#i should have done something easier than this

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Father.

You know those old black and white photos of goodbye kisses where it's either someone holding a woman up so she can kiss her leaving man who's already in the train car, or fellow soldiers helping a guy lean out of the train window far enough so he can kiss his partner goodbye? That kind.

Nik coded.

I also think - imagine he'd always been the one to help someone's girl up or to hold a comrade safe by his belt. Yes, we're in the "planes come first (because Nik is gay)" territory again.

And then years later he finally gets to be the one leaning down from the heli (like that one art by @/mizushibart, you def know the one) to kiss his man.

Bonus points: he also held up Soap Simba style to help him kiss Ghost.

Just wanted to share a sweet picture with you, love you, thank you for the recent AMAZING pieces ❤️❤️❤️🦍

Vibrating. This is so fuckin' cute.

Nikolai gets his romantic good bye kiss.

cw: none.

Nikolai remembered the first time he helped someone kiss their love goodbye. He was on a train carriage with fifty other cadets on his way to Syzran to complete the next phase of his training. As men cheered and laughed around him, he had grabbed onto the belt of a man he had considered a brother so he could lean out of the door to kiss his girl one last time. Their parting look had been one of longing and hope.

It was something he had done a lot in the years that followed. Boosted another friend on his back so they could climb in a hotel window, given a leg up over a wall, hung onto another's legs as they leaned over a ledge. Soldiers said a lot of goodbyes, some easier than others. But Nik was always on the periphery of romance, never involved beyond the gallant wingman. He had convinced himself he didn't mind. His place was in the cockpit and romance was nothing more than a brief, light-hearted distraction. His calling was different. That was why he never had a beautiful girl waving him off from the platform.

The excuse had worn thin as his love for John had intensified to a deep, yearning ache that felt like it was consuming him from the inside out. With every passing year, a new part of his heart broke away to be with John, leaving a space where John's should be in return. It was a beautiful death. One that he had gladly resigned himself to because it meant he could still, in a way, spend the rest of life at John's side.

When the lieutenant and sergeant began to circle each other, Nik had been one of the first to spot it. He teased John gently about being the man the sergeant would have to ask for Simon's hand, and John had looked briefly panicked at the thought of it.

When their romance had intensified and the lieutenant had been called away for a month-long operation, Nikolai had been there to watch Soap run across the tarmac to bid his final farewell. The desire had crackled between them as they exchanged stilted quips to hide their desperation and, without thinking, Nik had grabbed Soap beneath the arms and lifted him, squawking, just high enough for the lieutenant to stoop down and kiss him through his balaclava. He had felt Soap's heart thunder between his palms, the way his entire body had coiled in delight. Their last breathless look had held all the power of a nuclear reactor.

Perhaps that had been the tipping point, because every time from then on, Nik's eyes had lingered on John's mouth when they said good bye. Following a debrief, after an exfil, when they parted ways to head to bed. The ache burrowed deeper each time, tightening in his chest like an invisible fist was crushing the last shards of his heart, until eventually something snapped. If he didn't do something, then he was certain his lovesickness would kill him.

"You look after yerself, Nik. No unnecessary risks," John said through the Comms, speaking into the headset to overcome the drum of the rotor blades above their head. Nik was flying into hostile territory to collect personnel; it would require him to fly low, beneath the radar, and the potential for being shot down by a Scorpion missile was high.

Nik stepped down from the back of his Black Hawk and hooked a finger through John's carrier vest. When that handsome, craggy face looked up in surprise, Nik pressed their mouths together, chapped lips, cracked with weathering, impossibly soft, parted and John returned it without a single beat of hesitation.

All at once, that dull ache dissipated in a surge of heat, an overwhelming pressure replacing the void where the fragments of his heart had fallen away. Nik could feel John's heartbeat in his own chest, powerful, defiant, as the rest of the world stood still beyond the brush of their tongues and lips.

When Nik pulled back, the blue eyes gazing up at home were misty and soft, John's freckled cheeks dimpling in a crooked smile. "G'won. Sooner ye get back, sooner we can do that again." Nik stroked the backs of his fingers down John's beard, committing the taste of his lips, the feel of those bristles, to memory so that he could savour them until he returned home.

Stepping into John's office four days later only to be pushed back against the door by weathered hands, blue eyes crinkled with happiness, Nik's heart had never felt more complete.

[its-avalon-08]

the paths we didn't take (cl16)

part3!

multipart story! part 1 part 2

Summary : Years ago, Charles Leclerc and Y/N promised to let each other go—for his dreams, for her freedom. No calls, no texts, just memories they buried deep. But when fate reunites them in Monaco, old scars and unresolved feelings resurface. Some loves are unforgettable, but can they find their way back, or is it too late?

✦ pairing - charles leclerc x female reader

Chapter 3: "The End of Us"

Graduation night was a blur of laughter, hugs, and the echoing sound of congratulatory cheers. The air was warm and thick with excitement, and the whole school had gathered for one last celebration. Charles and Y/N, though, barely noticed the festivities. The world around them felt distant, like they were in their own bubble, separated from the noise.

Charles stood with a wide grin on his face, surrounded by his friends. He had received the call that morning. Formula 2 had offered him a spot, and as much as he should have been celebrating with everyone else, his thoughts kept drifting back to the girl who had always been by his side. Y/N was now talking to a group of her friends, but her eyes kept flickering toward him, as if they both knew this night would end differently than they had imagined.

Y/N stood near the refreshment table, trying to focus on the conversation, but she couldn’t stop thinking about the acceptance letter she had gotten just that afternoon. She had been accepted into her dream college, the one she had worked so hard for. But as much as she had longed for this moment, a part of her felt a sense of dread growing in her chest.

She glanced at Charles across the room. He caught her gaze and smiled that smile—the one that had been hers for so long. She smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

The party continued late into the night, but as the evening drew to a close, the crowd thinned out. The music softened, and the chatter faded. Charles and Y/N, finding themselves alone once again, slipped away from the remaining group of students. They made their way to the same rooftop where they had sat so many times before, where their relationship had been built on the innocence of childhood and the promises of forever.

The city lights below them flickered like a sea of stars. Y/N sat on the edge of the roof, staring at the sky. Her hands rested on her knees, but her fingers trembled slightly. She could feel the finality of this night creeping in. The moment they both knew was coming.

Charles stood beside her, his gaze fixed on the same sky, his heart pounding. He wanted to reach out, to pull her close and say something—anything—that would make this easier. But the words wouldn’t come.

“You did it,” Y/N said softly, breaking the silence, her voice barely above a whisper. “You’re going to Formula 2.” She turned to face him, her eyes searching his face for any sign that he was struggling with the same emotions.

Charles nodded, but there was a bittersweet smile on his face. “I did.”

“I’m proud of you, Charles. You worked so hard for this.” Y/N swallowed hard, trying to steady her breath. “You deserve it.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said quietly, his voice laced with raw emotion. “You’ve always been here. I know I’ve been distracted, with racing and everything, but you’ve always been here.”

“I’ve always been here,” she repeated, her throat tight. “And I’ll always be here, even when I’m not with you.” Her voice cracked, and she quickly wiped away a tear, not wanting to break down in front of him, but she couldn’t help it. “I’ll always cheer you on, Charles. Even when I’m not right by your side.”

Charles turned to her then, his heart breaking at the sight of her trying to hold it together. He had always admired her strength, but right now, he just wanted to take all her pain away, even though he knew he was the one causing it.

“Y/N…” His voice faltered. “I’m so sorry. I never meant to hurt you. I wish things could be different.”

She shook her head, her tears now falling freely. “Don’t apologize, Charles. This isn’t about that. This is about our futures… and the paths we have to take.” She took a deep breath, wiping her eyes. “We’re not the same people we were when we started this. We’re growing into different versions of ourselves, and that’s okay. We can’t keep holding on to something that isn’t meant to be.”

Charles stepped closer, his hands shaking as he reached for hers. “I don’t want to let you go. I don’t want to lose you.”

Y/N’s heart cracked open. She looked up at him, seeing the pain in his eyes that mirrored her own. “You’ll always be my first love, Charles. No one will ever replace you.” She closed her eyes briefly, taking a shaky breath. “But you need to find the right girl. The one who can give you the future you deserve. The one who’ll be there when you need her.”

“No,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t want anyone else. I’ve always wanted you. You’re the one I wanted.”

She smiled through her tears, shaking her head gently. “But you have a future that’s bigger than this. Bigger than us. You have racing, and you’re going to go far. I don’t want to be the one who holds you back. You deserve to be free to chase your dreams without worrying about me.”

Charles stepped back, his heart in his throat, and looked up at the stars. “I’ve always been so focused on my racing,” he murmured. “But you’ve been here, Y/N. And I haven’t appreciated it enough.” He paused, swallowing hard. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Y/N reached out and placed her hand on his cheek, turning him to face her. “You will,” she said softly. “You’re stronger than you think. And you’ll find someone who makes you happy. Someone who can be there for you in ways I can’t.”

The weight of the words hung between them like an anchor, dragging them deeper into the inevitable. The silence was thick with everything they couldn’t say, everything they couldn’t change.

Charles looked at her one last time, his voice barely a whisper. “I’ll never forget you, Y/N. You’ll always be in my heart.”

Y/N nodded, her voice catching in her throat. “I’ll never forget you either.” She took a final, shaky breath before adding, “I’ll always love you, Charles. No matter where we go.”

He kissed her then, one last time. It was slow, tender, and filled with all the words they couldn’t say out loud. And in that moment, it felt like the world had stopped spinning. Like they were the only two people left in the universe. But they both knew the truth—they couldn’t stay here forever.

When they pulled apart, both of their eyes were red, their hearts broken but full of love.

Y/N turned away first, walking toward the edge of the roof. She looked back at him one last time.

“You’ll be great, Charles,” she whispered. “And I’ll always be cheering you on, from wherever I am.”

And with that, she disappeared into the night, leaving Charles standing there alone beneath the stars, the weight of their love and their parting settling in his chest.

🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️🏎️

taglist : @jenxjar @noam-rosier-icr @prttylight @gluecksbaerchieee

@janeh22 @tobucina @ihtscuddlesbeeetchx3 @weekendlusting

@wisestarfishbouquet @ricciardosheart @leclercdream @sltwins

@vyctorya @mel164  @dazecrea @lol6sposts @raynetargaryan2

@ricciardosheart @leclercdream @sltwins @vyctorya @f1fantasys

[polarisjisung]

LOVE ON THE COURT | 38 LAST NIGHT WAS A MOVIE

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | sexual innuendos, swearing

NOTES | smau/written/smau format for this chapter!! also we're super close to the end now gang I'm excited 😼

"Hey, come in." Y/n let Jaemin into her apartment, smiling awkwardly—something Jaemin's seen countless times before— only it had never been directed at him.

