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"He is going to think this entire idea silly."
"He will not, I assure you. Sit and look pretty, you are very, very good at that, amongst a myriad of other things that would take millenia to list in full."
Aymeric's cheeks warm to the compliment, not that they weren't already flushed from the 'surprise' Estinien had garbed him in. It's a tiny, relatively thin outfit. Lacey, intimate. One so scant that Aymeric has tugged it down nigh a dozen times as if the 13th tug will be enough to cover... well, what matters. It clearly wasn't fashioned with the vertically blessed in mind, which Estinien had certainly figured out before even purchasing it, but with gentle encouragement and reassurance that Shuuji, in particular, would like it, the dragoon had somehow managed to convince Aymeric to put it on.
Whilst Aymeric sits inside his quarters and waits, Estinien wanders off to find Shuuji. "Were we not here to relax?" He comes up behind the other, leaning in to nose affectionately into his neck. Estinien is not one for public displays, but he has found a few ways he is comfortable with to still show his beloveds love even outside their private quarters. "I pray this is not some task or commission you have picked up. Aught special awaits you back home, after all."
[ Promptless Asks || Always Accepting ]
‹ When it came to the Warrior of Light, it was deemed impossible to ever get him to fully relax; the second someone approached with an interesting opportunity, be it big or small, he was one to pounce on it and see it through. Even offering him an entire island to himself somehow became a venture he cheerily forged ahead on, many bells sunk into the project to maximize what it could give in return to others. It was little surprise then that the dragoon would find Shuuji surrounded by Ishgardians in the Crozier stalls, some wanting him to purchase their wares, others wishing for his aid, and some just there to express gratitude; all would scatter at Estinien's arrival, however. ›
❝ Okay, I promise this wasn't supposed to take long, ❞ ‹ Shuuji sheepishly replied as he tilted his head back to press a soft kiss to the dragoon's cheek. It was a tiny gesture, one easily missed, restrained to respect this partner's desires to be discreet. A couple of well-wrapped parcels were in his hands, freshly purchased as snow had not even began to accumulate upon its cloth surfaces. › ❝ But something special at home? I can't pass that up for anything in the world! I actually bought these for you both as well, So let's not tarry! ❞
‹ Every step taken was filled with energy, a giddiness that was a hallmark of Shuuji's personality; he was never able to hide his enthusiasm, no matter how cool or smug he tried to be about it. This let Estinien see that every passing moment only built the suspense visibly as he had gently cut corners or found little shortcuts until he had approached the Borel home. The two entered in, and with some hints from Estinien, would soon find themselves entering the chambers. ›
‹ The moment he observed what sat in waiting for him, his eyes positively flew open and his cheeks had become dyed a bright scarlet red, lips left agape with a soft gasp passed through them. Then a few steps were hurriedly taken so he could close the door and keep this view solely between the three lovers, keep the image of such a stunning man in a cute little lacy outfit all to them. ›
‹ The reactions that followed were not of the verbal kind, but of the physical; he eagerly closed the gap between them to press a kiss to the Lord Commander's lips, his heavily-scarred hands raised to carefully graze his fingertips along the fitted straps that could barely be considered fabric. ›
❝ Mnh, Estinien put you up to this, didn't he? ❞ ‹ Shuuji then hummed as he flashed their other partner a wicked grin. › ❝ It's a gorgeous gift, don't get me wrong, but it's missing something. ❞
‹ At "something" he rose a hand to gesture towards the dragoon, fingers then curled a couple times over to beckon the man to join them. ›
❝ If you're content to watch me unwrap such a beautiful gift, that's alright, but I'd love for you to be close. You wouldn't want to miss anything, would you? ❞
#✧ // «FFXIV» ;; 「 (WoL) Azem Anew 」#Estinien Varlineau ›› Heavensrender#Aymeric de Borel ›› A Warm Smile That Melts the Ice#💕 // «Shuuji-Estinien-Aymeric» ;; 「 Love That Flourishes Even Amidst the Frigid Storms 」#[ Tina. TINA. You gotta stop sending absolute BANGERS for these asks LMFAOOOO ];#[ Shuuji forced my hand to WRITE ];#Sunday Funday ›› Dubiously Safe for Work
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Immortal She, Return To Me
chapter one | masterlist | chapter three
Shuuji Hanma x f!reader
Genre: Smut & Angst Notes: I wanted to post something n this series has been gathering dust so enjoy chapter two hehe Warnings: 18+, dubcon, biting, clit rubbing, use of 'mommy' jokingly, pussyjob, adultery, bullying, degradation, exhibitionism??, fingering, body writing, forced tattooing, smoking, vaginal sex, daddy kink. Words: 3.2k
networks: @planetonet @tometpd
He considers you.
He is considering you.
You’ve certainly come a long way from the frightened little lamb he knew as a teenager. A role was to be played and you have done so beautifully. It isn’t often Hanma is surprised or that anyone can get the upper hand over him. And here you are, an all-knowing smirk dominating your appearance as you continue to straddle him. A woman after his very own heart, you’ve turned into quite that conniving little bitch, and it’s turning him on. He’s filled with arousal and want.
You’ve given him a rock-hard cock.
He gives you a look of warning as you begin to grind against him tormentingly. A look to tell you that you better behave yourself or else you’ll be in real trouble. But you don’t, you have power on your mind and how much you have over your former ‘flame’ if you could go so far as to call him that. It’s true that you hold all of the cards right now and it is a sickening role reversal for him.
Gone are the days of your fear. You have forgotten what it felt like to be intimidated by him. And you’ve managed to do something that no one ever does to Hanma.
You’ve surprised him.
“I wouldn’t get too cocky if I were you, baby.” he comments, fingers digging deeply into the fat of your hips to hold you still.
