, he closed the door behind him so he wouldn’t be causing a ruckus so late at night. Especially for the person sleeping inside the wall to the right of him at that moment. The green man could hear the wall hermit named Wallus snoring from the little hole in his so called “home.”

Sneaking by, Habit tried his best to avoid bumping into anything or stepping in the inexplicable acid pond. Yeeeaaah… he’d have to do something about that soon, before someone got hurt from it. He could barely see the shining outlines of the objects around him, garbage and pipes, illuminated by the dim light coming from the little window of the exclusive lounge area. But despite that, he accidentally kicked over a random can that rolled away noisily from his feet.

Habit hurriedly rushed out the boiler room and out into the corridor towards the main area. But on the way, he collided into some chains that were blocking the way. Looking at the curiously, he wondered over the reason for them, because he could have sworn he hadn’t been the one to put them there.

None the matter, the tall man sunk to the ground, on his hands and knees, and started crawling under those metal chains to reach the other end. And he soon did. Rising to his feet, he stared out over the courtyard and examining it as it was in the silver light of the moon, shining in through the carnival gates and the roof window.

It… looked so calm. Everything was so different from below, or at least not staring down at it from his high tower up above. It looked so big, as if he had gone from being his high and powerful self into but a tiny man in a big world. Habit felt so small. It was like being a kid again and he didn’t like it. He absolutely hated it. Being towered over by any of these things that were usually so far down reminded him of… him.

But the dentist was brought out of his intimidated little daze by a small splash coming from beneath him. He directed his attention towards the distraction and found himself standing in a puddle. A rather deep puddle at that. Damn, if he hadn’t fired his janitor, this thing wouldn’t be an issue. But it had at least brought the man out of his mindless wandering, so that was a plus at least. Now collected together again, he got out of the water, shaking off his wet shoes and continuing over towards the stairs.

Habit was excited, as well as scared of the idea of finding someone awake outside their rooms. He wasn’t sure why, of either of the options. If someone was outside, he could very much just tell them off and put them to bed himself, as well as put on one of his “bedtime stories” for them. Why would he be scared of them seeing him? And WHY on EARTH would he ever be EXCITED over meeting one of the Habiticians outside their room when they are supposed to be ASLEEP!? It was irresponsible and just didn’t make much sense in anyway for him to condone that kind of behaviour. He was a doctor after all. A smile doctor, sure, but a doctor nonetheless. 

Soon reaching the top of the stairs, Habit trudge tiredly into the apartment complex and reached out his fingers to grip onto the middle railing. Holding his breath, he stayed as quiet as he could to listen in on his surroundings, the only subtle sound heard to the man being his heavy, harsh but rather slow heartbeat. It appeared to him that no one was around him, no one out and about like himself, unable to snooze and trying in vain to get rid of that excessive energy. No one was awake for him to turn to and have question him on why he was up too. 

… god this lonely facility was killing him.

“Ugh! Damn it!” a muffled voice came ringing out from beyond the walls of the apartments. Startled, Habit yelped softly and stumble backwards away from the noise, the only thing preventing him from falling being his tight grip on the railing from that shock. So someone else WAS awake! What a relief! It shouldn’t be, but it really just was! Helping himself to his feet, the tall man stood up to his full tall height and started tip-toeing over towards the room he had heard the annoyed grumble from. Of course, being the owner of the facility, he knew exactly who had said it the moment he figured out what room it originated from.

“… Nat… Vancy…” he muttered quietly and swallowed a big lump of unease that had been growing in his throat that entire time. Not sure what he should do, he decided to take a moment and compose himself before making that decision and just listen in on the child to see if she might have a reason for being up.

“… this is so dumb. Why am I here? This place is creepy. It’s a miracle anyone can sleep in this place” the young lady was finally heard murmuring after a while of silence, making Boris Habit feel his heartbeat quicken in his chest. He really couldn’t understand why he was feeling such stress in that situation. HE was the owner, HE was their doctor and HE was the one who could call the shots! Why was he… suddenly not feeling that power? But despite his defenselessness, his hand slowly moved upwards and slowly closed into a fist, giving the door a knock.