They weren't awkward. They didn't do awkward. Or, at least, they hadn't.

His heart sinks just a little.

"Hey, how have you been keeping?" Jaemin asks the question, and as natural as it feels, he wishes he hadn't asked at all. He didn't need to anyway. Not with her.

Jaemin doesn't think he had ever asked Y/n that question. It wasn't what they did, who they were. They didn't need to ask, they just knew.

And even now, when everything seems to have changed, some things are exactly the same, like how Y/n fiddles with a loose strand of her hair, and rocks back and forth on the couch.

He tries desperately to ignore the fact that she'd chosen to sit as far away from him as possible, instead waiting for an answer to his question.

But when she does speak, Jaemin can't bear to hear the response.

"I'm fin-" he interejcts, not wanting to have to see her lie to his face.

"You're nervous," he states, a matter of fact, "don't be peach." his tone softens, his eyes locked on hers, but she doesn't look his way at all.

"How are you?" Y/n's eyes are trained to the floor.

Jaemin hates it.

The question feels too empty, like they're two strangers just passing each other by. Making small talk, it wasn't something they'd ever done, and he didn't want to start now.

He can't help himself when he shuffles towards her, the soft touch of his fingers just below her chin, causing her to look up. And thought she doesn't look into his eyes just yet, Jaemin smiles, knowing she's looking at him. The racing of his heart eases just a little.

Despite the thick air in the room, the weight of the situation, despite the invisible force between them that tugged in all the wrong places, despite all those differences, one thing remained unchanged.

All these years later, Y/n looked his way just the same. Like he was everything. Her everything.

"Look at me, angel," his hand rests softly against her cheek, cradling it, as though she was the most precious thing, "it wasn't your fault."

That causes her eyes to snap upwards, meeting his.

And Jaemin sees it, clear as day, the guilt in her eyes. He wishes he could take it in his hand, pull those thoughts out of her mind and see her, the Y/n who never went through this at all. He wishes she wouldn't blame herself. He wished he could erase the memories, erase it all.

But Jaemin knew that it wasn't possible.

"Me and you," he looks at her, gaze deeper, more intense, "We're stronger than this." His voice comes deep, low and soothing, laced with such tenderness that Y/n hears her heartbeat resounding in her ears. "I won't let this ruin us anymore."

It felt like a promise. A dream.

Y/n swears she can't breathe, no amount of air enough for her to finally exhale. He was right, but somehow, it all seemed too good to be true. She found herself too caught up in everything that had passed, analysing each moment like something more was yet to come, like she'd missed something. Like a plot twist waiting to happen, a hidden truth waiting to stab her in the heart.

"I should have known better." Her words come out, barely a whisper, the ache in Jaemin's chest growing as her notices how her eyes begin to water.

"You didn't know Y/n." as much as Jaemin wants to admit his mistakes, express just how badly he wishes he'd just heard her out, listened to her side of the story just once, he can't, afraid that he'll break. And if he did, she would too.

"I just wish it never happened," she sighed, her voice shaking desperately, "i just wish you were there, I wish it wasn't us."

She almost doesn't make any sense, but that's what Jaemin was best at, understanding her when she barely understood herself."I know angel," he leaned forward, gently laying a kiss to her forehead, "but we made it, didn't we?"

Y/n gulps, nodding. Her throat feels dry despite wanting to scream out in agreement.

Jaemin's eyes overflow, with warmth, with adoration, with assurance.

They'd made it out. They always would.

"Then that's all that matters."

prev | masterlist | next

TAGLIST: @jenobubbles @justalildumpling @nanawrlds @222brainrot @sungookie @pepperedthot @dinonuguaegi @haechansbbg @90s-belladonna @bath1lda @jeongintwt @daegalfangirl @ahnneyong @jammingjaem @paper-boats-rose @iraa567 @errrrrat @kyusqult @suzayaaa @jising-jisang-jisung @soonyoonswoo @nctrawberries @wonbin-truther @sunghoonsgfreal @lotties-readings @onlyhyunjin @swee7dream @natokkiz @beomgyusonlywife @nanaxwi @nosungluv @tommina @sinisxtea @20sdiary @otblous @p-d1ddy @lostinneocity @soobs-things @odxrilove @buns-inhiding @busy-daydreaming02 @starfilledgaze @papichulomacy @grassbutneo @iwilleatyourgod @jeeluv @mystverse @meowtella

[mullermilkshake]

The rose garden - Chapter 3

I will be uploading the whole thing here, it's just going take a little time, but if you want to read more right now, there's more on my AO3 <3

Summary - You are just an author wanting to put your writing out there and carry on with your life, but when two people end up murdered, things you write about seem to be more real than just pure fiction.

Pairing - Yandere!Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader / Detective!Satoru Gojo x Fem!reader (Sort of one sided)

Word count - 3.9k

Tags (master list for the entire fic, will add TW for significant tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! PLEASE READ THE TAGS!!!,NSFW,SMUT,NO USE OF Y/N,Yandere!Getou Suguru, graphic depictions of violence, major character death,Porn With Plot,Porn with Feelings,Established Relationship,PleasureDom,Codependency,Murder,Torture,Conspiracy,Cunnilingus,Orgasm Control,Multiple Orgasms,Minor Original Character(s),psychiatry,Medication,Power Imbalance,Vaginal Fingering,Disembowelment,Manipulation,Gaslighting,Rimming, Praise Kink,Grinding,mentions of blowjobs,Dry Humping,thigh riding,Dark,Autopsy,Aftercare,Hunting,Guns,Perceived infidelity,Body Horror,Smoking,Vaginal Sex,Misogyny,Public Stimulation,One sided sexual tension,Invasion of Privacy,Strangulation,Reader-Insert,Serious Satoru Gojo,Orgasm Edging,Obsession,Accidental Voyeurism,Angst,Questions of masculinity, stabbing, shooting

One case after another.

Satoru Gojo just needs a little sleep.

Tags for chapter - Detective!Gojo, Smoking, Grahphic depictions of gore and murder, body horror, Shoko my bby, Ino my bby, Crime scene, Serious Gojo

“Gojo…” 

“Wake up man…” 

“Jesus christ- Wake up!”

Satoru Gojo shot up from his desk and banged his head on the overhanging desk lamp. “Fuck!”

Takuma Ino perched himself on his desk as Satoru rubbed the stale sleep from his eyes. “You slept here again? You should really go home and shower. It’s kind of sad.”

Satoru groaned and did his best to sit up straight and stretch as best as he could. “Yeah, I had to finalise the details of this case I just closed. I figured it was just easier to sleep here so I could speak with Nanami and go home early.”

He’d worked tirelessly over the last week, all he wanted was a little bit of paid time off and he was sure Nanami would give it to him.

Ino adjusted his position and looked away from him, his hand rested over his tack vest. “Yeah… About that.”

“Give me some good news, man. I’m too tired for this shit in the morning.” He slumped his head back on top of his folded arms.

The overhead light was too bright, the stagnant office air far too stuffy and Ino’s voice a pitch too loud. Satoru hadn’t had a solid night's sleep in two weeks and now there was something else?

“I came to wake you because there’s something Nanami asked me to ask you to go see.”

“So instead of coming to get me himself, he sends his lackey to do it for him?” Kento Nanami would be the death of him if he sent him on any more errands before a hot shower.

“It’s important. An odd homicide… you’re favourite.” He sang that last part.

And odd cases were his favourite. There was a reason Satoru’s record of arrests was perfect. Because he could see parts of a crime scene that no one else could. Sort of like a sixth sense.

He tried to ignore Ino and fall back asleep. “Not today.”

“C’mon, Nanami gave the all clear for me to come with you. We never get to partner up anymore. I heard it's particularly gruesome too. That’s like a candy shop for you.”

Satoru didn’t move.

“Let’s go!” He was shaking him now. Idiot. “We have to go before the regular beats leave their dirty paws all over the crime scene. C’mon!”

“Fine.” Satoru got up and narrowly avoided his head on the lamp again. “Fine. One scene and I’m off to bed, I just want a few hours that aren’t sitting up at my desk.”

He needed to buy a fancy new chair for his office and not that god awful sofa. Harder than rocks and smaller than a cardboard box. But first he needed his own office.

Shit. What he would have done for his own office not to get bothered by Ino day in, day out.

“Awesome, just like old times eh?” 

Way back, when Satoru belonged to part of a specialist unit. Now he was somewhat of a rogue. He performed better on his own, that way no one could slow him down and he wouldn’t need to watch out for others. It was better that way in his specialist field that he stayed on his own.

“Yeah.” But he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss it from time to time. “Anything we should know goin’ in?”

Ino kept his pace and shook his head with a quick withdrawal. “Nothing. Shoko said it would be better if we saw it when we got there.”

Wasn’t she the one for puzzles this early in the morning? “Where is it?”

They made it to the elevator and took it all the way down to the ground floor. “Some place over the other side of town, up near the lanes.”

“That narrows it down.” Satoru rifled through the pockets of his jacket and pulled out his cigarettes and put one to his lips.

He hated the taste, the horrid smell it left lingering on his clothes, but it was the only thing that seemed to help clear his mind. His mind could read a crime scene thoroughly from top to bottom in minutes. His clear mind could do it easily in under a minute. Less if he really wanted to show off. 

“She requested you by name if that is anything to go by.”

Satoru and Shoko had not been in the same room for the better part of a year, she had pursued a career in forensic pathology, and one would think they would have crossed paths more being in their respective fields. Most of the time she was already gone when Satoru got there.

Life just went on and things got in the way. Part of him looked forward to seeing an old friend. The other half was intrigued by the fact she would still be there waiting for him.

Gruesome. What an interesting word. “Did Shoko say that it was gruesome? Or did Nanami?”

“Shoko did.”

That meant something entirely in comparison to Nanami. If the forensic pathologist was using a descriptor such as that for the scene, then it would have been more than just bloody. Satoru went into the scene with a mind to prepare for something worse than the town had seen for some time.

And of course, he was right on it.

A large house off of the lanes, big and obvious enough that the occupant wanted to hide in the trees totally oblivious to the house with more money than they knew what to do with, stuck out like a sore thumb against the greenery.

A house with a dead body inside.

“Holy shit.” Ino’s mouth dropped.

Satoru was already reading the place as he stepped in and saw what Shoko was talking about.

No mud tracks. 

Dust lines are non existent 

She’s still fully clothed. 

“I need everybody out for the time being.” Satoru pulled out a pair of gloves from the little pack in his jacket pocket.