“Oh?”
“Heh. Look at you…” he starts, leaning down to nip at your neck with his teeth. You hum, delirious under his touch. It isn’t because he is so divine that you can’t help yourself. The opposite, really, you’re letting yourself enjoy him. He idly strokes all four fingers from his right hand over your still throbbing clit. “Got a little bit of power for a change and look what a messy little cunt you have. Bet you want me to start calling you mommy, huh?” he insults with a snarl on his face. The expression drags you right back to your youth. Unfortunately for you, it isn’t an easy expression to wipe off his face.
“There’s only two things I want from you Shuuji,” you mewl, unable to fight the noise that leaves you as he latches onto one of your pert nipples and suckles softly. There has been a blatant switch since you revealed your identity to him. It’s almost like you’re worth a damn. “I want you… to suffer. And- And I want… I want your fucking head on a platter.” you moan into a laugh as you begin to grind your slippery heat against his cock.
“My my what big talk for such a needy little slut.” he tells you. He forces his fingers through your tousled hair and brings your face closer to his. There is no chance of fighting away from a kiss, but you find yourself not wanting to fight it. You begin to sweat as you work your soaked folds along his pulsing cock. Each rut of your hips forces his pretty pink tip perfectly against your clit. He feels no shame each time breathy pants escape him. Moans, specifically. Ooh and ahh language escape the pair of you as he leaves sensual, slow kisses down your neck and shoulder. “I suppose I should apologise.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
He grabs the fat of your thigh where his name is permanently signed. It makes him moan even louder, remembering that he’s marked you good and proper. His name is dated on your thigh and still you can never forget him. Why else would you go to these lengths to get a rise out of him?
“Should have prepped you. You’re not a whore, are you? Just my toy. How could I forget my perfect little fuck toy?”
“Not yours. Not anymore.”
“Your thigh says different,” he interjects pulling your face closer to his so that he can lick the inside of your mouth. “why haven’t you had it removed? Is it because you still have feelings for me, sweetheart?”
“I never had feelings for you. Tattoo removals are expensive.”
“Kisaki is a rich man, he hasn’t offered? And I notice a lack of a ring on your finger, too. So, are you lying?” he lingers on the final word, hoping for it to take root under your skin. You were always so meek in your teens. He much prefers the you of today.
There certainly is a bark, he’s waiting patiently for a bite.
You laugh, amused. You aren’t sure if he is teasing you this time or if he is more of a fool than he’d dare to admit. He groans as you pull away from his wanting lips, the longing soon replaced with satisfaction as you hold your ankles and continue to grind your sticky folds against his veiny member.
“Those big glasses make you look smart, but it’s a lie.” you begin. He grumbles incoherently. There is a conversation in his head taking place with nobody but himself. He wants to scold and chastise you for daring to speak to him like that. But it’s been so long since you’ve been in each other’s presence, he’s happy enough to let you speak. And he’s eager to hear what you have to say. “You wouldn’t have fucked me if you saw my engagement ring.”
“Hmm, I think you’ve forgotten who you’re dealing with baby. A silly little thing like monogamy is never gonna stop me from getting what I want.” he talks as if it’s a joke, but now you do know who you’re dealing with. He’s right, there is nothing in the world that will stop the man beneath you from getting what he wants.
“Shuuji…” you moan, feeling close to cumming as you continue sandwiching his cock between your sodden lips. He hums, hushes, coos. He’s imploring you to continue, to cum, to talk. “Kisaki doesn’t know about the tattoo.” you whimper.
He grins, aiding you in your rutting.
You shouldn’t have told him that.
He’s coaxing you to unravel against him in such a pathetic, desperate manner. He’s almost disgusted that he’s nearly right there with you. There’s always been something so hypnotising about you, you’ve always had him under a spell whether you knew it or not. How could he forget you? How could he have been so stupid as to have forgotten you?
“Get yourself off on my cock, I wanna paint your pretty pussy lips white.”
Fingers are interwoven into your damp, sweaty hair as he yanks your face away from his. He wants to see you, again, like he always saw you. Completely at his mercy and desperate for his release. He remembers, now, what you said. What you always said when he gifted you with his potent seed. That it always made you feel so good. So good and so warm.
He lets you moan against his mouth as he nudges your clit just right, and you’re free falling. Tumbling out of a plane through the highest heights, crash landing and unable to shake free of the aftershocks of the powerful orgasm. You hate him. You hate him. It’s only like this because there is too much passion between the two of you and you hate him for it. He kisses you, and you can barely kiss back because you’re shuddering and mewling, still, from the intensity of it all.
“Fuuuuuck, baby,” he speaks slowly.
It’s so familiar and so condescending, almost like it could be mistaken for a compliment. He meant it, though. You might know him, you might have known him. But he’s changed in your absence. He’s matured – if only a little.
“Just like old times, hah?”
There is only a years difference between yourself and Hanma, and of course, he is your senior. An age difference that he took a little too seriously, you’d say.
It started off simple enough, mere children in the playground. He’d pull your hair and shove your face into the dirt. It makes you sick as you recall the time he pretended he was going to make you eat a fistful of worms that he held in his hand.
But you couldn’t decide what was the lesser of two evils as he shoved them down your pants instead.
Teasing turned to ownership as you got a little older. Whenever he’d see you, he’d call you names in front of his friends. But you were his. The name calling came with orders that you do things for him. A kiss on the cheek, the lips, or to hold his hand. It sounds a little sweeter than it was given that you were just children, but it’s hard to forget how terrified you felt at the mention of his name, let alone his presence.
You thought he might kill you when you moved schools. Your parents had deduced you were being bullied, and although you denied it, they took the initiative to remove you from his school. But that wouldn’t be the last you’d see of him, of course.