“Huh?! What the-?! Who in the world is out there?!” He heard Nat question in complete surprise and confusion as the sound of bare footsteps against a carpeted floor could also be heard approaching. Before Habit could reconsider this potentially really stupid decision, the door opened and revealed the 13 year old girl, wearing a pair of pyjamas, just like the man himself. Upon seeing him, Nat’s eyes darted upwards towards his face and widened in additional shock. The two stood in silence and just stared at one another. The girl out of stunned confusion and the man from not knowing what to say. It was definitely awkward. But after a while of thinking in uncomfortable silence, the bigger man took in a deep breath and sighed out before speaking up.

“I… I’m s-sorry to… disturb you so late at night. I hurd u talking B4 about this place being creepy and that u… wern’t able to sleeb! Butt don’t woree! Habit is here 2 help!” he told the little girl in his usual cheery way of talking, kind of shaking off that anxiety that was filling him before and just acting like the regular ole Dr. Habit. The vampire kid gave him a slow scan up and down, considering his change into the Habit who she was used to. But she quickly shrugged it off and just started closing the door on him. 

Panicking, he hurriedly stuck his foot in the door to stop it while calling out a spooked “WAIT!”. Nat sighed and opened up the door again, looking up at his now nervous face that kind of caught her off guard. “… I… couldn’t sleep. I feel so restless. can I please come inside?” he now asked rather timidly as he lightly tapped his claw-like fingers together. She let out a small, thoughtful hum before simply opening her door to let him inside, mostly out of curiosity it seemed, judging by her expression.

Sitting on her bedside, Nat looked up at the man beside her and gave a judging grimace. “Soooo… how are things?” Habit asked as he twiddled his fingers, looking over at the kiddo. “Not good, obviously. Everything is lame and creepy!” she groaned and tilted backwards a little bit, crossing her arms in front of her chest with a displeased huff. He gave away a tiny sigh and shifted his gaze away from her and to the floor, only muttering a tiny “right” as he grasped his hands together. Nat looked at him in peaked curiosity and raised a brow, not sure what was going through his head as his eyes were fixated on the floor. He kinda just wanted her to elaborate on where the problem persisted, but just didn’t know how to tell her that. 

But it seemed she took note of it, as she let out a big sigh and just started talking again. “It’s just… My dad is being so annoying. I just came here because he was being all bummed out, but now he’s whining about me doing things I wanna do!” the half-vampire groaned and threw her leg over the other one to rest it there, while waving it lightly in the air. Habit gave away a small gasp and tilted over towards her, looking a little surprised at her statement. “Not Trencil! Oh no! What is he giving you a hard time for?” he asked concerned and looked down at her as she was on her back. “Well… Um… He’s complaining about me changing my last name! I have told him so many times that it’s just a stage name!” Nat started explaining as she crossed her arms and turned over to her side. “Also, he always wants me to play around with his stupid and lame flowers! It’s so boring and dull! He can’t ever just do something other than gardening! Ugh!” She continued ranting and shot up from her spot on the bed, looking over at Habit to get some sort of response. Maybe some sympathy? Maybe some sort of surprise over her situation?

She was met with the horrified face of the other person in the room, staring at her and tilting back away from her in shock. It made her get equally as surprised. “… um… ok? That’s… kind of cruel of you to say” Boris commented and glanced away from her, not really sure if he was saying the right thing when telling her about his personal thoughts. He really thought over what she said before trying to continue his own train of thought. “I mean… I guess it’s not really a surprise that he’s feeling down. I would be… pretty sad if someone I loved was calling my hobbies… stupid and lame!” he proceeded and nervously gestured around in the air with his hands, his pyjamas flopping on his arms from the stiff movements.

Nat started stuttering softly as she was slightly caught of guard by his… brutal honesty. He really wasn’t acting like himself. He was sounding rather… rational and serious. “… I guess… But I don’t wanna play with flowers! I wanna do my own thing! I wanna be cool! Do you even know what it feels like to try and be your own person?” she questioned annoyed and turned away from him. She let out a huff as she awaited another of his comments. But nothing came out of Dr. Habit. That made the vampire feel increasingly nervous as she slowly turned her head to look at him. 