Shoko was right over by the body taking photographs, the flash filling up the entire corner of the far east wall. Everybody, besides two people slowly filtered out of the room, slower than Satoru would have liked, trudging and dragging their feet past him with looks full of ruffled feathers and annoyance.

“Always need to command a room, right Gojo?” Shoko had her back to him. She held the camera out to one of the other men and they promptly left with it in hand.

“You know me. I prefer being one of the only guys in the room.”

“A big headed one at that.” It was like they had picked up where they left off.

“Maybe. But you did call for me . It kinda gives me the right to have a big head, doesn't it?”

“Yeah, something I’m starting to regret.”

The body was an odd one, and it continued growing in that oddity the closer Satoru got to it. But, it truly was gruesome.

Shoko finally faced him, leaning against the wall in ther white overalls and mask, a tilted head in amusement. “So… What do you think?”

“Well, whoever it was, was already inside, they didn’t break in. This was for control, not for sexual gratification and they cleaned up afterwards. You’ll need ultraviolet light to look for evidence, but I doubt you’ll find anything.”

“Cleaned up?” Ino came up alongside him and knelt down. “There’s no signs of wiped blood smears and I don’t smell any cleaning products.”

“There’s no dust lines. It would have taken time to clean up, but they cleaned up all of the surfaces too so it stopped the dust in the room from being disturbed. Dust can gather very quickly, especially in a room with so much stuff in it.”

The room was packed out with carpets, ornate sofa throws and pillows, the entire place was a dust factory, yet there wasn’t any signs of dust anywhere, except from the slither of sunlight poking through the closed curtain.

The killer used the large open floor length windows to funnel the smell and pungent chemicals out to nullify that theory. Quite clever.

“What about her?” Shoko nodded to the body.

The body was posed, like a doll, sat up along the chaise lounge in a seductive pose to inhibit a reaction from officers that this was for sexual gratification. But it was not.

There was no bruising about the neck, eyes or mouth meaning she didn’t die from asphyxiation, but rather the large gaping hole in her chest. Even an idiot would have been able to figure that one out.

It was the fact that her body was still entirely dressed.

This had been thought through far more than most scenes Satoru had stepped foot into. The most riveting part being her eyes were missing and stuffed full of organic matter. Like leaves? Grass clippings?

So was her mouth, like they were put there to keep her quiet. Upon further inspection, Satoru noticed no bruising or creasing on the matter which could indicate that it was all put there after she died.

Though there were blood drips down her cheeks when her eyes were removed, the killer made a conscious choice not to clean them up like the rest of her body, which by now, looked spotless.

“Who the hell does something like this? Shoko, do we know who lives at this address?” Ino got back up and approached her, pulling out his little notebook.

Satoru didn’t need a notebook. His mind was his notebook.

“Yeah, It’s-” Satoru faded them out and concentrated.

This was a well integrated woman. Popular. Well received. By the awards nearest to the kitchen, she was an accomplished author. Dark fiction going by the scripture on the bottom, the many lined photographs hanging on the walls and over various surfaces containing mostly dogs and friends.

Well received but not fully accepted going by the document stuck to the refrigerator with the wine bottle magnet. A messy divorce? Or a business deal? He wasn’t sure.

It was clear there was a party last night based off of the overflowing trash can full of red wine bottles and soft cheeses left out on the counter top. 

Satoru looked further, still remaining by the body but observing everywhere else but the body. Confetti under the sofa and parts clung to the longer fibres on the shag carpet.

“Any news of the party last night? Were there any complaints; has anyone started to contact those who were here?”

“A party? Uh,” Ino rifled through a booklet Shoko had given him. “There was a party the night before, around thirty people came… they were celebrating something… uh.. They came from somewhere, but we’re still actively getting information.”

The night before? “Good. Have them question everyone and send the minutes of each call to my desk.” Satoru stood up and moved away from the body.

There was not one hint of bleach or cleaner in the wood, not even the fabrics. Satoru smelt everything. Unless, she was brought here after death, but it could not have been far.

“Has anyone checked the surrounding area for blood splatter?”

Shoko nodded. “They got nothing, even the cadaver dog turned up empty.”

That didn’t sound right. “Time of death?”

“I put it around midnight the night before, to two o’clock yesterday morning.”

A two hour time window.

How did no one see if there was a party

Satoru doubted whoever was still here either with the barrage of police vehicles at the bottom of the hill lighting the whole driveway like a christmas tree.

“Someone local maybe. If they didn’t kill her and bring her here, how the hell did he not get caught by the others?”

Ino shrugged his shoulders and wandered into the kitchen, pulling away the document papers in his gloved hand. “Maybe they were drunk, thought she was asleep or something. What makes you think he did it where there were people present?”

No. No, that wasn’t right. “Whoever this was, had to sit and hold her like this until rigour mortis set in so the body held its shape.”

Shoko seemed to agree. “Rigour mortis is precise enough. If she died at midnight at the earliest, whoever killed her would have needed to sit there with her for at least six hours, then clean the entire place, leave no smell and get out without being caught by anyone who came knocking the next day. But by now, rigour mortis would have softened her up.”

But there was still no smell which led Satoru to believe that there might have been some sort of embalming solution inside her.

“Oh that’s right.” It seemed Ino was on the same page too. “Rigour mortis disappears twenty four hours after death. So maybe the time of death is wrong and she was killed last night. So when she softens up, we’ll know when she died definitively and piece together the timeline…”

“The estimated time of death isn’t wrong. Whoever did this had plenty of time to get everything cleaned. They mustn’t have been disturbed.” 

If the killer did all that, then Satoru needed to find out when everyone left the house, but as of right now, “Everyone who attended this party is a suspect. We need information on all of them.”

“Sounds good; see I missed this… us guys all together again solving crimes.”

Satoru leaned against the wall and thought hard. What even was the motive? There was always a motive, always a reason despite the most depraved crimes.

Ino took himself off to the next room as his phone rang. It was probably Nanami giving him some other boring job to do, though Satoru would class this as an interesting day. Well worth the lack of sleep.

His head was still clear. The most important part.

“So how you been holding up, Shoko-”

“Uh, Gojo?” Ino popped his head round the corner.

“God you can really read the room, idiot.” Shoko climbed to her feet and adjusted her overalls.

“What is it?”

“There’s another case, you should really take this.”

Good grief. Now Nanami was dropping stuff on Satoru’s lap as well? “I’m good, thanks.”

“It’s a hit and run.”

“That’s not my area.” Satoru waved him off, his tiredness setting in. “Tell Nanami to get someone else to study tyre tracks and skid marks.”

“You’re gonna want to take this. Shoko you too… It’s just down the road aways, we could walk there actually.”

Jesus christ. “One more,” Satoru raised his voice so he knew Nanami could hear him over the phone line. “Then I’m taking paid time off or you’ll run my ass into the ground!”

“Uh… Yes sir; yes- yes I’ll tell him…. Gojo, he wants a report on his desk after this too, then he said you can negotiate paid time off. A-and he said stop sleeping in your office, you know how he feels about overtime.”

That was laughable. “My whole life is overtime, man. Let’s get this over with then.”

By the time they had reached the next crime scene, Satoru had smoked two more cigarettes. Shoko swiped the smoke wisps away and upturned her lip. “God those are so strong, why do you smoke those?”

“You smoke too, or have you tried giving up again?” Ten months went by quickly.

“I do, but those aren’t menthol, why don’t you smoke menthol?”

Satoru shrugged with no care and stubbed the end out on the floor. “I don’t like the taste of these ones, let alone that minty crap.”

“Guys? Doesn't this look similar to someone we know?”

Satoru looked near the side of the road along the lane where a body was. An outdoor crime scene yielded different results to those indoors. The environment could wash things away, indirectly hide evidence and just be a bastard to work with, even with Satoru’s eyes on the case.

A crime scene was never a two dimensional affair. There were the walls and ceilings to work with, but outside with the elements, it was genuinely more case by case.

This body. This defied all two dimensional logic. “I wonder how our friend got all the way up in that tree there.”

It was as though he was hovering with his head all caved in like that, the only way really from this distance Satoru knew who he was looking at, was by the way his genitals blew about in the breeze through the trees, his broad frame held up by nature.

The tree was embracing the body, sort of placed like a crucifixion, but it wasn’t what stumped him that drew him closer, that he didn't even study the heavily leaf ladened floor at his feet.

Red roses, stuffed into his mouth and his side where a large portion of his waist should have been, where observing now, was in a pile on the floor along with his intestines like a long dodgy balloon string.

“Yummy…” Shoko’s humour was ever present. “Better get the camera out.”

This bared a striking resemblance to the woman in that house not half a mile away. Now, Satoru could not say at all if they were linked, not definitively until the forensics came back, and there was more readily available information to him.

Hang on… “Why was this called in as a hit and run?”

“They found blood splatters off on the road and linked it here.”

So the man was hit by a car, then dragged all the way through the woods and strung up like a decorative christmas turkey. Two in one murder, or a planned calculated move.

Curious.

Calculated. Or maybe it was last minute and rushed? No, not rushed for the time it would have taken to put him up there. 

“There could be two killers?” Ino sat on the same page, flicking through his little notebook and turned to Satoru with a small subtle glint in his eye.

“Go on.”

“If the rigour mortis is anything to go by, then whoever did the lady in the house would have time. It could be the same person a day apart, but I’m thinking there's two people, because, how else would someone get that guy up there, he’s easily… what, two hundred pounds, two fifty soaking wet is my guess.”

Maybe Satoru had actually rubbed off on him all this time. “What if this guy was done after the woman on the same morning? It’s still tight. If there was a party not half a mile that way, then he’d have to avoid the cars coming down the lane. So If I was going to kill two people at the same time, I'd do it in the early morning when most people are asleep.”

Shoko disagreed. “I’m certain that this guy was done last night. Much later after that woman.”

As soon as they found out the time when the autopsies were finished, then it would spell things much clearer.

“I’ll put a rush on the call backs or something to get a basic timeframe.” Ino then rushed off to speak with another officer along with the big old smile on his face.

“What do you make of this, Shoko?” Satoru’s arms were folded, bored now that the initial shock had worn off.

“It reminds me of something, but I can’t put my finger on it.” Her little tool kit was out, dusting the man's toes for prints. “I’ll remember after the autopsies I think.”

“How so?”

It was like she was stuck for words. “I’m not sure. Back at the house, she sort of looked like a doll. That’s the only way I could describe it, her skin was way too smooth for how her decomposition record is.”

“A doll?” His eyes wandered up to the body above him. He sure didn’t look like a doll, but the roses were a nice touch.