But there was a wonderful time that you didn’t see him. Three years. Three whole years you didn’t see him. You left his school at sixteen and you were a university student by the time your nineteenth rolled around.
His eyes almost bulged out of his head as he spotted you walking down the street and around the corner. A pretty plaid skirt and a black randoseru strapped to your back. And he could see where you were going. He was a delinquent through and through, but you were on your way to university. He was a drop out and you were really putting the work into your future.
Good for you.
Good for him.
He dragged you into an alleyway after your day had come to an end. He’d been hanging around and waiting for you to finish the whole day. It wasn’t a chance he was prepared to lose. And your blood turned to liquid nitrogen in your veins as you realised who was holding you hostage in the dank, murky alley.
“Theeeere she is. Missed my slutty little princess, have you missed me?”
And that day was the first of many instances he helped himself to your body whenever he pleased. Taking different routes didn’t help, he was always hot on your trail. It was worse when his friends found out about his shady misdeeds; all of them touch starved and desperate to get front row seats to your live shows with Hanma.
He’d sit you on crates in back alleys and force you to present yourself to his friends.
“Open your legs wider f’me baby. They all wanna see what a cute little cunt you have.”
And they snickered, because you’d obey every single time. He would only finger you in front of them, but sex was private. They always took pictures and videos and laughed at your expense when the sound of your juicy cunt and Hanma’s vicious fingers flooded the echoing alley. He’d whisper sweet nothings and kiss against the shell of your ear as he urged you to cum in front of his friends.
He is a monster, but he knows it’s near impossible to cum when you’re uncomfortable. Hanma was always happy to talk you through it, you were letting him do this to you after all. You could have easily reported him or told your parents what he was doing, but you didn’t. In truth, you were just humiliated that this was happening to you.
“She’s just Hanma’s toy.” you heard one of his cronies mutter to another.
“Hey, I like that. Someone hand me a pen.”
He hushed you as you began to squirm against him. Hanma moved so that he was standing in front of you, dropping to the balls of his feet so he could write the words into your skin. It was a thick, black, marker pen and the texture was soft, a little ticklish too.
“Sit still sweetheart, this needs to be perfect. Okay?”
You admired it despite it making you feel like a disgusting slab of meat rather than a human being. He smiled up at you with half-shut eyelids. Power and triumph coursing through his entire being. His hands reached upward towards your breasts as his face burrows into your drenched heat. He doesn’t stay there long, a few gentle kisses to your quivering clit to reward your obedience.
“You can all fuck off now, tug your tiny dicks off at home.” Hanma instructs his seedy little gang. They all appeared confused, Hanma’s sadistic smile didn’t waver as he looked down at them all. It stole your breath away each time you noticed how truly tall he was – he’s always been a king amongst men. “I’m taking my favourite girl on a date.”
It was right for you to feel scared at the sentiment. You had never been on a date with Hanma before and you couldn’t bear to imagine what his sick idea of one was. Bony fingers clamped into the flesh of your upper arm as he escorted you the entire way to the nearest tattoo parlour. You foolishly thought he was adding new additions to his body. But when he expressed that you wanted an inner thigh tattoo, you almost swallowed your tongue.
“Shuuji, I don’t—”
“Don’t you fucking dare fight me on this. Need everyone to know who the fuck you belong to, so be a good girl and get daddy’s name tattooed.” he hissed through gritted teeth. The man at the desk looked concerned, but you threw away any doubts as you smiled gleefully at him. It seemed to be fake concern, anyway, as you soon discovered he and Hanma were friends.
“Shuuji, I need my, uh, my—”
“Your panties that I got stuffed in my pocket?” he spoke, loud enough for anyone in the parlour to hear, ruining the discreet conversation you tried to initiate. “Just sit down and shut up, you’re getting a whores tattoo so don’t act coy now.”
This was a moment you were sure had surpassed the worms down your panties. There has never been a moment you’ve felt more embarrassed than this. Your wet, drippy cunt practically in the face of a total stranger. Hanma laughed each time you tried to pull down your tiny skirt enough to cover your sex, but he slapped your hands away.
The process was agonising and you weren’t sure how long you had been there. All you knew was that it felt like an eternity. You couldn’t decide if the sensation was closer to pinpricks or beestings, but you could hardly stand it. Eventually, Hanma did do something nice. He let you hold his hand through it all.
You sat patiently as your fresh ink was wrapped up by the artist. Tears spilled down your cheeks, and your tormentor brushed them away with his thumbs. He even kissed you. Again… and again… and again… on your damp, glittering cheeks.
“That’s my girl.”
After everything he put you through, you never thought you’d actually seek him out yourself. You’ve been lying on your backs side by side as you come down from your orgasms together, you can’t stand how each and every single thing you’ve done with him has felt oddly romantic up to now. Even when he was degrading you, it reminded you of your past, and that is dangerous territory. You were a different girl then. He pushed you so far away that you left the country for a few years.
“How did you end up being Kisaki’s pet?”
“That’s none of your business,” you bite back, “I love him, though.”
“I don’t think you cheat on people you love, sweetheart.” he laughs, taking a careful drag of a cigarette and allowing the dramatic lingering smoke to twirl into the air. “That guy’s nuts. He’ll kill you too when he finds out you fucked me.”
You shake your head, disregarding his conclusion completely.
“He doesn’t love me. It’s more like obsession, infatuation. He’ll forgive me, but he’ll want you chopped into little pieces.”
“Yeah?”
He climbs out of bed with ease in search of his phone. His face gives nothing away, the stoic straight line that has become his signature expression over the manic smile you had grown to hate in your teens. He scrolls through his contacts, until finally, he finds who he was looking for.