His face was dark and mopey, his gaze locked with the floor as he was left completely speechless. Nat jerked her shoulders as she saw his sudden sadness, wondering what she had said wrong to prompt this reaction. Habit lifted his face up and looked more uncomfortable than he did sad, tapping his fingers together and slowly glancing around the room in an attempt to avoid any awkward eye contact. “Well… no. Not really! I… I kind just did what… Daddy told me to do. Ya know? I didn’t wanna make him mad” he started laughing and fidgeting uneasily, his awkward grin intensifying and his hands clenched together tighter. He could feel the vampire girl’s shocked eyes stare at him in stunned silence. He knew that he had just said something that had her way past surprised and he did not wanna see her face. “Dr. Habit… I didn’t mean to… you know…” Nat sounded rather regretful as she pulled back from him a bit, earning Boris’ attention and seizing his nervous fidgeting. Sighing, he decided to just suck it up and say what he had meant to say. 

“Listen, Nat. I… I really think you should speak to your dad. He’s a nice man, I know that for sure! If you just open up to him and explain yourself honestly, I am sure he will understand and try to work with you. He’s a very kind and smart vampire! If not a little… Non-talkey. Heh heh heh!” The dentist laughed softly as he stood up from the kid’s bed and rubbed his neck, backing up slowly towards the door while looking down at the thoughtful look of Nat Vancey. The one and only. “Listen. I should leave you so you can sleep. I will see you for check next week. Nighty-night!” he said as he hurriedly turned around and scurried out the room, starting to head down the hallway towards the stairs. But before he can run off too far, he hears a small “hey!” whispered from the door he just ran out of. Looking back, he sees the girl standing in the doorway, a small smile appearing between the few seconds that the man had hurried to leave.

“… Thank you” she whispered before pulling back inside and closing the door behind her. Habit looked surprised in her direction before giving away a tiny grin himself.

[rainoverthemountains]

So I wrote a Twist-story

I absolutely adore @itsladykit ‘s boy Twist from her Twistfell AU. Actually, I adore all of her boys from all of her AUs, so much so that I wanted to write a story about them. Unfortunately, the more I love a tough and cool character, the more I love hurt/comfort involving that character. Fortunately, Lady Kit is fantastic at providing that. Unfortunately, I wanted even more, and I was also sad that Twist is so hopeless about his LV problem, so this story came to mind. It sprang from Lady Kit’s story Bucket List (the AO3 version), so it makes more sense if you read that first (although if you’re considering reading this and haven’t already read Lady Kit’s stuff, what are you doing here? Go read her stories, she’s incredibly awesome).

I’m hesitant to write it because it seems strange to write hurt/comfort with someone else’s characters (ignoring the fact that all fanfiction uses someone else’s characters) but Lady Kit does like hurt/comfort and has stated that people are free to write in her worlds, and it doesn’t get into any subject that she has stated she wants to avoid, so I decided to give it a try. I also don’t know what I’m doing with writing a story and posting it to the internet, but we’ll see how it goes. Lady Kit please don’t hate me if you see this and don’t like it.  I’ll take it down or change it if you want. I’m sorry I’m awkward. 

So now I will post this and go hide.

Summary: There’s a cure for LV (probably). It’s completely safe (probably). It’s a highly unpleasant experience (definitely). Twist only cares about that first statement. He probably should have paid a little more attention to the other two. But what does it matter? He’s getting what he wants, and he has the best friends and family in any universe to help along the way.

Chapter 1

“Gah! What the hell is their problem? Don’t they realize what I have here?” Iggy snarls at the review panel’s response to her official report, slamming her bowl of ramen on the desk before sheepishly wiping up the noodles that spill over the side. After the sudden increase in funding from an anonymous donor, the LV reduction project has progressed beyond her wildest dreams. She’d honestly been losing hope just a few months ago, but access to any resources she can imagine has changed things. Well, access to resources and a little creative bending of surface laws on ethical treatment of research subjects. 

“Those damn laws,” she growls. She’d looked into them at the urging of her Taleverse counterparts, and, fine, maybe some of her methods are just a little bit illegal here. But those laws just don’t take into account the importance of her work! Following all of the required procedures could delay the project for years, maybe decades. Monsters don’t want to wait decades to get rid of LV, and that includes her research subjects. A few might have melted in the process, but that was only in the beginning and those monsters were too far gone into their LV to care anyway. Besides, that problem is long since solved. While her more recent subjects didn’t particularly enjoy the treatment, they all came out of it alive and with lower LV. They got what they wanted, however much they might have complained along the way. The point is, she’d created the impossible, a drug that can dissolve LV without dissolving the rest of the monster. 