“Yeah, like I’ve read it somewhere, in an article or something.” Carefully folding the clear plastic over itself, she tucked it into her little belt and pulled out a pair of long needle nose tweezers.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” It was time he left back to the station for that report.

“One last thing before you go…” She yanked her glove off, rummaged through a pocket of her overalls and presented Satoru with a pack of cigarettes. “Smoke menthol for goodness sake, it might save your life. And get some sleep, you look like shit.”

And here he thought it was going to be work related. “Thanks for being such a considerate friend, Shoko. Don’t be a stranger now. Let’s go out for dinner sometime after all this blows over, I get the feeling we’re goin’ to see a lot of each other.”

“You’re buying though.”

“Don’t I always?” He grinned at her and left after she turned her head back towards her work.

Ino was already waiting at the car for him and upon leaving and reaching the station, Satoru came to the conclusion that it was two different people. He just wasn’t sure whether they were linked and knew each other.

Or there was a possibility, albeit rare and exceptional, that there were two separate and completely unlinked murderers in the immediate area who knew nothing about the other.

The latter didn’t seem too likely.

Still, he wouldn’t jump to conclusions until the facts were all put in front of him. And just like that, some of them were. A sheet of paper with the minutes of one of the phone calls made to the attendees from the party that night.

“Seems like she was definitely popular.” It took the interviewee ten whole minutes to calm down before continuing the phone call after learning of the woman’s death.

“Yeah, well liked and everything. Apparently she attended an event that night. An author’s ball thing- I dunno. And they all left after to go to hers.”

“An event…” Satoru studied the words in front of him. 

[All of us came from that event to celebrate the nominees and those who won awards… Oh my god. Oh my god.]

[Did everyone who was invited go?]

[Well… Some people weren’t invited. But I don’t know if they came anyway, we all got really drunk, we were celebrating. Oh god… I don’t even know where she went off too most of the time, we were all having such a good time. Oh my god! (Sobbing.) This is horrible…]

“So she wasn’t sure who came then?” It sounded utterly simple what the next move was. “Ino, get me a full roster of everyone who attended that event, staff, cooks, valet and an entire guest list… Also see if there’s anywhere nearby that might have security cameras we can check for that hit and run and try to identify him.”

“Sure thing.”

Someone in that list would be one of the two people they were looking for, in a rare circumstance, the only person they were looking for. And that footage, if it existed, was paramount, even if it was just a few minute little pixels in the corner, anything was better than nothing.

And when Satoru picked up a scent that made his intuition go haywire, he wouldn’t stop until he caught whatever was giving it off.

Because Satoru couldn’t leave well enough alone and strove to deliver justice to keep his record perfect. No one was going to escape him.

Though he hoped he could escape the station without giving that stupid report to Nanami.

He didn’t bet on it though.

Prev <- -> Next

DISCLAIMER - I do not own any of the characters of Jujutsu Kaisen. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

The side characters and advanced plot is my own work. A gift for @vampir-queen and original idea for this fic is their own.

Also Please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[knockyasocksoff2022]

Ideal No. 15

(7,119 words)

(A/N: Is this the longest chapter yet? LMAO, eat up! I had it mostly done before now, so IDK why it took me so long, if I didn't procrastinate, the total writing time was like three days, maybe. Plot bunnies are bitches, I guess. The moral of the story is: yell at me more in the comments! Only one or two more chapters to go!) 

Thanks once again to @fyodorsushankaaa for all the encouragement!

He looks like a scared puppy, readying to bolt. I have to act fast. 

It's impulsive, I know, but I'm not sure what else I can do, so I grab his bloodied hand. He flinches, hard, but I don't let go. I can't, too scared he'll slip away again.

"Dazai, you're hurt." Well, that much is obvious. I mentally scold myself. "What happened?"

He probably won't tell me if it's self-inflicted or not, but I need to know what sort of injury it is at least. The blood is spreading in a pattern that suggests a wound less controlled than razor lines. And Dazai doesn't cut himself, as far as I know. He kills himself with neglect.

He opens his mouth, then closes it, then again, then once more. Then he jolts up, trying to twist away. He makes a sound of pain so startling that surprise makes me let go when it should be my instinct to grip him tighter.

Without the support of my arms, he tumbles out of the booth. I rush to help him.

"I'm okay. I'm just a bit out of it because of the weather change, is all." His voice is raspy. He isn't even trying to fool me anymore. I won't complain. His admitting that something at all is wrong is a start.

I'll just do what I always do. Go along with it.

"If you were under the weather you should have let someone know."

"'M fine."

Suppressing a sigh, I try a different tactic. "It only causes everyone more trouble if you wait until you can't stand."

His wince makes me regret the words, but I have to say something to make him see sense.

"I-I'm sorry."

What does he have to be sorry for? I don't have time for that at the moment. He needs medical attention, but knowing him he won't let me bring him anywhere near a hospital. "I hardly care about that now. Come on, I'm going to take you back to the office. Yosano-sensei will treat you."

"No!"

He's hyperventilating, the first sign of a panic attack. Okay. I have to calm him down. What would calm him down?

Jokes!

"Dazai, your bandages are yellow. I will not allow you to let your writing hand rot off simply because you don't want to do paperwork. How am I to get you to do work, then?"

It doesn't work. Or, well, it does, but not the way I intended. He stops hyperventilating but then lapses into silence. "Sorry." He wilts.

We both sit awkwardly on the floor for a moment considering the situation. He has been eating more, lunch at least, but I can tell I'll still be able to lift him, easily. It scares me a bit, but I'm grateful for it now. It is easier to focus on his alarmingly skinny stature than the fact that he is, practically, in my lap.

His quiet voice comes from beside me, "T-the food . . ."

I don't want to ask him to speak up, but he's so quiet and his words are so slurred that I really am having trouble hearing him.

"I'm sorry?"

"The food, we shouldn't waste."

I want to shake him. That's what you care about? But I'm afraid he'll break.

"Of course, let me, uh, just."

He tries to leap away, I think, from my lap, but he just ends up rolling to the side a bit, his hand twisting further.

I hurry to the counter, give our order number, and inform her of the mess we made.

"Yes, it's almost done. Don't worry about the tea. It happens a lot. We'll be happy to pack your food in takeaway boxes for you, sir. But, may I ask why you're leaving so soon? Your order was marked as dine-in, was that incorrect? Was your experience not okay?"

The woman is so sweet, but what do I tell her? No, you're restaurant is lovely my colleague is just a bit suicidal. "Oh, it was fine, ma'am. . . . My partner is just feeling a bit under the weather."

She coos, glancing worriedly behind me, probably at Dazai, who must still be lying on the floor. "Oh my, I see. The noodles should help then. I hope he feels better soon. You two boys take care."

"Thank you, ma'am."

-

Dazai is indeed still on the floor. I look at him for a moment. There's no way he'll be able to stand long enough to get to the car. Given his state, what would be the most efficient and most dignified way (for both of us) to pick him up? 

After looking at his tender hand hanging limply, I go with the cradle carry.

(A/N: The cradle carry is more commonly known as the Bridal or Princess carry, lmao)

"I'm going to pick you up, is that alright?"

He blinks, taking a moment to comprehend the words. He must be more ill than I thought. But, to my relief, he nods.

He's warm in my arms. Not like the warmth of a lover, but feverish warmth. 

"Keep these steady, Dazai," I say just to break the silence.

He nods, not objecting to my using him as a shelf for the noodles. In fact, he crunches them as if they're far more important than tea-house takeaway.

The walk to the car feels long and short at the same time. Dazai isn't heavy, not at all, but I'm so worried I'll drop him.

As I lay him across the backseat, he grabs my arm. "No . . . Yosano."

"Dazai, you need a doctor."

He doesn't seem to get it.

"Please."

It's his eyes that get me. They're wide and round with innocence and fear, like a child's, like a stray cat's. He reminds me so much of Yozo that I can't possibly ignore his request. It would feel like abuse. 

"Okay. I'll take you to my house, but you're getting first aid either way. I'm not going to watch whatever injury you have fester. Understand?"

-

The drive takes a bit longer because I'm so careful not to go too fast or hit the brakes too hard. I even avoid steep downhills, given that he wears no safety belt.

He sits up as soon as I park, indicating that he was not asleep as I'd hoped. I shouldn't let my disappointment show. I don't need him apologising for I don't know what, again. So while I fix my face, I carry the noodles in. 

Of course, Yozoz makes her escape as I open the door. It made me a bit sad to see her go, but then I knew she'd have to leave eventually, and with the noodles in my hands I was in no position to stop her.

-

They fit nicely in my mostly empty fridge. I haven't had much time to shop due to my extended hours. This is not ideal at all.

I'm also lacking in bandages. I have plenty for Dazai's wound, but I have no doubt that the ones he wears like a bodysuit need changing and I don't have enough. I never thought he'd be here, at my residence. Oh . . . what am I doing? I'll need to order groceries.

Mourning Yozo's absence, but with new determination, I step outside.

To my surprise, the cat hasn't gone far. She paws at my car door, jumping up to the window. The relief I feel is more than should be warranted, considering she's a feral cat, but I feel it anyway.

"Move, Yozo. I need to open the door."

I don't expect her to, but she obeys. Trotting curiously to the left.

Dazai is even more out of it than before. He's like a child when they somehow make themselves heavier, only it's hardly his fault. Yozo watches me curiously as I carefully handle my colleague. She trails my steps, fascinated by the newcomer.

Once inside, I lay dazai on the counter and wash my hands at the sink. I have to swat soapy water at Yozo to prevent her from licking Dazai's wounded hand. She yowls in response. It's interesting how she acts with him as if he's a fellow cat in danger, not a human. Or maybe she thinks she's human too.

I want to start with the first aid right away, better while he's out of it, but his bandages are the one part of his body he keeps off-limits and I would never cross such a personal boundary.

I'll have to wake him, but I can wait a bit longer.

This is where preparedness comes in handy. I have an ear thermometer I bought but have never used. I take it out now, rubbing it with an alcohol swab and sticking it in Dazai's ear. He twitches but makes no move to stop me.

The device beeps, flashing a yellow 39 C. Not Ideal, but not life-threatening. 

Hmm, another dilemma. Medication will help his fever and pain, but he hasn't eaten yet. There's no way anything is making it to his stomach right now, so medication will have to wait.

"Dazai, wake up."

" . . . 'nikida?"

"Yes. How do you feel."

He just shakes his head.

"You're running a mid-grade fever, so that's probably why you feel so poorly. Now, I need to take your bandages off to get to your hand-" He shakes his head before I finish, I can feel him trembling. I'm not sure how much of it is chills and how much is fear at the prospect of revealing what's underneath that he keeps so carefully hidden. "Please, Dazai, your wound is infected. It needs treatment. I won't go above the elbow, I promise. I swear on my Ideals."