Kisaki.
You don’t know it’s him until Hanma speaks. The ringing was insufferable, and you thought that whoever he was calling would never answer. You can’t deny the way that your heart stopped when you heard your fiancé’s voice faintly through the speakers.
“You’re a sly dog, Kisaki, I found out about your secret engagement.” he smiles, pausing to hear his response. “I met your little wifey tonight while I was out with the others. I know, what are the odds, right? She told me I should give you a call and set something up for the three of us.”
“Shuuji.” you speak sternly, he raised a finger to silence you like you’re nothing. Like you’re a woman who doesn’t get a right to speak. Fuck, you really hate him.
“Well I haven’t seen your new place yet. Now I know why you moved, hah? Bigger house for your wife and however many kids you’re gonna make her pop out.” he laughs falsely, the thought of being nothing but a breeding toy sends you close to a panic attack. He can see it, too, because your eyes are beginning to sparkle. “Have you got chefs or are you cooking yourself these days? A cosy little meal at the Kisaki residence sounds like a plan. Alright, tomorrow? Sure… I’ll be seein’ ya.”
He tosses his phone aside, climbing back onto the bed to join you. You yelp as you feel his hands grab your ankles and pull you towards him. Your knees are being pushed into your chest once again. And he’s amused, he’s amused because you’re letting him. Even after what he’s just done, he still has you wrapped around his finger.
“Goin’ again princess, daddy wants to fuck again.” he explains as he lines himself up with your slippery slot.
He’s unhinged. He’s calm, yes, but his mind is completely and utterly unhinged. Not an ounce of shame that he’s just set up a dinner date from hell. Not a twinge of guilt in his voice as he lied to his boss about your very existence. He’s confident, he’s cocky. None of it, not a single ounce of it is new. It’s just him. Fucking Hanma. As much as you hate to admit it, he’s your Hanma.
“You’re playing with fire babe, I think you’re forgetting whose game this is.” you explain, trying to remind him that you’re the one holding the best cards. Although, you’d be lying if you said he hadn’t rattled you.
“Gonna be really embarrassing for you when I win,” he smiles as he rolls his hips into yours. You’re both too focused on getting the last word in with each other to truly enjoy the stimulating feeling of your genitals slotting perfectly against one another.
“Who says you’re going to win?” you question.
“Well, you’re just my little fuck toy,” he laughs, “do you think I’m gonna lose to a stupid, slutty toy?”
© 2022 fuwushiguro
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Meandering Thoughts About Not My Problem
I don’t know where else to put this and I don’t know if anybody would care, but I can’t stop thinking about this stuff. Spoilers for both Digimon Survive (all routes) and my fanfiction Not My Problem (all chapters) below the cut.
I’ve exclusively received positive feedback for Not My Problem, but I can’t help but feel I may have gone too far, or that this was a story that simply didn’t need to be depicted. They say the mind can conjure up scarier things than you could ever actually see, after all. Still, I couldn’t help but be plagued by brainworms whenever I thought about the bad ending, and I thought it would be fun to put out the version of what my mind conjured.
Something I tried really hard to avoid was making the story just a bunch of edgelord shit. Maybe an odd thing to be concerned about when the starting premise is “everybody dies”, but I was worried about it coming across as exploitative rather than horrific. There were a lot of ideas I had where I wrote a few paragraphs and had to stop and think, “am I just feeding meat into the meat grinder?”
For example, in the last chapter, I almost went a lot harder on Miu’s trauma. I considered having her see either illusions of her stalker or illusions of Kaito saying some weird incest shit. In the end, I realized that this wasn’t doing much beyond shock value. I decided the important thing to show, given the arc I’d put Miu on, was simply that she had given up on herself. Having her reject a potentially helpful figure accomplished that better than some random edgy trauma porn.
There are some other examples like Saki leading an extended torture sequence on Piedmon, and Kaito bullying Agumon to suicidality, but the point is that even with the conscious goal of making the trauma mean something for the characters, it’s easy to cross the line without thinking. I’m not opposed to writing Digimon/Saw crossover fanfiction, but that’s not what I wanted for this story.
I wonder if the way I wrote Floramon in Chapter 2 and 3 or the way I wrote Saki in Chapter 4 will come across as way too much regardless. Personally, I stand by the writing decision, but I acknowledge that Saki is a rather enigmatic character, and Floramon comes across as fairly bland when taken as her own, so the dark direction I took them in could potentially seem a bit out of left field.
I knew someone had to hit a breaking point in this timeline. Minoru doesn’t strike me as having it in him. Kaito and Aoi both already had their breaking points in canon. Agumon has potential for a Garurumon-esque villain arc, but he could never be an actual threat without Takuma. That left Miu and Saki.
So I knew almost from the start that Miu and Saki had to be the last two to die, and I knew their character arcs would be different than Kaito or Aoi’s were in the routes where they have breakdowns. Miu isn’t as vindictive as Kaito. She has struggled with being made to think things are her fault, but that frustration is directed mostly inward. What gets directed outwards is more indignation than rage. I just don’t see an angle in which Miu becomes a villain, which is a bit of a shame because Syakomon being forced to undergo a dark evolution would be the next most heartbreaking possibility outside of Lopmon (which obviously we already got).
Saki, on the other hand, seemed like a pretty easy sell as a villain. She isn’t burdened with responsibility for the group or a specific person like Shuuji, Kaito, and Aoi were, but she does have a sort of selfishness and an obsession with being loved that seemed rife for exploration in a timeline where everybody who cares about her either leaves or dies.
