#more character study than anything

[greatunironic]

title: REAL HEAVY METAL SHIT summary: It’s 1990, and Ed Levy is (not) writing his sophomore album. (a most remarkable thing timestamp)

EXCERPT He’d been no one, then — less than no one, actually, when you got down to the brass fuckin’ tacks of it: he was a half fake boy, it felt like most days. He himself was real, alive, but that was just the blood in his veins, the breath in his lungs. Everything else? His name, his back story, the reasons why he came to Seattle from Pittsburgh? All carefully fabricated half-truths and government-approved tall tales. Eddie Munson had become, for better or worse, Ed Levy, a sleight of hand person.

He had a hard time reconciling that. He had a hard time accepting that this was his life, now, and that he was allowed to live it. Really, man, who’d’ve thought it? Certainly not the pearl clutching, bible-thumping, Abigail Williamses of Hawkins, who cast him as Goody Proctor in their own little fucked up, supernatural Crucible, you know? Not the people who had rolled their eyes at him, before, and started to cross the street to avoid him, after. Not even his own friends, his old band, who’d dropped him for their own safety — which! He got it! He did! Just — just hurt, you know? Anyway you cut it: it hurt.

[bibuck-saved-me]

it’s a selfish thought and arthur knows it because merlin has spent so much time hiding a vital part of his existence, his very being, all because of arthur. so he presses it down into the deepest recesses of himself and focuses on doing everything he can to support merlin, to give merlin the world he deserves. a world where he is free.

but sometimes, when he’s alone in his room surrounded by his endless responsibilities, he will think to himself, i am nothing.

merlin and the old religion hold him as this once and future king, but no matter what they say, he can’t understand why they think any of this is about him. it was never him. everything he’d done, every accomplishment and fight he’d won had never been his to claim. he was a fraud. he was a lonely king with nothing to his name beyond the blood on his hands, the blood staining his every crevice.

he isn’t the once and future king. he doesn’t deserve any of the praise. he is the moon, a piece of rock in the sky that shines only because of the sun. without the sun, the moon is worthless. without the sun, no one would have ever looked at the moon twice.

arthur had never been proud of his mistakes and his inaction when it came to his father’s slaughter, but he had been proud of the things he had done to keep his kingdom and his people safe and healthy and happy. he has fought and fought and fought only to discover he had never even landed a punch. every knockout, every victory he had held up to hide the ugly nothingness of his true, empty self was never his to hold. with the discovery of merlin’s magic, any worthiness he thought he’d earned had slipped through his fingers like sand through a sieve.

merlin is beautiful and powerful. merlin is a god amongst men, a gift given to this world, given to arthur, and for what?

this prophecy for arthur was always about merlin. he carried the weight, he fought and fought and fought and he won, merlin was the one who had carried this kingdom on his back until they reached the safety of the golden era of the current day.

it’s a selfish thought, to be thinking of himself in relation to merlin’s magic when merlin has suffered every single day because of arthur. and yet, in those moments, he can’t help but wonder why he was born at all, why he was named savior of a group of people who would’ve never died if only he had stayed unmade, a whisper of nothingness in his mother’s womb.

his first breath caused a massacre, a genocide, and yet he was given an angel and a title and a prophecy of greatness he could never actually fulfill.

he would never tell merlin about these thoughts he had. merlin would end up feeling guilty somehow, would carry the weight of arthur’s worthlessness even more by taking on the deserved revulsion arthur had for himself.

no, he couldn’t tell merlin about this. merlin would tell him he was wrong, would try to talk him up and fix it. would use that endless kindness to tell arthur endless stories about his own importance. merlin would shine his sunshine on arthur until arthur forgot he was just a lump of rock. he wouldn’t rest until arthur loved himself, until arthur took all the credit for merlin’s own accomplishments again.

no, he would keep this to himself. he would give merlin the attention and love he deserves. this story isn’t actually about arthur pendragon. it never was.

[einsatzzz]

Six Fanarts (Part 1) but my braincells volunteered other people's OCs (and one of mine) into it, because I already have a list of OCs I wanna make fanart for, yippeeeee

@myrmyrtheorca @dreamieparadise @cloudvaria @lixenn @ketchup-chup

[genericpuff]

Have you ever considered the idea of drawing your favorite Hades characters in your own style, or do you think they are wonderful as they are drawn?