He stops trembling, stilling completely, as stiff as a board.

"It's okay?"

An almost imperceptible nod.

There's disposable plastic on the counter, my sleeves are rolled, my hands are washed and protected by latex gloves, and I have everything I could possibly need save for surgical tools, and yet, I don't feel ready. But when am I ready for Dazai Osamu? Since when does it matter if I am or not? I just have to do it.

The bandages are wrapped so tight his hand must be purple underneath. I take the miniature scissors from the kit and begin cutting. The bandages come loose, but I have to peel them away from each other. 

"Fuck me." I try not to swear, but the deeper I go, the tighter they're stuck with blood, plasma, and other bodily fluids that result from the inner layers of skin being exposed to the outside world. The bottom most bandages are closer to brown than white.

"M' trying."

"What?" What did he just say? He didn't mean- surely not . . .

"Said m' trying to fuck you, kun-i-ki-da~" His voice is strained with pain and slurred with fever.

Wh- Oh. He's delirious. Of course. As much as the returns of his clownery relive me, this is NOT what I had in mind.

"I'd do it so well, Kuni-kun."

Suddenly I feel as if I'm the one with the fever, the what creeping into my face, hands sweaty.

"Please, go to sleep, Dazai. You're not well."

"That's what the lady at the cafe said too."

"I'm sure."

I focus all my energy on tuning him out. Thankfully there's no smell, which means the infection isn't too bad. I sigh.

On the last layer, I hesitate. The bandages are still opaque enough that I can't see the skin underneath.

Dazai's other hand raises up in a sloppy thumbs up, then falls back down. He's exhausted, but I'm glad for his approval, and that he seems to be back to his silly persona.

I took a formal first aid course in High School, so the rest of the process will be easy, the most tedious part is cleaning until the water runs clear instead of red.

The skin is blistered, if he does have any self-harm scars, I can't see them. I'm not sure if that's a good thing. Some of the blisters have burst but the skin is still pink, not charred or brown. This looks to be a superficial 2nd-degree burn. Thankfully these can be treated at home.

Because this isn't exactly a fresh wound it isn't bleeding and I don't need to cool the burn, since it's at least a day old, which is good because it means I can treat it with less delay.

Given that the wound was covered, I suspect that the infection came mainly from not cooling the wound properly or allowing it to breathe, and the lack of antibiotic ointment, and choking his circulation did no favours. Scolding him would do nothing.

Once the wound is clean, I apply antibiotic cream and begin dressing it. Dazai doesn't flinch, he must be out. 

I lean down, examining my work. I almost wish I hadn't done it. A cool bath would've helped his fever and the sweating, but now I don't want to wet the dressing, and he'd never allow anyone to see what's underneath his bandages. (Even if I thought I could handle him naked. As unprofessional as that sounds, I know my limitations.) With all the weeping, perhaps I should change it anyway. I have doubt that he'll do it himself even if he's capable.

I bin my gloves and the plastic sheet and wash my hands perhaps a little harder than necessary. 

His fever isn't sustainable either, but I'll let him sleep for now, just to recover from the shock of it all.

Still, he can't sleep on my counter. I lift him as carefully as possible, he doesn't stir. I tell myself not to worry as I set him down on the sofa.

Yozoz climbs my leg, jumping onto Dazai's limp form.

"Off!" I whisper, but she doesn't move.

I have a spare bedroom, but I'm not putting him there until he's had a bath and some fresh clothes. I'll do that as soon as I can.

-

His face isn't relaxed as he sleeps, he frowns, his nose and eyebrows scrunched, still, I can't deny that he's handsome. And cute with Yozoz lying protectively on his chest, letting him use her to elevate his hand.

He twitches and shifts uncomfortably. He'll need pain medication soon, which means he'll need to eat. 

Instead of staring at him, I need to order groceries . . . And I need to call in.

How do I even explain this? Better yet, how do I explain this without betraying Dazai's trust and alerting Yosano-sensei to the fact that he's injured?

I mean, do I even need to? He cuts work all the time . . . or he used to. Yeah, I'd better call.

I swear for the second time today and dial the president directly.

"Fukuzawa-sensei, this is Kunikida."

"Yes, Kunikida, what do you need?"

"Nothing. I was just calling to inform you that Dazai and I are on a private case and we won't be back for a couple of days. You can cut the time from my pay if you like. But I just wanted you to know that nothing is wrong, no one needs to come looking for us."

"Ah, I see. Did you pick up this case during lunch? Will you be reachable in the case of an emergency?"

I look at Dazai. I can't leave him, not like this. "Yes . . . and no."

"Are you out of the city?"

"No."

"Alright. Seeing as your paperwork is complete. I will bother you no longer. But please do call again if you two plan to be on the case for more than a week."

"Of course, sir."

He hangs up. I rest in relief for a moment. Now that that's cleared up there's the matter of my almost empty refrigerator.

-

Dazai wakes at the sound of the groceries being delivered.

"Huh? Kunikida?"

"I ordered groceries." 

I don't think he understands me very well, but I'll only be going to the door, so I don't worry.

Yozoz hisses at the delivery man. I nudge her back, and she gives one final look of utter disapproval before retreating. I tip the man and take the bags inside.

When I come back Dazai has gotten into a halfway upright position, using his uninjured hand to pet Yozo.

"Be careful." The warning is a habit at this point.

"When did Kunikida-kun get a cat?"

I don't let his use of the third person worry me, it wasn't uncommon for him a few months ago."Recently. She was a stray."

"My, how charitable!"

I have to remind myself not to be relieved. He's only acting this way because of the fever.

"Helping the less fortunate when I can is in my Ideals. And right now, that includes you, Dazai."

He gasps theatrically, "Me?"

"Yes, you. You have a fever. You need to take medication. It'll help with the pain as well, but you need to eat first. Now come on."

"My, who knew the prime minister of meeting procedure land would make such a good doctor, and handsome too~"

I can't deal with this right now, him saying all these things. They say fevers make you honest, but he's clearly spouting, pardon me, utter bullshit. "Yes, first aid training is quite useful."

He frowns at my lack of reaction.

I set the groceries on the counter, and go to help him. 

"Ahh, I'm so weak Kunikida-kun! I couldn't possibly move! Carry me!"

Ugh. Now that he's more alert, carrying him feels less like a medical necessity and more awkward, without the adrenaline from seeing him so hurt, but I'd take this over him sobbing on the floor any day.

I must admit I've had daydreams about having him in my arms before, but never like this.

He won't be able to handle chopsticks, so it'll have to be broth. I can make a simple one in under thirty minutes. As soon as I finish stocking the refrigerator and cupboards, I turn to find Dazai sitting at the counter. His newly dressed hand is splayed out on the countertop. He lifts it, flexing his finger. He makes no sound, but I've known him long enough to see that he's in pain.

He abhors pain. It doesn't make sense. This must not have been part of a suicide attempt. He'd never do something as painful as burning or boiling alive, so how did it happen?

I don't look at him, not wanting to invade at the moment. Instead, I focus on readying the ingredients for the broth, falling into the rhythm of chopping vegetables.

"How are you feeling? Does it hurt?" I ask, still not looking. If it were anyone else I wouldn't count on a coherent answer, and I don't with Dazai, not really. He would never admit the extent of his pain, but I know he's aware, at least. This man is a cockroach. He's come to work with temperatures like this and higher before and none of us noticed until he passed out dramatically on the sofa.

"It's fine."

"It is" not "I am". A clear lie.

He's as stubborn as an ox, more stubborn than I myself can be at times. I have no choice but to go along. I place the vegetables in the pan with the stock and set the temperature. "Good. You have to eat before you take medication. The broth should be done soon."

He goes silent for a moment, then, "Mmm, Kunikida is so kind, getting all worked up over nothing." His words are soft, a gentle smile, almost . . . reassuring. His voice sends a wave of warmth down my spine.

Still, the sudden return of his demureness is a bit surprising.

"This is not nothing."

"Well you could have simply taken me to hospital, it wasn't necessary to bring me all the way to your home. I'm sure I've caused quite a hassle. I'm not sure how I can repay you for all of this."

"You mentioned before that you dislike hospitals, so I thought-"

"It hardly matters. There was no need for you to trouble yourself, I feel guilty now."

"Don't, you're my partner, it was no trouble at all." The words feel forbidden. It's immature, but my feelings make calling him my partner feel more meaningful than it should. He's so observant, can he see my guilt? Hear my heartbeat?

"That's impossible. I wish I hadn't troubled you at all." He looks down as he says it, picking the his new bandages. He sounds genuine, bitter and upset. Like many of today's events, it doesn't make sense. After all he's done to pester me so far, how can he feel so guilty for this? Or is it something else? Is this for all he's done in the past? That would be ridiculous, but somehow I believe it. Nothing he ever did was that horrible, it's all forgiven now. 

"Dazai . . ." I don't know what I should say, what I could say. He doesn't look up anyway.

"I won't trouble you anymore, Kunikida-san." It sounds so . . . final.

"Dazai, it wasn't-"

He's standing before I can stop him. I want to reach out to him, to stop him, but I know I shouldn't touch him much more, I doubt his aversion to contact has changed. Even with all his external polish and warmth, all those smiles, something frozen still resides within him, I know it. At times, I can feel its cold, like a gust of shivering wind, sudden, shocking . . . then gone.

And yet I find myself moving ever closer. Something deep in my gut knows I can't let him leave. I feel that if I do I may never see him again.

He sways, and sways and sways, and then . . . tips.

This time, though, I'm here to catch him. Again, he's too warm in my arms.

"Dazai, stop! You're in no condition to go anywhere. Please, sit, . . . stay. At least until you take medication. Then you can go as you please. But as your partner, it would be an abdication of my duties to allow anything to happen to you." There's that word again. Partner.

He whispers so softly, that I swear I mishear him, but it's quiet enough that I'm sure I don't. "Partner." Then he looks up. "Abdication, such a big word." The words are thoughtful, yet careless. He looks dazed. "Of course, you're just doing your job. Fine, but at least let me pay you."

Is he out of his damn mind? "P-pay me, what, you-?!" No. I can't lose my cool now. This isn't an office shenanigan. But then again . . . perhaps my scolding will be as grounding to him as his clownery is to me (am I the delirious one?)

"This is a favour, you will do no such thing. Now, stop talking nonsense!" I can't make myself call him an idiot, he still looks too fragile for that.

It seems to work, to my relief, he backs down. "Sorry." I don't like the bashful tone, but if it means he'll let me care for him without fighting, I'll take what I can get.