And then there’s Floramon, who I find weirdly dark in an understated way. She openly states multiple times that if Saki were to leave the group, she would simply follow Saki without a second thought. There’s also a moment in Part 3 where Floramon advocates for blackmail on a helpless Tentomon. Given how the Digimon is meant to be a reflection of the human’s true heart in Survive, I find this rather interesting, because they’re not really aspects you ever see of Saki’s personality. At the same time, we know that Saki gives a lot of effort to micromanaging her perception by others, so not seeing that except via her partner makes sense. It feels like there’s a darkness in Saki left unexplored within the canon. So I played with that.
Speaking of Shuuji, I have a little bit of regret for not setting this in the Truthful-Bad ending where Ryo and Shuuji are alive but abandoned by Takuma. This would be a very different sequence of events that I would love to read, but I’ll leave that to someone else!
Oh, and the Renamon murder spree. Another thing I think is totally in-character and canon-compliant, but if someone told me it felt like edgelord shit, I’d understand. It just seems to me that if Renamon was willing to take the children as sacrifices, then she would also be willing to kill them outright, and without even the slightest glimmer of hope that Miyuki could be saved via the power of love (because Takuma and the Professor never reached out with Renamon to Miyuki), obviously her solution is going to be similarly violent.
I guess my main takeaway is that I get why they didn’t show the bad ending from Agumon’s perspective in the game. People have already accused Digimon Survive of being edgy misery porn, and when you peel back the implications of the Bad Ending, well...
I hope I did a halfway decent job of writing an inverted narrative tension graph, at least.
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Digimon Survive Spoilers please do not read any of this if you have not beaten the game these are my personal thoughts! This is my opinion incoming ⚠️⚠️⚠️
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I’m gonna be perfectly honest and say that I really didn’t enjoy this game as much as I would have liked. And I do want to clarify that yes I did know it was a visual novel and only 30 percent combat, I bought this knowing exactly what it was marketed as. What I have gripes about is not the format, it is the story and characters. If you enjoyed this game all the power to you! These are just my silly little ramblings and feelings and I don’t expect anyone to agree with me!
There is a lot of recycled dialogue, and it didn’t feel like a lot of the characters had development. Rather most of it fell down to them having doubts about the situation, their Digimon partners telling them to cheer up and believe in themselves, and then realising that they can get through this and feel better. This isn’t bad...
...Until you realise that you have heard this conversation about 50 times over through the course of the story.
It gives the illusion of depth, of course I’d understand if this sort of thing is done after a character death. In fact one of the better parts of the story in my opinion was chapter 6 after the death of Shuuji, where Minoru and some others started to feel scared of their Digimon since they had the potential to turn bad and dark digivolve. After Minoru’s fight with Falcomon they do feel like a unit and their development does feel earned. This cannot be said for most of the other characters however. I understand that they are all children in a dreadful situation but I felt we barely got to know most of them, even when going out of my way to try and raise affinity with everyone that I could. I wasn’t expecting the deepest or complex characters but with the amount of dialogue written I felt there was enough space for some sort of character development. But instead many felt flat to me. There were many instances of repeating the same thing with everyone as well, like in the sewers or in exploration segments where you’d have to fight or do the same action in each area, just because it worked once for one character, doesn’t mean I need to see the same thing happen with another with slightly altered dialogue to accommodate.
Also this was my first playthrough and I got the moral ending, which was probably the most neutral. I know the game is intended to be played multiple times and you need new game plus to get the truthful ending which has everyone alive and is the best one. But after the first I don’t feel too motivated to do this. Having to play a forced flawed run in order to play the everything again for the best outcome I really don’t like.
My main gripe however and was the actual deal breaker is how the game handles choice. Having there be 2 scripted deaths really bugs me, especially since the game hammers it in that you could have prevented them when you cannot. I feel that instead it would have been better to have a more fluid story where any characters could have died, had their affinity not have been enough, to be locked out of saving people by default I feel is a bad design decision in my opinion. Maybe there should have been a hard limit the first time through that made you really think hard about who to spend time with, so you would still have some deaths on your hands, but at least they would have made sense and up to you. You made the choice. I know this would have been much more tedious to implement and write but I was kinda hoping for more choice. As for the deaths themselves, they were interesting but the fact that Ryo and Shuuji can’t be saved anyway the first time makes them much cheaper all around. You just kinda watch it happen while the game makes you feel like a jerk for letting them get this bad. The post credits “If Ryo’s affinity was higher maybe everyone could have survived” was more of a punch in the gut rather than a way to spur me on to start the truthful route and save everyone. I don’t know if I was the only one who felt this way about that in particular.
I enjoyed the gameplay, it was mainly easy throughout but a swift difficulty curve toward the last through fights. It’s also great that we have an origin story about how the Digimon world came to be as well as prequel to Adventure.
I’m not gonna leave a bad review don’t worry, this game just didn’t do it for me personally, and I don’t want to add to the unjust review bombing that some people are doing. It didn’t make its mark on me and that’s ok. But for anyone who may have disliked it I’d thought I’d voice what I didn’t like in case anyone agreed. I still want this game to do well so Bandai know we care about getting Digimon games in the west! Poor Yokai watch 4 never even got an English release :(
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Sometimes it fun how stories seem to write themselves.
Like I’m gonna talk about Phantoms because of course I am, but Arahabaki wasn’t actually ever supposed to play any sort of role, and ended up being the driving force of WYWH.
I had vague plans for alternate universes Dazai would traipse through one TMW and only some of them were realized, but new things sprung up in the gaps, like Shuuji who I never though of when I was planning!
And now in PD, I knew where this chapter starts, and I know where it ends, but I had no idea what the middle was until skk started arguing in the middle of a cafe. I’m not sure I’m really writing these things or if the story is telling itself through my hands, like automata.