... y'all asking me to draw Hades AU stuff? ( •̀ᴗ-)

[glorfindel-of-imladris]

The Case of Erestor Half-elven

It’s been a hot minute since my last fandom meta, but this one I accidentally stumbled upon gathering notes for—would you believe it—a Glorfindel meta I intended to write. Man, I’m not even going to question the process, so let’s just get right on to it!

I like to joke around that there are only six instances when Erestor was mentioned in the entire legendarium, and by this I mean in The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, and The Silmarillion (in which he does not even appear in the latter two). 

But let’s talk about the early draft of him that is often referenced in fandom. If one extends the search, in The Return of Shadow, which details the writing process of what ultimately would be The Fellowship of the Ring, Erestor does get a mention, and is described as follows:

“There were three counsellors of Elrond’s own household: Erestor his kinsman (a man of the same half-elvish folk known as the children of Lúthien), and beside him two elflords of Rivendell.” -- In the House of Elrond, The Return of Shadow 

By the final version of The Lord of the Rings, however, there is no more reference to Erestor as Half-elven. The final published version goes:

"Beside Glorfindel there were several other counsellors of Elrond's household, of whom Erestor was the chief..." -- The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring

By this final version of the story, the Half-elven trait no longer made sense for Erestor, and was replaced instead by him being Elrond's chief counsellor. 

The nature of Half-elves

Tolkien acknowledges three unions of Elves and Men:

“There were three unions of the Eldar and the Edain: Lúthien and Beren; Idril and Tuor; Arwen and Aragorn. By the last the long-sundered branches of the Half-elven were reunited and their line was restored.” –Appendix A, Return of the King

One of the later themes Tolkien came up with surrounding the Half-elven line (which likely did not yet exist at the early stages of the story when he was first forming the fellowship) was how they united and reunited all the houses of the Eldar and the Edain. Beren was a descendant of the three houses of the Edain—the Houses of Bëor, Haleth, and Hador—while Lúthien was the daughter of a Sinda (Teleri) and a Maia. Idril was the daughter of a Ñoldo and a Vanya. Lúthien and Beren had Dior, who then had a daughter, Elwing, who wed Eärendil, the son of Idril and Tuor. Elwing and Eärendil then had Elros and Elrond, and the line was separated for many generations when Elros chose to be counted among Men, and Elrond among Elves. The two lines were reunited with the marriage of Aragorn and Arwen.

One important detail here is that before the “Choice of the Half-elves” that was later gifted to Eärendil, Elwing, and their children, the children born out of an Elf-Man union led lives akin to Men. Dior was able to rule Doriath at age 33, and Eärendil and Elwing married at 22. These, as we know, would have been too young for Elves, given:

“Children of Men might reach their full height while Eldar of the same age were still in the body like to mortals of no more than seven years. Not until their fiftieth year did the Eldar attain the stature and shape in which their lives would afterwards endure, and for some a hundred years would pass before they were full-grown.” -- Laws and Customs of the Eldar, Morgoth’s Ring

and

“The Eldar wedded for the most part in their youth and soon after their fiftieth year […] Those who would afterwards become wedded might choose one another early in youth, even as children (and indeed this happened often in days of peace); but unless they desired soon to be married and were of fitting age, the betrothal awaited the judgment of the parents of either party.” -- Laws and Customs of the Eldar, Morgoth’s Ring

After the events of the War of the Wrath, Eärendil, Elwing, and their sons Elrond and Elros, for their deeds in the war, were gifted with the choice to be counted either among the Eldar or the Edain. Eärendil, Elwing, and Elrond chose to be counted among Elves, and the choice continued on to Elrond’s children: Arwen, Elladan, and Elrohir. Elros chose to be counted among Men, but in his case, the choice no longer extended to his descendants; every descendant of Elros was mortal. 

The only thing I can conclude for why Elros’ line did not get to choose is because the Gift of Ilúvatar—that is, a death that transcends the world of Arda—trumps all other gifts. It is a blessing that followed the line of Elros—never mind that the latter Númenóreans did not all agree that this was a blessing at all.

