#I literally just referenced this yesterday

[distantdarlings]

HAVE ME // t. nott

RATING: R / 4.8K WORDS

Theodore Nott x Fem Reader Insert

+ SUMMARY - *Requested, based on this* When you are paired with Cormac McClaggen for a mid-semester project, he takes it as an opportunity to shoot his shot. However, despite your numerous rejections, he doesn't seem to want to let up. That is until Theo gets involved.

+ WARNINGS - SMUT, depictions of violence (a small fight, specifically), blood described very briefly, Cormac is hitting on reader and won't leave them alone, language, oral sex (perf. on reader), kissing, dom!Theo, fem reader, not proof-read

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

Hotel - Montell Fish

---

The chatter around the classroom slowly dwindled as Professor Snape silently slipped through the door of his office. Everyone was waiting patiently for the results of his decision from yesterday. He mentioned that the mid-semester project would be partnered rather than solo. To you, that was bad news, but to others in the class, it was good. You worked best when you didn’t have to sort out the ideas getting bounced around aloud. But if you had to work with a partner, please let it be someone halfway decent.

“So,” Snape starts, “I have here the list of partners for the mid-semester project. As a reminder, you will be handling very toxic materials, so for the sake of all of our time, be careful with them.” His expression hinted at boredom, despite the unfortunate things he was referencing. Last year, someone nearly lost a hand with this project, and—to be quite honest—that was one of the reasons you were so excited about it. You liked the challenge and, even better, overcoming it. But you couldn’t do that with a shitty partner. Your fingers crossed beneath your open notebook.

“Malfoy with Weasley, Berkshire with Granger,” he began listing the names. Your hips shifted uncomfortably. He was pairing everyone with the opposite house. Surely he’d grant you some mercy with how well you’d been doing in this class?

“—Nott with Finnigan—” Your thoughts were briefly interrupted as Theodore’s name was called. That was an interesting pairing; however, you knew that Potions was one of Theo’s strong suits, and, granted they worked well together, the both of them would successfully keep their eyebrows intact. 

Your eyes found the older boy, tracing over every line on his face. You were friends, pretty good friends. His whole group of Slytherins were friendly with you, really. But there was something about him that had shocked you to your core from the first night you’d met him and started chatting at the Sorting ceremony when the both of you were eleven. He was quite literally one of the most attractive people you’d ever seen, and it seemed like he knew it too. The way he held himself down to the way he communicated with people, he just knew he was alarmingly alluring. 

He had a way of staring right into your eyes when you spoke to him, almost to the point it felt as if he was reading your mind. No matter what, he’d give you his full attention, even more so than his other friends, it seemed. Maybe you had always imagined it, but if you called his name, he was there. He would be waiting with his ear next to your lips, eager to hear what you had to say, no matter how you were feeling. Perhaps it was cliche, but you felt as though you could tell him anything, and you did. 

His eyes found yours suddenly. His lips parted into a crooked smile, his dazzling white teeth peeking through slightly. You returned the action, raising your eyebrows in an amused fashion at his partner for the project. He shrugged, the smile never leaving his face. He pointed at you and mouthed, ‘You’re coming up.’ You rolled your eyes and laughed silently as you brushed him off. You were laughing, but, in all seriousness, this wasn’t a comedic matter. Your Potions grade was potentially on the chopping block here, and you were getting nervous. Snape didn’t grade depending on who did what; he simply graded on the project's legitimacy. You could do this by yourself, but if whomever your partner ended up being fucks it up, you both were screwed. And, on top of it all, you would have to work with a Gryffindor, someone you likely barely knew. Perfect. 

Your name perked your ears as Snape paused for a moment, trying to decipher his own handwriting. Merlin, was he trying to tease you? You glanced around, wondering who hadn’t been selected yet. You hadn’t been paying attention. “Ah! With McClaggen.”

Your heart sank. You turned to glance over your shoulder at the showy Gryffindor sitting in the back corner of the classroom. He sent a wink and a small smirk your way, to which you replied by quickly turning back around. Did the universe hate you? It must. That was the only answer. Shit.

“Get to work,” he instructed, returning to his office and firmly shutting the door behind him. You weighed out the options in your head on how angry Snape would be if you asked to switch partners. You were sure he picked them for a reason…or maybe he didn’t? Merlin, help. Should you even bother with this? Maybe you could convince McClaggen to let you do all the work. He could sit patiently by and be quiet.

The classroom bustled gently as students were standing and finding their partners. Small groans echoed as everyone paired up. Apparently, you weren’t the only one that disliked your partner. Usually, you wouldn’t have expected Professor Snape to have paired Gryffindors with Slytherins. Who knew? Maybe he was trying something new.

You hid a wince and got to your feet. You collected your notebook and school bag and made your way over to the smirking boy. His hands were placed cockily behind his head, and one leg rested, crossed over the other. He maximalized every bit of space he took up, like a peacock. You repressed a groan and sat down in the seat next to him, neatly spreading your things out. 

“Well, hello,” he cooed. “I don’t think I’ve spoken with you before.”

“I don’t think so either,” you chuckled nervously, eyes finding the back of Theo’s head. He sat towards the front of the classroom, partnered with the clumsy Gryffindor. You wondered if he was having the same doubts you were. As if on beat, his head turned and made eye contact with you. He hid a smile at your current predicament and gave you a small wave with his fingers. You rolled your eyes and, with the hand farthest from McClaggen, pretended to choke yourself with it. Theo laughed aloud before turning back around when his partner tapped his shoulder.

“What’s so funny?” your partner asked, quirking an eyebrow. 

“Nothing,” you smiled, “how about we get started?”

Most of the class period was spent discussing the potion the two of you wanted to brew. The assignment was to pick one of the most difficult potions to brew and to make and document the experience successfully. All of the potions you were to choose from were in the very last chapter of your textbook, and the two of you flipped through the pages, unsure. 

Every so often, Cormac (you’d learned his first name was) would point at something on one of the pages and scoot ever so closer to you. He was so close now you could smell the peppermint candy he swished around his mouth. His arm rested alongside the back of your chair, and you were…immensely uncomfortable. Your back straightened so as not to come into contact with his arm. 

Throughout this whole experience, you’d glance Theo looking back at the two of you every so often and wonder if you could signal him to distract the boy. It wasn’t that you felt threatened; you just wish he’d back the hell up. If you had a personal bubble, it had long since combusted. His face was so close to yours, and no matter how far you leaned away, he’d get closer. Finally, you’d had enough.

“Cormac,” you laughed nervously. You placed one hand on his chest and slowly pushed him back toward his own seat. 

“What is it?” he asked. No matter what you did, that stupid smirk never failed.

“You are very close to me,” you explained, trying to remain as polite as possible. He shrugged and chuckled a bit, gaining on some of the space you’d placed between the two of you. 

“Well, that’s because I want to get closer to you,” he said. 

“Uh, no,” you tittered, “that’s okay. Let’s just do the project.” You tapped the textbook and pretended to immerse yourself back in the information, hoping he’d let it lie. He didn’t. His arm wrapped back around your chair, and your eyes slipped close in exasperation. 

“Cormac, please—”

“What? Don’t you want to get to know each other before we do a project together?” he asked, scooting closer yet again.

“No, I really don’t. I just want to get this done.” His face resumed its previous proximity to yours. He smirked at the closeness and you sighed, turning your face away from his, begging Theo to glance back again.

“Oh, I see…is he your boyfriend?” Cormac asked. Your face shot back to his.

“What? No! He’s just a friend,” you said.

“That was a very quick, rushed answer,” he laughed, “but if you say so, that’s even better for me—”

“Please, let’s just do the assignment,” you pleaded, “I’m really not interested.”

“Not even for a trip to Hogsmeade?”

“No, not really, you’re not my type.” You glanced back at Theo. He was finally looking back. Only this time, his eyes were locked on the boy beside you, with his face so close to yours. His eyes gleamed blood red, and his jaw clenched tightly. Your eyebrows furrowed, begging him to intervene somehow. If Cormac wasn’t too embarrassed to shoot his shot in the middle of class, surrounded by his peers, you were almost positive he’d continue to harass you outside of the classroom. Maybe even when the two of you were alone, and he might not let up at that point.

“What is your type?” he asked. “Brooding assholes in Slytherin?” He said this part a bit louder, making direct eye contact with Theo. You could feel the tension building slightly, and did your best to diffuse the situation. You partially blocked their gaze of each other.

“Please don’t say that about him.”

“I thought you said he wasn’t your boyfriend. Why are you defending him?”

“He’s not my boyfriend, but he is my friend, and I’d like you not to call him names,” you spoke sternly, eyes hardening on the boy. He was plucking the last strings of your patience. 

“Fine, I will—” you nodded at his promise “—if you let me take you to dinner.”

The bell signalling the end of class interrupted the conversation. Thank Merlin. You quickly gathered your things together and shoved them into your bag, praying he’d just drop the subject and let you move on with your day. You’d figure out a way to deal with him later. For right now, you just wanted to get your free period started as soon as possible. He stood right when you did. You ignored him and made for the exit, walking as quickly as looked natural.

You were the first out of the classroom and down the hall, trying your best to get away from him without completely abandoning Theo. A hand grabbed your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. It roughly spun you around, yanking a yelp from your throat. You stood before Cormac, who had a sinister look on his face. 

“You never answered me,” he said. “Let me take you to dinner…”

“No, Cormac, I don’t want to go,” you said, attempting to wrestle yourself out of his iron grip. What about your thousand answers was he not grasping? 

“Let go of me.” His hand did not release you, and it did not seem like he intended to, either. You slipped your hand between his and your shoulder, trying to edge it off. He made a sound of endearment before attempting to slide a hand around your hips. You squealed and squirmed away from him, trying to prevent him from wrapping his arms farther around you.

“Hey!” A voice shouted. The both of you began to turn, but before Cormac could get his head fully pivoted, a hand appeared on his shoulder and yanked him away from you. It was Theo, and he appeared to be fuming. His jaw was tightly clenched, and his eyes were wild.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing, McClaggen?” he demanded. “She said no, you dick!”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business. She said you weren’t her boyfriend,” the younger laughed meanly, poking him roughly in the chest. You winced at the contact. 

“Don’t fucking touch me,” he hissed, pushing the boy back from him. Cormac stumbled a few steps before regaining his footing. It appeared he was as surprised as everyone else was at the sudden hostility. Cormac laughed cockily. 

He raised a hand and swung his fist at Theo as hard as he could, getting a good hit in. Theo’s head jerked to the side from the force of the punch, and you gasped sharply, hands shooting to cover your mouth in shock. Natural instincts told you to jump back, but you rushed toward Theo, who pushed you back gently behind him, squeezing your arm firmly. It didn’t hurt, but you knew it meant to stay put. 

“Come on, Slytherin!” Cormac shouted. “Show me what your reject house is made of!”

A crowd of other students had begun to gather around the two boys, curious to see what all of the commotion was. Adrenaline pumped through your veins like ice water as you watched Theo approach the other boy, cocking his arms and wringing any stiffness out of them. 

Before you could feel the exhalation of breath leave your body, Theo swung his arm at the boy, cracking him hard across the jaw. As if in slow motion, Cormac fell back and hit the ground with a hard thud. You imagined his tailbone would be quite bruised tomorrow morning. 

Theo fell down on top of the boy, legs resting on either side of his hips, and wailed on him. Fist after fist hit the boy’s face, pushing more and more blood out of him. You screamed in shock as you realized Theo had no intention of stopping. Around the same time you did, everyone else did too. They began throwing shouts of concern and pressing in on the two boys. Everybody loved a good fight now and then but nobody wanted to see someone get killed. 

Yet, nobody put their hands on Theo for fear of being in the same predicament as Cormac currently was. That was, until Enzo and Mattheo ran up behind the crowd. You heard them ask if that was Theo.

“Enzo!” you shouted his name, waving over the crowd. His eyes quickly found yours and in seeing the distress on your face, began weaving through the crowd. Mattheo quickly followed suit. 

When they breached the barrier of the crowd, their eyes widened, and they made for their friend. They grabbed his shoulders and pulled him away from the poor boy, his face a mangled mess. You looked away quickly, not wanting to see the damage that had been done in your favor.

Once pulled away, a gathering of students ran over to Cormac and covered him with a wall of their protection, trying to see if they could help him somehow. You turned to Theo, who was breathing heavily, a single dripping of blood pouring from his nose. You turned to the bottom of your uniform shirt, found the edge of the seam, and tore a small section of it. You could get a replacement sometime later.

You approached the boy with a murderous gaze and gently pressed the piece of shirt beneath his nose. He flinched slightly but never looked away from Cormac. Maybe that hadn’t been for you, and he’d just wanted to beat Cormac’s ass—which is understandable, but still. You weren’t totally sure why he did it.

“Theo?” you spoke gently. His glare didn’t waver. The fingers pressing the material against his bloodied nose tilted his face carefully to look at you. His eyes found yours, softening slightly. 

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, his chest heaving. “I couldn’t stand him touching you like that.”

“It’s okay,” you reassured. He didn’t seem convinced. How he looked at you with such concern and worry made you wonder if he thought you were mad at him. You shook your head at the question running through your mind. Obviously, he didn’t know what you had been thinking, but you hoped he’d understand somehow. 

You helped Enzo and Mattheo pull him to his feet and escort him away from the crowd before any of the professors showed up. Speaking of which, they likely should have been out here by now. 

As you helped the boys guide Theo toward the Slytherin common room, you were careful to avoid any obvious eyes that raced past them to see what the aftermath of the commotion was. Hopefully, nobody would notice them and they could deal with the whole situation later. The group turned the corner and stopped before the entrance to the dorm room. Enzo announced the password, and the lot of you headed inside, pulling Theo up the stairs and into the boys’ dorm room. He pulled away from them suddenly and sat on his bed.

“Alright, alright, I’m okay!” he declared. “I just got a sock to the jaw; my legs weren’t broken.”

“They’re just trying to help, Teddy,” you whispered, trying to place the cloth back on his nose that had started up its intermittent spurting again. He sighed and gently grabbed your wrist, holding it away from his face. He was never rough with you, despite how angry he was.

“I’m fine, I’m just wound up, I don’t need any of you to—”

“Nonsense,” you interrupted him. “Mattheo, Enzo, would the two of you mind running down to the hospital wing and asking Madam Pomfrey if she has anything to stop the bleeding. It’s not excessive, but it’s messy.”

“Is there not a spell or something like that?” Mattheo asked, clearly concerned for his friend.

“Not one that I know off the top of my head. Would you just go ask her, please?” you repeated yourself. The two boys seemed to hesitate but eventually worked their way out of the room with their destination in mind. Once they were gone, your eyes turned back to Theo’s. An amused glint lay suspended in his eyes.

“‘Nothing that comes to mind?’” he smirks. “If a spell comes to my mind and not yours, the world must be upside down.” You conceal a laugh. You knew a spell. You knew multiple healing spells, but you wanted Mattheo and Enzo out of the room for a second. You just wanted to speak with Theo about what had happened. 

“I’m sorry I lied to your friends,” you said. “But I really wanted to talk with you privately, and I didn’t want to wait.” His eyes keep a tight hold on yours. You swallow thickly. 

“Okay, what is it?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Anxiety pools in your stomach as you realize you hadn’t really planned anything to say. You wanted to know why Theo had done what he did and if it was for or because of you. Cormac had been bothering you, yes, but it could have just been that Theo really disliked him and wanted to intervene. 

“Why did you do that?” you ask. Probably the worst way you could have asked that, but it was what came out. You might as well own it at this point. 

“Do what?” he mused.

“Why did you stop Cormac?”

“That feels like a dumb question. He was laying his hands on you without your permission.”

“Would you have done that for anyone, though?” you stuttered through your interrogation.

“I suppose not….why do you ask?” he asked, the smirk never leaving his face. Your eyes fell down to his lips suddenly, noticing that there was a small amount of dried blood stained across them. A small gasp left your lips as you reached your hand out. You didn’t think through any of the following movements; you just allowed your body to do as it pleased. Your fingers gently cradled his jaw, and your thumb swiped slowly over his lips, collecting the bit of staining as it crossed. Your eyes found him again, and you realized he was intently watching you. His eyes were softened by hunger. The way they traveled down to your lips, his lips parting as he found yours, his hands clenching by his side. It sent a chill down your spine. 

“Theo,” you breathed. You could not pull your eyes away from his swollen lips. You wanted so badly to learn their taste and memorize it for eternity. Just one kiss and you could be satisfied for the rest of your days. 

“I kicked Cormac’s ass because he was laying his hands on you, and I have been desperate to do that for years…,” he whispered. “The difference between him and I, though? I ask permission.” A glimpse of a chuckle spreads over his lips, and you feel your stomach blush with heat. As if he could feel it happen to you, his nose bumped softly against yours, igniting the heat and transforming it into a flame. 

“I want you so bad,” he whispered, the air skimming your lips. “Please let me have you.”

“Have me, Teddy.” Your response was final. His hands gripped each side of your face firmly and pressed your lips together. Heat and light and everything in between exploded into your stomach, sending shocks of love into your heart. You could have melted on the spot, and you nearly did, if it weren’t for Theo wrapping one arm tightly around your waist and holding you up.

His tongue slid over your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You granted him access to every part of you with no push-back. All you wanted was to feel him everywhere and never to lose that feeling ever again. 

The both of his hands pushed around the back of your thighs and pulled them to either side of his bent knees. He settled you neatly onto his lap, you straddling his thighs against the bed. The action sent a lightning bolt of pleasure directly to your core as the space between his thighs urged gently against you. You sighed against his mouth, entangling your fingers into his hair. 

Everything about him was overwhelming. His smell, his taste, and his touch had you gasping for air. You had never realized how much you truly wanted him until this very moment. Without so much as a breath, he cradled your back with one hand and stood from his bed, lifting the two of you into the air. You squeaked from the sudden movement but relaxed instantly when he settled you against his bed. 

His lips detached from yours and quickly made alliance with your jaw and then your neck. His head worked down the frame of your body, pressing open-mouthed kisses to every sliver of skin he could find. When he reached the waistline of your uniform skirt, he tapped his finger twice against the spot where your shirt was tucked in. You nodded so quickly, it was almost pathetic. He smirked and slipped his hands between the materials. He tugged your shirt out and began laying the same types of kisses over your bare stomach. You groaned at the feeling, noticing the ardor he placed into each press of his lips. You felt worshipped and it was addicting.

His eyes flicked up to find yours as he slowly pushed himself farther down, placing himself just in front of your core. Without question, your legs began to spread for him, allowing him access to anything he wanted. You just needed to feel him; you didn’t care what he did. 

Your eyes found his face once more and scanned over the entirety of it. A deep, sinister glance rested in his eyes, holstering a lust so dark, it almost frightened you. His lips were slightly parted in a teasing, smirking way, just waiting to place themselves against you once more. And his nose had…oh, it had begun to bleed again. You reached down and swiped your thumb beneath it, pushing the excess discharge away. A small twinge of guilt hit you again at the thought of Theo getting himself hurt for you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, frowning at the sight before you.

“You never have to apologize to me,” he breathed, “you are perfect.” And with that, he’d flipped the edge of your skirt over your legs and sunk his face between them. His tongue found your core before you could even get a word out. A breathless moan spilled from your lips as your spine arched off the bed. Your hands immediately pushed down to wrap themselves in his curls, savoring every single swipe of his tongue. 

“So fucking good,” he moaned against you, the vibrations sending messages up to your very brain. You quaked beneath the feeling, your thighs shaking against the boy’s hold on them. It was nearly becoming too much. You weren’t going to last much longer. If he wanted to do something, he’d better get to it.

“Theo, I’m…c—”

“Not yet, baby,” he whispered, pressing two chaste kisses to the inside of your thighs. You could feel the wetness spread across his lips and chin smear against your flesh. You shuddered at the sensation. It definitely should not have turned you on as much as it just did. “I want it on my tongue.”

He separates himself from you and slides his hands beneath the crook of your knees. With a firm grip, he yanks you to the edge of the bed, where your hips are lying just over the curve. His hands find your hips and flip you over onto your stomach, careful to avoid hurting you in any way. Ever so gentle.

You could hear him kneel down again behind you. Your thighs shook in anticipation just before he pressed his lips back to you. His tongue swirled across you in the most delicate of motions, drawing every sound possible from your lips. Your fingers gripped the sheets as each of his movements drew you closer to the edge. You might finish any second. 

“Hey-o!” Mattheo’s voice came from just outside the door. You jumped up and glanced back at Theo as the both of you separated as fast as possible. Theo came up to sit beside you on the bed and made quick work of wiping his mouth off on his sleeve. You pulled your skirt back over your legs and stood at attention, waiting for the two boys to enter. Damn it. You had been so close. 

The two boys walked in, clutching a small vial of liquid. Mattheo raised it to show the two of them, both of whom quickly nodded, smiling innocently. Surely, they wouldn’t suspect anything of the two of you. You’d never really expressed any feelings toward the other before now. At least not publicly.

“Where do you want this?” Mattheo asked.

“If you would just take it to the bathroom, we’re headed in there so they can help me clean up the rest of the way.” Both of the other boys nodded and headed back out the way they came, moving toward the group bathroom. 

Just as they left, Theo slipped his hand beneath your skirt and traced his fingers along you, allowing one to insert itself to its hilt. You gasped sharply, trying your best to mute the sound. His hand began to pump against you, slowly rising in speed as he hit that perfect spot each time with ease. The sounds spilling from your lips became less and less controlled as he pushed you towards the edge, keeping you standing tall and refusing to let you lay back down on the bed.

“Come like this, baby,” he whispered. “Quickly, before they get back.” His finger pressed deeply up into you one last time, bruising the soft spot and forcing a rushing finish down on you. Your lips parted in a shocked moan as the proof of your end slipped down around Theo’s fingers. He worked you through the entirety of it, never tiring and never halting. He could do this all day. 

The sound of his friends heading back toward the dorm room pushed the two of you apart once again. Only this time, Theo had a telling, lustful expression imprinted on his face, and the remains of your ecstasy were still painted across his fingers. You swiped a hand between your thighs in an attempt to clean yourself off and brushed any concerns from Mattheo or Enzo off. The ‘Are you okay?’ and the ‘You guys look weird’ had nothing on the steel resolve the both of you kept planted on your faces. If Theo could fight someone for you, you could fight the urge to tell his friends he’d just let you fuck his face while they were out running an errand. Oh well, such is life. You laughed to yourself. 

[astraystayyh]

han x reader. domestic morning where they also remember snippets of their (enemies) past. they’re very cute and i might write a full fic for their backstory.. stay tuned (also one suggestive joke)

if you wish to request a drabble as well, you can donate to our gaza fundraiser here! there are many writers participating as well hehe <3

10:02 a.m.