We sit, once again, in silence.

I'm relieved when the broth is done, busying myself with readying the bowl and placing it in front of him.

When I set it down, he looks at me for a long moment, then says a quiet "Thank you." and takes the spoon. 

His hand shakes a little. 

Right. I was so distracted by his attitude that I forgot a spoon might still be hard for him. What to do? For once, I don't know, there is nothing in my Ideals that tells me how to deal with an injured, delirious, Dazai Osamu in my kitchen.

"W-would you like some help?"

He looks up with wide eyes. Neither of us says anything. 

A moment passes, and I can't bear to wait, so I take the spoon from his shaky hand. 

He opens his mouth wordlessly and closes it the same.

We repeat the process, still silent, working like a machine, efficient. Both of us, I'm sure, are trying to distance ourselves from the reality of what we are doing. Before I know it the bowl is down to the dregs of vegetables.

Dazai nods once. "Your soup is very delicious, Kunikida-san."

"Thank you." The phrase is brief, almost curt, but I don't know how else to respond. My brain won't form words appropriate for this situation. I turn away, typing the last drops of broth into the plastic bowl the vet sent home for Yozo.

She laps eagerly, while I prepare the correct dosage of medication.

Dazai takes it without a hint of disgust, handing the cup back to me, then pushes himself up. It's too fast and he wobbles. I reach out but then retract my hands. He's not my charge, he's a grown man. He's fine. And he dislikes being touched.

I can't stand to see him go. Who knew I could be so selfish?

"Dazai, wait."

He halts but doesn't turn. His shoulders are tense. I shouldn't keep him longer.

"Just wait a bit. I will call you a taxi cab once the medication takes effect. Just for an hour, rest . . . please."

He turns so slowly I'm worried he's dizzy again, but he seems perfectly steady when he faces me. Then again, he seemed fine until he collapsed in the tea house.

"Alright. Where would you like me to sit?"

Anywhere.

"Wherever you feel most comfortable."

He nods, clearly uncomfortable again. Guilt makes my chest ache, I should let him go. He's made it this far. I'm sure he can handle himself.

"The sofa will be more than fine."

"Okay," I have to leave, I should. I have no business hovering like we're anything more than colleagues. "I'll be in the kitchen, cleaning, if you need anything at all."

"Don't worry. I won't."

-

I can't make myself stay away. 

So here I sit, mere inches away from Dazai. He fell asleep almost as soon as he sat down, despite his insurance on feeling fine.

His breathing is even, but I can see him shivering against the fever. I leave him for a moment, just to get him a blanket.

When I put it over him he still for a moment, then rolls over, still fully asleep and pulls it tight around himself. The trembling stops, and I breathe a sigh of relief. He'll be alright.

But I won't.

Watching him like this feels wrong, a guilty pleasure. This was never meant for me to see. I feel like a pervert, even though watching him like this brings no sexual pleasure, only a warmth in my chest.

I can only stare as his chest rises and falls. His hair fans out over my pillows making them look like they don't belong here, no, not that. They, and he look like they belong, but under his head, they look like something novel even when I've had them for years.

-

After many hours of fitful tossing and turning, he really stirs. And I've done nothing but watch him this whole time. How much working time have I lost? And why does it not seem to matter at all?

I don't think he meant to sleep so long. It's dark out now, and he'll surely need more medication if he even wishes to attempt a full night's sleep.

I jump up when he twitches, hurrying away, lest he think my intentions are anything other than platonic.

"Kunikida?" He calls out.

"Yes, Dazai," I answer, strolling in like I didn't just bolt from the room. How many times have I lied in the past day?

"Thank you very much for letting me stay, and for the food, both here and at the tea house. You can keep my noodles. I'll catch a cab now." 

He's up, standing on shaky legs before I can stop him.

"What?" The words fall out, clumsy and desperate. I hope he doesn't hear it.

He looks at me, appropriately confused. "Did I leave something, Kunikida-kun?"

My saving grace. The one thing I actually did besides watching him sleep."Your coat, it's in the dryer. There was some blood on the cuff, so I washed it." The perfectly reasonable explanation feels awkward.

"Oh, thank you again." He sounds so grateful it makes me uncomfortable.

"Please, don't thank me. You aren't troubling me. Your coat should be done in just a few minutes." I want him to stay longer, "Would you mind if I checked your bandages until then, I heard you tossing in your sleep." A small lie.

"I'm yours."

We both freeze. 

"I-I'm sorry?" I sound like I'm choking.

His cheeks reddened, embarrassed that I made something out of that, no doubt. Especially when I've probably said similar things in reference to our partnership.

"I simply meant that you are the expert and are free to do what you want, er, need to."

"Ah, yes." 

What do I do now?

Neither of us moves for a moment, like when you get stuck trying to pass someone in a door or corridor and do an awkward little dance. I don't want him to pass me. I don't want him to go.

Then he moves, walking to the counter, and placing his arm on it. I follow him, busying myself with readying the plastic sheeting.

He's in the same position when I come back, but lifts his arm and allows me to put the small section of sheeting under it.

I examine the bandages. I was right. As much as this is to keep him here, they do need changing. The wound is still weeping a lot. 

"I'll need to clean and change it again," I tell him, but I think he may have guessed based on the way he eyes his arm.

The experience is completely different now that he's coherent. But he doesn't fight me on the removal of the bandages, I watch his face, his beautiful face, and on cue, he gives his silent permission.

He doesn't flinch as I unwrap it, eyes scanning the wound analytically. 

He leans in, so close that I would barely have to lean down to kiss him. I'd never, of course, I could never. But the thought is very much there.

"I have seen far worse, usually I was the cause." He explains.

Right, the mafia. 

Here, in this house, I could forget. But, I realise suddenly, that it doesn't matter at all, not when it comes to him.

The process goes so much more quickly this time. I hate that I wish it didn't, but before I know it, my hands are on autopilot, and he's in fresh bandages . . . and ready to go.

Where's he going to go? Surely not the agency dormitories? He doesn't want anyone to know he's injured. Or will he just hole up inside? Or does he have somewhere else? A street corner? I shiver at the thought.

He needs another dosage of medications since it's been so long. He must be in pain, but if he's driving, he should wait to take it until he gets back. I still don't trust him with a whole bottle. But I can send him with enough to get him through the night until tomorrow morning when I see him again. I'd best pick him up and take him here in the morning. Someone might see me and know I lied if I stay too long, and his dormitory isn't exactly sterile. (Maybe he's cleaned it? I've only seen it in glimpses.)

"You should take another dose of medication in about an hour. I'll send you home with a pill, you can pick up another one tomorrow when I change your bandages. It helps with the pain as well. Actually, I should take your temperature before you go. If you're still feverish, I'll drive you."

He nods, then cocks his head. "Come here? I appreciate it, but won't we be at the agency?"

Right, he doesn't know.

I told the President that we'd be out for a couple of days, just because I'd be in charge of caring for the wound since Dazai refused to go to a hospital or Yosano, but maybe that's changed now that he's not feverish.

"I was under the impression that you wanted the injury hidden. You told me you didn't want to go to the hospital or to Yosano, so I told the President that we were out on a case. He won't expect us back." It feels shameful and stupid as I say it now, but I press on. He needs to know. "I was actually wondering where you were going. You can't exactly go to the dorms, and I'd prefer to change your bandages here where I have my supplies . . . Or, of course, I could tell him we finish early if you would rather!"

He's just standing there, frozen. I can't read him.

After a while he says quietly, "You lied to the president?" The words are shocking. Of course, they are, I'm the last person one would expect to do that, I know.

"You seemed highly uncomfortable at the thought of anyone knowing so I . . . I just did."

He looks down. Even without a fever, I can see he still feels that way. "No, no, I won't make you lie further. I'll find a place to stay. An old mafia safe house should do just fine."

"Oh, Dazai, I didn't mean to-"

"You've done so much. I am fine now. I don't need luxury, just a quiet place to sleep." He looks pale.

He's not fine. 

And I'm still not ready for him to leave, not ready to be alone with my thoughts.

He sits like a dutiful patient while I fetch his freshly dry coat. I'm not so deceitful as to wet it again.

He takes it, standing up once again. 

"Let's do this again sometime, eh, Kunikida-kun?" The statement carries just a trace of his previous humour. His eyes are far away, the deep brown irises glassy.

Just as he reaches the door, I remember. I didn't take his temperature! Or give him the pills! I grab his wrist. He whirls around, startled, looking again like a caught animal. I wish he wouldn't, but I have to admit, what I'm doing is quite creepy.

"Wait. I need to make sure your temperature is down before you go. I don't want someone kidnapping you, eh?" The joke, like most of mine, falls flat.

Something sparks in his eyes . . . and then they go cold. 

"Kunikida-san, I understand that you're just doing your job . . . but last I checked it's not your job to stop me from killing myself. Don't pretend to care so much, I am not your poor little charity case!"

Killing- who said anything about suicide? Is he planning to- Now? After he's done all this? Well, now there's no way I can let him go!

It looks like he's also realised his mistake. His eyes are stuck between wide open and narrowed to slits, it's odd. I take advantage of it. 

"Dazai, please. I just wish to help."

He says nothing, to my relief, no sour words about my ideals, or my having a saviour complex. (I don't. I'm just ever so foolishly in love.)

I'm afraid that if I step away to get the thermometer, he'll run, so instead, I step forward, placing my hand under his fringe. The contact sends a spark through me, and it occurs to me that I've never really touched him before, a brush of the hand, maybe, and of course carrying him, but never this. He's still warm. Of course, he is. In my haste, I overlooked something important. 

I learnt very quickly of Dazai Osamu's inhuman metabolism. It's how he processes all the junk food and alcohol so quickly. The medication must have worn off at least an hour ago. Has he been in pain all this time?

Oh, damn me!

"Dazai, I'm so sorry." 

He doesn't look like he's heard me. He sways again . . . and then he's in my arms.

He weighs almost nothing against me, but I can't worry about that now.

"You know, Kunikida-kun?" he mumbles into my chest, "I think I'm still a bit tired from the medication. Maybe I will stay."

"Why did you not tell me?" But the question is more for myself. I know why.

I'm a task-oriented person. I need goals or I'll fall apart, I know this. So I make a list.

Check his temperature. 

Make him eat something (somehow). 

Give medication.

Attempt a cool bath.

Fresh clothes.

Sleep.

He's completely out. I can feel his breathing, slow and shallow.

Taking his temperature is easy, getting him medicated won't be. I ought to try a cool bath first before he can protest. It will help the most before the medication kicks in. I hate to cross his boundaries like that . . . then again, he seemed to give me permission when he agreed to stay.