A similar sentiment can be found in earlier versions of the Quenta Silmarillion, where Manwë said to Eärendil:

"Now all those who have the blood of mortal Men, in whatever part, great or small, are mortal, unless other doom be granted to them; but in this matter the power of doom is given to me." -- Quenta Silmarillion, The Lost Road and Other Writings

Although this was no longer included in the published Silmarillion, Christopher Tolkien still considered this in judging that Dior, son of Beren and Lúthien, would have been mortal, regardless of whether Lúthien was Elf or mortal when she begetted him.

Bonus extra: The fourth case of Elf-Man union

Despite the excerpt from Appendix A, there is another case of Elf-Man union that we know: Mithrellas and Imrazôr. This was alluded to in Return of the King when describing Prince Imrahil: 

“...and with him went the Prince of Dol Amroth in his shining mail. For he and his knights still held themselves like lords in whom the race of Númenor ran true. Men that saw them whispered saying: ‘Belike the old tales speak well; there is Elvish blood in the veins of that folk, for the people of Nimrodel dwelt in that land once long ago.’” The Siege of Gondor, Return of the King

Although it seems as though this was only a rumor among Men, in the wider History of Middle-earth, Mithrellas is indeed mentioned to have been the spouse of Imrazôr who bore him children, of whom Galador was the ancestor of the princes of Dol Amroth. Of their line, it was said:

“But though Mithrellas was of the lesser silvan race (and not of the High Elves or the Grey) it was ever held that the house and kin of the Lords of Dol Amroth were noble by blood, as they were fair of face and mind.” The Heirs of Elendil, The Peoples of Middle-earth

The princes of Dol Amroth, of course, are mortal, and this does not contradict anything that has already been established. It is easy to imagine how, in a world where Elves and Men co-exist, there could be many other undocumented cases throughout the years. But what we do know is that no other Half-elf outside of Eärendil’s line would have led a long life by choosing the path of Elves. Therefore, if there were any other Half-elves in the Council of Elrond, aside from Elrond himself, they would have been not much older than Aragorn or Boromir. 

Erestor’s age and role in Rivendell

We now return to Erestor. One of the clearest things in “The Council of Elrond” is the Elves’ reluctance to take the One Ring. Erestor is one of the most vocal about this, and this is one of my favorite themes to explore about his character in the Third Age.

Thematically, Erestor represents the fading of the Elves. He is most known for his quick suggestion to give the Ring to Tom Bombadil. This tells us:

The Elves do not want anything to do with the Ring anymore, a sentiment that would be especially potent for one who was there during the Last Alliance, in the Second Age when Sauron was at the peak of his power; and 

The time of the Elves is ending, and there is little more they can give to Middle-earth.

Granted, Legolas remained a member of the Fellowship and thus represented the Elves, but by Elven standards, Legolas was young, and did not have the weariness that someone older would have. Erestor reads to me as someone older, even older in spirit in comparison to Glorfindel. 

‘We know not for certain,’ answered Elrond sadly. ‘Some hope that the Three Rings, which Sauron has never touched, would then become free, and their rulers might heal the hurts of the world that he has wrought. But maybe when the One has gone, the Three will fail, and many fair things will fade and be forgotten. That is my belief.’ ‘Yet all the Elves are willing to endure this chance,’ said Glorfindel, ‘if by it the power of Sauron may be broken, and the fear of his dominion be taken away for ever.’ ‘Thus we return once more to the destroying of the Ring,’ said Erestor, ‘and yet we come no nearer. What strength have we for the finding of the fire in which it was made? That is the path of despair. Of folly, I would say, if the long wisdom of Elrond did not forbid me.’ -- The Council of Elrond, The Fellowship of the Ring

Erestor has a weariness to him that is even notable especially beside Glorfindel's vitality, whom we know was reborn in Aman as though young again, with "the primitive innocence and grace of the Eldar" (Peoples of Middle-earth). Glorfindel, however, is a special case even among all Elves in the Third Age, while Erestor arguably would have been more representative of them, at least of the ones that remained in Middle-earth.

Another case to be made about Erestor being one of the oldest in Rivendell is by virtue of his status as chief among Elrond’s counsellors. Considering the population of Elves in Rivendell, this is no small feat. As Gandalf told Frodo:

‘Here in Rivendell there live still some of [Sauron’s] chief foes: the Elven-wise, lords of the Eldar from beyond the furthest seas. They do not fear the Ringwraiths, for those who have dwelt in the Blessed Realm live at once in both worlds, and against both the Seen and the Unseen they have great power. [...] Indeed there is power in Rivendell to withstand the might of Mordor, for a while: and elsewhere other powers still dwell.’ -- Many Meetings, The Fellowship of the Ring

So what is he?