“wake up,” you whisper, your nose nuzzling against the slate of han’s neck. his eyes remain closed, but a delicate smile unfurls across his lips. you pretend not to notice.

“come on,” you murmur, your lips brushing his exposed collarbone, your hand slipping around his waist. “i miss you, hannie.”

his arms suddenly envelop you, drawing you into an impossibly tight embrace. “sorry baby, hannie is asleep.”

“is that so?” you giggle, resting your cheek against his bare chest. your face warms as you sense his heart racing unusually fast for a tranquil saturday morning.

“what’s this?” you pout, your fingers grazing the skin that shields the world's most precious organ. “do i still fluster you this much?”

“i literally have the sun in my arms, leave me be,” he grumbles, pulling the covers over you both.

you chuckle, pinching his side gently. “but wasn’t i your volcano?” you ask, referencing the song han wrote about you, for you, to you.

“yaaah,” he drawls out, a gleam of excitement shining in his eyes. “do you remember how we were before i confessed?”

“we hated each other,” you both giggle at the memory, months that now feel like a lifetime ago washing over you. it’s a sweet remembrance, akin to the last ripples of a wave caressing the shore.

“you were the most gorgeous producer I’d ever seen,” he sighs exaggeratedly, “and the most infuriating too.”

“it’s not my fault my genius was too much for you,” you tease, and he leaps away, waving a hand in the air in true han fashion.

“it wasn’t too much, we just had different artistic visions,” his voice grows increasingly high-pitched, “AND you were too prideful to collaborate.”

you shrug nonchalantly, “because you seemed too full of yourself.”

“and yesterday you were too full of m—“ your hand swiftly covers his mouth as raucous giggles erupt from him.

“you’re an actual idiot. i can’t believe I’m dating you now,” you say as his lips meet your forehead tenderly, his hands weaving through your hair as if crafting silent confessions of love.

“how could you resist the world’s best love song, hm?”

memories of listening to han’s Volcano in the rain flood your being. you recall the shiver that overtook your bones, the realization that dawned suddenly upon you, just like a striking bolt— you had never known the line between love and hate was this thin until, you too, experienced it.

“you know, it’s crazy how romantic the lyrics are, yet you never say 'i love you' once in them.”

“but you knew.”

“but i know.”

the smiles that bloom across your faces are serene, peaceful, like the calm that follows a storm, painting the world in hues of stillness.

“hi, baby,” he whispers, and you giggle, cupping his cheek with your palm. “hi, hannie.”

“i’m so happy we moved past the screaming matches.”

“i’m so happy i get to love you.”

“well, I love you more.”

“well, actually, that can’t be true because—“ the rest of your protest is silenced by han’s lips finally pressing atop yours. your words melting like sugar at the tip of your tongue.

[keepingsecretstokeepyoutk]

This imagery immediately made me think of Emily Dickenson’s poem “Tell all the truth but tell it slant”

I’ve always associated this poem with Taylor and her truth, so it was fun to see a possible reference to it.

Now if the poem isn’t clear enough, look at this explanation of its meaning:

As others have already pointed out, the room is also partially upside down like the orange room in the Lover house, which we have suspected represents bearding/stunting. The room having some of its furniture on the ceiling (fully upside down) and some of its furniture simply slanted, might represent her inching her way out of the closet or getting closer to daylight.

Dickinson even envision’s the truth as a light “the truth must dazzle gradually/or every man be blind” - similar to Taylor’s truth being represented by daylight and leaving the dark.

It feels fitting that a Dickinson poem would be directly referenced since the time period of the aesthetic lines up with the poets life. There was even an episode in Dickinson (Apple TV) about women being sent to a psych ward for hysteria. In the very next scene she’s in an 1800s style dress, writing.

The poem also uses the word “infirm”, here meaning weak (that people are too weak to absorb a whole truth), but is the root word for “infirmary”, another word for hospital (or a place caring for those who are ill), where this music video takes place.

“Success in Circuit lies” means you must skirt the truth, tell it at a certain angle, which reminds me of the epic song, High Infidelity, where she imagines her fans finding out her truth and hating her for “lying” to them for years, she sings “I was dancing around, dancing around it”.

I was literally just thinking about this poem yesterday, I’m so tickled that she might have referenced it.

Not to mention fortnight is a word used more often in that time period…

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 4042

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

5. Jiggly Soufflé Cake

Steve

“I should be in there,” Bucky says again, making Steve roll his eyes.

They’re sitting next to each other, out in the waiting room at the Center. It’s been over an hour, but Steve remembers how the intake worker had told them that Mary’s evaluation wouldn’t be short. Already, he’s read through half the crappy magazine selection. He lets the edge of an outdated issue of Dominant Monthly flop down to his lap. “Babe …”

“It’s taking too long. What if they’re harassing her or—”

“You know that’s not true. The people here are good. You’re just trying to control everything,” he reminds Bucky.

“If I was in there I could—”

“Get in the way. She needs to feel like she can express herself.”

“What if she’s not honest? What if Linda’s not asking her the right—”

“Buck, stop,” Steve says, injecting some command into his voice. Bucky might be the Dom, but Steve can put his foot down with his husband when needed. “The therapist knows what she’s doing. All the people here do. This is what they do.”

They’re at the Center for Designated Peoples, the place where people like Bucky go for … well, anything related to their dominance or submission needs. That’s all Steve really knows. He knows that Bucky has been in and out of CDPs since he was a kid. “It took almost a week to get her this appointment, alright? You want to mess that up?”

Bucky grumbles. “No.”

“Good. Cause they don’t need you in there, interfering in her assessment. So sit tight.”

Bucky shuts up after that, satisfying Steve that he’s made his point.

“Well, what do you think?” Bucky eventually says, when another ten minutes have passed and the door to the therapist’s office is still closed. “Of her?”

Steve glances over. “You mean in general?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Steve can tell when Bucky’s being defensive. “You like her,” he says. “And not just cause of her lemon tarts.” He’d seen him looking at weighted blankets on Amazon, yesterday. “Admit it,” he prods, nudging Bucky’s shoe with his. “You can tell me how you feel. Why d’you need me to qualify it for you, first?

“Because I’m married to you, not her,” Bucky snaps. “Jesus, Rogers. Never met a man with less self-preservation instincts than you.”

“Mmhm. Aand?”

“... Okay I’m drawn to her,” Bucky says. “But I can’t tell how much of that is instinct and how much is normal people stuff.”

“‘Normal people stuff’,” Steve echoes, amused.

“I want to know what you think of her.” Bucky kicks his shoe back. “Tell me.”

“I like her too,” Steve concedes. “It’s not just you.” He can see as Bucky’s shoulders relaxing a little bit, knows that his opinion matters to his husband. “She’s different. Plain, but …” Steve searches for the right word. ‘Cute’ doesn’t seem right. She’s too prickly for that and too old besides. She’s a woman, not a girl, and he’s not just trying to describe her physical appearance. “I don’t know,” he says. “Editorial?”

“Editorial?” Bucky scowls. “What the fuck does that mean?”

“I dunno, just, not off the rack. Different.” Bucky snatches the magazine out of his lap and chucks it back to the coffee table. Steve rolls his eyes. “Wish she wasn’t so defensive, though. And I wish we could’ve met her … you know, like on a date or at the gym or something.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah.”

“She grows on you,” Steve decides. Like an angry, stray cat. That’s dirty and scraggy a little.

“She’s pretty,” Bucky offers, but the words fall flat. They can both see that she’s attractive, that isn’t news. Bucky and Steve are attractive people themselves. They aren’t hurting for opportunities to be with attractive women (or men), if they want to. And it’s been a while since they invited another person into their bed. But …

“I haven’t been with a woman since my twenties,” Steve mumbles, thinking about it. He glances at Bucky. “You have.”

They both know Bucky was dating women casually when he met Steve, years ago. “Yeah,” he says simply.

“You ever miss ‘em? Women?” Steve kind of does sometimes. He likes how soft they are; the contrast. It had taken him a couple of dates and a few glasses of wine, back when they’d first gotten together, to admit to Bucky that he was bi. Steve had told him that, and then Bucky had disclosed his designation status. “We used to talk about the whole poly thing a lot more.”

“Hm, yeah I guess.” Bucky shrugs and reaches to take his hand. Steve gives it a squeeze. “I dunno babe. Kind of hard to think about anybody else when I’ve got you around.” He gives him a lecherous look that makes Steve glad they’re the only ones in the waiting room. “Your hot body’s been enough to keep my attention.” His eyes drag up and down Steve, mentally undressing him.

Steve feels heat creep up his neck and he chuckles, pushing Bucky’s hand away. “Stoppit. Jerk. I’m a person.”

“Punk,” Buck smirks. “You like it.”

“Shuddup. Not here. God, you’re such a creep.” They’re both grinning—probably like complete, horny letches—when the door to the therapist’s office opens.

The professionally dressed woman offers them a friendly smile. “Bucky, Steve.”

“Hey Linda,” Bucky greets.

“How’d it go, Doctor?” Steve asks, not on as informal terms with the CDP staff as his husband is. “Is she …”

“Mary is fine. Would you like to come in and talk with us?”

Bucky is immediately standing from his chair. “Yep.”

Steve has to refrain from rolling his eyes. He grabs Bucky’s wrist. “Hang on now, Buck. Maybe she doesn’t want us in there. We should try and give her choices where we can.”

Doctor Linda surprises him by saying, “Actually, Mary says she’s fine with discussing this all together.”

Bucky shoots him a smug look and tugs his wrist back. “See?”

This time Steve does roll his eyes, but he nods at Linda and gets up to follow her back into the office.

Bucky

Bucky can recall very clearly the first time he’d been told he had a mental illness. He’d been ten, had been sent to the school shrink for misbehavior. He remembers how his mom had come in, harried about being called off from work when her kid wasn’t even sick. Bucky had felt bad about that, had felt like he’d done something wrong (well, he had scrubbed Trixie Wallace’s face into a mud puddle at recess).

But still, even at ten years old he’d been smart enough to know that this meeting with his mom and the counselor was more serious than another simple admonition or in-school suspension.

Long story short, His mom wound up reacting with something like embarrassment, and Bucky had wound up internalizing that for a long time, feeling like his “condition” was something to be kept private and not discussed.

Now, he sits in Linda’s office and makes sure to exude an air of calm and acceptance. He doesn’t want Mary to be embarrassed about this like he was. It helps that times have changed a bit since Bucky was a kid, and he knows this particular Center very well. They do good work with the designated community. Bucky knows that no one here is going to announce to Mary that she’s a deviant.

Mary’s sitting in her own chair, separate from where Bucky and Steve share the couch. Even though Bucky’s instinct is to tell her to come sit with them, he holds back. He knows that the seating arrangement is likely purposeful on Linda’s part. He tries to remember Steve’s words about giving Mary choices where they can. Domination may be what she needs, but too much of a good thing, administered too fast, can still be harmful.

“High needs,” Steve is saying, echoing what Linda’s just told them. “... So, she’s like Bucky, but submissive?”

“Yes,” Linda confirms. “We did the assessment twice, and both times Mary tested at the far end of the spectrum.”

“Fantastic,” Mary mutters.

“We’ve been discussing what this might mean for her care plan, going forward. Mary has several other issues that I believe tie into her unfulfilled needs as a submissive.”

“I don’t understand how it went undiagnosed for so long,” Bucky says, feeling vaguely upset about it. “Doc?”

She shrugs. “Mary’s from a part of the country where mental health awareness isn’t so advanced. They didn’t test in the public school system where she grew up.” Mary makes a quiet noise of discontent and Linda adds, “So we’ve been talking about the physiology of it, the role of neurotransmitters and how important it is for her to be dropped regularly. And we’ve discussed what that might look like, different options she has.”

“Options?”

Here, Linda hesitates. “Well … Mary has expressed an interest in taking advantage of the Center’s social programs.”

“No,” Bucky says right away. “Absolutely not.”

“She said you do it,” Mary counters, and when Bucky looks over he finds her glaring at him. “Apparently, I don’t need you after all. I can just come here and hook up with any old body.”

“I’m your legal guardian right now,” Bucky reminds her. “And the clubs are for people who know what they’re doing. It’s too unstructured for you. You need more stability than that.”

Mary scoffs and crosses her arms, but Dr. Linda is already nodding in agreement. “I think Bucky’s right, Mary,” she says gently. “A reliable, dominant partner and regular drops in a safe space are what you need right now.”

“Why can’t you just write me a prescription or something?” Mary complains. “You said it was a brain chemistry thing, so why not?”

Linda looks uncomfortable as she explains, “Medication is usually only considered as a last ditch treatment option … and with your substance use disorder and other issues I'd rather not —”

“I am not an alcoholic!”

“No meds,” Bucky says, hating that idea. “Come on, Mary. You don’t want to be drugged up, do you?”

She glares at him. “You just want to control me.”

He fights very, very hard not to roll his eyes. “Yeah,” he quips. “That’s kind of the whole point.”

Mary groans and slumps back into the cushions of her chair, looking put out. “This sucks.”

“It’s manageable,” Linda reminds gently.

"I don't want to be this way," she mumbles. "'High needs'. It's embarrassing."

“It's no different than needing air, or food or sleep,” Steve supplies. “You guys just have this extra thing.”

Mary makes a face, probably at being lumped into the ‘you guys’ category with Bucky. “So, what’s the plan then?” she asks mulishly, crossing her arms. “We go back to your place and you break out the whips and chains?”

Bucky barks out a laugh before he can stop himself. “Oh, honey. I promise there aren’t any chains.” He winks at her. “I prefer leather.”

Mary

After the therapist, it gets a little easier to be around Steve and Bucky. Mary’s still quick to anger, thinking about the situation that she's managed to get herself into, but there are some ameliorating factors to the situation.

Having an official diagnosis—no matter how much she doesn’t want this diagnosis—is at least a starting point. Mary doesn’t have to keep exhausting herself, arguing with Bucky that she’s not a sub. She is. That’s that.

And when he takes it upon himself to speak with Mary’s boss about her situation (effectively getting him to unfire her for the multiple days of work she’s missed) some more of Mary’s contempt for Bucky slips away.

“Thank you,” she says quietly once they leave the café, her next shift already scheduled for that upcoming Monday. “ I … this job, it means a lot to me.”

“I know.” Bucky says simply, though Mary can see the self-satisfaction in his posture. He takes her hand as they walk together down the sidewalk, and to Mary it feels like some sort of test, like he’s waiting for her to pull away.

So she forces herself to curl her fingers around his and keep holding his hand.

Again, she can practically feel the reaction coming off of him. He’s pleased with her. Mary’s cheeks flush from the domineering squeeze he gives her hand from time to time as they walk, and she’s grateful that she can blame it on the day’s chilly air.

Doctor Linda had explained everything, of course, when Mary went in for the assessment. The testing hadn’t been what she was expecting, hadn’t been embarrassing or invasive. And, perhaps most disappointing of all, it hadn’t been predictable. Mary hadn’t felt like she knew which way to fake her responses, to get the test to declare her mentally fit. So she’d answered honestly. 

And where had that gotten her? Lumped into the same group of deviants as James Bucky Barnes. “High needs”—God it sounds awful.

“It’s not necessarily sexual,” Linda tells her at her second appointment. “Or, well … it doesn’t have to be, at least. There are ways around it, if you really need an asexual dynamic.”

Mary nods along, but inside she thinks about the last time Bucky scolded her or praised her or held her hand on the sidewalk. She thinks about when he’d put his hand on her throat and applied pressure. Thinking about those things doesn’t make her feel asexual at all.

The first time Bucky doms her in a coordinated manner, she’s actually unaware of what he’s doing at first. It’s one of Mary’s  three days off and she’s terribly bored, researching how to make grapefruit soda caviar and wondering if there’s a gym nearby that she could join. She hasn’t exercised in weeks, and honestly, if there’s even the slightest chance that she’s going to wind up being naked in front of Bucky or Steve (or, oh god, both of them), then she really feels like she needs to work out.

Scratching fingernails over the skin of her lower stomach, she googles nearby gyms, finds one that looks decent, and tells Steve that she’s headed out to go join. She’s tying one sneaker when Steve objects.

“Oh but wait,” he says. “Um, Bucky’s going to be home soon. And I think he uh, I think he had plans. … For us.”

Mary raises an eyebrow. She likes Steve—thinks he’s kind of a big, beefy sweetheart, actually—but sometimes his devotion to Bucky and what Bucky wants is annoying. “Fine, you stay here and tell him where I went. I’ve got to get out of this apartment.” And out from under you and your bossy husband’s constant supervision. “Got to … I dunno, burn off some steam.”

Bucky’s timing is impeccable. He comes through the door just as she’s bending over to lace up her other sneaker. His arms are full of plastic grocery bags, which he dumps onto the kitchen counter with fanfare. "Honey, I'm home."

“What happened to using the reusable bags?” Steve drawls, earning an eye roll from Bucky.

“Forgot 'em.”

“Mmhm.”

“Shut up.” Bucky’s grinning at his husband, until he catches sight of Mary crouched in her gym clothes. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks her.

“None of your business,” she snips, standing back up and heading for the front door.

“Stop right there, Princess.”

Oh. Well that’s a new one. Mary turns back around with what she’s sure is an incredulous look. “‘Princess’?”

Bucky smiles warmly and drags her over to inspect the groceries that are in the bags. She’s quick to catalog: eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. “What?” she asks, looking up at him. “You think I’m going to cook for you?”

“Oh I know you’re going to cook for me,” he says calmly, taking dry goods out of one of the bags and arranging them in the pantry. “Bake, in fact.”

Mary might stare a little, maybe with her lips parted. She feels equal parts annoyed and intrigued by his audacity. Something vaguely squirmy and warm stirs in her. She's planning on throwing some haughty quip back at him, maybe casually threatening poisoning, but somehow what comes out of her mouth is a subservient, “Well … what do you want me to make?”

He turns back around with bright eyes. “Oh, I’m sure you can come up with something,” he practically purrs. He gets right up in her space and says, “Something … delectable.”

Mary has to avert her gaze and turn away. She says a quick prayer that he hadn’t been close enough to hear the little hitch in her breath, then tries to focus her attention on cataloging the ingredients the jerk has brought her. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk …

Hadn’t she … hadn’t she been going out somewhere? Oh yeah, right. The gym.

She squeaks when Bucky claps a cheerful hand on her shoulder and gives her a squeeze. “Good girl,” he simpers, then walks over to the couch and flops down next to Steve, giving him a kiss hello. They proceed to chat with each other and chat about their days like Mary isn’t standing less than twenty feet away in the kitchen.

She suddenly feels like some 1950’s housewife. … One with damp panties, now that Bucky’s called her that right in her ear. Christ. Had Steve heard? She glances back over to them, but they’re not looking her way. Mary flushes and looks back down at the countertop. Eggs, butter, flour, sugar, milk. She tries to think if she has everything she might need for soufflé cakes.

“How can something so plain be so good?” Steve wonders at the dinner table, where he’s squinting closely at his third helping of dessert like he can glean answers from it. “And what is it?”

“Satisfying,” Bucky says sagely. “That’s the secret.”

“The secret is buttermilk. And it’s cake, Steve. Just eat it.”

“How’re those dishes coming, Doll?” Bucky calls back, shooting her a sly look from over his shoulder. Mary resists the urge to stick her tongue out at him and dunks her hands back into the soapy sink water. 

Steve pokes the jiggly cake with his fork. “What are yooou?” 

By the time they’re finished with dinner and dessert (and dishes), she’s figured it out. All the pet names, the casual touches and the confident demands? Bucky’s trying to dominate her. She thinks about calling him out on it, but promptly forgets to do that when they go into the living room to watch a movie and Bucky firmly suggests that she make herself comfortable on the floor instead of the couch. At his and Steve’s feet.

Forget about damp panties, she just hopes it doesn’t start to show through her leggings.

Asexual dynamic her ass.

Mary had only held onto the illusion that the guys were gay gay for about two whole days, before it became very apparent that they actually like women, too. Steve’s comments alone about Daenerys while watching Game of Thrones are enough to broadcast that he swings both ways.

So that takes it from regrettable to just plain insulting when, as time goes by, Bucky doesn’t initiate anything sexual with her. He keeps doing his whole Dom thing, aided and abetted by Steve, and almost always in ways that take Mary off guard. He’s never mean, never does any of the intimidating things she’d imagined a dom would do to a submissive. 

And Mary won’t admit it, but she’s starting to look forward to when Bucky gets home from work at the end of the day. She spends more time than she’ll ever admit planning out something new to make for dessert, all the while anticipating the beginning of Bucky’s early evening commands and how they elicit those first tendrils of effervescent, pink fizz giddiness. 

It’s the later commands—the ones that come after dinner and during tv time, that tend to bring on the warm, sunken bathwater feelings. Marys pretty sure that Steve is a bit of a voyeur, because he seems fascinated by it all, watching every night as Bucky bosses her around, sometimes even joining in his own small ways, by petting her hair or telling her she’s sweet, or something like that.

Every evening, they play this strange game. And every evening Bucky and Steve each give her a kiss on the cheek and send her dazed little self off to bed, the two of them retiring to their own room. In the beginning, being left alone to go to bed is nice. She ignores the arousal between her legs in favor of floating in her syrupy sea of sweet feelings. Going to bed in subspace gives her the most solid sleep she’s ever had in her life. But after another week of it, and then another, the arousal starts to linger a little more at bedtime. She starts to fantasize about what it would be like to keep things going, to take Steve’s hand at the end of the night and let him guide her into his and Bucky’s bedroom, rather than her own; be held between their two big bodies while they whisper more sweet things to her and touch her in new places …

Maybe Steve and Bucky really do just want this to be platonic, she thinks, as another week of the same goes by and her dreams are getting dirtier by the minute. She’d surreptitiously stuffed her vibrator into a bag when they’d gone back to her apartment to retrieve her belongings, but she’s been too afraid to use it when Steve and Bucky are right across the hallway in their room, mortified to think that they might hear the buzzing and know what she’s doing.

Best not to add fuel to the fire, she thinks, when she ignores how increasingly horny she’s becoming and forces herself to lie still and count sheep and not fantasize about the two insanely hot, not-gay-gay men in the next room. They’re still a happily married couple, she tells herself. They’ve got no interest in her as of yet, and she’ll just be making herself into a homewrecker if she pushes for more.

… Or maybe they’re just not attracted to her that way, she eventually starts to think. Steve and Bucky are both in amazing shape, and they’re very good looking. They probably see her as like … maybe a solid five—with makeup and a blowout. 