Fortunately, I don't have to decide. He wakes when I move him, his breathing shifting into quick gasps. I want to tell him he's okay, but what use would that have?

"I'm going to give you a cool bath. You can keep your undershirt and pants on, but I need to get your temperature down, alright?"

He nods.

Thankfully, this bathroom was designed with two people in mind, so there's plenty of room for him on the counter. He mutters something that includes my name and the words "undress me". I think he's trying to be cheeky, but it falls flatter than any of my jokes ever have.

Getting into the bathtub is easy. He weighs much less than he should. I prop him up, but with the way he flops to the side, like a fish, I can't possibly leave him. He'll drown. 

What to do, what to do? I can stay with him a bit, but I need to make more broth so he can take more pills. I'll think about it.

"Hey, you're just going to soak in here for a bit, so your body can cool down. May I wash your hair?" He's sweaty, so I may as well.

He nods, so I do.

The process is like nothing I've ever done. He "hmms" softly and I can feel him slipping into sleep under my touch. I thought that seeing him undressed (or in this case in just his pants) would be hard for me, but it isn't. All I can feel is concern, not pity, I don't see him as below me or anything, he remains my equal and as handsome as ever, but right now he just needs to be taken care of. He is not riddled with scars as I'd thought, but there is one, a large gash along his chest and other various small ones. It's hard to see them, though. In reality, the scars are perfectly visible, but when I look at him I don't see them, just those warm brown eyes. 

The bath is working, and he feels much less hot than before. He's more alert as well. If he just stays in a bit longer he might return to a normal temperature, at least temporarily which would help until I can get medication in him, but I still have to cook . . .

"Okay. Here's a towel, you have to get out now."

He shakes his head, confused as if just having woken up. Did he really go to sleep just like that? He used to complain of insomnia. How ill is he?

"Don't wanna." His tone isn't clownish, but tired, so very tired.

"Dazai, I can't- you're not in a complete state of mind, you could hurt yourself."

"What if you could make sure I didn't?"

What's he got up his sleeves now? I make my scepticism clear on my face. "Perhaps, what do you have in mind?"

"I could sing to you . . . like in that movie with the little girl who's really an adult."

"What?" I'm not even going to ask.

"Like this" He hums a note, then another. I don't recognise the melody, but it's pretty.

"Fine. But If you stop, I will come right back in here, so don't try anything."

"Got it, Kunikida-san."

True to his word, he keeps humming as I start in the kitchen. The song is very nice. I'll have to ask him what it is when he feels better.

-

The broth, a slightly different recipe, to keep things interesting, finishes quickly. All that's left is for it to cool to an edible temperature, and to get Dazai into some clothes.

I'm only 8 centimetres taller than Dazai, so my clothes should fit him well enough. I pull out a pyjama set from the back of my drawer, it was a gag gift from Katai when I went to university, with a little nightcap and all. I leave the cap and take the folded set into the bathroom.

-

He looks so soft in the matching top and bottom that I can do nothing but stare. He sneezes, snapping me out of the trace. Right, his hair is still a bit wet. The last thing he needs is a cold.

He manages to stand, albeit with most of his weight on me, and follows me to the kitchen.

-

"Why are you doing this?" He asks as I set down the spoon. I helped him again. He didn't ask me to, even as a joke, and I wasn't sure he would if I didn't just- so I just did it . . . It would appear that, in some way, somehow I'm in this even deeper than I thought.

What can I say? Oh, I could say so much. What can I say that would be professionally acceptable?

"It's my job." AH, if there was an award for shit answers.

He sighs, "AH, right, duty-bound Kunikida-kun. Poor thing." The words are teasing, but I know him better than that.

-

He makes himself at home in the spare bedroom, out practically as soon as his head hits the pillow. When was the last time he slept in a real bed?

What do I do now? It's not that late, so I can't go to bed, but I can't go back to work, and there's now ay I'd let myself leave. I can't think of anything, so, as always, I stay.

He looks so peaceful, his breathing even, face relaxed. I gave him twice the normal dosage of medication.

Despite his apparent calm I can't help thinking that he should be in my bed. I want to hold him, to keep him warm and safe. I want him to know someone needs him, someone wants him. At first, I wasn't sure this new him even needed that anymore, but his behaviour today . . . I want to wake up and see his smile, a real one. I want to be the reason for it. I want to give him so, so many reasons to smile. And when he can't smile, I want to be there for him.

Looking at him like this, a sudden courage fills me. The courage to put pen to paper. I pull out my notebook and start writing, looking up every so often at Dazai's sleeping face, just to amke sure I phrase this thing I'm feeling right (if there's any way to physically capture it. I'd try even if I knew for sure there wasn't).

When I'm finally pleased, I close the book. It's dark out now. I must have been writing for much longer than I thought. Well, I guess I should get to sleep.

IDEALS [kunikidazai]

(A/N: I've been palying around with ship names for these two and came up with Ideal Human because together these two make one perfectly functioning person. Kind of like how Tachizaki is Midwinter Snow because if their abilities)

SUMMARY:

Dazai Osamu is the farthest possible thing from the ideal woman Kunikida Doppo has written so much about in his notebook.

And yet . . . Kunikida is hoplessly in love with him anyway. Kunikida doesn't belive he has a chance with his coworker, I mean, have you seen the way he flirts with women? Straight as the rulers Kunikida used to use in his maths class.

Dazai meanwhile is also inlove with uptight but still charming coworker. But how can Dazai ever come close to the woman Kunikida has in mind?

Will these two damn idiots figure their shit out or not? God, I hope they do, for all our sanity!

(Summary sponsered by Edogawa Ranpo)

Categories: angst, fluff, getting together

Warnings: N/A

Thank you to @wildroseroguefor inspiring me to write Kunikidazai for the first time. Rose has lots of Kunikida content on her blog, check it out.

[danrifics]

[wereshrew-admirer]

scratching at the walls

[sysig]

Coding woes (Patreon)

[naga-raja-suresh]

The whimper was beautiful. This was what was meant when you turned someone into putty in your hands. And Suresh had done just that to the pretty wolf. He shouldn't have fed without asking first. But the taste of Versipellis had been irresistible. Suresh made sure to help the younger man stay on his feet. Carefully supporting the wolf. His eyes on the bottom lip that the wolf was worrying at with his teeth. It was a difficult thing to stop himself from reaching out and stopping the other from chewing. The touch would be counterproductive to what he needed to do. Suresh smiled softly at the question and shook his head, caressing Versi's neck with his fingers gently, "No, they do not." He made no move to stop Versi from touching him. The warm fingers running along his jaw. He let Versi ramble on a bit, his smile widening slightly with a soft chuckle. His voice was a soft whisper, a promise laced through each syllable. "Oh yes. There is so much more. So much I would show you." He paused to place his left hand over Versi's hammering heart, the other still caressing the wolf's neck gently. "You are very unboring, pretty wolf. I can't tell you the last time someone gave me such a beautiful gift as you just did."

Suresh nodded his head, "Yes. Everything is alright. But there are a few things about me that we should discuss before we continue anything physical." His golden eyes fixed on Versi, wanting to make sure that he had the slightly intoxicated wolf's full attention. "Be still and listen carefully Versipellis. I'm something called a Naga. And I'm very, very old. But those are not the important pieces. The important part is that I not only feed on desire but in some ways I am desire. I was imbued with the powers of my god a long time ago. It's a power that I can't always fully control. Why you feel a little drunk right now? That was from me. I apologize for not asking to feed before it happened but I haven't tasted anything like you in so very long..." He paused to draw in a needful little breath, "I am a very jaded creature. But I would happily show you anything and everything you wanted to explore or experience. Not here of course. I would make any and all of your firsts far more special for you than that. But you deserve to know what I am. And what I am offering before we continue. I would like to be your friend. Whatever your decision is... But I want you. And if you'd let me I would gladly help you experience pleasure that would make this first taste seem like nothing. But whatever happens or doesn't happen will be completely up to you. I'm going to let you go now, not because I want to but because it will be easier for both of us to think with a little bit of space." He blinked and released Versi from the very subtle mesmerism. He then slowly removed his hands from the wolf once he felt that Versi could stand and went and sat down on the little chaise lounge, there was enough room for two people on it and only a few feet of space between the two of them. Suresh's smile had a touch of sadness in it as he folded his hands in his lap and looked up at the wolf from where he sat. "You are very beautiful. Inside and out. A kind and true hearted soul..." He paused and then flashed a grin, "Do you have any questions?"

Versi was so lost in Suresh that he did not even feel when Suresh turned them around or his back gently hitting the door. It was a good thing that he was against the door because he was having a hard time standing straight at the moment. Not to mention, he was lightheaded from the rush of it all. It felt like he had just taken the biggest swig of the world's most intoxicating drink, and he felt slightly drunk. When the kiss is broken Versi meets Suresh's soft drunken grin with his own, letting out a soft sigh, and he thinks that's where things would end. his grip tightens a bit when he feels suresh's whispers against his ear, hearing the words he spoke, and the playful licking of his earlobe was about to send him over the edge already. he parts his lips to respond to the compliment but nothing except a soft whimper of pleasure comes out, feeling suresh's lips over untouched skin was sending a whole other sensation through him. he both wanted this to keep going and also needed a moment to catch his breath so that he could think properly. was this what all first kisses felt like? he silently wondered.

he tried to keep steady breathing as he met suresh's gaze in this moment, chewing on his bottom lip to keep any more noises from escaping. it's almost like suresh knew exactly what was about to happen had they kept going and versi was appreciative of them pausing for a moment. he softly smiles, "as much as i do not want you to stop...i very much appreciate you not trying to knock me unconscious. do all kisses feel like that?" his grip loosens a bit, and one hand moves up to gently brush fingertips up against suresh's jawline, "there's more, suresh? even more, you want to go further with me? are you sure? i'm not exactly...um...i j-just feel like maybe you'd become bored with me very quickly. n-not that i wouldn't want to go further with you, of course i would. you're...i...um...i really liked kissing you. it was very nice, it was not like the kisses i have seen in movies or read about in stories, it was better than i could have ever imagined a kiss to be." he takes in a small breath, trying to stop himself form rambling again. "i'm sorry. yes. we can talk. is everything okay?"

[icewindandboringhorror]

recent lounging babey images

[mxtxfanatic]

I’m wondering something though -

When Xie Lian and the others learned of He Xuan’s background, it was made clear He Xuan had extremely bad luck.

“Although this scholar He’s family was very, very poor, he was a talented man. Since his youth, he was frighteningly intelligent and picked things up quickly and expertly. He was also widely known as a good son; there was really nothing bad to say about the guy in any respect. Unfortunately for him, he was also very unlucky. For him, nothing good ever lasted.”