“It doesn’t even do any permanent damage to the subject’s soul anymore! What can they possibly have to complain about now?” she mutters, reading further into the report.

“‘Promising, but requires further testing,’ my ass.” She’s done the testing. She’s shown that it works. The subject pool is a little limited, but the trends are consistent and easily extrapolated. Of course, ‘Extrapolation outside the range of available data is not sufficiently reliable to support approval for mass production,’ according to several reviewers. 

“Well, maybe they have a point there,” she allows. “A slight one.” Extrapolating from an LV of 9, the highest of her successful test subjects so far, to the full range of monsters who need the treatment might be going a little too far. 

“Well what am I supposed to do about it?” She throws up her hands in exasperation. They want all research participation to be voluntary, but they also want the treatment tested on high LV monsters. “Have they ever met a monster with high LV!?” Not exactly the most cooperative research subjects. Some of them might say they want to get rid of their LV, but just try sticking a needle in their soul and see how long they keep cooperating. An uncooperative high LV monster can cause a lot of trouble. She shudders. There’s no way she’s dealing with that again. Then there’s the subjective data. Monsters on the edge of losing their minds are terrible at answering questions about the experience during treatment, and the panel refuses to accept her results without some form of patient report.

Ugh. Those self-righteous assholes want to deny her brilliant, revolutionary cure to all of monster-kind on the basis of a few technicalities. She taps her claws against the desk, fuming. “There has to be a way around this.” If she can just find someone, anyone, with high LV who is reasonably sane and would be motivated enough or have little enough sense of self-preservation to be a cooperative research subject…

Oh. Well of course there’s Papyrus. Well, a Papyrus, the one from her universe. The crazy one who goes by Twist now. That bastard has been on the edge of losing it for years but has never quite tipped over the edge. She nearly had him a few years ago, back when she first started her work underground, but his brother talked him out of it. Undyne kept trying to convince the little fluff ball for her, but eventually they’d given up. But now… Things are different now. Not with the fluff ball, but if she can just go around the fluff ball…

Twist is losing his mind. Anyone even tangentially acquainted with that multi-universal pack of skeletons knows that. Anyone with any basic understanding of LV should know that. The fact that he’s kept it mostly together this long suggests a level of determination or attachment or stubbornness or something that most monsters don’t have. Maybe enough of it to actually go through with the treatment? And based on some of the stunts she’s heard of, a high sense of self-preservation won’t be a problem. So, highly motivated, unlikely to be scared away by any necessary unpleasantness, really not much to lose given the deadline he has to know he’s living under, and LV high enough that no one can say she’s extrapolating outside the range of her data. He’s perfect. Now she just has to get to him where no one else will have a chance to talk him out of it, at least until it’s too late to change his mind.

***

All that being said, it seems best to approach Twist at work, away from all the others. Undyne still keeps track of all possible troublemakers from their universe so it’s easy to find out where he works. That’s how she finds herself greeting a pair of skeletal legs sticking out from underneath a car.

“Twist? Is that you under the car?” she calls.

“Yep, I’m the only skeleton workin’ here so if yer talkin’ to a skeleton under a car it’s prob’ly me.” He rolls out from under the car and waves. “Hey, Iggy. Whatcha doin’ ‘round here? Havin’ car trouble? We’ll getcha fixed up in no time.”

“No, no car trouble. Actually, I have a proposal for you.”

“A proposal?” Twist teases with raised browbones, “well now ya got my interest. Does yer girl know ‘bout this proposal? I’m up fer anythin’, but I’m not so sure she is.”

“Not that kind of proposal!” Fellverse monsters shouldn’t blush this easily.

“What kind of proposal it is, then? Does everyone have ta be dressed, or is that negotiable?”

“It’s not that kind of proposal! Forget that I said the word proposal. It has nothing to do with a proposal. Can you please try to be serious for one minute?”

“Proposals can be very serious.” Iggy glares and Twist grins. “Fine, fine, what’s this not-proposal ya got fer me?”