She gets a little down in the dumps about it, realizing that all the heavy drinking and crap diet of this past year and a half has taken its toll on her, and she’s just not physically their type. She convinces Bucky to start adding salmon to the grocery list, she researches the pros and cons of lip filler, and starts whitening her teeth with one of those nasty little gel kits.

She stands in front of her bathroom mirror each night and scrutinizes her naked body, dragging her nails absentmindedly against the skin of her lower stomach and cataloging everything that’s not as good as it could be. She considers the scars on her hip that have no new slices added to the roster, wonders if Bucky ever wound up telling Steve about how … how awful they are …

“Night, Mary!” Steve chirps from across the hall, making her inhale and flinch in surprise.

“N-night!” she calls back through the wall, feeling the pleasant effects of that night’s drop fading away faster than she’d like.

Maybe she should just be happy that she’s getting at least this much attention from them, that things have improved a little and she at least isn’t drinking herself into a stupor each night anymore. That’s a positive, even if she is still left pining after them like a fool every night. Steve and Bucky are okay guys, but they probably just don’t want anything more than this from her. They’re helping her because she shares this mental illness with Bucky, and that’s super nice of them, but it doesn’t mean they have to be attracted to her, too. Mary’s not entitled to anything.

She joins a 24 hour gym and takes to binge exercising in the middle of the night to push away the uncertainty.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

🍵Consider tipping your friendly neighborhood starving artist smut author!

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here

fill for

@badthingshappenbingo

card: sarah-writes-stucky / sarahyellow

Square O2: therapy session

@marvel-smash-bingo

card: sarah-writes-stucky

square I1: enemies to lovers

@sebastianstanbingo

card: @sarahowritesostucky

Square B5: Love triangle

@ultimatechrisbingo

card: @sarahowritesostucky

Square B3: Inconvenient attraction

[rainbow-femme]

I have a coworker who is nice, and the way she acts in her niceness makes me uncomfortable but everyone else here just sees her do stuff and goes on how she’s a saint

You know the term “will give you the shirt off their back”?

Well this woman would give you the shirt off her back. Even if you are wearing a shirt, and have many more at home, and you didn’t even say anything about shirts you just walked in the room and she is insisting you take her shirt. And you are saying no I do not need or want your shirt and she is insisting and you are saying that you really don’t want her taking off her shirt. But now the shirt is off and she has given it to you and you now have her shirt and she is now not wearing a shirt and you don’t have any interest in this shirt but everyone saw her do it and thinks she’s the kindest person in the world, and if you are ungrateful for the shirt you’re a bad person because she literally just gave you the shirt off her back, how can you complain

For example

Yesterday she bought a sandwich from a sandwich shop. She ate half and said the other half would be her dinner. A coworker walked in the room who likes that shop but in no way referenced it or the sandwich on her way through. And this is the interaction

Nice Coworker: Oh, here! You should have this.

Other Coworker: Oh no thank you.

NC: No really it’s yours, take it.

OC: That’s ok, I brought my lunch today I’m going to eat that.

NC: Have it for dinner then.

OC: We’re making pasta tonight, I don’t need a sandwich, I’m not going to eat it.

NC: But the kind I got is your favorite. You eat it, really.

OC: It’s ok I went there last week, I don’t want another sandwich from there right now.

NC: No no, listen. I’m going to put this in the fridge, you remember to take it before you leave today.

And then other people just go “Aww Nice Coworker you are the nicest person in the whole world” and just do not seem to find this weird or uncomfortable

[herearedragons]

...so yesterday I noticed a fun Pillars of Eternity thing.

There are 11 companions in POE1. There are also 11 gods in Eora.

So, naturally, I decided to see if you can match every companion's themes/aesthetic/general plot to a god, and, you kind of can? So I'm going to put the list of matches I ended up with here, and more detailed explanations under the cut.

The List

Edér - Eothas

Aloth - Berath

Sagani - Rymrgand

Kana - Wael

Durance - Magran

Pallegina - Hylea

Hiravias - Galawain

Grieving Mother - Woedica

Maneha - Ondra

Zahua - Skaen

Devil of Caroc - Abydon

(disclaimer: this is not the "every companion secretly represents a god" theory. this is just me having fun and seeing how far I can take this idea. some of these are A Stretch)

(another disclaimer: I'll be referencing both the first game and the short stories, so, uh, spoilers)

(also special thanks to @solas-backpack-mug for helping me brainstorm this)

Evidence

...the first thing I should probably mention is that, to make things easier for myself, I assumed that every character we know to be devoted or otherwise connected to a specific god will be representing that god. That mostly worked out (I'll get into my reasoning for Hiravias later), and in some cases there was even additional evidence to support this.

So!

Edér - Eothas

the theme of rebirth/second chances is all over his dialogue, storyline and even combat abilities (his Second Chance armor). you could argue that the warrior ability that allows you to constantly regenerate Endurance is also kind of relevant, but that's a stretch

Eothasian

Aloth - Berath

like Berath, his soul has two aspects, male and female (the Usher and the Pallid Knight vs Aloth and Iselmyr)

his quest is literally called "Two-Sided"

in his short story, he brings up the fact that the Aedyran priesthood of Berath, specifically, opposes animancy - which he also does

also in the short story, he for some reason chooses to pray to Berath in a moment that's important to him, and it might be a cultural thing, but I also think this is the only time we've seen him pray at all?

Sagani - Rymrgand

general arctic theming

this is one of the shakier associations, but once I started looking into it I realized that the themes of futility and deterioration are kind of present in Sagani's story. She references in her short story (and I'm pretty sure in the game as well, though I don't remember) how she's growing older and more distant from her family the longer her search takes, being literally worn down by time. And in the end, she finds Persoq as a dying animal who can't understand her; under a certain interpretation you could say that her search was futile, though that's definitely not the only reading (and it's not my personal interpretation, but for tinfoil-hat purposes, it counts).

you could argue that her hunting down a reincarnated soul is kind of like Rymrgand's entropy coming for every soul eventually

Kana - Wael

his entire character is based around different aspects of knowledge: knowledge preserved, knowledge newly discovered, knowledge lost

has a humorous streak

seems to have a tendency to wander and defy the existing order of things

Durance - Magran

I mean

Pallegina - Hylea

she's an avian godlike

I guess you could say she's devoted to the growth and prosperity of the Republics, which resonates with Hylea's theme of nurturing?

but it's mostly the godlike thing

Hiravias - Galawain

worships or used to worship Galawain, depending on your choices

druid, strongly associated with beasts and nature

he could end up as a follower of Wael, which by my own rule would qualify him for the Wael parallel, but: a) I think Kana fits Wael's thing better, b) I think that, regardless of your choices, Hiravias' quest is ultimately still about survival. Either he proves himself to Galawain by surviving his trials, or he walks away and chooses a better god to follow - but that, too, is a form of self-preservation.

Grieving Mother - Woedica

was "destroyed" when her cipher powers backfired and now lives as a lesser form of herself, can be restored to her full power depending on your choices

manipulated the minds of an entire village to hide the truth about the Hollowborn from them, and protecting secrets is very much a Woedica thing

Maneha - Ondra

instantly qualified by being an Ondrite and a Giftbearer

is a coastal aumaua, for extra ocean vibes

wants to forget a murder she committed, just like Ondra wants her murder of Abydon to be forgotten

I'm pretty sure that Maneha and Devil were at least a little intentionally written to mirror Ondra and Abydon respectively, so I'm feeling pretty good about this one

Zahua - Skaen

mutilation or self-mutilation as a means for achieving a Noble Goal (revenge for Skaenites, enlightenment for Zahua)

seeks to liberate his enslaved people

Devil of Caroc - Abydon

murdered and reborn in an artificial body

depending on your choices, her story either ends with rage or with sinking into the ocean and being forgotten (which kind of mirrors the restored untempered/not restored Abydon endings; sure, he's not forgotten in the unrestored ending, but the whole "sinking into the ocean" does fit the "Ondra wins" vibe)

again, pretty sure she's an intentional parallel to Abydon. she's also the only one who doesn't need any extra help to survive striking the crystal with Abydon's hammer at the end of TWM2

[blackstarchanx3new]

FSR rambles 19 traumatic things Link experianced

Pet him like a cat shadow.

At least Link's normal enough to get up now.

Awkward...

Shadow's like "Damn this is weird"

Link's selectively mute still but I'd struggle to talk with four dipshits screaming like cracked out squirrels in my head too so ya know, I don't even blame him for being shitty at communication with Shadow rn.

He's got his priorities in order: FOOD.

Okay but you know Link is mad his plan failed literally the day after he employed it.

I'd be pissed anyway XDDDD

The four of em fell asleep, wake back up and they're right back to square one, ground zero the shit storm he tried to escape from.

That's horrifying in a way I can't quite articulate. "Hopelessness" is the only word coming to mind. Like, everything he did, it didn't matter. It was all for nothing they're BACK to how they were.

His hopes that pulling the sword would fix it: Crushed.

The literal only difference is that Shadow's here.

Which, is BETTER but damn if the disappointment from Link isn't palpable. You can only imagine what's going through his head rn after all this shit, he's just defaulting to a LITTLE BIT of normalcy in making breakfast.

Shadow's back to defaulting to doing: well nothing.

He isn't helping Link and is just WATCHING. Smth literally just yesterday was ALL HE COULD DO.

They're both just defaulting to what they're used to because this shit is too weird.

Is nice of Link to make enough for Shadow though. XD

Haha okay I can get into this:

Literally Shadow and Link simultaneously know each other and don't.

In cannon: Shadow said ONE SENTANCE TO THIS MAN. A SINGLE THING. AND IT WAS MOCKING HIM LMFAO.

Yes Shadow had interaction with the colors but Link and Shadow: Nothing.

So of course he feels awkward around him.

They spent forever together and yet still feel so far away.

It's a tough situation.

Link pulling out the "you sure are quiet" is imo, him trying to be funny.

he continues with "thought you'd be more comfortable with me...at least considering how many times we've kissed"

Obviously this is in reference to Vio lmfao (...Also green but uh we'll get into that later). With Link's eyes matching Vio's.

Link is completely fucking with him and it's funny to me at least. Like he's so deadpan but he's being such a goof rn.

Though it is interesting to note how Link directly says Vio is him without any separation here. Since Vio also thought he was Link last night.

WHY WOULDN'T HE REMEMBER SMOOCHING YA SHADOW???

Shadow clearly not knowing HOW Link works is kinda hilarious but also, nobody knows how this works.

Link casually referencing what Vio said in the fire temple, it's much more obvious now he's goofing with Shadow rn.

Shadow realizing the obvious, that Link IS the same person he's been hanging around just mashed together is a small but good reminder. Like link isn't a stranger fully. He's still the four of them.

Shadow just asking "Is this for me" would seem weird but uhh remember:

He didn't have a BED. He's been a SHADOW for YEARS. Like. Shadow being neglected isn't new. So it's a sad notion but he is shocked he'd be given food.

Link kinda having a "Wtf u mean? duh it's for you." moment.

Also the bomb drop that Link knows about Dark Link...Oops.

Exactly what relationship/how he KNOWS about Dark is kinda, left open since he doesn't elaborate what so ever...

It can be assumed he just knows what everyone else does. Buuut. There's always that "but"

"Link what are you blabbing for they can hear you" - Shadow continuing to not understand how Link works. XD

I don't think it was mentioned anywhere before this but haha Blue was also in on the splitting Link plan. Vio and Red are the only ones left out of some of the loop it seems...But they were mainly worried about Vio catching on.

Link accuratly noting this nightmare isn't anything like the first time. Sorry buddy it's cause you're in an unrated comic by a weirdo fan vs any official Zelda comic. XDDD Which wouldn't allow 90% of what's in this comic I'm sure haha.

Also reasonable train of thought thought Shadow buddy about reverting back into a shadow. What a terrifying thought.

Aw Link's being sweet and- TRIFORCE

Yeah Shadow's sweating bullets considering uh the little fact Ganon said "Here catch, you're evil triforce of power man now"

Takes Link a second to remember back on that convo Shadow and Vio had about the triforce in the flashbacks. PG 179-182 ish if you're curious on brushing up on that.

Oh hi Vio.

I don't think a lot of people caught that this was Vio's design from FS. Which is why Shadow was SO DISTURBED to see him like that. Link's very all over the place mentally and it's showing with his appearance. He's unstable as all hell right now.

Blue chiming in with "Wait a damn minute" remembering Zelda ALSO has the Triforce on her hand.

Vio and Red are being obtuse/ignorant while Blue and Green know smth's up and are getting pissy about it.

Which just makes Link: All over the damn spectrum of emotion about this right now haha.

I'd get tonal whiplash too Shadow.

Link going down the list of things he thought Shadow would want haha.

and Shadow's gay lil confession that all he really wants is Link is sweet.

I mean what else does he have to strive for? He gave up on a lot of his old dreams as pointless after becoming apart of the endless cycle of hatred.

It's noteworthy that Link's outfit glitches to black again.

The line "Which you" was a very fun one to come up with. Because it just, hits ya.

Link isn't one entity. He's multiple. And he literally can't tell who Shadow's talking to in that moment. Because the underlying assumption (To Link and this will become obvious) is that Shadow really only cares about Vio.

All of last night is probably a complete blur/emotional whiplash around Shadow For Link.

Shadow threw a sword at Blue and was VERY hostile, was ALL OVER THE PLACE emotionally with Green mostly being bitter as hell, didn't really acknowledge red and Vio had a complete meltdown over his guilt surrounding Shadow and their friendship and relationship as a whole was all over the place.

Cram that all back together and what is Link supposed to take away from all that. Overall dude had a net negative experience with Shadow and now he's telling him he wants him?

I'd be confused as hell too.

Hi Zelda.

Safe to say that was inevitable given how badly Link was bugging out this entire time.

He couldn't handle seeing Zelda haha.

I don't think people caught Vio is just in his "headspace" outfit. Except it isn't pastel color palette.

Panic attack, featuring Blue. He was the most vocally insistent they draw the sword, was activly trying to force his way out of Link's mish mash body during that whole ordeal. The main take away is that: He HATES being In Link and that was just about the worst nightmare come to life for him.

He doesn't even want Red to touch him, which considering the way it's all but stated Link's magical body is just their bodies pressed together into one form makes the angle that they're all LITERALLY touching each other that much more...ehhh disturbing.

It's okay guys he just needs a minute alone-

Hah. Everyone's leaving you Vio. Doesn't press on the ol anxieties or anything.

Doesn't make it easy for a certain someone to come visit you.

Vio's insecurities focusing around being ALONE and himself are smth that's been fun.

He mainly wants to be Link out of pure selfishness and self hatred. Link is an escape from his own accountability, a way for him to keep himself in check. While Blue finds it to be an outright prison.

Everything Dark is saying about here Vio could also be applied to himself and even Dark says that. He looks miserable while saying it too since Vio's problems are starting to hit a lot closer to home.

At least we got Shadow to yank Vio out of his funk. But Dark has no one to do that for him.

Shadow petting Vio's face here while in a headlock is just, funny to me. Shadow can't affection properly at all lmfao.

But hey he knows when our lil buddy is active. Oops.

Oh the fun they have together alright. 😏

It'll be a real wet and fun time-

What the hell Dark is talking about is left pretty open for now.

But he is getting sick of just sad reactions to what he says.

He's nervous when faced with women. Same bro.

Green and Shadow begging for help on wtf to do with their new squid monster is pretty hilarious to me.

Vio's being perceptive.

"IT IS!?" yeah red. And if you were an interesting character I'd write you doing things. :D

HAH. TRAUMA. DARK LINK RELATED TRAUMA.

Surely that won't bite us in the ass later or anything...

Vio's outfit is very covered up because he's emotionally closed off yada yads I've mentioned this before.

This hasn't been brought up in the comic but Green is afraid of tentacles lmfao so his fear at Dark rn is warranted.

Shadow blatantly not caring what Dark is doing rn because he's busy

Zelda notices right away that Dark defied vaati which must have been weird for her in real time hah.

Shadow's instant response to what to do with Dark is "Murder"

Nice to see you've grown so much shadow lmfao.

Notice how Link being around isn't even the thinly vailed excuse dude just doesn't like Dark Link lmfao. Most of what he said to Dark last night imo was pure projection and again: Not because he cared about Dark. But now he feels like they have an easy to to get rid of him via Zelda. Doesn't have to confront weird feelings if the guy is gone ooomf.

Zelda isn't outright apposed to getting rid of Dark Link but is like "Uhh...But what about link tho-"

Shadow noticed his hair change.

I'm sure he noticed earlier, it's right in his eye sight but background detail of him actually looking at it like "Wtf?"

Also fun pressure to put on Green when he's strung out to shit rn.

HI DARK LINK! :D

Uhhhhhh. Okay then.

So Green's got murder trauma.

He's also just sick of the responsibilities piling on him like a crushing weight.

There's smth to be said about how Dark isn't a murderer so, doesn't have blood around his feet haha visual metaphores haha.

So clarity: Link as a whole person murdered the people who killed his father. And Vio and Green were the ones who had main control in that moment.

Hope that clears some stuff up.

Dark finds this shit hilarious because he's sadistic but Green snaps out of the panic to realize THIS GUY IS DARK LINK.

The moment Green switches from his helpless attire into his current fit was very fun emotionally cause this was the first time someone had ANY amount of control when facing Dark Link. (Excluding Shadow I suppose, in terms of the colors anyway)

Green being a badass is just smth I enjoy and the "Oh shit moment" was very fun to watch people react to haha.

Dark was so excited when seeing Green acknowledge him.

It really goes to show all of his "Nyeh you're such a shitty person" talk is literally not even his own opinion when it comes to the four colors. He's literally just repeating their insecurities and nothing else. Those words have NO BITE to them because Dark doesn't even believe it.

He's so excited to see Green because Green's the ONLY PERSON Who's truly acknowledged him in the head space.

Dark being so overwhelmed with joy he vomits.

Dark really doesn't have a lot of emotional regulation emotionally or physically. Like. The idea here is he's just, so excited he literally physically cannot handle that shit haha. I made a shitpost about it once but it's kinda just, accurate. XD

Green's like "Wtf is wrong with you"

because this isn't ANYTHING he thought he'd be dealing with considering how Shadow was acting/talking about him lmfao.

He was expecting Shadow 2.0 and got...This guy.

Guy who apologizes when acting goofy as shit

Guy who is excited to see him overjoyed even...After utterly destroying him not 2 seconds ago.

Just. A silly. Goofy guy.

It is fun to have Dark switch IMEDIATELY to depressed as hell thinking about how he's been so alone.

I would really describe Dark's excitement here as pure mania. because at the root Dark is a depressed individual.

Dark gives no shits when faced with death.

No begging or pleading for his life just "idk do what you want to I don't care"

Which, Dark Link's lack of care for his own personal safety has been shown off before and will only be a continued trend.

At the end of the day it shows a clear lack of self respect or care for himself.

Dark doesn't value himself.

Green's mercy here is rooted in his own selfishness.

He doesn't WANT to kill Dark Link because he doesn't want to hurt people. Which him and Vio did.

Green is ALSO very exhausted. And what you get is two individuals who would typically be at each other's throats, who aren't interested in fighting each other because they're just so worn out. The drive just isn't there.

Which leads them to being able to actually talk to each other in a meaningful way. And I just find that interesting.

Under different circumstances, these two very well could have fought here. XD

[waitmyturtles]

THE MORNING AFTER: ONLY FRIENDS, EPISODE 2 ("I PROMISED YOU THE MOONSHINE") EDITION

Being a day late to watching and writing about Only Friends allows me a little airspace away from the gasps and dopamine of the collective community first watch of each episode, and lemme tell ya -- my dash yesterday was so hot, it was like melting Tupperware on a stove. Unfortunately for many in the fandom, the ships are going to sink. That shower scene got some folks wrecked. Many folks on my dash have a sudden disdain for Neo Trai (poor kiddo). For anyone who reads around here, you might remember my implored begging of the Tumblr family to watch Gay OK Bangkok before Only Friends premiered, and I still stand by it. The Only Friends team -- Jojo Tichakorn, Ninew Pinya, writers Den Panuwat and Best Kittisak -- are playing with a lot of concepts that I thought were just FABULOUSLY explored in this second episode, and these concepts ARE going to lead to further innuendos and endings that the shippers are just not going to like. (I think GOKB primed us for this.) And frankly, by the way this episode played out (as we were talking about a couple days ago, @lurkingshan) -- I think that's a hell of a point that the team is making in our faces.

I'm going to get to this more in a moment. Let me explain more, by way, of all things (!) -- plum wine.

So a bunch of us meta clowns (cc @ranchthoughts, @chickenstrangers, @lurkingshan) were talking about a theory I had on Friday regarding the theme of ephemerality in the first episode. How Cheum indicated to Mew that there's a lot in Thailand that'll bring them down, from pollution to radiation. She wanted Mew to nab Top -- she indicated that life is fickle, so what did her homeboy have to lose? Go get yer man, she said.

@ranchthoughts, @chickenstrangers, @lurkingshan and I took this conversation further yesterday (please read all the reblogs on this link, folks, it's a great conversation!), exploring the many more references to the ephemeral, fickle nature of time and life that Only Friends is referencing. @chickenstrangers clocked that Yo's bar is called YOLO. @ranchthoughts clocked that Sand's bag of plum wine read "you only live once." @lurkingshan noted that Jojo's played around with the ephemeral before -- in Gay OK Bangkok, examining the impact of HIV on Bangkok's gay male population.

The reblogs of the post linked above also capture some common mentalities about the "future" for our current crop of young folks today (I... am not young, lol), particularly for the young queer community. That through climate change, the slow-snail-paced fight for equity (like the legalization of same-sex marriage in Thailand) (and even comparing it to the roll-back of rights for the LGBTQ+ community in the States) -- as @ranchthoughts wrote, there seems to be a stronger sense of "live fast, die young," among younger cohorts than when I was a young lass, born in the 1980s, when a middle management career could get you everything you needed, with a unfettered retirement in sight.

To me, the most wrenching references to the ephemeral in this second episode focused on death. "Do you want us to die?," Sand asked laughingly as Ray played around in the car. Top can't sleep alone because after a childhood trauma, he's afraid he'll die alone. Ray's deceased mom is shown with a glass in her hand.

And how are these young folks behaving? In the face of literal death, as they themselves are referring to it: they're living life very riskily. Top's a player. So is Boston. We hope they're playing safe. (Gay OK Bangkok had condoms all over the place. I haven't seen any yet in OF.) Ray's blood alcohol levels are clearly through the roof. Sand's committing a crime.

Say what now? Committing a crime?

I hope folks clocked that. What's REALLY making me shake my head is how slick the non-sexual commentary was in this episode.