#emi writes#emi rambles#phantoms#wish you were here#wywh#this masterpiece will (tear you apart)#tmw(tya)#perfect disaster
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two, now three.
Summary: He’d seen the blue lines already; they’d appeared almost immediately when he’d taken the pregnancy tests, but that had been in the morning when the light wasn’t good, taken quietly as Dazai had slumbered peacefully in their shared bed. Chuuya couldn’t have been sure it was a trick of the light, or a figment of his imagination.
Pairing: Osamu Dazai x Nakahara Chuuya ( Bungou Stray Dogs )
Author’s notes: Okay,,, so this work has MPreg, as well as a pregnant Chuuya and Dazai being a nice husband. This is my second soukoku fanfiction, and I'm still nervous about posting, so please be gentle when reviewing. Reviews fuel me to write more, and I already have a collection of "Aya as Soukoku's love child" fics planned!
Read on AO3!
He’d seen the blue lines already; they’d appeared almost immediately when he’d taken the pregnancy tests, but that had been in the morning when the light wasn’t good, taken quietly as Dazai had slumbered peacefully in their shared bed. Chuuya couldn’t have been sure it was a trick of the light, or a figment of his imagination. Now, he holds up the first test and squints at the lines.
Positive. A clear, dark positive. Same with the second one. He hasn’t made a mistake.
Chuuya sinks to the floor, ignoring the cold and damp, staring at the tests on his lap.
He can’t breathe. Panic wraps fingers around his throat and squeezes tight. The terror, again, of having something to lose. He isn’t perfect or good. He was meant for taking lives, not bringing one into this world. And he’s scared of warping this child so badly that it ends up hating its parents.
A baby. He’s going to be a mom. There’s a baby, nestled safely within him, fed by his blood, swimming in fluid. Half of him and half of Dazai. The thought plants a vision in his mind, a tiny child with Dazai’s dark cocoa coloured curls and eyes, fair and beautiful in his arms.
The panic dulls to a small point, the noose around his neck loosening ever so slightly. His baby. Their baby.
He puts his hands on his stomach. Chuuya exhales a ragged breath.
There isn’t a good way or a good time to tell Dazai, but Chuuya does it anyway, on a Saturday as the early morning sunlight streams in through the kitchen windows.
He inhales, and pretends he’s brave. “I’m pregnant.”
The silence stretches out. In the bright light of day, Chuuya sees a wall between them, with no way to scale it.
“Dazai?”
“A daddy,” Dazai says. As if he can’t quite believe it. “I’m going to be a daddy.”
Dazai puts one hand behind his neck and pulls him towards him. And then they’re kissing. Dazai’s mouth is soft and familiar, and the kiss leaves Chuuya breathless, his lips tingling. He can feel the imprint of a smile against his mouth.
Chuuya can’t help it. The relief and the happiness that washes over him is so strong that he laughs, the sound catching in his throat a little. “Yes, a daddy.”
“We’re going to have a baby!” Dazai picks Chuuya up and whirls him around in his arms. Chuuya laughs out loud, his feet flying out behind him and narrowly missing the stove.
All those weeks of anxiety melt away, dissolving like sugar in a cup of hot tea. For once, Chuuya’s not anxious or worried, he’s just happy, held in Dazai’s arms, buoyed up in a warm, bright place.
The morning sickness is new.
Being pregnant is new. But the nausea is constant, dragging him down, stopping him from thinking properly. For the last few weeks, Chuuya’s been rudely awoken at 5 a.m. to run to the toilet and vomit. At work, the merest whiff of blood makes him want to throw up; he’s been stuck working at headquarters for the time being. Eating supposedly helps, but he isn’t ever hungry.
Chuuya wakes up again, more nausea swimming through his veins than blood. He shoves his way out of Dazai’s arms – from perfection to cage in a matter of breaths – and streaks to the toilet.
He only just makes it in time before the contents in his stomach make a reappearance in a violent and noisy gush. He retches again, and again. There’s nothing left of his dinner from the previous night, but his stomach doesn’t seem to care. His hands tremble violently, his eyes watering and dimmed.
As he’s done for the past weeks, Dazai follows him, holding Chuuya close, murmuring nonsense words and reassurances, keeping burnished curls out of his face, waiting until the breath returns to Chuuya’s lungs.
The sickness is abating a bit, so Chuuya flushes the toilet with a scowl and wipes his mouth with a wad of toilet paper. Nausea still throbs dully in his stomach, but that is nothing new. “This is your fault and I hate you.”
“I love you too, Chuuya.” Dazai all but coos, still holding him in his arms.
Dazai talks to Chuuya’s stomach every night, even though he isn’t even showing yet. Dazai’s face is inches away from his stomach, his words making caresses of warm air on Chuuya’s skin. Dazai prattles on about everything and anything – from his day at work, to how Kunikida-kun wouldn’t give him a break, until Chuuya almost feels bad for the baby, who’s unable to have a moment of peace.
He deadpans, “You do know that the baby can’t hear you right now.”
“Mommy didn’t mean that,” Dazai assures the baby quickly, and Chuuya has to bite back a smile.
They’ve talked about baby names a long time ago, almost jokingly, lying together tangled in sheets and limbs, Dazai’s head pillowed against Chuuya’s shoulder, both of them bare-limbed and loose and relaxed. Dazai had always liked Shuuji, and Chuuya liked the name Aya, beautiful and colorful, yet so simple and elegant.
Chuuya brings up the topic of names again, threading fingers through hair as soft as silk. “Do you have any names in mind?”
There’s a beat of hesitation.
“Odasaku,” Dazai says, barely a whisper, and so soft that Chuuya thinks it’s just a figment of his imagination. He’s smiling, but it’s the saddest smile he’s ever seen, and his eyes are so far away, memories and sadness clouding them, wounds only made sharper with the passing of time.