“You know what I’ve been working on since Asriel’s coronation, don’t you?” Twist abruptly loses his teasing air.

“I do. Think I’ve told ya before that I’m not really in’erested in meltin’, though.”

“Oh, no, the research is way past that point. No one’s melted in months, well, I mean a little bit, but not melted, melted, and I’ve got that part worked out too. Actually, that’s what I came here to tell you. I’ve found a cure!” Twist’s jaw drops.

“What? Ya found… what?”

“A cure for LV! Money from a new major donor gave me access to equipment and materials that I never dreamed of, which let me break through a few major obstacles that had stumped me for years, and now the treatment is already in clinical trials and it works! It really works!” Twist stumbles against the car and decides to sit down before he falls down as his legs give out in shock.

“Are, are ya serious?” Iggy nods enthusiastically. “Yer not exaggeratin’, or brushin’ over some technicalities, or playin’ some sick practical joke ‘cause I swear if you are ya won’ leave this place alive, or…”

“No, no, no, none of that. It’s not an easy cure like ‘take a pill, then get all better right away’ easy, and like I said, it’s still in clinical trials so it’s not approved for the mass market yet, but it’s real and it works.”

“When can I have it?”

“Once it makes it through clinical trials it will have to be approved by a review board and the sovereigns, so whenever all that is done is when it will be available to the general public.” She’s got him. She’s definitely got him. Now is the time to reel him in.

“An’ when’ll that be?

“I don’t know. The real holdup is the clinical trials. I need to show that it’s safe and effective in monsters across the whole range of possible LV, and volunteers with high LV are hard to find. The highest I’ve had so far is 9.” Twist’s sockets narrow. He’s clearly caught on to what she’s doing.

“An’ I suppose ya came here today hopin’ ta find a volunteer.”

“Well, yes. I didn’t think you’d mind. It would give you access to the treatment months or even years earlier than you’d have it otherwise and I know LV is a particularly time-sensitive issue for you.” 

“Mhmm. Can’t deny ya’ve got a point there. An’ can ya guarantee I won’t melt?”

“Absolutely no melting. I’m not saying the treatment will be fun. It’s actually pretty painful and can go on for days, even weeks to get rid of as much LV as you have. You’ll probably want to come up with something to tell your friends and family unless you want them worrying about you the whole time. But won’t it be worth it to come home free of LV and having paved the way for everyone else to be free of LV too?”

“So that’s the whole story, huh? I come with you, get this ‘treatment,’ be miserable for a few weeks an’ then I‘m cured? Why do I suspect yer leavin’ somethin’ out?”

“I’m really not. I mean, I haven’t explained every detail, but I will if you come back to the lab with me. I’ll explain the whole process and you can back out at any time before we start, but I know you’re not going to want to because I know you want this. Come on, do you really want to wait around until you hurt someone or lose your mind? I’ve worked with plenty of monsters who lost themselves to their LV-”

“An’ melted quite a few of ‘em.”

“-and that’s not something you want to go through, or put your little brother through. I know you two are close. Just imagine what it would be like for him if one day you attack him, or if he finds out you just went crazy one day and you’re never coming back, or if you kill yourself to keep that from happening.”

“Ok, yes, I get it! I don’ need ta hear it, I already know all that shit!”

“Now imagine coming home to him and telling him truthfully that none of that is ever going to happen, that all of your LV is gone and you can live the rest of your lives without ever worrying about it again. Imagine the same for your friends, each of them losing the LV that’s been weighing on them or their loved ones for years. Imagine what it’ll do for monster-human relations when humans can no longer point to high LV monsters to prove that all monsters are dangerous and shouldn’t have any rights. Imagine-”

“That’s enough! Ya think I don’ know what gettin’ rid of LV would mean? Think I don’ think about it every fuckin’ day?”

“I know you do. That’s why I know you want this. If you want to eliminate LV, and I know you do, then come help me get rid of it. We have the power to do something completely, unequivocally good, here. Just come to my lab and we can do it. We can do it today!”

“Ok.”