Going back to my original post on ephemerality that I let loose on Friday: I talked about the metaphor of plum wine and the passage of time -- how plum wine tastes sweeter and better as you let it age.

Sand was pissed that his bottles of plum wine broke because he's making it himself. That's why he wanted Ray to pay him back for the lost supply. Sand lost both product AND time.

Making and selling plum wine is illegal in Thailand. It's like the selling of rotgut during Prohibition.

SAY WHAT? For real. Thailand's laws around alcohol are wild, y'all. The display of alcohol logos is weirdly regulated (I laugh at how bottles are often blurred out in Thai dramas), brewing alcohol within Thailand is insanely complicated (some people brew alcohol in Thailand, then bottle it elsewhere and import it BACK into Thailand to skirt these laws), and -- you cannot buy alcohol from 2 pm to 5 pm.

Remember we saw Ray sneaking some sips from a flask outside the hostel site? That's a major flag for confirmed alcoholism (drinking alone during the day). But also, if Ray wanted a drink during the hours of 2-5 pm -- he had to have the booze on himself to have a tipple.

We know Jojo does NOT shy away from political commentary. We saw it in spades during Dirty Laundry.

What I love about Jojo's work is that he's unafraid to call out the hypocrisy of these kinds of laws. The making of plum wine is ILLEGAL? In Japan, making umeshu is traditional. (It's also the easiest and most delicious thing ever, please try making it!). For many of us around the world, making umeshu is a hobby, and a perfectly safe one at that. Considering Thailand's economy is so dependent on tourism, and that Bangkok itself is a world-class city, you would think that the selling of alcohol wouldn't be so complicated, and yet... 'tis.

This leads me to what I saw as the second Big Theme of this episode, besides ephemerality: I saw a lot of hypocrisy in this episode.

We got the liquor laws bullshit. We got Boston. Boston strikes me as a hypocrite for setting up his friend Mew with Top -- all while Boston's still wanting to get with Top, to the point of sneaking into Top's shower.

And Mew strikes me as a hypocrite, too. He wants to "redo" the start of his relationship with Top?... on his own terms? So, they're not boyfriends anymore? After already....having dated? Believable, my dude. The guys are in a PatPran-esque battle of... something, and I don't think it's wits, because neither of them seem to have many wits about them. They seem to be more interested in just winning a goal that (except for sex for Top) seems wholly unclear. Does Mew not know that Top may very well NOT respect Mew? Is Mew aware that his read on Top may not be at all accurate? And.... does Mew actually care? I'm not convinced of it.

Live fast, die young. What does it matter to be a hypocrite if the future is unstable, if time is speeding by -- and if no one is holding these young folks accountable for their behavior, as I put into the tags of @ranchthoughts's post yesterday? As Nick says to Boston: "you're a rich guy -- you don't care much for things." What, exactly, would make these rich kids care about being ethical human beings?

Accountability is around the corner for this group. Nick is starting to catch feelings. Boston is wondering why he's getting rejected by Top. Sand's recognizing that Ray's sniffing out something between them (cc @neuroticbookworm) (and, who knows, as NBW first referenced in her post -- Sand might be catching feelings, too). All of these friends -- it's mindblowing! -- leave Ray alone, often, wasted off his ass, to get himself home, as Sand himself notes.

These characters are going to get hurt, and it's only a matter of time until we begin seeing it happen. At the micro-level, human to human, they will hurt each other. And society, Thai society, is doing these young people no favors by not helping to equalize the inequity between rich and poor -- as Sand has to take risks to sell illegal hooch, of all things, to just get by.

Wrapping this up with what I was mentioning up at the top about the jibbles that the fandoms are starting to feel towards the established GMMTV ships of this show slowly sinking. Isn't there a bit of hypocrisy there as well? This show is NOT going to be pretty for the ForceBook/FirstKhao established ships. What are we, as fans, going to do when that time comes? Will we condemn Jojo? Will we stop watching the show? Will we equivocate by way of blaming other characters?

This show should be celebrated already for the risks it's taking, and the risks it will take. (Remember: fans protested at the GMMTV building in 2019 when the KristSingto ship was broken for He's Coming To Me.) Only Friends deciding to take on the toxicity and hypocrisy of shipper fandom? Bring it on. We cannot only enjoy the performances of these actors when they're paired up with one repeating partner. As the life of Gay OK Bangkok depicted, as the life of Only Friends is depicting -- life is a whole lot more complicated than just a dreamlike, over-organized monogamy between two people (ahem, Mew). Life -- and TIME -- will bring complications and change, sometimes unwanted change, that we have to learn to handle and manage. I'm not colored surprised in the least that Jojo's making this experience for us jump out of the screen and into our own hearts, as we see our beloved actors take risks upon themselves by their breaking of their own ships. I am all here for it, and I hope the shipper fans can be, too.

(BIG UPS to the small meta army family -- @ranchthoughts, @lurkingshan, @chickenstrangers, @neuroticbookworm -- I'm so thrilled to continue being thoughtful with y'all!)

[versegm]

Sleeping as a servant is… strange.

Specifically, the act of falling asleep when she doesn’t have the physical necessity for it  is… eerie, to say the least. There is no precursor drowsiness, no Morpheus insistently pulling on her eyelids. No; she simply lays down, closes her eyes, and at her will her entire body shuts down. Wide awake one minute, out of commission the next. It’s rather efficient.

“Artoria? Are you awake?”

Getting out of sleep mode is just as efficient.

At the sudden voice, Artoria jolts awake, summons her sword, and blindly stabs in its general directly. She sees its owner jumping backward, landing on all four, and only then does she recognize them.

“Berserker.” She hisses. Their masters may be allied now, but it doesn’t change the fact that they were enemies just yesterday. Shirou may trust them, but she does not.

Berserker straightens their back and dusts their clothes. “Yeah, I suppose I deserved that. Sorry for waking you up, Artoria.”

“Stop calling me that.” Still, she sheathes the sword away. Not like it could do much good against them anyways. Whatever Berserker’s noble phantasm is, the only way she found to get past it was by punching them straight in the face. (Not that they even flinched when the gauntlet broke their nose.)

Berserker blinks. “But its your name.” They tilt sit down, crossing their legs. “Do you not like it?”

“That is not the issue.” (Which is true; she couldn’t care less about her name. Artoria, Arthur, the important part is that she is King.) “This is a Holy Grail War. We are to kill each other. Stop advertising to everyone my true name and subsequent weaknesses.” At least people might take a moment to kink that name to that of the King of Knights. Thanks history for its gendered name, she guesses.

“Ah.” Berserker pauses, then nods. “I will… try. Sorry.”

Saber takes a deep breath. Berserker keeps throwing her off, but they do not seem hostile so far. She spent ten years without letting her emotions get the better of her, she can have a conversation with that servant. “How do you even know that name?” Briefly, she wonders if they might be an enemy strategist, but- Artoria. Not Arthur, Artoria. She can count on one hand the amount of people who called her that, and Berserker looks like neither of them.

“We’ve met. You tried to kill me a few times. I killed you back, so don’t worry, we’re even.” Their gaze is unfocused. They’re looking at her face, but their eyes keep darting back and forth, as if they weren’t quite sure where her eyes are. “Well, it wasn’t you. You never became them. But they used to be you at some point. You know?”

“I really don’t.” She replies honestly. She initially thought they might have met in a holy grail war she has yet to experience, but the way they’re talking about it…

“Mh, okay, let me try again.” Berserker interrupts her train of thoughts. “You know black holes, right?”

She first thinks of a hole in the ground, so deep that one cannot see the bottom. Then the grail unhelpfully provides her with knowledge on actual black holes, and the idea that up there the corpses of stars become swirling all-devouring voids renders her speechless.

“Right. 5th century knight. I’ll get it right eventually. Do you like poetry, Dragon? What about plays?”

“You’re getting off-topic.” Saber says dumbly.

“Get used to it. I can speak in no other way.” It’s a simple sentence, but it occurs to Saber that it is literal. During the last war, Lancelot- it’s easy to forget, because they make full sentences, because they speak and walk and act like a human- but that’s a berserker. They can speak in no other way. This is the only way they have to communicate. “There are ancient roman poems that have completely disappeared. We have no record of them whatsoever. But we still know they existed, because they are referenced in other texts. We can never read them fully, but thanks from the extracts others have quoted, thanks to what others have said about them, we can guess what they were about.”

They point a finger towards her.

“You are the poem. I have never met you. But I have read the extracts. I have met king Arthurs who used to be you, or who could have become you. Does that make sense?”

“… Kind of.” Sometimes, when Saber sleeps of her servant sleep, she feels like she’s seeing a long dream. Sometimes she crawls all the way from Camlann to Camelot’s armory. Sometimes she’s fighting on the behalf of another master. Sometimes there is a girl begging her not to take up the sword. Maybe Berserker has seen people from these dreams, too.

Berserker nods, seemingly pleased with themselves. “But yeah, that’s why I came to see you tonight. I have met so many of you, and seen so many of your knights, and you wield Caster- I wanted to know a little more about you!”

Her heart jumps at the mention of her knights- she doesn’t know what happened to them after… everything. Did any of them survive? Did any of them get to live? Gawain, Bedivere, Lancelot- there’s only a handful whose fate she’s not sure of, whom she dares hope managed to be happy after all this. But their next sentence puzzles her. “Caster?”

They smile. It’s soft and melancholic. “She was… someone dear to me.” They say this sentence with an affection Saber does not know how to describe. Maybe there exist no words at all for this emotion. “You know, the other day, there was no way you could have killed me. I don’t die that easily. But it still means a lot to me that she refused to cut me at all.”

The puzzle pieces fall. The dots connect. Saber understands.

“This…” Slowly, she takes out her invisible sword. “This is Caster?” And then, slower: “This used to be a person?”

“She is a person.” Berserker nods. “She still has thoughts and feelings and opinions. She’s made of thoughts and feelings and opinions. She just also happens to be dead. Like you and me.”

There is a brief pause. And then: “Well, maybe not you. I don’t know if you’re dead yet. Bedivere showed me that I shouldn’t assume. Besides, it’s rude to.”

Saber sets down Excalibur- sets down Caster, on her laps. The blade is cold. Did that metal use to be flesh? Did the gold use to be skin? Who does that- who would be cruel enough to ask a girl to become a sword? Who would be selfless enough to accept it? “Berserker. Will you tell me more about Caster? And Bedivere, and my knights? I… would like to hear your stories.”

Berserker’s eyebrows shoot up to their hairline. “You would listen to me, Dragon? You know how I speak.”

“I would.” Berserker is hard to understand. Their speech is roundabound and their self-awareness nonexistence.

But they have not called her Artoria once since she asked them not to.

“I will listen.” She tells this Berserker who is trying so hard to be understandable. “Please. Tell me of my knights. Tell me of your friend.”

[90s-html-lesbians]

given that ava canonically is a fan of 1984 and references hamlet, so is very likely a bit of a bookworm

i know she often makes thoughtful, and simultaneously still dorky, jokes referencing “nerdy” books with beatrice and then turns around and makes the most surface level joke about the same books with lilith just to annoy her

“when the musketeers are having a threesom* idk i haven’t read the book” “i literally saw you reading it yesterday”

[verycharismaticdragon]

Okay, continuing this thought, I pulled up the quotes I wanted, I checked back with the original text (or, well, older version of original text), let's see.

---

First, ch.1, p.9 (eng.edition), Shen Yuan describes himself as a "veteran reader of this novel". I double-checked with Chinese, and yes he specifies this novel. So it's not related to his "Expert" status on the forum mentioned in the Airplane extras (that seems to be a general webnovel-discussion forum, not a PIDW-related forum).

This does not really prove anything either way (maybe he considers anyone who made it to the end at all a veteran of PIDW), but I'm putting it into the evidence pile for later.

---

Then, on to the main point from yesterday, Shen Yuan's death:

ch.1, p.12 (eng.edition)

the bit that seems most relevant is: "would find himself persevering before his untimely death to finish a novel [...]"

Now, this has some implications I haven't even considered: the use of "persevering" implies some kind of effort. You could possibly even read this as 'Shen Yuan has been dying before he finished PIDW, and was holding on to see it finished', like some sort of prolonged illness situation. Buuut I've decided not to jump to conclusions before checking with CN text. (Well, once again, older edition of it, but from what I'm seeing, this fragment shouldn't have been edited.)

So, here's the full phrase with the relevant fragment highlighted:

想他一个规规矩矩花钱买V看正版的大好青年，临终之前坚持看完的居然是这样一本种马程度令人发指咋舌的骗钱注水文，他能不骂吗？

Let's break the fragment down further:

临终 línzhōng: approaching one's end; immediately before one's death; on one's deathbed

之前 zhīqián: before; prior to

坚持 jiānchí: persist in; persevere in; insist on; be bent on; cling to; hold on to; hang on

看完 kànwán: to finish reading/watching.

Okay, I know we're seeing "immediately before one's death" and "persevere to finish reading" and it kinda supports the previous theory, but let's not get too excited. Because here's the thing: in all of the usage examples of 临终 línzhōng I've seen, it was not used together with 之前 zhīqián (before, prior to). Probably because 临 lín part already has a meaning of "just before; approaching; about to" included in it (it can also be translated as "to face" for example, making "to face death" or "to face the end" other valid translations of 临终, but the meaning of "just before" is still included in the concept).

So, wtf is 之前 zhīqián, another "before", there for? From what I see in the usage examples, unlike 临 lín which implies immediate before-ness, 之前 zhīqián is about a more removed event. In fact, it seems to strongly imply that the speaker is referencing two points in time that do not overlap. (I mean, correct me if you're fluent and I'm wrong, but that's what I'm seeing in literally all examples.)

Thus, in our sentence, we have two separate events, only held together by referencing the order in which they occur: 临终 línzhōng "to face the end" (I've decided to use this tl for conciseness), and 坚持看完 jiānchí kànwán "persevere to finish reading" (or "be bent on finishing", or "insist on finishing"...) So, "[...] before facing the end, [he] persevered in finishing reading [...]".

And if we take these two events/actions as separate, there is in fact logic in putting them together like this. The previous sentence talks about Shen Yuan's "dying breath", so "before facing death" is a transition from that part. Then, the "persevered in finishing" part is expounded on in the next few paragraphs, which talk about SY finishing the novel despite all his gripes. In other words, this is a transition sentence between SY dying (later event) and the gripes he had with PIDW (formulated before dying, so earlier event).

All this is to say: I think ultimately this sentence does not actually state for fact that Shen Yuan died immediately after finishing PIDW. All it says is that he finished reading at some point before dying - which, uh, obviously - but the lack of concrete proof of him dying immediately is information too.

(cont. under cut)

Then, to the other bit I mentioned yesterday, about the 20 days binge-read:

ch.1, p.38-39 (eng.edition)

Here I'm going to look at the "He'd spent twenty days binging the novel from start to finish, [...]" bit in particular.

The paragraph above, excerpt in question highlighted (ch.4 of webnovel version):

可这不能怪他记得不清楚。你让一个骂傻逼作者傻逼文的人，去记连载了四年、时间线横跨两百年的小说最开头的古早内容？他可是看了二十天才看完的，入门那一段为虐而虐的苦情戏码早忘光了好吗！

Okay, it's a bit longer, but not as scary as it looks:

他 tā: he (as in pronoun)

可是 kěshì: indeed, in fact, or just an emphasis word (can also mean "however" or "but", but that doesn't seem to fit with the sentence)

看了 kànle: had read (to quote my dictionary, most of the time 了 is translated by a past tense, but it can also indicate that one action is completed before another)

二十天 èrshí tiān: 20 days

才 cái: only, just, only after, only then

看完 kànwán: finish reading (same as before, yeah)

的 de: (has many usages but in this case most likely) used at the end of a declarative sentence for emphasis (SY's narration in general uses a lot of emphases and filler words, very informal/colloquial style. just a note)

Without making it sound like human sentence, and omitting emphases, we get something like: "He had read for 20 days, only then finished reading, [...]"

So, yes, 20 days binge real. But what I wanted to see most was if there's an indication whether this is about the whole novel up to the finale, or just catching up to the ongoning series. "Start to finish" in the translation seems to lean towards the former, but I don't think Chinese is that specific.

To break it down, 看完 kànwán consists of 看 kàn, which in this case means "to read" and 完 wán - generally 'to finish, to end, to complete', but in this case most likely just 'used after a verb to indicate action completion'. In other words, 完 wán here specifically modifies the prior verb into its "finished [verb]ing" form. And while it does have an implication of completeness, this completeness refers to the action (reading) rather than the object acted upon (novel) (which is straight up ommitted from this sentence, actually. that's Chinese for ya).

So, here as well: the text doesn't really specify beyond the shadow of doubt whether Shen Yuan was binging the finished novel, or just everything that was out when he first got into it. (Probably because the paragraph in question is talking about very early chapters, that - in either case - SY likely went through on day 1 of his binge.) Which means that ultimately, the fact of that 20-day binge does not conflict with anything implying he has been following the novel for some time. (Once again, I haven't finished my reread so I don't recall what and where SQQ says about it, but I've recently checked Airplane extras for something and he mentions Peerless Cucumber's "subscribtion payments and demands for updates".)

---

Okay, so this is what I have from earliest chapters. Maybe this post will get a part 2 once I make progress on my reread, but nevermind that. Anyw, tl;dr:

SY considers himself a "veteran reader" of PIDW.

There's no solid proof that SY died immediately after reading PIDW's finale.

There's no solid proof SY's 20-day binge encompassed the whole novel from first to final chapter.

---

Also: thank you to everyone who replied yesterday! There are some points I wanna answer individually, but one was mentioned a couple of times, so: yeah, I also think that the new chapter Airplane is penning before he dies is supposed to be an extra. Buuuuut I also may or may not have played with the idea of sv!cucumber and sv!airplane actually being from two different versions of 'modern world' before... so let's put this under "further investigation needed" for now.

[bunglegaydogs]

Oda and Dazai's relationship

Forewarning now that I've finished it; This is fucking long. Like, I;m not joking, this is almost 10,000 words. Anyways, if you want to read some of it, enjoy! <3

The things in this anime that get me are Odasaku and Dazai, Dazai and Chuuya, Yosano and Ranpo and Ranpo and Fukuzawa. Those dynamics FUCK ME UP.

And so because I like to torture myself with tears and emotions, I'm going to go on a rant about Dazai and Odasaku, because holy shit I finished The Dark Era LN yesterday and I was crying so hard that I was dizzy, shaking and could not breathe. It fucked me up fr. Anyways, I love their father/son / brother dynamic, so :)

I don't even know where to start with this? It's going to be an incoherent and incomprehensible rant, but I need to get my shit out there.

Their relationship is one of the most intrinsic and gut wrenching. Not just on a familial level, but on a personal level. Despite them never being personal with each other, they knew each other the best. Literal best friends. And that's what's so heartbreaking about Oda's death. Dazai never opens up to anyone, he never shows his true face, and always hides his intentions. When he shows his "true face" it's for a split second, blink and you miss it. As I said in a previous post, remember the Wan! jumpscare? Where Atsushi got very upset about Dazai talking about how when he goes, he wants to go out just as beautifully? That shit hurted. But it was a brief slip of the mask. After that, he remains silent. Not a word. He just stares at the fireworks, dull lifeless eyes looking up at the sky. And, when Dazai shows these sides to Odasaku, Odasaku is clearly upset by them, showing how deeply he cares for Dazai. The Dark Era LN is literally the best thing ever for going into the itty bitty of their relationship, I actually love it so much, and I will be referencing it a thousand times in this.

First episode, 15 minutes in and we already see that Dazai cares a lot for Oda. Just after Oda gets sniped in Ango's room and he phones Dazai, Dazai at first jokes about how he never usually calls him. When he realises that Oda is in a serious situation, his demeanour changes. And when Oda says that he has the Silver Oracle on hand if need be, "There's no need. Don't push yourself too hard. Wait for me to get there." Just that one sentence and we see how much he cares for him. He's being protective, making sure that Oda doesn't get himself hurt. Then, of course, comes the actual alley scene where we see a much darker side to Dazai and the anime as a whole, however it's where we also see how Dazai's mindset and habits affect Odasaku negatively, and how upset he gets when Dazai pulls this shit. There are some vital differences in the anime and with the LN which really fucking get me. The LN goes more in depth of course, but we hear the emotion in the anime. But, the book is written so well that we know the emotions anyway.

“I can see you’re not happy… I’m sorry for compromising your principles.”

His smile weakened as he spoke. Dazai usually never apologized to anyone, which was why what he said really rang true.

This always fucking gets me. He genuinely cares about what Odasaku thinks and how he feels. Dazai, who generally does not care for the emotions of others and such, apolgises when he sees that Oda is upset by something that he's done and is affected by Oda being upset, which is something that, when it comes to Dazai, is shocking, as we hardly ever see that side of him. The majority of the times that we do (honestly, if we ever do) is with Odasaku. A genuine deep-rooted affection and fondness for someone else. Yes, he deeply cares about those in the ADA, but not to the extent that he cared about Oda. He is concerned for those in the Agency's wellbeing, of course. But he's never been cared for by anyone but Odasaku before. The Agency all have deep trust between them, but Dazai will never ever show his true self to any of them. He is a guarded person, never letting anybody see his true intentions or if he's truly hurting. Odasaku has been the only one to ever see that. One of Odasaku's regrets whilst he was dying was that he never tried to get Dazai to speak up about his issues; in the LN it has such a good way of explaining how he feels about it and it tears my heart apart.

“Your organization’s called Mimic, right?” Dazai asked the man, but he didn’t reply. He didn’t even blink. “I’m not expecting an answer. To tell the truth, I admire you guys. No other organization has tried to take the Mafia head-on like this before. And nobody has ever successfully managed to point their gun at me like this with the intent to kill, either.”

Dazai faced the attacker, then began to walk toward him as if he were taking a stroll through his garden.

“Dazai, stop,” I begged in a hushed tone.

“I hope you can see the excitement in my eyes, too.” Dazai continued to address the enemy who was holding him at gunpoint. “If you just squeeze your finger ever so slightly, you can give me precisely what I crave most. The only thing I’m afraid of is that you’ll miss.”

His lips curled as he approached the man. The muzzle was now fewer than ten feet away.

“You need to aim for the heart or the head. I recommend the head. You only get one chance, though. My colleagues here won’t be kind enough to give you another.” Dazai tapped the middle of his forehead right over his eyebrows a few times. “But I know you can do it. You’re a sniper, aren’t you? I can still see the imprint from the sniper rifle on your cheek. You’re not the spotter.”

“Now shoot. Right here. You can’t miss from this close up.” Dazai grinned from ear to ear. “You’ll be killed whether or not you shoot, so just bury the enemy executive before you go.”