The last quote about the Elf-lords of Rivendell is one of the main reasons why I say Erestor is likely of the Ñoldorin Calaquendi. This makes the most sense given his position in Elrond’s household and given the sorts of Elves that dwell there. Fortunately, this still gives us many options: he could be an Elf from Gondolin, from Nargothrond, even among one of the many houses of the Fëanoryn. 

Could he have been any other kind of Elf? Sure! I even particularly have a soft spot for Erestor being Sindarin, but again, given his position, I would guess one of the older lines. Doriath, in particular, would make sense. Given how Elves seem to be “ranked” by wisdom defined by their exposure to the Valar and the rest of the Ainur, Doriath, with Melian’s influence, would have been a special kind of place. 

Could Erestor still be Half-elven? My easiest answer would be that it’s unlikely. But! Do not despair! With fiction, really anything is possible. Erestor could be an exceptional Half-elf and that is why he is chief counsellor. He could still be a kindred of Elrond’s by some obscure line, such as an unrecorded child in the line of Beren and Lúthien, or as a popular fanon, either Eluréd or Elurín survived. Or he could just be the son of some other Elf and Man. But whatever version it is, Erestor Half-elven would not have had the choice of the Half-elves, and so likely would not have been alive beyond the lifetime of a Númenórean.

[aq2003]

like i'm trying to find the words to explain why i found don juan in soho to be so profound and interesting but all i'm coming up with is "they stabbed dj in the dick and when he comes back up to do the curtain call you can see the blood on his pants 10/10 attention to detail and commitment to the bit"

[dootznbootz]

I think some folks MAY have gotten the wrong idea about how I feel about Circe with some of my posts. So, to clear the air...

Homies, I love that fucked up sorceress.

I love how we're never given a reason why she turns people into animals. That's so funny and so awful. And another potion-making magic gal?!?! I love that she's just basically vibing on an island doing whatever she wants. I even love the fact that she scares Odysseus shitless! She's morally gray and that's why she's FUN.

I just sincerely hate when people try to girlboss her or have her be a victim of SA when she never was Looking at you, Miller. Especially when she was actually the one who coerced Odysseus in exchange for his men being transformed back into humans. And even then, while he was clearly afraid of her, (it's in the language of the Odyssey) she likely meant him no harm after a certain point. He just didn't know that.

Why does she need a reason to do awful things? Why can't she just be a goddess who does whatever she wants? That's the reason why I love her!!! She's fucked up!!! :D

I hate what the Telegony did to her as well! >:( You're telling me, this sorceress goddess, who makes potions (!!!) wouldn't have magic contraceptives??? Would WANT CHILDREN?!?! WITH THE PATHETIC WIFEMAN?! No. Fuck no. Eugammon of Cyrene, I have beef with you 🤬

Anyways!!! Understand all the "#anti circe" I have is simply Anti "Girlboss Circe" or the book. I genuinely think she's neat af as her morally gray, fucked up sorceress self and just get frustrated with...everything :'D

[camgoloud]

i’m pretty sure this was done on the tlt subreddit once before but i haven’t seen it here and i’m curious to know tumblr’s opinions on the topic! personally i like the second two much more than the first—gtn didn’t really grab me that much and i wouldn’t have even called myself part of the fandom until i decided i might as well give htn a go and immediately got sucked in—but i’m guessing that most people’s experience is different, since the first book seems like the most popular based on the impressions i’ve gotten. also feel free to put in tags where you’d rank the short stories (as yet unsent and doctor sex) relative to the books! i would have stuck those in the poll too but there are. 120 different ways to order 5 unique objects

[skeletoninthemelonland]

😭😭

[charleslee-valentine]

Menace

For the Texas Chainsaw Massacre Disability Pride Month Event: Day 1- Alternate Communication

Word Count: ~5,200

Warnings: Period typical understanding of trans identities, period typical attitudes, and out of date language. Domestic child abuse. Unintentional ableism/infantilization of a disabled character. Later intentional ableism. Hurt minimal comfort. Mean-spirited. Drayton Sawyer is not nice.

_____________

Bubba’s at that age where he’s got a lot of questions.