Volume 4, Chapter 53 page 28

———

If the Reverend of Empty words can only shout misfortune upon its victims (and their loved ones) causing them to despair so much they commit suicide, does this mean He Xuan had bad luck all on his own even without the fate switching? 🤔

Or does the Reverend actually draw bad luck to his victims? This would actually make a lot sense but from how Xie lian explains things , this isn’t how a usual venerable works and explanations about the Reverend do not explicitly state this. 🤔🤔🤔

He Xuan couldn’t have had bad luck all on his own without the fate-switching, because his fate was to ascend. However, I think a full answer to this question would need to be a meta, cause I think that a core point of tgcf is that fates are not set-in-stone from birth, that fortune is what you make of it rather than what makes you, and that we shouldn’t fall into traps of letting superstition rule our lives, thoughts, and morality. The Reverend of Empty Words specifically chose prey amongst those with great fates, and most of those people had terrible ends. The Reverend was only able to speak on Shi Qingxuan—who had a fate of wealth—once before his family masked his presence, and yet the family still went into decline and lost their fortune. Were all of those fates fake? Was Guoshi not as good a fortune-teller as he so claimed? Or is all of this more changeable than people want to believe?

[dawnthefluffyduck]

Sunday doodle (singular)

[madrivervalleyicelandics]

Yes that’s sort of what I’m getting at, this could be “normal” & may have always been there, so I’m not even trying to moralize it or say it’s good or bad, it’s just that we NEED to get curious about it to actually know if that’s the case, & to know how best to manage symptomatic horses. If it’s something we can breed away from, that would be great to know! But it also just has implications for how we best manage individuals, if we don’t test we can’t know. Right now a lot of people will say a horse is hypermobile, and even recommend exercises for the horse, but I find strange pushback when it comes to actually checking for this disease. And ultrasounds aren’t invasive! They aren’t cheap, but MANY procedures are more cost prohibitive.

I had seen that they’re working on skin biopsies but I don’t think that’s available yet as a diagnostic test for owners to order yet…. If it is, it seems it hasn’t been available to me around here yet.

We did do muscle biopsies of my ESPA mares when we suspected PSSM2, & once I understood how invasive that procedure was, I understood why it’s not a popular diagnostic test. We had good reason to suspect PSSM with their symptoms, though, so I don’t regret the choice. A skin biopsy would certainly be easier than that 😅

My cynical guess is that breeders would need a very compelling reason to test the horses before they’d spend the money and risk tarnishing a bloodline’s reputation. With ECVM, lawsuits actually broke out over people sharing diagnostic results. Stallion owners were angry at the suggestion that their horses’ offspring had the condition, & didn’t want it to negatively impact their horses’ reputations. I recall a bit of that with Spavin, particularly if the stallions were sound & the condition didn’t bother them… it’s tricky. What would be MOST useful is a test that would be non-invasive enough to do as part of a prepurchase exam 😅

The official recommendation is to not ride ESPA horses, but studies have shown that exercise helps slow progression of the condition. I think stabilizing exercises (like basic French classical dressage work in-hand) are a great idea, & one of the vets I work with was also talking about doing things that the horses enjoy, for their mental health as well! For example Vigri finds trail rides enriching, always has enjoyed getting out to explore in the woods. I’m primarily being more mindful about how much weight he carries for how long, & avoiding excessive repetitive pounding. We’ve definitely done our last 100 mile ride, but he enjoys his hacks & can do them on the pony line or with a light rider & I feel comfortable with that for him at this stage (his vets have also approved that level of work). Managing his weight will also be extremely important. His vet team thinks he should be able to be comfortably managed into his 20s which, really, is a decent expectation for any horse. I can’t be mad about that prognosis! But that decision is also context specific to Vigri, who gets bodysore when he’s out of work, & who shows evidence of enjoying his hacks. When it came to Sylgja, she was fully exercise intolerant at her time of diagnosis (age 5) & wasn’t consenting even to hand walks, & Skvísa was not far behind, experiencing muscle tremors after walks for example. So there is a huge range of progression & severity.

It could be a topic for a whole separate post, but I think offering opportunities for consent in training could be a huge part of managing chronic / progressive conditions like this. It’s not foolproof because horses tend to be very good about telling you what’s comfortable in the moment, but can’t really understand that doing too much now might make them sore later, so in that sense consent isn’t ENOUGH. But man… having Sylgja be pure R+ trained & VERY comfortable saying “no” is what saved her a much more painful life, & honestly the reason I kept digging to understand what was wrong with her when diagnostics kept coming back negative. There was this constant question of, maybe it’s just behavioral, maybe I’m not getting through to her, why is she like this…. But she kept saying no, so I kept trying to figure out why. When we did her ultrasound, I was warned ahead of time that it might be inconclusive because of her young age - the disease might be present but might not have broken down the tissues enough to become obvious yet. So when the results were a very CLEAR positive at age 5 both vets & I just kind of sat there in silence for a few minutes like, damn. Okay. Well. That’s that, then. I was so stunned after the ultrasound that I was sort of robotic but I remember that one of the vets took me aside and said “listen, this horse could have so easily been abused if you hadn’t listened to her. I see it every day.” Imagine if I’d sold her on, or tried to push her through it when she started to resist.

I’m only just getting to feel really okay talking about it, honestly. But there is so much to learn from the whole situation, not just for me, but already it’s helped others solve mystery cases of their own. And many horses get a better outcome than she did, if we catch this early I think there is so much we can do for these horses.

Another thing I’ve been talking about with a couple of colleagues recently is that many of us (esp in R+ circles) have made careers of fixing horses that would have been culled in the past. Again, not trying to moralize that or say it’s good or bad, it’s just the world we live in now. We don’t kill animals when they fall short of expectations, in most modern cultures - we try to work with them and find solutions. That means we WILL see and discover more conditions than we used to. Even if ESPA has always been around, these fast-progressing cases that make horses lame or provoke them to behavioral problems wouldn’t have been around long enough to really examine because they’d have been culled. Until fairly recently in history, honestly. So perhaps, as welfare improves globally and we continue to evolve our thinking to respect animals as individuals with inherent value (which I think is a good thing, to be clear!), maybe seeing more chronic disease is a part of that, just in the sense that these animals now get the privilege of a full life 🤷‍♀️ I can’t tell if that’s a positive thought or a gloomy one, which probably means I should stop for the night 😅

Since my two mares got ESPA diagnosed in 2023 I feel like everyone I know has ESPA dx’d or suspected in Icelandic horses. So all I’m gonna say here is that if you have weird mystery sensitivity, the horse is kind of reactive & weird some days & fine others & you’re ruling out a lot of common causes of pain & can’t really find muscular or chiropractic causes & the horse isn’t lame on one leg or neuro but something is just weird about the horse…..

Ultrasound those suspensories, bestie!

We just did Vigri this Fall & found that he has early signs of degeneration of his suspensories, too, but at 16 & sound this is “normal” progression of the disease (as opposed to the serious degradation of the tissues we noted in Sylgja at age 5, & her mom at 13 - I still think Skvísa probably would have progressed more slowly had I not bred her, which I’d never have done if I’d known she had the disease). Since he isn’t a mare, won’t be bred, & the current best practice for treatment is consistent, appropriate exercise, I’m responding to this DX by slowing down his workload, riding him myself less, ponying him more, having my child (who is very light) be his primary rider when ridden, & keeping up with the shoe package that’s been keeping him sound & comfy with his rotational deformities up to this point. Vigri is more comfortable / happy when in an exercise program so this makes sense for him at this level of progression, but we will be monitoring closely & re-checking. This comes w perfect radiographs (zero arthritic changes to hocks, fetlocks, etc) - we literally only US’d bc when I pulled him barefoot last winter I THOUGHT I noticed his fetlocks dropping slightly more than usual, & I wanted to see if I were crazy or not 🤡

But where I’m at w this now is I think it is FAR more common in the breed than previously reported & warrants serious examination certainly for anyone who wants to breed these horses. The prevalence in Standardbreds, pasos (disease was first discovered in pasos) etc has a lot of vets curious if there’s a connection between the DMRT3 mutation & this connective tissue disease. Worth noting as well that Vigri is of no relation to my other horses, & is actually not even from the same breeding farm. Looking back, I wish I could US Glæta… I have a lot of questions about past “complicated” horses I worked with that could be answered by this disease.

It’s super worth paying attention to because of the connective tissue involved w internal organ suspension. A friend just attended a dissection of an (suspected) ESPA horse in which the liver was found to be detatched. I know quite a few Icelandic horses that were “fine” until they suddenly died of some weird medical event involving digestion. Was it colic or something else…..?

We know this disease can affect the cardiovascular system, vision, etc. I’m certainly curious if Vigri’s intermittent difficulty pulsing down - even when his resp returned to normal right away - could be related to subclinical presentation of this disease. I’m even curious if his rotational deformities at birth might have been the earliest sign! I’m quite sure it explains his unusually sensitive skin, which rubs & chafes so easily. All of which is to say, this disease goes beyond workload / performance expectations, it’s not just a (potential) soundness problem. It’s potentially something that can negatively impact organ function.

Another interesting thing I’ve learned more recently is that research is suggesting that the bodies of these horses lay down layers of fat in unusual / unexpected places to compensate / protect the lack of healthy connective tissue. On dissection that’s apparently really interesting to see, sometimes the horses don’t even palpate or look especially fat until you get into the layers of the body. My ESPA mares did have an unusual amount of body fat & it actually complicated the muscle biopsies we did to rule out PSSM2….

Anyway this is sort of a disorganized dump of random ESPA thoughts but I haven’t had the energy or time to make more coherent thoughts for Instagram / FB & I know Tumblr doesn’t care.

Bottom line is if you’ve got gaited horses & they’re having “mystery” health or behavioral issues, you might want to consider a connective tissue disorder as a possible contributing factor! & certainly if you notice hypermobility or unusual flexion of the joints.

[hotsugarbyglassanimals]

even though i feel like i can confidently tell when a piece of art is generative A/I, i really don't feel inclined or really even justified calling someone out for it due to the precedent it sets - especially when artists who DO make their own pieces get caught in the crossfire for being inexperienced or making the choice to be more free-form when it comes to character design / consistency...

[ilkkawhat]

just reflecting today on the 7th poured drink tonight and recalling how when i was venting to my co-workers about yesterday and the panic attack i had and all that, she mentioned how I needed more help when I was drowning and i swear to you the immediate thing that came to mind when she said that was alan wake

[nbclover]

hehehe