“Dazai!” I screamed. I felt as though we were thousands of miles apart.

“Please take me with you. Awaken me from this oxidizing world of a dream. Come, now. Shoot.”

Still pointing at his forehead, Dazai closed in on the enemy with a smile that could’ve even been described as peaceful.

The attacker bit his lip and tightened his finger around the trigger.

—He’s at his breaking point!

The sniper and I fired almost simultaneously.

Two flashes of light flooded the alley.

Shot in the arm, the man spun around.

Dazai violently bent backward after being shot point-blank.

A split second like a blue flash of lightning.

A never-ending instant.

Then time began to move again.

Immediately, Dazai’s men showered the enemy with bullets as he spun from the impact of my shot. Like a rag being pummeled by a waterfall, the man was thrown backward, scattering flesh and blood until he perished.

Leaning away, Dazai took two, three steps back before stopping.

“…………How unfortunate,” he lamented, still bent over. “Looks like I didn’t manage to die this time, either.”

Dazai lifted his head up. The skin on the side of his head, slightly above his right ear, was slit open and bleeding.

The bullet had just missed.

I looked at Dazai. There was something there invisible to the human eye. You could’ve called it demons of the mind—something that could never be seen—just something compelled to destroy all.

“Sorry to shock you like that.” Noticing my gaze, Dazai scratched the side of his head and grinned. “Pretty realistic acting, right? I knew from the start that he would miss. The imprint from the sniper rifle was on his left cheek, meaning that was the side he used to shoot. In other words, he’s left-handed, but he was holding the pistol in his right hand. So he was going to shoot with his nondominant hand, he could barely even stand on those wobbly legs, and to make matters worse, he was using that old-fashioned gun. The only way he would have hit me was if he pressed the muzzle against my body.”

I didn’t say anything. I just stared at Dazai as he explained with a smile.

“All I had to do was talk to him to buy some time until his arm got tired. If I slowly walked toward him, he wouldn’t be able to shoot straight away. The rest was in your hands, Odasaku. I knew you would do something. Pretty logical, right?”

“Yeah.”

That was all I said. I didn’t have anything else to add. Had our ranks or relations been any different, I probably would’ve punched him right then. However, I am me, and there was nothing I could do to him.

After returning my gun to its holster, I turned my back to Dazai and began walking away. With every step I took, I felt as if the ground were going to collapse, creating a bottomless hole that I would fall through for an eternity.

Dazai’s expression as he placed a finger on his forehead and approached the enemy—that of a child about to burst into tears—remained burned into my eyes.

Sorry for the long extract. Just thought the whole scene was the most effective way of showing it.

Anyways, this is one of the scenes that fucks me up the most.

Because through Odasaku's eyes, all that he sees here is a lost child, pleading and crying out for help. Despite Dazai being 18, to Oda he's still young (which, he is. 18 is fucking young.) to him. When he sees Dazai like this, he grows protective. He is rattled and very clearly shaken. The difference between the LN and the anime here is that Odasaku in the anime tells him to be quiet, because he's "heard enough". He knows that Dazai is just chatting a bit of wham.

"Dazai, stop," I begged in a hushed tone.

He's upset. Odasaku is a fucking expert at hiding his emotions, as we see when Mori tells him that Ango is missing. He expresses absolutely nothing, the twitch of his finger being the only giveaway. Here, we see how emotionally distressed he is by Dazai's actions, showing how much he truly cares for Dazai.

“Now shoot. Right here. You can’t miss from this close up.” Dazai grinned from ear to ear. “You’ll be killed whether or not you shoot, so just bury the enemy executive before you go.”

“Dazai!” I screamed. I felt as though we were thousands of miles apart.

This, once again, shows just how distressed he is. This scene fucking breaks me. He feels so far away from Dazai, because nobody can fucking reach him. Dazai's so far gone into this darkness that he's shrouded himself and found himself in that nobody can ever reach him. They can't pull him back from that ledge.

Dazai violently bent backward after being shot point-blank.

A split second like a blue flash of lightning.

A never-ending instant.

Then time began to move again.

He is fucking distressed here. Odasaku isn't doing okay, because he's scared that Dazai is dead. However, despite him knwoing he's not thanks to Flawless, he's still fucking terrified and shaken.

I looked at Dazai. There was something there invisible to the human eye. You could’ve called it demons of the mind—something that could never be seen—just something compelled to destroy all.

Oda sees more than what everyone else sees; everyone else sees a sociopathic suicidal maniac who's strange and quirky and has a weird fucking goofy side to him. However, Oda sees more to Dazai than this. Another thing to mention is that whilst everyone looks at Dazai and thinks "Wow, he seems so young for the amount of achievements in the mafia that he has. Scary kid." Odasaku sees Dazai as a child who is in need of help, a crying child who seeks someone to love and care for him. A lonely child.

That was all I said. I didn’t have anything else to add. Had our ranks or relations been any different, I probably would’ve punched him right then. However, I am me, and there was nothing I could do to him.

After returning my gun to its holster, I turned my back to Dazai and began walking away. With every step I took, I felt as if the ground were going to collapse, creating a bottomless hole that I would fall through for an eternity.

Dazai’s expression as he placed a finger on his forehead and approached the enemy—that of a child about to burst into tears—remained burned into my eyes.

This. This scene is everything to me. I will never not talk about this scene when talking about Dazai and Oda. It genuinely gets me in tears, I can't deal. When I first read this I had to stop for a second, because holy shit it just got me. Oda is the only one who has ever seen Dazai like this; everyone else sees him as someone to be used, or someone to be hated, or someone to be feared. But Oda sees him as someone to be loved. When Oda says 'Dazai’s expression as he placed a finger on his forehead and approached the enemy—that of a child about to burst into tears—remained burned into my eyes.', I don't know which explanation of mine I think is the most suitable. Because, he either says this because he sees that expression, and to him it seems like Dazai is so fucking happy and ecstatic to finally having what he craves the most, and that alone unsettles Oda. Or, Oda sees that expression and is so unsettled, because to him Dazai is just a child. A crying child that is shouting for help. I genuinely think it's both, but hey, who am I to be able to discern? I'm fucking dumb lol.

That was all I said. I didn’t have anything else to add. Had our ranks or relations been any different, I probably would’ve punched him right then. However, I am me, and there was nothing I could do to him.

Here, we see Oda's reaction after the initial shock. Here, I think it's pretty father/brother like of him when he says 'I probably would've punched him right then.' It's a protective and familial instinct; Odasaku is distressed, and wants Dazai to know that what he did was not okay. Oda is not happy with him, and Dazai kind of knows this, but doesn't know how to respond to it. As aforementioned, nobody has cared for Dazai like Odasaku does.

Now, time for a little insight on how Oda sees Dazai, and more explanation for how Oda wants to shelter him and protect him like a fucking son. One of the most heartbreaking fucking parts of the entire series; Dazai opening up for the first time ever. At least, I'm sure it is (that we see, I mean). After Dazai and Odasaku go to Bar Lupin and find Ango there, and Dazai then explains why he's not upset (bullshit he's devastated) and reveals a deep part of him, something which none of them have done with each other before, really. However, different translations, so I'll just put all three.

"It's alright, I'm not sad. I knew this would happen from the beginning. It wouldn't have mattered what side you were on. Because anything I never want to lose, is always lost. This is how it's always been for me. Everything worth wanting is lost the moment I obtain it. And nothing I pursue is worth the cost of prolonging this life of suffering." - Anime dub. "I'm not sad. I knew this from the beginning. Whether you were with the gifted special operations division or not, anything I would never want to lose is always lost. It is a given that everything that is worth wanting will be lost the moment I obtain it. There's nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering." - Anime sub. “I’m not sad. I knew from the very beginning,” Dazai said. His face was a blank mask now. “It didn’t matter whether you were with the Special Division for Unusual Powers. I always lose the things I don’t want to lose the most. That’s why I don’t feel anything anymore. The moment you get your hands on something worth going after, you lose it. That’s just how things are. There is nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering.” - Dark Era LN

This is actually one of the most gut wrenching scenes ever, I can't deal. Because honestly, I relate to this on a fucking spiritual level.

One of the parts that really sticks out to me is the "That's why I don't feel anything anymore." because that is how he manages these things. How he keeps his emotions in check. He just doesn't feel, he's desensitised to these things, and he tries to make sure that he doesn't care for anything, whether that be himself, subordinates, partners, friends, figures in his life, etc. He numbs himself to it all because he expects only hurt to come out of it. However, he let his guard down. He thought he could have a nice thing, and it was snatched away from him the moment he came to peace with the fact that he was comfortable with them, Oda and Ango. Then, the one thing he doesn't want to happen at all, the one fucking thing he has left to hold onto in this world is fucking ripped from him; Oda. Having already expected bad outcomes to anything that he truly desires, he still couldn't of expected it to happen and obviously wasn't prepared for Oda to just go and die like that. And he doesn't know what to do anymore. Because Oda was the last thing, his last tether to this world. He was the one thing worth living for, really, and now he's gone. Yet, Oda's final wish gives him something to keep pursuing in life. He sees no value in the act of living, and he himself sees no value within him. So, the one thing that keeps him going is Oda's final words to him. Oda's death hit him hard (obvs) because he was the last stable thing in his life when everything else fell apart. And now, he has nothing else to lean on. Oda was there for him, Oda cared for him and wasn't just using him. Dazai realises this, and that's what makes it so devastating, because Oda was the only person who Dazai could actually trust and love without getting hurt in some way or other. And we all know how important trust is to Dazai (the people that Dazai trusts are minimal. It's fucking Chuuya and Oda. Yes, he trusts the ADA. Not to the extent of these two. He places his everything in them, just in opposite ways.).

I stared at Dazai. We had known each other for a while, but this was the first time he’d ever opened up about himself. I could see a thorn the size of a harpoon wedged deeply into his life.

This got me fucked up fr fr. Oda's response to Dazai's spiel about losing the things he yearns the most. For the two years that they've known each other, Dazai has not once opened up to them. Not a single time. Yet, they all have such a deep friendship and bond that that doesn't even matter; they're as close as they are regardless. 'I could see a thorn the size of a harpoon wedged deeply into his life.' Again, this impacts Oda, because he sees how much Dazai is hurting and, once again, craves to soothe him, because he sees a child in distress.

“Dazai.”

He paused when I called his name. I didn’t have anything else to say, though; I simply said his name.

Nobody knew what Dazai was really thinking.

It’s an unwritten rule in the Mafia to not stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. One must never open the door to another’s heart and try to judge them for the darkness tucked within. That was one nice thing about the Mafia.

But maybe, just maybe, that was the wrong approach—or at the very least, when it came to the man sitting next to me. Somebody probably should’ve tied him up, pried his chest open, and stuffed a vacuum cleaner inside. Then, as he screamed and cried until they needed to punch him to shut him up, they’d suck every last bit out of his chest and stamp it into the ground.

But in reality, such a vacuum didn’t exist. Chests don’t open up like that, and no one is capable of such feats. What we see is everything, and everything we see, we ignore. All we can do is stand before the deep ditch between us and others and keep silent.

“Well, I should get going,” Dazai said before standing.

“Dazai.” He turned around when I called out to him. Rubbing my hands together, I looked down at the empty plate and coffee cup, then back up. “Are you thinking that way because—?”

Out of nowhere, Dazai’s cell phone began to ring. He lightly bowed to me before placing the phone against his ear and answering. A few moments went by as he listened to whoever was on the other side, but soon enough, his lips suddenly twisted into a grin.

Bro, bro. This gets me fucked up.

Nobody knew what Dazai was really thinking.

It’s an unwritten rule in the Mafia to not stick your nose where it doesn’t belong. One must never open the door to another’s heart and try to judge them for the darkness tucked within. That was one nice thing about the Mafia.

'...for the darkness tucked within.' With it being the mafia, Odasaku clearly knows that everyone's going through some fucked up shit. And he knows not to stick his nose in other people's business, because he wouldn't want people doing that to him. Except, something is compelling him to get Dazai to open up, to show Odasaku the darkness and seek the help he needs. Once again, crying child analogy.

But maybe, just maybe, that was the wrong approach—or at the very least, when it came to the man sitting next to me. Somebody probably should’ve tied him up, pried his chest open, and stuffed a vacuum cleaner inside. Then, as he screamed and cried until they needed to punch him to shut him up, they’d suck every last bit out of his chest and stamp it into the ground.

'Then, as he screamed and cried until they needed to punch him to shut him up, they'd suck every last bit out of his chest and stamp it into the ground.' Christ, Odasaku. Pretty fucking deep analogy there. But this here just shows us how deeply affected and wounded Oda is by how hurt Dazai is. It also gives us more child-like statements from Oda. The way he describes it here just reminds me of a child. A child, kicking and screaming because whatever is happening to them they do not like. And this is exactly what's happening; he's saying that he knows that Dazai would not appreciate people looking further into his life and soul, and that he would very clearly make a fuss and a protest about it. It also likens it to 'The Time I Picked Up Dazai' (it's such a good read. If you haven't read it, I highly suggest that you do. Also, spoilers ahead for it <3) ~~~ The way it reflects the book is in it, there is a scene in which Oda has to physically restrain Dazai from trying to stab himself with a knife whilst he's grinning like a madman.

~~~

However, my expectation is betrayed once again. I have forgotten about the foreign matter that exists in this house. Dazai, of course. He is more unpredictable than any human I have ever met. For example, if two people are on a three-legged race to the goal, Dazai might just turn around and start running in the opposite direction at a random moment. Or, he can desperately climb a cliff to survive, then all of a sudden, say that he wants to fall off it and die. He is a guy that has strayed too far from the reasons of this world. Our dear Trickster.

Dazai suddenly comes up with the idea that if he jumps out of the door with a gun in his hand, there are chances he can be shot dead by the cops. Oda tells him there is no gun in the house, so he decides to get a knife instead. He rushes into the kitchen, even faster than Oda. The cops outside notice the sound and ask them to open the door.

Oda knows that he has to stop Dazai, if he doesn’t want things to get worse.

I have to stop that. I so want to cry and ask someone to help, but there is no one who can do it but me now.

He jumps up and sweeps Dazai’s legs, making him roll on the floor. He grabs Dazai’s neck, turns behind and gets into a chokehold, trying to choke him unconscious. Dazai, as a result, struggles happily while kicking his legs around. He hits the kitchen cabinet once, twice until Oda hears a sound of something coming off. Oda realizes that those desperate kicks are actually on purpose, and it makes the knife Dazai was trying to grab earlier fall off right to where Oda is. Oda can’t move because he is busy holding Dazai down, so he has to use his ability to predict the track of the knife and barely dodges it. The knife stabs vertically into the floor next to him. He tries to calm Dazai down.

“Be still.” I say, “Don’t struggle. It is not scary. It doesn’t hurt.”

I don’t even know what I’m saying myself.

“You liar! Mori-san said the same thing when he gave me shots.”

Dazai says so and keeps going wild. It means there are other people besides me who are having a hard time with Dazai. Who is this Mori-san again?

Dazai keeps kicking the kitchen stand and this time, it’s the kettle above Oda’s head that’s going to fall.

It is a situation that I have never experienced before. A kettle above my head, a knife next to my face, false money somewhere in my room, cops at my door. And I’m strangling a guy I just barely met.

Oda finally manages to choke Dazai unconscious. He goes “fufu ahaha” before he faints. Oda pulls out the knife next to him and throws it toward the falling kettle, successfully catching it by its handle and having it jammed into the wooden part of the kitchen cabinet. By that time, the cops also manage to kick the door open and step into the room.

~~~

(translation and descriptions by @popopretty ! <333)

This entire scene is so fucking goofy to me and genuinely one of my favourites, but it's also really scary because Dazai just really wants to fucking die. However, after only a few days of knowing him, Oda is growing to care for him and doesn't want him to die. Twice in this extract thing does he try and stop him, and then once more before this when Dazai tries crawling out of the house to go and die outside, to which Odasaku grabs him by his legs, wraps him in a blanket, drags him back to the bed and ties him up. Referring back to Odasaku's analogy to "get the darkness out" of Dazai, this scene is pretty similar to what he said. Dazai is fucking booting the kitchen cabinet to try and stab himself with the knife or get crushed by the kettle, and Oda is doing his damndest to stop him, resorting to strangling him unconscious so that he doesn't keep going fucking insane. Dazai, of course, finds this all highly amusing. To be honest, I might have only just realised that I'm reading it wrong. He was trying to kill himself with the knife first, but then because Oda gets him in a chokehold, he tries to get him off him instead? Man, I don't know. Either way, goofiest scene ever. I love it. But, he's 16 here (I think. I tried working it out, and I think he is. Because in Side B, when he's torturing that guy, he says that he's a PM Executive. And Oda talks about how young he looks, and in the anime/LN talks about the fact that he's known him a fairly long time. I wouldn't say that one year is a long time, but two years yeah. So Dazai's either 17 or 16 when he first meets Oda, and I won't lie, I think 16. ANYWAYS-) and so of course, Oda sees him as a child (which he is). However, despite him watching Dazai age for those two years, he still sees him as a child that he needs to protect, a child that he worries for.

He tries to calm Dazai down.

“Be still.” I say, “Don’t struggle. It is not scary. It doesn’t hurt.”

I don’t even know what I’m saying myself.

“You liar! Mori-san said the same thing when he gave me shots.”

Dazai says so and keeps going wild. It means there are other people besides me who are having a hard time with Dazai. Who is this Mori-san again?

This entire interaction to me seems like a child at the dentist or something. Despite the fact that he's got a kid in a chokehold tryna knock him out, he's reassuring him that it's fine, painless, and that he needs to calm down. Crying. This fucking guy. This whole bit is literally just Oda trying to subdue a kid going off the rails, and even the references to Mori (I will be fucking getting into what Dazai said when I do another analysis thing, don't you fucking worry) and Oda thinking 'It means there are other people besides me who are having a hard time with Dazai.' Problem child fr. Makes me giggle, also makes me sad. Anyways. Odasaku and Dazai's interactions are usually Odasaku letting Dazai be quite child-like, allowing for these things, because he knows that he hasn't been able to have a childhod or be a child. He lets Dazai be who he wants to be in front of him, no judgement. Dazai has many faces for other people, but with Oda, he can just let his guard down that small bit, be more comfortable with him. And Ango. They were like his makeshift parents in the time that he knew them. And then he loses that found family, and so where's that left him now?

“I have this friend who’s supporting several orphans all on his own, you see,” he continued, his weapon still drawn and aimed at the boy. “Akutagawa, I’m sure Odasaku would’ve been patient enough to give you the guidance you needed had he been the one who’d found you on the brink of starvation in the slums. That would have been the ‘right’ thing to do. But ‘righteousness’ doesn’t take very kindly to me. And there’s only one thing people like me do to useless subordinates.”

Okay, this is going to deep Dazai a bit more rather than both Dazai and Oda's relationship. The part about righteousness reminds me of when Chuuya scolded him for shooting the dead body more times than was morally necessary. And he says 'Yeah. That would be the right/normal/ordinary way to think. Of course. Haha.' Dazai has no sense of right or wrong, as Odasaku says. He says to him that he knows he doesn't care about good or bad, and he can never fill that emptiness that he so desperately longs to fill. Dazai isn't like how he is here around Odasaku, because he trusts Odasaku and doesn't need to be intimidating or cold around him. He's allowed to be playful and innocent, and truly try and connect to that child he'd long ago lost and forgotten. And with Ango and Oda both looking out for him, with them two he truly felt like he belonged somewhere, and had people to care for him, despite him not knowing how to handle that or how to cope with it. He doesn't understand why, but he can let himself indulge in it for just a bit. He needs Ango and Oda there for him, and when he loses that, he loses himself. Slowly, he's becoming more and more empty and at a loss with himself for what to do, which is something we don't see from Dazai. Dazai knows everything that is going to happen. He knows everything, and doesn't need to question what he does or what to do next, as he always has his next step planned. However, when Oda dies, we see that facade come crumbling down as for one of the first times, he can't keep his emotions in check and he doesn't know what to do or where to go from here, as the last things he was holding onto in this world have left him, and he's left with nothing but himself and a cavenous hole in his heart where Ango and Oda once sat. That's been ripped from him, and so with his emotions laid bare in front of him as he's forced to confront a distressing situation, he looks to Oda for help. He doesn't know what to do with himself once Oda leaves him, and so he desperately asks Oda to help him. Fuck me, I'm tearing up sorry lmao.

I was in a hospital room. It was clean, ordinary, and as silent as a morgue. Standing firm with his feet apart by the door was a man in a black suit and sunglasses. The moment our eyes met, he silently left, apparently to go get someone.

“Hey, Odasaku. You’re awake now, right? How are you feeling?”

Dazai walked into the room with a cheerful smirk.

Sorry, this is just here because I'd like to point out that Dazai was waiting for him that whole time since he found him, and he had someone guard the door to make sure that nobody would come back for him, I'm guessing. And also he must have told the guy "Ay tell me when he wakes up." And that just really warms my heart and devastates me at the same time <3

Dazai placed a thumb against his lips, then shifted into a thinking position. He didn’t even move an inch for a full minute after that. Only his eyes wavered, following something only he could see. I waited in silence.

Oda's patience with Dazai. Wholesome shit. He fr sat there for a while minute in silence to let Dazai think.

I got out of the bed as I listened. My fingers were still slightly numb, but not enough to bother me during battle.

“Odasaku, don’t tell me you plan on going,” he said as if reprimanding me.

This is one of the moments where we see a more brotherly relationship from the two of them. Dazai is scolding Oda because he's injured and has just been through quite the ordeal, yet he's still standing up and leaaving to go fight and help Dazai's men.

I didn’t answer him; I just opened the door and left. Dazai saw me off without pushing any further. Despite not even exchanging a word, we were thinking the same thing.

Vice versa; Dazai's patience with Oda, and the fact that he doesn't push Odasaku for anything more than he's given him. If Odasaku doesn't want to say anything, Dazai won't pressure him into talking. He won't force him to say anything he doesn't want to. They respect each other, and they understand one another. 'Despite not even exchanging a word, we were thinking the same thing.' They understand each other to such a degree that countless times throughout this arc, they wordlessly communicate with one another, basically read the other's mind or just know what they're thinking, about to say, their plans, etc. It's a very important dynamic that shows their level of trust and their bond.

Now, this is going to be the bit that fucks me up the most, and I will cry whilst writing these bits. Because now we're getting into Oda's death and Dazai's reaction to realising Mori's plans, etc.

“Odasaku!”

I was stopped by a familiar voice the moment I left the restaurant.

“Dazai? What’s wrong?”