“You know you want to-”

“I said ok!” Twist snaps. “You can stop yer grand speech. ‘M convinced. Let’s go cure LV. Jus’ lemme finish with this car an’ I’ll go take off work an’ tell my bro that ‘m going on vacation fer awhile. He’ll be annoyed I didn’t warn him but he won’ be that surprised that I went off on some random trip.”

chapter 2

[shroud-of-roses]

Tips for the Beginner Diviner: Black Mirror Scrying

Scrying is often cited as the most difficult method of divination to learn. It has a pretty abstract and hard-to-define description. Many beginners aren’t sure what they’re supposed to be looking at, let alone what they’re supposed to be looking for. I hope these tips are a helpful starting point, coming from a self-taught scryer.  

Before you Begin

I find that setting aside a place/changing my environment a bit helps get me into the right mindset. It separates one activity from another. You can close the blinds, light a candle/incense, make a pillow fort- whatever you think will help you create a nice atmosphere for it. I recently moved, and my favourite thing to do is light a lilac candle, get out my black mirror, and sit somewhere comfortable. I turn off my lights, TV, and take a few moments to prepare myself. I might grab a sachet or a chamomile teabag to center first, too. You do not need to do any of this, but finding what you like can help in the long run. 

I used to listen to white noise or put on some headphones, but I don’t feel like it’s a necessary step for me, anymore. It’s a very personal thing, so if you find listening to a specific song helps or that wearing a certain hat does, then go for it!

Education/Things to Know

There are many symbols that can be seen in scrying, from animals to plants, to people and food. Sometimes metaphors or direct connections can be descried as well. There may be scenes or very distinct still “photos” that will or already do mean something to you. 

Some symbols will be literal. For example, let’s say you see a dog. If you’ve been asking if you have a spirit following you around, and you’re dog recently passed away, it may be a literal sign that the dog is sticking by you as a spirit. Other times, you may see an image that is metaphorical. If you ask what kind of a person may be coming into your life and receive an image of a crown or Queen, it probably doesn’t mean Queen Elizabeth is stopping in to pay you a visit (though, that would be pretty cool). It may show that the person coming in next will be elegant, graceful, queenly, perhaps even a natural-born leader. 

It takes a bit of practice to determine which of these you might be seeing, but a lot of the time your gut instinct, or intuition, will know. Make note of the feelings you get with certain symbols to try and track any patterns. A divination journal is a great tool to make use of! I suggest using google drive for it, since you can easily go back and make new notes on the document without worrying about leaving enough room in a notebook. 

Reading up on animal meanings, interpretations of colors/crystals/etc. can help you a lot. Even if it’s just one or two meanings, knowing a tiny bit about some symbolism could take you a long way. Even if you only know one thing about an animal or object, it can lead to more resources and guidance. Your higher intuition may be able to use these as symbols to describe something to you on a lower plane when you divine. 

If you’re not good at memorization, or don’t have the time for it, searching signs after you see them may solve whatever you were scrying for, especially if you are speaking to a spirit guide or other spiritual entity. 

Be sure to take into account personal experiences, connotations, and memories. What you think is important is a huge factor when doing any sort of divination. Do bowties remind you of a friend you loved? They probably have a deeper significance than just a neatly arranged ribbon.

Journalling Tips

After I scry, I like to journal everything I see, even if it’s just in bullet points for later reflections. I often forget things as soon as I stop doing them, so keeping a journal has really helped me track my progress and growth as a diviner.

One thing I think a lot of people forget to take into acCount are the other senses you can use when diving; taste, touch, smell, sound. If you notice something coming through to you while scrying, even if it isn’t visual, write it down. It might make sense now, or even later on.

Here’s a little guide for recording your divination sessions. Feel free to print and use! 

If You’re Afraid of Seeing Things

I feel like this should be discussed more, especially in beginner circles.

As a beginner, I was terrified of seeing symbols and shapes move around, or seeing television-like images fly by a black pane of glass. It caused me to hold back, only doing it when I felt 100% safe from monsters and demons and spooky creatures I thought were going to jump out at me (which isn’t going to happen, trust me).

While I can gladly say that I am no longer afraid of such things and have become a skilled scryer, I know it can be a very new and intense concept for incoming diviners. Here are my personal tips on the subject:

Get accustomed to being in a trance-like state, similar to meditation, but focusing on an object instead of inside your mind and the thoughts therein. These both have a place in scrying, but the “weirdest” part is the former. I find scrying to be a healthy mix of the two, so if you learn how to use these techniques, it will not only make scrying an easier transition for you, it will also make it easier to get into the right mindset. If you go into it calm, you’re less likely to be frightened by what you see.