The silence stretches on, but it’s comfortable and peaceful, tinged with melancholy and everything that goes unsaid but is instinctively understood, even without words.
“I think he’d like that,” Chuuya says, equally soft, and slips his hand into Dazai’s.
( They decide to name her Aya, if it’s a girl. )
Chuuya can hardly believe that this picture here on the screen in front of him is of their baby. Snub nose, delicate, intricate spine, legs curled up to fit into his body.
“At twenty weeks, Baby’s about the size of a banana,” Says the technician cheerfully. “The measurements look good. Everything looks good.”
“The baby’s so big,” Dazai says, gazing at the window into Chuuya’s body. His eyes are wider, his face softening in wonder, and it’s so unexpectedly tender that Chuuya feels his throat tightening.
“With all the food I’ve been eating lately, she’d better be.” Chuuya grumbles, but there’s no real heat behind it, only a mixture of fondness and exasperation.
“I was about to tell you the sex of the baby, but you guessed it.” Says the technician, typing something into her computer. “It’s a girl. A perfectly healthy girl.”
“Aya it is,” Chuuya whispers under his breath, and once again, he’s drawn to Dazai again instead of the screen. He’s never seen him looking so rapt. So in love.
( “We’ll have a boy next time.”
“Next time?” )
Aya’s a kicker. She’s fussy and demanding, kicking Chuuya with every step. Chuuya’s been feeling sore all day, harsh pains cutting through his abdomen whenever she strikes. Dazai likes to joke that Aya’s inherited Chuuya’s strength, and he’s not mistaken.
“Listen, kid,” Chuuya mutters, his voice as firm as he can make it. “I know we settled on Aya, but I swear I will let Dazai name you if you don’t stop kicking me. And knowing him, it’ll be something stupid, and I’m not going to stop him. Do you want that?”
Chuuya’s answer is another taunting kick.
( It looks like Aya’s also inherited Dazai’s nasty personality. )
“I can’t believe this,” Dazai whines dramatically, settling himself more comfortably on the sofa, so that his head is pillowed on Chuuya’s lap. Rolling azure eyes at his flair for theatrics, Chuuya runs his fingers through soft curls, adjusting his husband in one smooth motion so that Dazai isn’t pressing down on his bladder. Dazai is warm, warmer than the August night, and Chuuya closes his eyes, soaking in the warm, intimate moment. “Aya, how could you kick for everyone but me?”
“Now she stops,” Chuuya says, pointedly addressing his swollen belly. “Finally tired yourself out, have you?”
“Aya – it’s Daddy.” Dazai leans over so that his face is inches away from Chuuya’s stomach. “Kick for Daddy!”
Aya, either responding to Chuuya’s exasperation or to her father’s voice, kicks Chuuya right in the ribs, and he winces. Dazai feels it, and he sits upright immediately, his eyes wide with surprise and awe.
“She moved, she moved, oh, Aya!” Dazai addresses Chuuya’s belly. “That’s my girl!”
Aya distinctly kicks. Dazai laughs.
Chuuya inhales, a sharp intake of breath; Aya’s been fussy all day, and now that Dazai’s around, the mischief seems to have been amped up one thousand fold. “She’s definitely your child.”
Dazai’s smirk has Chuuya’s toes curling.
Chuuya wakes up alone.
He wakes up gasping, his heart thumping wildly, an out-of-control drum rhythm. For one horrible second, he thinks that Dazai’s left again – without a word, without so much as a goodbye – but then he remembers that Dazai’s on a case with the Armed Detective Agency, and the relief floods him with so much force that it renders him dizzy.
He switches off his alarm and lies in bed, watching the milky white light steal slowly over the walls, waiting for his heartbeat to go back to normal. A swath of sunlight ticks upward over the scan photograph of their baby. Chuuya’s pinned it to the dressing table, a little white body, floating in a sea of black and grey. He’s already memorized it, every curve, every shape, and places a hand over his bump, imagining the baby floating in fluids, completely safe.
Under his hand and inside his body, Aya shifts. A stretching, an adjustment.
She nudges him, quiet today, and Chuuya wonders if they’re connected somehow, if she can sense his mood and the dullness of his eyes.
“I know,” Chuuya says. “I miss him, too.”
He stares out the window, but his little nudger doesn’t respond. For a minute, two minutes, nothing happens, while the early morning sun fills the house slowly, frothing upwards like champagne and Chuuya exhales a breath tinged with melancholy, now alone with his thoughts. Dazai won’t come back, he’s left us alone again.
“He’ll come back soon.” Chuuya presses a hand over his bump of his belly – even though he knows the baby is completely unaware of his fear and what’s going on – he still feels the need to soothe his child. “He’s at work. He’ll be back in time for dinner. He said so, remember? You’ll hear his annoying voice in the evening.”
Aya nudges him. Fleetingly, Chuuya sees a ripple moving near his hand.
A bubble of joy bursts inside Chuuya. If this is his baby offering comfort in the only way she knows how, he’ll take it.
It’s Chuuya’s idea to paint the walls of the guest room, now turned into a nursery for Aya.
Walls of light sunshine yellow, the colour of delight. She should have sunshine and music and happiness all of her life, and there’s a protective, deep-rooted maternal instinct of some sort, that would have Chuuya rip to pieces with his bare hands and teeth whoever robbed Aya of any of that.
Dazai is wrestling with the new can of paint, trying to get it open, and Chuuya’s laughing at how Dazai struggles, and suddenly, the lid flies open, and somehow Dazai ends up lobbing a glob of Copacabana at him. He manages to nail Chuuya right on his cheek – his aim had always been perfect, even when they were in the Port Mafia together, and his skills haven’t deteriorated with the passing of the years.