Clearly, for Odasaku to ask what was wrong, Dazai must have sounded pretty fucking emotional. Also, Oda, babes, the fuck you mean "what's wrong" as if he's not gonna know?

“Odasaku, I know what you’re thinking, but don’t. Doing that isn’t going to—”

“Isn’t going to bring the kids back?” I asked.

Lost for words, Dazai fell silent. 

Dazai being "lost for words" and "silent" is quite the shock. Dazai always knows what words to say, how to say them, when to say them, etc. He always has some retort or sarcastic reply, and always has to get the last word in. Dazai being at a loss for words shows just how unprecedented this is for him, and how he doesn't know how to cope with it. Once again, he is a lost child, seeking guidance.

“Odasaku…,” Dazai said softly. “Forgive me for the absurd wording, but—don’t go. Find something to rely on. Expect good things to happen from here on out. There’s gotta be something… Hey, Odasaku, do you know why I joined the Mafia?”

I stared at him. We had known each other for a long time, but he’d never even attempted to talk about that.

“I joined the Mafia because of an expectation I had. I thought if I was close to death and violence—close to people giving in to their urges and desires, then I would be able to see the inner nature of humankind up close. I thought if I did that…” Dazai paused before continuing, “…I would be able to find something—a reason to live.”

I looked at him; he looked back at me.

“I wanted to be a novelist,” I said. “I thought I wouldn’t deserve such a life if I killed someone during a mission. That’s why I never killed anyone. But that’s all in the past. There’s only one thing I want now.”

“Odasaku!”

I began to walk away. Dazai yelled out, but I didn’t turn around.

First of all;

“Odasaku…,” Dazai said softly. “Forgive me for the absurd wording, but—don’t go. Find something to rely on. Expect good things to happen from here on out. There’s gotta be something… Hey, Odasaku, do you know why I joined the Mafia?”

The fact that he asks for forgiveness for his "absurd wording" of don't go. It shows just how much he lacks in understanding others and himself. He thinks that these are the "wrong things" to say, because he's not used to expressing his emotions properly, and he can't articulate how he feels, because he usually feels nothing. He's usually numb and does not give a shit, but here he's completely puzzled and lost because he's feeling too much.

I stared at him. We had known each other for a long time, but he’d never even attempted to talk about that.

Not once. He'd never even brought it up in conversation, or even "attempted" it. He hides himself from the world and those around him in order to guard himself so that he doesn't get hurt or lose the things he cares about, which is why he detaches himself and numbs down everything so that he doesn't care about anyone or anything.

“Odasaku!”

I began to walk away. Dazai yelled out, but I didn’t turn around.

This will fucking kill him. One of my favourite (technically two) scenes in the anime is the parallel's between Dazai reaching out for Oda when he walks away from him, and Oda reaching out for Dazai when he walks away from him, both times one of them is heading towards death and the other is trying to stop them. But they're not close enough, and they're not fast enough. Genuinely, the scenes kill me, because the parallel's are stunning, I won't lie. It's fucking heartbreakingly beautiful.

Dazai strode confidently through the Mafia’s high-rise headquarters downtown at a quick clip, his heels practically scraping off the carpet underfoot. He got on the glass-paneled elevator alone, pressed the button to the top floor, then closed his eyes. When the elevator reached his destination, he opened his eyes again. His gaze was focused on only one thing—the office at the very end of the hallway.

Now, I have a few mini theories about why he closed his eyes, but what I want to focus on is not that. It's his determination and desperation to save Odasaku.

“Boss.” Dazai cut him off. “You know why I’m here, don’t you?”

The fucking Boss of the Port Mafia. Yet, Dazai has no time for games. He has no time for Mori's bullshit antics, he needs to save Odasaku. That is his number one priority right now.

Taken by surprise, Dazai fell silent. Even he felt as if he were walking on fine blades whenever he talked with Ougai. If he made just one little mistake, he could fall off the path. After pondering to himself for a moment, Dazai said, “I need permission to form a small team of executive-level skill users to attack Mimic headquarters and rescue Odasaku.”

He cannot afford to mess this up, because Oda needs him. Once again, Dazai is taken by surprise and sent into silence, which is extremely odd and rare for him to do so. He is clearly nervous about talking to Mori already, on top of the added pressure of Odasaku's life in his hands right now.

Dazai stared back at the boss without breaking eye contact for even a moment. Ougai’s narrowed eyes harbored a tinge of cleverness, as if they could see into his heart. It was the same kind of light that was once in Dazai’s eyes when he looked upon his enemies or allies.

Enemy or ally regardless, Dazai saw everyone the same. He had no time to be concerned with other people, especially as he isn't even concerned for himself. So, again like I said, he numbs himself to these things. He makes it so that he doesn't feel, and so that should an unfortunate situation come to pass, he's not affected by it by harbouring fondness for other people. Which is why it says "was the same kind", not "is the same kind", because Odasaku has changed him. Oda is neither friend nor foe; he's family. He's the most important thing in Dazai's life. He's a sole figure, there for him. A true father figure, someone to raise him properly, unlike Mori. Dazai realises this; as we see here, Dazai is no longer interested in anything anymore. He has grown tired even of the Port Mafia, and he certainly doesn't hold Mori in high regard as he once kind of did.

“Odasaku is currently scouting the enemy headquarters alone,” Dazai said, keeping his emotions in check. “I sent an emergency response team of Mafia members to the area, but it isn’t nearly enough. At this rate, we are going to lose a valuable skill user.”

"Keeping his emotions in check." He's not lowering his guard down in front of Mori. He won't show him his true face. But right now, he's desperate. He wants Odasaku saved, and he will do whatever it takes.

 “Of course, he’s a dear ally of ours, but is he worth sending executive-level men to the front line to save?”

“Yes,” Dazai confidently declared. “Of course he is.”

Ougai fell silent. He looked at Dazai, who looked straight back at him. It was an eloquent silence. The two men understood the other’s state of mind and how they would counter.

Dazai is prepared to risk his life for Oda, and Mori sees this, using it to his advantage. He sees just how much Dazai cares about Odasaku and manipulates the whole thing behind the scenes. And the zero hesitation from Dazai when he says it. "The two understood the other's state of mind and how they would counter." Once again, Mori has raised Dazai to be so much like him that they understand each other and a far more complex level than ordinary people. Also, this line just shows that Mori sees how fragile Dazai's state of mind is at the present time, his desperation to save his friend.

“…Dazai.” It was Ougai who put an end to the wordless debate. “Let me ask you this. I understand your plan, but in all likelihood, Oda doesn’t want help. What do you think about that?”

Dazai tried to answer, but he could not find the words to say. 

Dazai knows Oda best. He knows that it's true, but nothing is going to stop him from trying. Still, he's trying to articulate his words, which he isn't doing too well at.

 Dazai’s eyes were inadvertently locked on the envelope. Suddenly, he caught his breath.

“This envelope—”

Something began to thrash and flicker in the back of Dazai’s mind. It gradually turned into physical shaking, causing his head to go numb.

“I see.” Dazai managed to squeeze out just those two words, his face deathly pale. “So that’s what this is.”

Then he turned on his heel and put his back to Ougai.

“If you’ll excuse me.”

“Where are you going?” Ougai asked.

“To Odasaku.”

Now this is the part that really gets me.

With just one measly glance, Dazai has seen Mori's plan, beginning to end. Which is why he's so eager to leave, because he knows that Mori is planning to let this end with/in Oda's death. And the part that really gets me emotional is 'Something began to thrash and flicker in the back of Dazai’s mind. It gradually turned into physical shaking, causing his head to go numb.' We've never seen such a visceral reaction from Dazai before (with the exception of Oda's death.), with him physically shaking and his mind racing. Man's is fucking trembling, because he knows everything in that moment. And he can't bear it. Dazai, who usually has a tight hold of his emotions, cannot keep his grip on them no more, when it comes to Odasaku. Oda is so important to him, and Dazai realises that soon there is a high chance of him losing that.

Dazai calmly stared at the guns pointed in his direction.

“You still haven’t had any tea, Dazai,” Ougai said. “Come—have a seat.”

Dazai didn’t even budge. A guard in a black suit slipped to his side, then pointed the automatic rifle’s muzzle right at his head.

“Odasaku’s waiting for me.”

“Sit.”

All that is going through his head right now is Odasaku. He can't think of anything else, he doesn't have time for that. He can't afford to think about anything but the plan of action to save him.

“Dazai.” Ougai, who had been listening in silence, cut Dazai off for the first time. “What remarkable inference. There is nothing that needs correcting. I have just one thing I’d like to ask: What’s wrong with that?”

“……”

This is one of our first hints towards Dazai showing a hint of compassion for other people, because he now knows what it's like when you have someone that you love.

"So why are you so angry?”

Dazai didn’t say a word. That was just about the first time he’d ever been unable to articulate his feelings.

“I…”

—“There is nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering.”

—“Awaken me from this oxidizing world of a dream.”

“I just…” His voice came out strained. “I just don’t get it. You were the one who tipped Mimic off about the orphans’ safe house. No one else could’ve found out about the location I chose. You killed those kids to get Odasaku to fight Mimic’s leader because he is the only one who can defeat him.”

“My answer is the same, Dazai. I will do anything for the benefit of the organization. Besides, we are the Port Mafia. We have always brought darkness, violence, and cruelty to this city. Why is that a problem now?”

This scene is also another scene that really gets me fucking devastated. We have never seen Dazai like this. Strained voice, unable to speak, and seeming timid and meek. Here is the child that Oda sees when he looks at Dazai; lost, wandering and alone. He can't say what he feels, he doesn't know how to. He knows nothing but to numb himself from these things to not get hurt. "I just don't get it." Dazai doesn't understand, which is scary for him. He's not used to it, and he doesn't like it. He wants to save Odasaku, and the one time he needs to be clever and think about it, he's unable to, because he doesn't know what's going on.

Dazai knew. He knew Ougai’s calculations, his mentality, and the rationale behind the plan. That was just the kind of organization the Port Mafia was. Logically speaking, Ougai was right, and Dazai was wrong.

“But…”

He turned on his heel, then began walking toward the door. Immediately, Ougai’s guards pointed their guns at him.

“You cannot go, Dazai,” Ougai called out to stop him. “Stay. Or do you have a logical reason for going to him?”

He wants to get to Odasaku. He doesn't care if he betrays Mori's orders; Odasaku comes first. He knows the logic behind it, yet he doesn't care. Morally, Dazai is right, and that's probably a first.

Ougai grinned. “True. However, you wouldn’t gain anything by disobeying me and going to him, either. Am I wrong?”

“That’s the second thing I wanted to say, Boss. There’s nothing in it for me. There’s only one reason why I’m going. Because he is my friend. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

The guards placed their fingers on the triggers. However, Dazai paid them no mind and simply strolled to the door as if he were going for a walk. 

Again, he is not assed. This is the first time Dazai has openly admitted to having a friend, or any kind of relation. Which is what makes it hurt more; because the second he acknowledges it, he loses it. 'There's nothing in it for me.' He's not doing this out of personal gain, like Mori does, he's doing it because he doesn't want to lose somebody important to him.

“Odasaku!”

Dazai rushed into the building and over to the ballroom, passing the myriad of corpses through the corridors along the way. When he burst through the oak doors, he saw his friend lying on the ground.

“Odasaku!”

Despite the chance of there being soldiers lurking, waiting to kill him, or the chance that Gide was still alive and would kill him, he continues to search for Odasaku. And when he finds him, fuck, it's not very pleasant. God, I'm going to cry.

“Dazai…”

Dazai rushed over to Odasaku, then checked his wounds. The bullet had pierced Odasaku’s chest, and a vast pool of blood had collected on the floor. It was clear that the wound was fatal.

“You’re such an idiot, Odasaku. The biggest idiot I know.”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t have to do this. You didn’t have to die.”

“I know.”

Odasaku smirked with that particular satisfaction of accomplishing something worth the cost.

“Dazai… There’s something I want to say.”

This shit hurted.

“Don’t. Stop. We might still be able to save you. No, we will save you. So don’t say such—”

“Listen.” Odasaku wrapped his blood-soaked hand around Dazai’s. “You told me if you put yourself in a world of violence and bloodshed, you might be able to find a reason to live…”

“Yeah, I said that. I did. But what difference does that—?”

“You won’t find it,” Odasaku said in almost a whisper. Dazai stared at him.

Dazai is trying to convince himself that everything will be fine, that they will save Odasaku. He's determined; he won't let him die on him like this. And Dazai doesn't care about anything else but him right now.

“You should know that. Whether you’re on the side that takes lives or the side that saves them, nothing beyond your own expectations will happen. Nothing in this world can fill the hole that is your loneliness. You will wander the darkness for eternity.”

—“Awaken me from this oxidizing world of a dream.”

That was when Dazai first realized: Sakunosuke Oda understood him much more than he’d ever imagined—right up to his very heart, almost to the center of his mind. Dazai didn’t realize until then that someone had known him so well.

For the first time in his life, Dazai wanted from the bottom of his heart to know something. He asked the man before him:

“Odasaku… What should I do?”

OKAY NOW THIS.

This is one of the most important parts; because Dazai finally found someone who understood him. Nobody has gotten further in understanding him than Odasaku has, and the fact that he realises this just before he dies is what makes his death hit even harder. And the fact that, at this last moment, Dazai seeks guidance from the man in his arms. Because once he's gone, he has nobody left. Nothing. And just at this last moment, Dazai "wanted from from the bottom of his heart to know something". We see Dazai continuously dehumanise himself, not seeing himself as an actual person half the time. He believes that he is heartless, cold, and cruel. Yet, here, we see that Oda has had a strong impact on him; he's made him realise that maybe he does have something there. Also, where it says "almost to the center of his mind". Dazai's mind is just impenetreable, yet Oda has gotten the farthest. That alone is a feat in itself, and Dazai realises just how close they are, and how much Oda really, truly understands him on a personal level.

“Be on the side that saves people,” Odasaku replied. “If both sides are the same, then choose to become a good person. Save the weak, protect the orphaned. You might not see a great difference between right and wrong, but…saving others is something just a bit more wonderful.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. I know better than anyone else.”

Dazai gazed into Odasaku’s eyes and saw a glow of conviction.

It was clear that those words were supported by some sort of strong basis. Whether it was past experience or someone’s advice—Odasaku was trying to show Dazai the path he himself had once tried to walk. Dazai knew that.

That was why he could bring himself to believe it.

“…Okay. I will.”

“‘People live to save themselves. It’s something they realize right before they die,’ huh…? He was…right…” The color in Odasaku’s face gradually disappeared until he was almost completely pale. He smiled. “I could really go for some of that curry…”

With trembling fingers, Odasaku reached for the cigarettes in his pocket before sluggishly placing one in his mouth. By the time he pulled out a match, his fingers were too weak to hold it anymore. Dazai took the match and lit the cigarette for him. Then Odasaku closed his eyes, smoking the cigarette as he smiled, filled to the brim with satisfaction.

The cigarette fell to the ground.

Dropping onto his knees by Odasaku’s side, Dazai looked up to the ceiling and closed his eyes. His tightly shut lips faintly trembled. The smoke from the cigarette rose straight up to the top.

Nobody said a word.

Now, here;

"...but…saving others is something just a bit more wonderful.”

“How do you know?”

“I know. I know better than anyone else.”

Dazai gazed into Odasaku’s eyes and saw a glow of conviction.

It was clear that those words were supported by some sort of strong basis. Whether it was past experience or someone’s advice—Odasaku was trying to show Dazai the path he himself had once tried to walk. Dazai knew that.

I personally think that this is Oda saying that he tried to save Dazai. And that how far Dazai has come is something that he should be proud of, and something that is "beautiful" about Dazai, something which he really wouldn't ever fucking use to describe himself. And the fact that he trusts Oda's words, he believes them truly, because he loves him and he knows. He fucking knows that those words hold weight, and that Dazai is going to uphold his promise to him. He's going to do whatever it takes to keep Oda alive in whatever way possible after death, and honour his memory, and give him a life that he wanted to have but never got to.

In the middle of a verdant mountain trail atop a hill overlooking Yokohama was a cemetery with a view of the ocean. There were many new graves lined up—among them a small white burial marker without a name.

Dazai stood before the burial marker, dressed in black mourning clothes and holding a bouquet of white flowers.

“……”

He squinted as the strong sea breeze suddenly gusted past. The white flowers fluttered in the wind.

“I’ll leave this photo here.”

He took out a picture and placed it before the burial marker. Frozen in time were the smiles of those three men.

“I really wish you could’ve tried that hard tofu I made…”

Dazai closed his eyes, then stood absolutely still, rooted to the spot.

Now, my guess here is that this is where Dazai went when he abandoned the mission for the PM so suddenly, especially as Akutagawa is off fighting some people.

“I really wish you could’ve tried that hard tofu I made…”

Remembering the little things, the small conversations that they had and treasuring them, despite the tofu being Dazai trying to kill himself again. Some sort of twisted, dark humour maybe. And the fact that he's stood deadly still, unmoving. I honestly think he's afraid. He's afraid that if he moves too much, or shows even a hint of emotion, it will all come fucking storming out in a whirlwind of painful fucking memories, feelings, etc. And he doesn't want that.

Right, I am so fucking sorry about the length of this one. It is currently 3:22 AM and I'm on the verge of tears watching The Dark Era episodes whilst writing this. I started this shit at 20 past 12. I am so fucking sorry.

In conclusion, one of the most important relationships (I think) is that of Odasaku and Dazai, as it gives us much more insight into the both of their characters, and how each of them affect one another and the fact that they're each the only one caring for the other person. Ango, yes, but Oda and Dazai are just kind of on another level of friendship, despite how close they are with Ango.

There are (surprisingly) a lot more things I wanted to say, but I decided against it so that it wouldn't be too long. Well, longer than it already is. If you couldn't tell, I'm quite passionate on this subject.

Anyways, if you've read this far somehow, I hope you have a lovely day/night! <333

[sarahowritesostucky]

📖"Temporary Custody"

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Steve x ofc x Bucky; Steve x Bucky

Word Count: 5461

Tags: Dom/sub, bdsm au, dom Bucky, sub reader, hurt/comfort, enemies to lovers, gay sex'n'stuff, straight sex'n'stuff, Steve being a literal Golden Retriever, mental health issues, dub-con, forced submission, referenced childhood abuse and resultant mental health issues, bakery au, m/f/m, gentle domination, total power exchange

Summary: The stigma and shame of being a submissive has kept Mary unfulfilled and in the closet her whole life, until an inciting incident leads to Bucky and Steve taking her in and giving her everything she was always too afraid to ask for.

Trigger warnings: This story contains themes of eating disordered behavior, body image issues, childhood abuse, self-harm, and alcohol abuse.

Wait! I haven't read an earlier chapter of this fic! Story Masterpost

9. Honey-mascarpone crêpes

A.N. : Disappeared by my staff troll without notice or reason other than that she abuses her privileges at the company. Complaint email sent, and it's back up now.

Bucky

Once Steve talks him off the cliff of domspace (not the good kind), Bucky's able to calm down and see things more rationally.

First off, he stops being mad at Mary. He has to remember that she's going through right now what he went through as a kid. She's dealing with the loss of her freedom, shifting self-perception, horribly unbalanced (probably) neurotransmitters, and the complete—if temporary—restructuring of her life. Sure, she's bratting, but subs brat as a coping mechanism, and Bucky knows he needs to be a good dom for her, not an overreacting hothead. He can do that. He can totally do that.

(Having Steve around certainly helps, though.)

Mary is clearly surprised when he gets home from work and doesn't immediately set in to scolding her. But Steve was right: they have to wait to get a discipline plan in place. Mary might have a good sense of what'll piss Bucky off, but they've never explicitly sat down and defined the rules, their roles, or the consequences for misbehavior.

So Bucky just acts neutrally that evening and they eat dinner together and relax in front of the tv until bedtime. Mary seems to expect him to do something, punish her somehow. The thing is, he should. It's what's good and healthy for her. Bucky knows submissives very well, is very attuned to them, so he's sure that Mary's actually aching for a little correction by the time he and Steve calmly bid her goodnight and head off to their own bedroom. Bucky wishes he could give her what she needs, but he consoles himself with the fact that soon he'll be able to.

The next morning, Steve and Mary are both quiet. Bucky doesn't think too much about it. When he gets out to the kitchen, Steve informs him that they have an appointment at the Center that evening, and Mary pushes a plate of crêpes at him without meeting his eyes and then turns away.

"What's this?" Bucky asks, picking up his fork and prodding at the—frankly, delicious-looking—pile of folded cakes. He takes a bite and his eyes slip closed momentarily as he forces himself not to moan. When he opens his eyes again, Mary's watching him from over by the sink, biting her lip.

"Stop biting your lip," he says.

She stops.

Bucky gets that nice, warmth-after-whiskey rush in his chest at the obedience. He gets to work in cutting off another bite of the crêpes. "Are these an apology?" he asks, eyebrow arched at her. "For your behavior yesterday?" He puts the bite of crêpe in his mouth and chews, smug about the fact that she's flushing in embarrassment.

"They're crêpes," she mumbles. "With mascarpone and honey."

"Hmm." Bucky nods along and chews, enjoying the flavors while he maintains solid eye contact with her. After he pauses to swallow, he says, "Apology crêpes, then. Good girl. Apology accepted."

She doesn't say anything back to that, just gets pink in the face at the 'good girl' and whirls around to face the sink and do dishes.

Bucky smirks in satisfaction, then meets Steve's eyes. His husband looks deep in thought, but when Bucky prompts him with a questioning look, Steve just shakes his head and smiles avoidantly. "I already ate mine," he says, then pushes off from the counter. "I'm gonna go grab a shower."

Shrugging, Bucky goes back to eating his apology crêpes. "These are really good, Mare," he says. Over by the sink, he sees her head bob in a little nod. "You okay, Honey?"

She nods again, using the sprayer to rinse a dish. "Do we really have to go?" she complains, almost shyly and in a way that makes Bucky think that maybe his apology crêpes are actually 'please don't take me to go get a blood test' crêpes. "I hate needles."

"Don't be a baby," Bucky chides. "It's one poke and you're done. It's for your own good."

"Ugh."

Steve

On the day after the blood test, Steve glances sideways at his husband to gauge his reaction to the news they’ve just been given. Bucky’s frowning lightly, almost looks like his feelings are hurt. “Babe ...” Steve says softly.

“I don’t understand,” Bucky says, addressing Linda, who’s sitting in the chair across from them, who’s got them alone in her office while Mary is off at some sort of class. This is Bucky and Steve’s time now, to discuss the care of their charge, and Linda’s just told them the results of Mary’s bloodwork. Bucky continues to frown as if insulted. “I’ve been bringing her down every night. Every night. How can that not have made a difference?”