Cloud watch. Pretend the sky is your scrying mirror, and the clouds are the images that are appearing. Associate them with good things, like summer days, warm sunlight, and the smell of grass. This tip really really helped me when I was getting started, and is very good for those of us who like to be outside!

But the things you see really shouldn’t throw you into real terror, and the images shouldn’t frighten you to the point of panicking. If it does, calmly set the mirror somewhere out of sight (in a box or bag, or even a drawer), get out some cleansing tools, and clean everything out. It could just be some anxiety, but if it helps you to do a mini cleansing ritual/spell, go ahead and do so. I store my mirror with charged sigils meant to protect it, as mirrors are sometimes seen as potential doors. I haven’t ever had a problem with it, but a safety net doesn’t hurt.

I am here if you have any more questions, and would love to hear from you about your experiences with my tips! Have a good time learning and scrying!

[emmastudies]

I'm about to start my new bullet journal!! Yee!!! Any tips before I start? ❤️

Hey! Here are a few links:

my opinion on bullet journal (thought I’d throw this in there but potentially doesn’t matter!)

planner brand recommendations

planner vs bullet journal: pros and cons

how to set up a bullet journal

bullet journal spread ideas

bullet journal decoration hacks

bullet journal brand recommendations

my blog’s bullet journal tag

my bullet journal: 1, 2, 3, 4

Here are some random tips too:

it doesn’t have to be perfect - I spent a long time trying to make my really nice and it isn’t necessary. Like, of course, I didn’t want it to look terrible but I was spending a lot of time trying to perfect it. I got to a point where the look of it mattered more than the organisational help it was supposed to be.

it doesn’t have to look like other peoples - there is no denying that some study bloggers have the most incredible bullet journals like they should be framed! That being said, they don’t have to look like that. I am not artistic in the way that a lot of people are (e.g. doodles, calligraphy, etc) so I always felt like mine weren’t as cool but in reality that doesn’t really matter. You gotta do what you like! I would have liked to learn to do that but there is no need for me too.

following those, it is an organisation method, not a beauty contest - I think the crux of bullet journal, stripped down to the basics, is a fantastic idea. It has definitely moulded itself into a more artistic and creative expression now but if you wanted to use it in its pure form then that is totally cool! The founder of the idea has a super simple bullet journal and it looks great! It is all about getting it to suit your own needs.

counter to that, if you like the artistic side, don’t let anyone tell you not too - I’ve seen a lot of debating saying “bullet journaling is a waste of time”, “why would anyone bother doing all that”, “if they spent that time working, they wouldn’t need to plan” and other silly things like that. But this is the beauty of bullet journaling. If you want it to be fun, creative and draw on inspiration you see you can! If you’d prefer it to be very minimalist and simple, you can do that too. It is totally up to you how you design and use it. You shouldn’t be made to feel bad for either way you choose.

it can be a commitment - what made me divert back to a planner was the fact that I couldn’t be bothered spending ages doing spreads for the entire month so I would go week to week. This was so impractical as a student and hence, I gave up eventually. I liked the end result but I’m not a super creative person so didn’t love the process of creating my spread which made it become a drag but if it can be a fun commitment for you, that isn’t a worry! I would definitely suggest doing 2 weeks at a time minimum, and a month if you can. It just makes keeping up with it much easier!

it isn’t for everyone - I have had some people in the past message about how they can’t get bullet journalling to work for them and how to solve it. Sometimes it isn’t a case of solving it but just understanding that maybe such organisation methods are best for you. We all work differently! But give it a shot and see how you like it :-)

supplies don’t matter - I started bullet journalling in the unused pages of my sister’s maths books and to be honest, it was a great start! I only invested in a specific notebook when I really wanted to commit. Also for me, I used a black pen and the Zebra mildliners (but any pens would work). I definitely feel we can get wrapped up in the idea that we need specific things to do it but that isn’t true!

I hope this helps! :-) xx

[sheepvinyl87-blog]

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