Amazingly, Dazai starts laughing, high and musical and airy all at once. Pointing and laughing, at the paint trickling down Chuuya’s cheek, now splattered all over his shirt.
Two can play at this game, Chuuya thinks, and with difficulty, he bends to dig out a big handful of paint and flicks it at Dazai. It hits him in the side of his head, right in his nest of cocoa-brown curls.
Dazai shrieks and then they’re ducking around the room, hiding behind the cot, the rocker, trying to make a grab for the paint while the other isn’t looking, using paintbrushes like catapults to peg each other.
( Their clothes are ruined, and they’ll have to buy another bucket of paint, but the soft kisses that Dazai presses to his lips and neck as they wash up in the bathtub makes it more than worth it. )
All things considered, being thirty weeks pregnant is fairly awful. Chuuya can barely fit in the shower, he can’t put on his steel-toed boots with laces, he huffs and puffs whenever he walks or climbs stairs, his ankles are swollen. There are itchy red stretch marks on his belly, he has to go to the toilet every five minutes and his back has been aching continuously for two days.
The only upside to it all is that it means Aya’s well on her way to being born.
He goes shopping for clothes with Kouyou. He’s seen what Dazai’s brought home for Aya, and he’s not impressed. Well, maybe a little, at Dazai’s ability to plunge his hands into a rack and pick out the most flamboyant pieces of clothing known to mankind.
The boutique is exactly what Chuuya’s pictured. It’s painted white inside, white walls and off-white floor-boards, with tiny beautiful clothes hanging everywhere. Teddy bears. Cuddly lambs. Handmade rag dolls. Everything safe and soft, in the color of jewels and nature.
The little clothes. The tops and dresses that he’ll pull over a downy head, the sleeves that he’ll arrange on a pair of chubby arms. The small shoes that he’ll fix over the tiny feet with that special curling reflex when you run your finger up a bare sole.
“A few more weeks till Aya’s here, hm?” Kouyou hums, gliding around the store non-committedly, picking up and eyeing a knitted green cardigan. “Are you excited?”
“I can’t wait to meet her,” Chuuya’s radiant, almost glowing as he adds a hat and some white pajamas to the pile of small clothes, which is now quite tall. “We finished the nursery yesterday.”
Red-painted lips curve upwards in a smile. “You seem happy. That’s good.”
And he is. Chuuya’s happy and contented, and this is his one small slice of happiness in a messed up world that he wouldn’t trade for anything.
Chuuya meets his sister’s eyes. “I was hoping you’d be her godmother.”
“I would be honoured.” She says, and wraps him up in a tight hug.
Aya comes into the world bloodied and howling at the top of her lungs.
She’s almost three weeks early. Chuuya likes to think that Aya’s inherited his temper and impatience, unable to wait, eager already to see the world. Just as eager to see them as they are to finally see her.
There is an eternity of constant, unadulterated pain that burns worse than the fire that of using Corruption, and a feeling of heat all through his body. The screams scrape his throat raw, mostly filthy curses for Dazai not to touch him ever again, all bared teeth and venom and claws that Chuuya spits out in the heat of the moment as Aya rips him apart from the inside out.
Then, nothing.
Nothing but a sniffle and a hiccup, impossibly high-pitched and small. And then a wail. The most beautiful sound that he’s ever heard.
She’s crying for her mother, her father, and it’s the most wonderful, the most terrible, sound in the world. The baby’s been thrust into a cold, confusing world, and she wants comfort, warmth, the people who love her the most.
“My baby,” Chuuya tries to say, every fiber in his body itching to hold her.
Not yet, they tell him, and this time, it’s Chuuya who wants to scream. Aya shouts in the midwife’s arms. She’s all red legs and arms, hands splayed, crimson curls and an open mouth. She cries, the strongest sound ever, full of life and health.
She screams when they cut the umbilical cord, screams when they weigh her and take her measurements, screams when she’s being wiped down and bundled up into a blanket.
Aya only stops screaming, her cries filtering away into nothing when she’s nestled in his arms. And whatever doubts he may have had about himself – the blood on his hands, how badly he would fuck this up – all vanish the moment he’s handed the hot little squirmy body, still smelling of blood and fluid, with her slick of red hair and the tiny, perfect limbs. Then he knows that he’ll fight and fight for this child, no matter what. That he’ll keep Aya safe.
Her eyes are half-open; her nose is a smudge. She looks like Dazai sometimes when he wakes up in the mornings. She’s all quiet smiles and gurgles, an unfurled mouth, squashed red cheeks, toothless gums. Aya blinks her eyes open; they land on Chuuya, taking him in, as he memorizes every crease of her face. Her eyes are bright green, shaped exactly like Dazai’s.
Aya smiles.
She’s still blissfully quiet and smiling when Chuuya hands the wriggling bundle to Dazai, settled beside him on the mattress. He watches the awe on his husband’s face, the way he instantly cuddles Aya to his chest. Dazai strokes a finger down Aya’s cheek, and she turns her head to gaze trustingly up at him. She squeals and flails, rosy lips puckering and tiny fists waving, nearly giving him a black eye.
“Just like your mother, huh?” Dazai remarks, the words clogging in his throat. His eyes are glassy. “Not even a day old and you’re already hitting me.”
She’s strong and real and alive and only minutes old. And she’s theirs.
Aya, aya, aya, Chuuya thinks, and in this moment, his world is no bigger than his husband and their child.
#soukoku#bungou stray dogs#bsd#bsd fanfic#nakahara chuuya#TELL US A STORY OF WHAT WE ONCE KNEW | my fanfiction#( aya as soukoku's love child?? )#( yes hello i am obsessed with the idea )
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