Linda shakes her head. “It has made a difference, but her levels aren’t near what they should be at this point.”

“Levels?” Steve asks.

“Dopamine,”

“Serotonin,” 

Linda’s mouth quirks at her and Bucky having spoken over each other. “Both,” she says. “Along with oxytocin. They’re called the ‘happy hormones.’ When people like Bucky or Mary go without treatment, they have an imbalance of them. The further on the spectrum they are, the worse the imbalance tends to be.” She looks back down to her clipboard, which holds Mary’s test results. “She’s not in what I’d call the danger zone anymore, but we should definitely discuss options for how to help improve these levels.” Linda looks up, blinking expectantly at them through her glasses. “So? What all have you been doing during your scenes?”

Bucky tells her, laying out the general gist of what they do during the evenings in their apartment. But when he stops talking, Linda still looks expectant. “So ... there hasn’t been any sex play?”

Steve feels his cheeks heat at the term. He glances over at Bucky, who’s shaking his head. 

“She hasn’t initiated, and I haven't wanted to scare her off or make her feel like she has to. They’re always going on about subs’ sexual autonomy these days, you know?”

Linda sighs and uses a finger to push her glasses up the bridge of her nose. “Bucky, that’s admirable, really. But you of all people should know it’s unrealistic.”

“Is it?” Steve asks. Bucky puts a hand on his knee in what feels like a patronizing, 'The adults are speaking, Honey,' and Linda says,

“Sexual domination or submission isn’t necessary for anyone on the spectrum, but it is the most efficient way to get the job done.” She looks at Bucky with a little bit of reproach in her gaze, if Steve is reading her right. “She’d probably have to be dropped three or more times a day, if sex play wasn’t involved.” She looks back and forth between the two of them. “Are you and Steve no longer comfortable with sex outside of your marriage? Because if that’s the case then I really do have to recommend that you allow Mary to attend our socials, so that she can find a partner. Either that or we can schedule her for visits with one of our ProDoms.”

“No,” Bucky says, wasp-quick. “I don’t want her with strangers.”

Steve nods, though he feels like a cad for agreeing.

Linda purses her lips. “Well obviously it’s not the best option, but if the two of you aren’t willing to—”

“We are!” Steve blurts, maybe a little too loudly. He winces and reigns himself in. “Sorry, I just mean …”

Bucky’s metal hand covers his on the couch cushion. “We’re willing to make it sexual,” he says. “But we just don’t know how to … approach it with her, I guess.” Then he adds, “I’ve kissed her. Once. And that went over well. She seems receptive to Steve too.”

Linda nods, writing something down on her clipboard. “That’s good, good. Okay. Well with that in mind, when Mary has her session with me this evening I’ll administer some tests to help her map out what might be most useful for her to go down during sex play.”

Steve fights back a wince. He really wishes Dr. Linda wouldn’t call it that. “Make sure she knows we’re not pressuring her, okay?” he says.

“Of course not,” Linda says. “We’re just presenting all the options.”

Mary

The Center for Designated People is housed in a building in Queens, and it’s made up of a lot of glazed brown brick from the 80’s. 

This is the first time Mary’s been anywhere other than Linda’s office or the waiting area immediately outside of it. Come to find, there’s a bit more to the CDP than just therapists’ offices. There are classrooms and conference rooms, and a big social area with game tables and couches and a carpeted amphitheater that reminds her of the student union building back in college.

She’s not entirely sure what she’s supposed to be doing with herself. Everybody else seems to be mingling, comfortable in a way that she herself isn’t. Today’s the second day in a row that she’s had to show up at the CDP, and yesterday kind of left a bad taste in her mouth about it.

Yesterday, they drew her blood to test for neurochemicals. To make sure that she’s getting better, whatever that means. Mary hates needles and she’d resented the hell out of Bucky and Steve when they basically bossed her all the way down to the lab for the draw. 

“It’s for your own good.” 

God, she's tired of hearing that phrase. Everybody, especially Bucky, seems to think that they know what is for her “own good.” Personally, she thinks that Bucky just gets a thrill out saying the words. She thinks he gets off on it.

(… Never mind that something deep in her belly clenches whenever she hears him say it.)

The results of her tests are back, and they’re “not great” according to Linda—Linda, who’s holed herself up in the office with Bucky and Steve, whilst banishing Mary to a rec room full of other submissives.

They’re having some sort of low key party. Linda had called it a “social.” Bucky didn’t want her to go at first, until he heard that there would only be submissives at the party, no dominants. He’s so possessive, jeez.

There are maybe thirty other people in the room, talking in small groups, looking like they all know each other and are friends. There’s a tv and a foosball table and a bunch of little couches in squared off areas. A couple of people are sitting in the amphitheater playing boardgames, and there’s a table set up with snack foods and a punch bowl. It could almost be any normal social gathering, the only giveaway being that more than a few of the people present are wearing collars.

Like: openly and obviously, as if the collars are just another accessory to their outfits. Mary’s got a feeling that the collars are worn to make a statement, though she can’t for the life of her understand why someone would want to advertise that they’re like this.

She avoids the other people and goes over to the food, picking out a few things to nibble on. She tries to make herself seem busy by focusing on some pamphlets she’d picked up in the lobby outside Linda’s office. There’s one that has a serene picture of three river rocks stacked in a reflective pool of water, and the title reads, “Embracing Submission.” Mary rolls her eyes and tosses it aside.

She pulls out the pocket copy of the DSM V that Linda had reluctantly handed over (“It’s very clinical language. Don’t read too much into it.”), and searches out the section on Submissive Personality Disorder.

Personality disorders (PD) are a class of mental disorders characterized by enduring maladaptive patterns of behavior, cognition, and inner experience, exhibited across many contexts and deviating from those accepted by the individual's culture. These patterns develop early, are inflexible, and are associated with significant distress or disability. Cluster C (anxious or fearful disorders): Avoidant Personality Disorder, Obsessive-compulsive Personality Disorder, Dominant Personality Disorder, Submissive Personality Disorder. Submissive Personality Disorder (SPD) is a personality disorder that is characterized by a pervasive psychological dependence on and deference towards other people; especially to those who are oriented towards a dominant personality, or “Dominant Personality Disorder” (DPD). SPD is a long-term condition[1] in which people depend on others to meet their emotional and physical needs, with only a minority achieving normal levels of independence. SPD is a Cluster C personality disorder[2], characterized by excessive fear and anxiety. Typically beginning in early adolescence, it is present in a variety of contexts and is associated with inadequate functioning. Symptoms can include anything from extreme passivity, devastation, or helplessness when relationships end, to avoidance of responsibilities and severe submission. Manifestations may include: Cognitive: a perception of oneself as powerless and ineffectual, coupled with the belief that other people are comparatively powerful and potent. Motivational: a desire to obtain and maintain relationships with protectors and caregivers. Behavioral: a pattern of relationship-facilitating behavior designed to strengthen interpersonal ties and minimize the possibility of abandonment and rejection. Emotional: fear of abandonment, fear of rejection, and anxiety regarding evaluation by figures of authority.[8] Diagnostic Criteria: A diagnosis of Submissive Personality Disorder is indicated when five or more of the following criteria are met:

🟣Has difficulty making everyday decisions without an excessive amount of advice and reassurance from a Dom. 🟣Needs a Dom to assume responsibility for most major areas of their life. 🟣Has difficulty expressing disagreement with others because of fear of loss of support or approval. 🟣Has difficulty initiating projects or doing things on their own (because of a lack of self confidence in judgment or abilities rather than a lack of motivation or energy). 🟣Goes to excessive lengths to obtain nurturance and support from Doms, to the point of volunteering to do things that are unpleasant. 🟣Feels uncomfortable or helpless when alone because of exaggerated fears of being unable to care for themselves. 🟣Urgently seeks another relationship as a source of care and support when a close relationship ends. 🟣Is unrealistically preoccupied with fears of being left to take care of themselves.[11] *As of December, 1998, the additional criteria of neurochemical imbalance has been added by the American Psychiatric Association.

Christ. 

Mary’s not stupid, she can see where she fits into some (maybe most) of those categories. And nearly every line makes her want to throw the book across the room. She doesn’t like the picture it paints of someone like her, not at all. For lack of a better word, it's pathetic. So she pulls out her phone and looks up the Wikipedia page instead.

The World Health Organization (WHO) has isolated nine defining emotional and social attributes of those suffering from Submissive Personality Disorder (SPD):

🟣Tends to become attached quickly and/or intensely, developing feelings and expectations that are not warranted by the history or context of the relationship. 🟣Due to a tendency to be ingratiating and submissive, is likely to enter into relationships in which they are emotionally or physically abused, or “dominated.” 🟣Tends to feel ashamed, inadequate, and depressed. Is highly suggestible. 🟣Reacts to force or dominance from others with periods of mild derealization, or “submissive fugue.” 🟣Engages in passive-aggressive reactions to social interaction. 🟣Has difficulty acknowledging and expressing anger, struggles to get their own needs and goals met. 🟣Has an inability to soothe or comfort themself when distressed, they require involvement of a Dom to help regulate their emotions.[10] 🟣Displays a marked positive reaction to physical touch and affection, especially to the neck and head.

Well. That’s not exactly an easy pill to swallow. Mary fits almost every one of those qualities, if she’s really being honest with herself. But reading about it all clinical like that leaves a sour feeling in her stomach. Dr. Linda was right: she shouldn’t have read up on it. She shoves her phone back in her bag and returns to the refreshments table. She’s just finished ladling out a cup of punch for herself when a wry voice says,

“Careful. Last few socials, that’s gotten spiked.”

Mary turns. The voice belongs to a young woman. Maybe Mary’s own age, or a bit younger. She’s got that Seattle hipster look, with long dark hair crammed under a beanie, wide rimmed glasses, and an overlarge sweater with holes in the sleeves. She’s giving Mary a friendly look, though. “You’re new.” She states it, doesn’t ask, then holds out her hand. “I’m Darcy.”

Mary shakes her hand, pulling back as soon as can be considered polite. “Hi. Mary.”

Darcy smiles. She looks over her shoulder at the room full of people, then turns back with an apologetic expression. “Don't worry. It can be weird when you’re new. But it’s pretty easy to make friends around here.”

Mary tries not to make a face at the way Darcy talks about it—like this is some sort of club that she’s expected to join. “This is, um … I’m just waiting here while my friends see a therapist.”

Darcy boldly takes the punch glass right out of Mary's hand and sips from it. She looks thoughtful for a second, then nods and hands the cup back. “Yep, it’s fine,” she says. “Usually Scott’s the culprit, I think. And he’s not here today, so.”

Mary blinks down at the cup, wondering who Scott is. “Um …”

“So what brought you in?” Darcy asks. “TDO, or just curious?”

“TD-what?”

“Oh, you know: cops, the psych ward, all that good stuff.” She waves her hand, like this is a common thing and not something to balk at, like half the room’s occupants have gone through cops and psych wards.

Mary’s eyes flick back around at a few of the people nearby. Maybe they have, she thinks. Hell, it’s not like Mary herself wasn’t handcuffed to a hospital bed less than a month ago. The only reason a visit to the psych ward didn’t happen to her was because Bucky and Steve stepped in to help. She frowns as she thinks about how differently it could’ve gone.

“Sorry,” Darcy says, looking sheepish. “That’s kinda heavy, I guess. I tend to just say things.”

“No, you’re okay.”

“I saw you over here making friends with the vegetables and thought I’d butt in,” she says. She leans over and grabs a celery stick, dips it liberally in what looks like ranch dressing, before stuffing it in her mouth.

Mary wonders if it’s her own way of shutting herself up. “Really, it’s fine. I didn’t have anybody to talk to. I don’t mind.” She tries to offer a smile that doesn’t come across as forced or strained, but isn’t sure she manages. Wasn’t there a time when she had friends? It feels like a lifetime ago. In a weak attempt to seem receptive, she lifts her punch glass and takes a big sip, smiling over the rim.

Darcy tips her head. “Come on. Let’s grab some of the good chairs before they’re all gone.” They settle into a pair of very worn but very comfortable chairs, and Mary resists the urge to tuck her legs up underneath herself. Darcy, however, leans back and props her feet on the coffee table like she’s right at home . “So I take it you’re a TDO, then,” she says.

“I don’t know what that stands for.”

“Temporary detainment order. When they haul you off and force treatment.”

“Oh.” Mary squirms, hating to remember that night and how embarrassing she’d been. In front of Bucky, Steve, even the cop. Ugh, it’s so cringe. “Erm, yeah,” she mutters. “Basically.”

Darcy nods along, unfazed. “Yeah I went through all that, too. Couple’a years ago. It was fucked. Trust me, I did not want to be here at first. The courts made me come. Sent me with a social worker to make sure I didn't skip out, the whole nine yards.” She makes a face that looks just like how Mary feels when thinking about her own night in the ER. “God, it was so cringe.”

Mary stiffens at hearing her own thoughts reflected almost word for word. “But now?” she asks, eyes flicking down to the collar Darcy’s got on. “You still come here?”

“Oh yeah! This place is the shit. I love it.” Darcy grins and thumbs over her shoulder at the area where the foosball table is. “Tall lanky guy, taking it way too seriously? That’s Ian. He’s my sister wife.”

Mary nearly chokes on her punch. “Your what?”

“He and I share the same Dom.”

Mary blinks, working that one out in her head. “So … you’re a throuple?” Is that a usual thing with these people? she wonders. (… Could she be in a throuple with Bucky and Steve?)

“No, Ian’s my boyfriend. But he’s a sub too, so we come here to get services from Thor.”

Mary’s eyebrows rise. “Thor?”

“Yeah I know. Weird name, right? He looks it, too. You should see him. He’s this huge blond guy, accent. I think he’s actually from Norway. Or something. Wherever the Vikings were from.”

“So you …” Mary tries to parse out what she wants to ask. “You pay to have sex with him?”

Darcy pauses and looks at her strangely. “No,” she says slowly. “Insurance covers it. He just Doms us. You know, like helps us with our weekly drops? There’s no sex.” She laughs. “Dude. Only, like, extreme cases need that.”

Mary knows she’s blushing now. “Oh. Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude.” She bites her lip and tentatively asks, “But you said you see him weekly?”

“Yeah. Once a week. Usually Fridays.”

“... But like, at home? You don’t have other stuff?”

Darcy frowns. “What other stuff?”

“Like … like dropping,” Mary whispers, like it’s a bad word. “You’re saying you only do that once a week?”

“Yeah, usually. I mean unless we’ve got some really stressful shit going on. Like, when it was my finals week? I booked Thor three times that week.” She huffs like that’s a preposterous amount of times. “But other than that, yeah, once usually tides us over. That’s pretty standard.”

Mary squirms uncomfortably as she thinks about the nightly ritual she has with Bucky and Steve. “Oh.” She says quietly, because what else is she supposed to say? She wishes she could leave to go process this, maybe ask Linda about it. Because what Darcy’s just said does not match up with her own experiences, and it’s kind of jarring—no, scratch that, it’s definitely jarring. Sure, theoretically Mary already knew that she’d been labeled as a “high needs” submissive, but she hadn’t realized how different it was. Other subs only need to get dropped once a week? And according to Darcy, there’s not ever sex involved? Dr. Linda keeps insisting that Mary needs a sexual dynamic.

‘Only extreme cases need that’—Darcy’s words ring in her ears, making her super self-conscious. She’s extreme. She must be. How embarrassing.

“Hey, you okay?” Darcy tilts her head in concern. “What’d I say?”

“N-nothing,” Mary hurries to compose herself. “I was just thinking, that’s all. I’m still so new to all of this.” She tries to think of something to say to change the topic. “Ahm, so … Thor. He’s like a therapist, then? Here at the center?”

“He’s a ProDom,” Darcy corrects. “Which is kinda like a therapist I guess, but not like the actual shrinks they have here. The Pros get paid to help us with our drops. And highs,” she adds belatedly. “The ProSubs do that, I mean.”

Mary blinks at the idea that there are also professional submissive services for dominants. Has Bucky ever …?

“And they teach classes here too. Ohmygosh!” Darcy’s face lights up and Mary instinctively shrinks back at the enthusiasm. “You should totally sign up for some.”

“Classes?” Mary says, sure that her tone is showing how much she doesn’t want to do that.

“Yeah! Oh my gosh it is the best way to meet people, and the classes are actually pretty fun. It’s how I met Ian. And they definitely saved my ass back when I was new. Hey, I’ll help you pick some out!”

Mary flounders, not wanting to be insulting but also really, really not into the idea of coming back to the CDP any more than Bucky forces her to. “Um I’m kinda busy with …”

“Mare.”

She inhales sharply at the sound of Bucky’s voice. She turns around in her seat and she sees him and Steve coming over. Her shoulders sag with relief. Saved by the bell. “Hey guys,” she chirps, sitting up straighter. Is it time to go?” She starts to get up from her seat and shoot an apology Darcy’s way. “Hey, it’s been nice meeting you but I guess I have to—”

“Are these your Doms?” Darcy asks, looking wide eyed at Steve and Bucky. “Wow.” The look on her face might as well read: hubba hubba. “Um. Well done, girl.”

Mary huffs. “I didn’t pick them.”

Before Darcy can respond to that, Bucky’s coming closer (and Steve by extension because—living in each other’s skin, and whatnot). Bucky looks pleased. “Making friends?” he asks Mary.

What is she supposed to say? ‘Not if I can help it’? She shrugs in answer. Darcy, unfortunately, presses the issue of the classes to Bucky.

“I told her she should sign up for some.”

“Really, I don’t think—”

“Sounds like a good idea to me,” Bucky says, cutting Mary off. He glances to Steve, who shrugs like a big dummy. “I don’t know what they offer these days,” Bucky says. “It’s been a hot minute since I took a class here. What do they have for subs?” He’s asking Darcy, who unfortunately is very helpful and replies,

“I’m coteaching one this winter! It’s a four week course on recognizing Drop. Knowing the signs of deprivation to look for, self care, that kind of thing.”

“Really,” Mary tries again. “I don’t need to—”

“Mary,” Bucky says, and his voice has changed to that calm, firm register that he uses when he’s being really serious about controlling her. His “Dom” voice. That’s what Steve calls it. Mary swallows at the way he's looking at her now. He puts his hand on her shoulder, and it’s not the metal one but the simple presence of it there still feels like a hundred pounds. “I want you to go to the class with Darcy. You’ll learn a lot.”

“I don’t want to,” she snaps quietly. “I have work.”

“Your boss knows about your condition,” he says, infuriatingly calm.

“Yeah, because you told him!” Talk about mortifying.

Bucky’s fingers squeeze her shoulder lightly. “Hush. If the classes interfere with work, you can get your shift changed for that day.”

“They’re evening classes. On Wednesdays,” Darcy supplies.

“Perfect! She never works evenings.” Bucky releases Mary’s shoulder and nods like this makes it final. “My email’s in the database,” he tells Darcy. “Barnes. B-A-R-N-E-S. Can you email me the info?”

“Sure!” Darcy looks thrilled. She shoots Mary a saucy wink. “Thor’s the co-teacher, so you’ll get to meet him. We use him as our practice Dom.”

“Huh?” Mary says, just as Bucky says,

“Thor?” and tenses up by her side. “The Pro?”

Darcy grins, oblivious to Bucky’s stiffening posture. “Yeah! He’s who we practice with. Kind of like in a self-defense class how there’s the big guy you practice kicking in the nuts and whatnot? Thor’s our guy. Except we don't, you know, kick him in the nuts or anything. He drops us. For practice.”

Bucky’s entire attitude has changed since the mention of Thor being involved. Mary watches his expression darken and she delights a little bit in the opportunity to rile him up. “… Yeah,” she says slowly, as if the idea is now coming around on her. “Yeah I think I will go to the classes.” She peeks up at Bucky and sees him pressing his lips into a tight line. Mary grins. “Thanks Darcy. Email Bucky the info and I’ll be there. Should be fun! Can’t wait to meet Thor.”

Darcy nods and smiles brilliantly and bids them all goodbye, and then Mary walks out of the room with Steve and Bucky by her side. She feels smug, and is just waiting for Bucky to start complaining.

“Babe …” Steve says quietly, speaking to Bucky. He takes Bucky’s hand in his as they walk, and Mary watches the two of them have one of their freaky weird silent conversations. It ends when Bucky gives an unhappy grunt, but whatever matter they’d discussed (herself, Mary assumes), seems settled. 

“You can take the class,” Bucky says, sounding none too happy about it.

Mary smirks haughtily. “I thought you wanted me to in the first place?”

Bucky says nothing. Mary remains smug.

She stops being smug when it’s her turn in Linda’s office, and she’s just been told the results of her bloodwork.

“So … I have to?” she says, voice tiny. “With them?”

“Bucky and Steve? No, not necessarily,” Linda says, sitting up straighter. “Who you have sex with is your choice, Mary. You have options.”

Mary glances back at the door, as if Bucky’s on the other side with his ear pressed up against the crack. She wouldn’t put it past him. “Can’t we just keep doing it the way we have been?” she asks. She thinks about how Darcy had made a weird face and said that 'only the extreme cases' needed sexual domination.

Linda looks almost pained as she admits, “I’d have to recommend you be admitted to an inpatient program then, if sex play was absolutely off the table. Multiple drops per day would be required to—”

“What?!” Mary groans, grabbing her hair and yanking it a little as she runs her fingers back through it. Multiple drops per day? What a joke. She’d be a drooling, submissive zombie! “No way! I can't do that!” She wouldn't be able to keep her job if she had to do that. She wouldn’t be able to bake, or work out. She’d have no life!

“We hardly ever institutionalize people like that anymore,” Linda assures her. “And I promise I won’t recommend it if you can find a drop partner with whom you’re comfortable.”

“To fuck,” Mary grumps, being crass on purpose.

“Mary ...” Linda looks sorrowfully at her. “Really, this isn’t the norm. People like you usually test into the system early and grow up with much better care plans in place. Like Bucky did. This is really an unfortunate convergence of circumstances. We only want what’s best for—”

“I want drugs,” Mary says, blurting it out because she’s feeling icy panic at the way Linda had thrown out the word 'institutionalization'. Jesus Christ. “That’ll make me better, right?”

Linda downright cringes. “The medications we have available for this still come with a lot of side effects. I’m not going to prescribe those for you yet.”

"Well what are the side effects?”

Linda sighs as if Mary is the biggest pest. “Let’s at least have you take the assessment I told you about, okay?”

“Ugh. Fine.” A test can’t hurt, at least, Mary thinks. Linda looks pleased.

“Good. The SSITA is the first step. We’ll get you evaluated and go from there, okay?” She pushes the clipboard of papers on the coffee table over to her.

When Mary looks down, she reads the title page: Submissive Sexual Interests and Tendencies Assessment. “That’s … that’s personal,” she whispers, feeling her whole body heat. She shakes her head, already hating the idea.

“The results will be completely confidential. I won’t ever see your answers and neither will Bucky or Steve,” Linda promises, knowing by now that such a thing would humiliate Mary. “So there’s no reason not to answer honestly. A panel of staff who don’t know you and will never meet you evaluate the answers and send recommendations. That’s all.”

Mary picks the clipboard up with shaking hands. It holds a packet of papers with a pen tucked in at the clip. She bites her lip and nods. “Okay.” She takes the pen out and gets started.

It takes her about forty minutes to complete the assessment. It’s formatted into a bunch of statements with “strongly agree” all the way to “strongly disagree.” Checking the circles honestly has her blushing a bit some of the time, but Mary reassures herself with what Linda had said about the test’s anonymity. There are short answer questions at the end that have her gritting her teeth, but she’s honest, God help her. “Okay,” she says when she’s finished, handing the packet back over.

Linda briskly slips it into a manilla envelope and seals it. That’s reassuring, too. Mary takes a deep breath. “So, I don’t know who I’ll … ya know,” she makes a face, “do it with. Darcy said there are Professionals here? ProDoms?”

“Oh you met Darcy? She’s a wonderful girl. Very involved here. Yes we have our staff of ProDoms of course. But um,” Linda tilts her head. “What about Bucky?”

Mary looks down at her lap, thinking about the kiss they’d had. It’d been … Mary’s not sure she’s ever felt so unmoored by just a kiss. “He’s married,” she says quietly. “To Steve.” She thinks about her midnight conversation with Steve.

Linda is silent for a moment, and then she says carefully, “Mary ... Bucky and Steve have talked to me about this. During their sessions with me.”

“They have?”

“They’ve both expressed positive feelings about the possibility of a sexual relationship with you.”

Mary just about swallows her own tongue at that one. “Positive feelings?” What the hell does that mean? Has Bucky told Dr. Linda about the kiss? Has he told Steve?

Should she tell Steve? She’d hate to be the reason to break up a good marriage. ... But then again, Dr. Linda just said 'positive feelings'. Maybe that means that Steve and Bucky do want more.

Linda smiles encouragingly and puts the sealed assessment on her desk. “Yep. I suggest you talk with them about it.”

Mary sighs. Easier said than done.

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

🍵Consider tipping your friendly neighborhood starving artist smut author!

✍🏻Commissions: reach out via Tumblr DM or contact here

[compacflt]

you're a legend for referencing lauren berlant and michael warner in relation to your top gun fic and I'd like to think that they would say the same!! the stories that you've created are beautiful explorations of some of the biggest questions posed in queer theory: who are we in public? who are we in private? where is the line that separates the two (spoiler: there is no way to actually separate the two, no binary) and what are the structural forces bearing down upon all of that bullshit! I for one would love to see your questions about privacy and respectability explored with rooster and ice and mav. especially considering the generational cliff between them, with the aids crisis in the background of rooster's childhood when they were all the closest, in your world. anyway! you are an incredible writer and it's been a privilege to read you work :)

thank you so much for this ask!! yes i have spent so much time thinking about this. In March i started working on a new-yorker-style interview that tried to address a bunch of these questions. Since I didn’t do wip wednesday yesterday (sorry) here’s some relevant sections of that wip related to your ask. I don’t think it’s spoilers since I’m not sure id ever post this anywhere—you can see for yourself how entertaining the writing is and it’s overly political and didactic. Just a lame hegelian dialectic where im interrogating my own characters (at least, my own interpretations of them) on their politics. And I’m not an expert on any of this stuff (currently on the slow uphill climb out of the valley of the dunning-kruger graph—trying to learn). Nor am I fact-checking it & that feels irresponsible to post For Real. so just take this post as a fun (for me) exploration of what i (20y.o., ignorant, no editorial oversight, smooth-brained) think Might be some political implications of my fics, trying to write from a lib-moderate pov (tough!)

talking points I wanted to address:

The politics of ice’s career, both internationally & domestically (some wild navy scandals happened under his “tenure” [fat Leonard most pressingly—would LOVE to know how actual TGM’s ice & mav felt about that bc it was SO FUCKING CRAZY, navy officers & admirals having wild sex parties paid for by a singapore defense contractor (the details are so fucking crazy i can’t even say them here—one anecdote involves 7th fleet officers using WWII/Korean war general macarthurs historical memorabilia during sex acts—go read about it) a couple PACFLT RDMLs were charged with actual crimes, 60 admirals (of the navys total 160 admirals) were under investigation & both my and TGM’s ice & cyclone would probably have been two of them, basically if you were a pacflt officer in the mid-2000s-2010s you were under investigation it was so fucking wild]) —and another geopolitical look at the implications of both top gun movies (reagan weighs in from beyond the grave)

Ice and mav who can’t win—they want their relationship to Not Be A Big Deal. leave us alone. We’re Normal. we’re not Weird or anything. —but can’t understand WHY their relationship is so sensational/political—yes, boys, it is a big deal, sorry!! mavericks probably the last Ace the world will ever see & ice is the secretary of the navy and they’re married, fuck yes that’s newsworthy!!!

my version of Ice acceding to SECNAV at the intersection of a couple crucial contextual moments for the navy/military as a whole: 1. Recruitment is currently fucked. This interview takes place in 2020/early 2021, and things were bad then, but the numbers just came out for the Navy this year, and hoooooly shit they are so bad. And blame is falling along partisan lines like always: Ds blame low recruitment numbers on lack of benefits etc, Rs literally i am not shitting you are mostly blaming low recruitment numbers on the military going Woke. The USN has long been seen as the most obnoxiously woke/gay (derogatory) service to conservatives & there’s a lot of political baggage that comes with having a SECNAV who, while not openly identifying as gay, is openly married to another man. especially with a recruiting crisis like this one. 2. Withdrawal from afghanistan obviously. kind of a shit way for ice to end his career ngl. It Did Not Go Super Well. 3. rising tensions in eastern europe pre RU-UA invasion in 2022, what that means for the MIC and procurement, etc. 4. The joint chiefs openly declaring they (& by extension the military as a whole) would not support trump’s coup attempt post-J6—the end of that extremely politically polarized presidency—what does it mean for the following Dem president to then have a gay secnav after that? It’s HUGE. SO no matter what, Ice as SECNAV is going to go down in history. He just wants it to be for his actions, not the fact that he’s gay.

Icemav’s relationship with their identities. We really really don’t want to be known for being gay. “Ask me what my proudest achievement is, I’ll tell you without a second of hesitation—my family. Without a doubt. But does any military man really want to be best-known for his marriage?” We want to be known for being the BEST at our jobs, which we are. We’ve earned that title! There’s so much more interesting stuff about us than who we got married to.

AND how that is a liberal-moderate-conservative median-50% meritocratic WET DREAM of an ideology. an interview like this one is a straight fluff piece pre-ice’s confirmation to secnav—it lets him prove to the moderate liberals that he’s left-leaning enough to protect social justice interests in the USN, AND prove to conservatives that he’s right-leaning enough to not let identity politics/“woke bs” get in the way of the navy’s mission of providing a lethal maritime fighting force. the merits of this ideology are up for debate.

maybe helping the conservative viewpoint of that ideology: The fact that the Kazansky-Mitchell-Bradshaw-seresin family is so not-stereotypically gay. Like, look at these four guys. 9-to-11 combat kills between them (11 in my universe where ice gets an extra 2, 9 canon confirmed) in a period of history/modern warfare when ANY air-to-air kill is/was massively historically significant. Extremely macho & tough. They present themselves about as traditionally and toxically masculine as you could possibly get. Theyve KILLED PEOPLE. They’re not “soft” by any stretch of the imagination. Physically & emotionally they ARE extremely conservative, and there’s something to be said about the politics of that too—molding yourself into the shape of what you think a man should look like, just to avoid persecution, and then performing masculinity BETTER than even the men who would want to persecute you…!

Related to your ask: the modern/young ppl inclination to make sexuality SO political and public. When asked how he could reckon with joining a DADT-ruled navy, rooster answers: “hope I could do something to destroy it before it could destroy me.” When asked why he DIDNT use any of his considerable power to influence the repeal of DADT, ice answers: “it was better than the blanket ban that came before it. And maybe I’ve always wanted neither to tell nor to be asked.” the conservative respectable opinion that your intimate relationships ought to be PRIVATE, doesn’t matter if you’re gay or straight—just do your job, and preferably do it well. yeah, don’t ask and don’t tell. It’s not anyone’s business. ice doesn’t have a philosophical problem with DADT, because he agrees sexuality should be private & secret. —is it anyone’s business? whose business is it? How much of your personal life do you owe the public if you’re a public-facing individual like the COMPACFLT or SECNAV? all good questions!!!!

[clonerightsagenda]

Sick

We're most of the way through disability pride month and I'm not sure if I'll ever finish this WIP because I'm stuck over how literal to make some of the elements. So, I am posting it because I am curious if any of the weirdness resonates with other people. Enjoy my magical disability cure codependent haunting thing, and also I am going to post a rambling author's note about it.

The morning after the surgery, your Sick is sitting at the kitchen table. It looks good, for a corpse. It’s wearing the ‘I love dying and being dead’ t-shirt you joked about buying two diagnoses ago, pulled over a laced-shut hospital gown.

“What?” it asks. “You had more of a sense of humor when you were sick.”

The doctors warned you that your neurochemistry might be out of balance. You’re adjusting to the sudden lifting of brain fog after moving through the world in a protective cocoon of pharmaceuticals. They didn’t mention hallucinations.

“Think of me like a phantom limb.” Your Sick sips one of those awful plant-based protein drinks that still lurk in the back of your pantry. “Why did you do it?”

Talking to hallucinations probably makes them worse. You do it anyway. “You were killing me.”

“This world is killing you. But you finished yourself off first.”

You sit down across from it in one effortless motion. “That’s not what happened.”

“Right. I’m the enemy. So it doesn’t matter if I’m rotting at the bottom of a biohazard bin.” It considers you. “What’s it like not to hurt?”

What is it like? You’d woken up and lain there for a while, waiting. “Like holding my breath.”

“You’re in charge of all that now.” It nods, the motion referencing the length of your body. “Need to stay on top of it.”

“Like I need advice from you,” you say, but you blink, and the phantom’s gone.

60,000 pieces of microplastic. 7.2 micrograms per liter of per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances. 1:640 antinuclear antibody titer.

That's what they peel you out of. A second nervous system of petroleum products and misfiring T cells, the stuff that's been running your life via mob rule for a decade. They tell you that you weigh five grams less now.

They tell you, don't be surprised if at first it feels like something is missing.

I thought that was just for rich people, your friend says. She messaged you to remind you to take your meds, and you told her that you would never have to take your meds again. Celebrities and politicians.

Work decided it was cheaper to fix me than replace me, you message back. Score one for being essential.

Perks of your top-secret job.

I promise it's boring. Critical infrastructure usually is.

Did you look?

Some people share post-op pictures. They’re usually underwhelming if you don’t know what to look for - the subtle swelling over an aggravated nerve, hints of boniness in the knuckles. Shadows of bruises that never go away. No. I should’ve, though. I asked for hospital socks when they were prepping me but then obviously after I didn’t have them anymore. Who knows if I’ll get another chance.

You might be finished with surgeries forever and you’re disappointed because you can’t get any more grippy socks.

I'll miss the warm blankets too.

Your Sick crawled inside you when you were nineteen years old. It wouldn’t let you get out of bed.

“Help,” it croaked.

Your roommate (only your roommate then) came the second time it called. She was in her pajamas, her hair a dark tangle. You never asked for her help, even when your hands got so sore you couldn’t open jars without five minutes of struggle. “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t feel right,” it said.

Her face softened. “I thought you looked rough yesterday. I don’t have class this morning; do you want me to make something? Call anybody?”

No, you tried to say. I can handle it.

“I think I need to go to the doctor,” your Sick said instead.

You had been putting it off. The doctor meant admitting something was wrong, meant – most importantly – a $30 copay. But healthy people never understand when you try to tell them. At a certain point, your body stops being yours.

Your Sick turned up its nose at greasy slices of campus pizza. It politely but firmly refused invitations for a night out. It sanded the branching tree of your life into a wooden sphere it could cup in the palm of its hand.

“You’re ruining my life,” you told the mirror.

It tilted your head. You read your own confusion. “I’m protecting you.”

“Mask,” your Sick says from behind you. It looks worse today – skin gone gray and patchy, with a shimmer of microplastic shards risen to the surface like body glitter. The shine complements the sequined mask secured over its own face.

You scowl, bag swung over one shoulder. You haven’t gone out since the surgery – you can work from home, you haven’t canceled grocery delivery yet – and now that you’re venturing through your front door, the phantom is back. You had reached for one of the masks on the table by the door before dropping it back into the bowl. “I don’t need it now.”

“So respiratory diseases don’t exist anymore? Dumbass.”

The objection reminds you of your own aggrieved complaints: why don’t people plan events with us in mind, don’t they know how many people there are with immune systems one shove away from collapsing, the world’s not getting any safer.

That was your Sick talking. You don’t have to worry anymore.

“You weren’t doing a good job taking care of me before, and you’re not doing a good job of it now.”

Its eyebrows rise. Black liquid has seeped through the cloth of its mask. “And fuck everyone else like you?”

“Like you,” you say, and slam the door in its face.

Outside, the breeze brushes your cheeks. You don’t have to sit down because you miscalculated the balance of meds and breakfast. You start to scan your surroundings for bathrooms, just in case, and then dismiss the impulse because you’re fine.

You’re better than that.

Three hours in, you realize you’ve been curling your fingers into a fist and then opening them again. You only notice because the joints start to ache. It feels familiar.

Nothing else does.

A notification flashes in the corner of your screen. There’s new activity in one of the forum conversations you’ve been following.

It’s rich people doing what they always do. Wreck the planet? It’s fine, we can get a new one! Wreck your body? It’s fine, we can get a new one of that too. There’s no incentive to improve the situation if you can buy your way out of the problem.

I’d buy my way out too, but there’s no way I could afford it

Then you’d eat your first plastic salad and get sick again. See what I mean?

The new ones are supposed to be more resilient

But it’s not yours

Remember any theological debates go in the quarantine thread

I don’t mean it like that. I just think you’re interfering with your relationship with your body, and that’s a fundamental part of who you are, right? Whether or not a s*ul exists

There’s not a bot monitoring this thread. You don’t have to censor it.

Sorry, habit

Mod is human, asterisks don’t stop me. But they are a screenreader issue, so please edit your post.

You used to frequent disability forums. They had useful resources. Jokes, too, like the t-shirt your Sick wears over its hospital gown. But you can’t understand the people who embrace their disfunction. You took a time-honored approach to your medical misfortune. Cancer. Pregnancy. Demonic possession. Petrochemicals. There is something inside me, and I want it out.

These people helped you, but you don’t need them anymore. So instead of saying anything, you log off the forum for the last time.

You do tell your coworkers, who are excited for you. They pester you with questions over Slack: How long did it take? Did you look? Does it hurt?

Your boss messages you, When can you come back to the office?

You frown at the screen. The work you’ve been doing from home is good – better than what you’ve produced for years now that your head is clear. But your boss has always been old fashioned. Remote work was a concession that there’s no justification for now.

Monday, if you want, you type back.

That gets you an immediate thumbs up reaction, followed by, We’re all so glad you’re ok.

That chafes you in a spot rubbed raw. Everyone assumes once the problem they know about has been addressed, everything else must be resolved too. You must be ok.

Which you are, this time.

Your best friend comes to visit. She brings beers you couldn’t drink with your meds and a greasy pizza that settles in your stomach like a snake planning to strike later. It tastes amazing – you run your tongue over your teeth to capture the last traces of salty richness and tell yourself next time your body will recognize good food.

She’s spent the whole visit on your sofa. You have an air mattress from when she used to sleep on your floor while you were recovering from surgeries. She hasn’t asked you to bring it out, and you’re not sure how to ask if she’s staying. Instead you keep stealing glances at her, the curve of her cheek that’s the first thing you’d see when you looked over the side of your bed in the middle of the night, the hands that have held your hair back from the toilet bowl and now rest on her lap.

She keeps looking at you too. You wonder if she sees a difference.

After the silence and sidelong glances build into an itchy layer on your skin, you lean over, clutch the front of her shirt, and kiss her. She freezes and then kisses you back, gingerly, the way you'd investigate an unexpected bruise. There’s pizza grease on both your lips. Rich and unfamiliar.

You’re the one who pulls away. "I'm sorry," you say. "That's not what I want."

She’s stiff under her softness, like an examination table. "I didn’t think so. I didn't think you did that kind of thing."

You don’t. It’s the silence. Your empty floor. Her hands, resting on her lap. "I just thought…” you try. “That kind of closeness is enough for everyone else."

Your fingers are still clenched in her shirt. She looks at them until you untangle them, one by one. The knuckles don’t ache.

She shakes her head. "It's like you don't want to be better."

“That went well,” your Sick says after the door swings shut.

“It’s your fault.”

It tilts its head on a neck that’s looser than it should be. “I didn’t do anything.”

It’s right. When you were sick you could request a shoulder rub to loosen tight muscles or hike up your shirt, no seduction, no bullshit, to ask if that rash looked bad. You could open your mouth and let the truth of your predicament outweigh prudishness or shame.

You don’t know how to ask people to touch you anymore.

It leans in close. “You need me,” it says. Oil bubbles over its lips and slicks its chin. “I was always your excuse.”

That weekend you watch your phone sit silent on the table, no pings from forum posts or medication reminders. Your Sick drifts over. It’s no longer a rotting corpse leaking garbage. It looks dead in the way you used to whenever you looked in the mirror.

Wherever it is in the real world, it doesn’t look like that anymore. From what you remember from the booklets they gave you, it’s already gone.

“Not going to explain yourself, huh?” asks your hallucination. Your haunting.

You shrug. What would you say to her? I took away the foundation of my life and don’t know what’s underneath. You only started being my friend when I needed help, so what’s left for us? There was always another medication or appointment or symptom but now everything’s fine and I’m still holding my breath.

You’ve gotten used to letting someone else talk for you.

“I was killing you,” it says.

That’s what you said. You look at the lines around its eyes and imagine a billion tiny swords raised against invaders that poured in every time you took a breath to light your joints up with friendly fire. “You were protecting me.”

“I was the worst part of you.”

“You were.” You flex your perfect, painless fingers. “Do I miss it?”

It grins and leans against the back of your chair, wrapping chilly arms around your waist. “I just wanted to make you say it.”

The grip around your belly aches in a way you recognize. Dull pain that makes its home in you. Cozy as curling up in bed with a headache. You look back at your silent phone. “Which one of us did she come here for?”

“Only one way to find out.”

You could reach out, but you don’t move. You have never known how to ask for help.

Your Sick sighs. It loosens its grip and reaches over your shoulder to lace corpse-cool fingers between yours. Then it lifts your combined hands in a swoop like the first dose of anesthesia, when the orderlies wheel you away and everything is out of your control. “Come on,” she says. Her breath is a puff of disinfectant on your cheek. “Let’s do it like we used to.”

After you came out of the anesthesia, the surgeons asked if you wanted to see your old body. You said no. You’d spent long enough inside it – it was something you wanted to leave behind. Besides, even after all the pamphlets and counseling sessions, you worried seeing your vacant face would jar something loose. Convince you like those cranks on the disability forums that you’d severed a connection that was irrevocable.  

If you could do it again, you’d say yes. Step inside the morgue – no, they wouldn’t have moved it to the morgue yet, they’d want you to have a better venue to say goodbye – and catalogue the subtle changes only you could see. The swollen knuckles, flushed cheeks. All the other differences locked inside.

You imagine bending down and lifting the body the way it lifted you once, cradling its head in the crook of your arm. Imagine kissing your Sick and feeling poisonous tendrils creep down your throat to coat your insides with grime.

You imagine saying, welcome home.

(Author's note)

[a-very-zilly-gooze]

hello! it’s lesbian storytime with me, zilly gooze!

so i physically can’t listen to we fell in love in october by girl in red because it reminds me of my last relationship which was… not optimal, to say the least. she was my best friend, which is already just not great. she wanted a girlfriend, not me as her girlfriend, and so i felt undervalued and like she didn’t actually like me romantically (turns out i was right lol).

but anyways, i realized i had a crush on her in october of one year, we officially began dating in october of the next year. we fell in love in october became the song i thought was ours, ya kno?

ever since she dumped me during one of the worst points of my life (which yeah, thanks for bein a good friend there bucko), i have hated that song with a passion and will not, under any circumstances, listen to it.

well, sapphics are to girl in red as moths are to a flame, and so i recently started listening to her again because she’s good ya kno?

i was not prepared for the absolute gut punch that October Passed Me By was.

see, in wfilio, the speaker keeps repeating “you will be my girl… you will be my world.” she is super super into this girl and wants to be her girlfriend so bad. it’s romantic, its slow, it’s sweet, it’s filled with longing, it’s everything you want a girl to say to you.

but OPMB is the sequel to wfilio. it tells the story of the fallout of the relationship that wfilio set up. it’s faster , it’s melancholic, it’s utterly mournful. she’s trying to move on, but, as she says in the last verse, her ex is “always in the back of [her] mind.”

most devastatingly, though, is that she repeats lyrics from wfilio- she mentions being busy looking at the stars, alluding to the line “looking at the stars / admiring them from afar,” with ‘stars’ meaning this girl she wanted to date. she repeats “i made you my whole world,” referencing the line “you will be my world” in wfilio. finally, she says, “screaming at the top of my lungs, i love you, my girl” and ends the song with “you will be my girl,” with both lines being references to wfilio’s line “you will be my girl.”

this mirroring, this pining that resulted in sadness and breakup, is literally a replica of my relationship. i fell in love in october, and i thought that my girl was fantastic and lovely. but then she started distancing herself from me, and as OPMB says, “i got bitter when you got cold / and could you really blame me though?”

“it wasn’t all good, yeah, it wasn’t all pretty.” omfg. i cannot count the number of times i told myself that my relationship was fine, it was good, it was all going great. and it wasn’t. i was lying. my ex was lying. i was just hoping that i could will a good relationship into existence (turns out you can’t, which kinda sucks imo :p).

the parallels are absolutely insane from these songs to my life. and when i heard October Passed Me By yesterday for the first time, it literally shattered me. i love it so much.

lastly, i will leave you with the cover art for each single.

we fell in love in october (2018)

October Passed Me By (2022)

oh. my. fucking. god.

THIS IS ART