A real teenager now, already thirteen and in that phase that the twins had before him, where there’s no excuses or lies to trick them into being quiet and obedient would work anymore. Now he’s got all the questions.

That’s not to say it’s the same kind of curiosity. His older brothers were sneaky, conniving things that could be tricky with the questions they asked, could get answers to things they wasn’t exactly s’posed to know. Somethin’ they were quite proud of.

But Bubba’s questions were more often about the deep thoughts of life. Things like how stars are made and where rainbows come from. Apparently the Bibles in every nightstand weren’t good enough answer for him. Fair enough since nobody read ‘em after Great Grandma’s days.

Bubba, with all his overflowing need for answers, come to the twins with a little notepad. It ain’t easy for him to write, but it’s even harder to speak, so Bubba has a system. He makes little letters and short words along with his noises to build a story his brothers can eventually understand.

Today though, his question is big, and they aren’t getting what he needs. Which means they doesn’t know how to answer it. Which means Bubba gets so upset he’s about to start cryin’.

They take note of the shiny tears formin’ in his big ol’ eyes, and Bobby is the one to promise, “W-We’ll fix it! We’ll fix it, lil’ B-Bubba!”

Nubbins leaves to the kitchen and returns with a cup of juice, the kind with a lid he used to drink from when he was younger but the twins still think he likes, “Here! I-Is ‘at w-what’cha wanted?”

Bubba gives a roll of his (unfortunately misty) eyes and pushes it away with a huff. He’s not a baby that cries for juice, he’s having a crisis and wishes his brothers would just get it.

“Aw, Bubby w-what the hell y-you on?!” Bobby complains sharply, which just kind of makes Bubba lose control and cry.

Both twins feel bad for causing those tears to finally fall, though they won’t say it, deciding to go and find the powers of the house to fix their mess up.

“L-Let’s go ask big b-brother-“ Nubbins announces, looking to Bubba to see if that’s okay, so Bubba gives a tiny nod.

Each takes one of his hands, guiding him as they run down the stairs calling, “Drayton! Drayton!”

They caught him off guard with his second or maybe third coffee of the day, bitter liquid spilling down the rim of the mug and splattering on the counter. Earns them a raised voice, “Christ on a goddamn- Who lit a flame under your asses? I taught you better’n runnin’ ‘round here like hellions!”

“Bubba’s got- B-Bubba’s got a question a-and we c’ain’t figures it o-out!” Nubbins explains for the trio of them, long arms raised out and above Bubba’s head to protect the littlest one from a possible punishment over the spilled coffee.

They’re lucky that their older brother can be a little bit nicer to Bubba, talking to him like a human at times, “That right? C’mere, Bubba.”

Like he’s in trouble, or still five years old and barely walking, Bubba waddles forward to Drayton with his head down and his hands clasped and twiddling behind his back.

Drayton scoffs at his demeanor as though he ain’t given his brothers every reason under the sun to be afraid, “Ain’t in trouble. Wha’s’a matter?”

Because he’s gotten so tall, Bubba hunches his shoulders down to be at a height around the same as Drayton. Quietly, though not quite a whisper on account of not really being able to, Bubba babbles away, his tone and his inflection to the sounds he makes in place of any distinct words.

Drayton never did need the written out sentences that the twins did, understanding his cooing as though he were speaking perfectly clear English.

“Uh-huh..” Eyebrows drawn tight together, a deep frown across his aging face, Drayton asks for the truth, “Boy you ain’t pullin’ on my chain?”

Bubba shakes his head, “Nuh-uh!” Makes a little cross over his heart to swear it's true and everything.

Suddenly his exasperated face turns grim. Mist of sad behind his eyes.

“This’n… Big brother c’ain’t fix this’n, you hear. I’m no good for that.. I’m- Ain’t a very good influence..”

The twins exchange a glance, mutually understanding absolutely nothing of what’s going on, before Nubbins nudges Bobby so he’ll speak up. He chirps, “Drayton? Drayton w-w-watcha talkin’?”

Drayton’s shoulders snap backwards like he’s been shoved over by some specter, startled clear out of his self-reflection and onto the defensive, “Boys your.. your Bubba needs a little help.”

“Tha’s y-yer job though!” Bobby argues, angry that they thought he'd be nice enough to help when they couldn’t figure out how.

“Shut your mouth!” Hand flying out like it’s nothin’, Drayton dishes out a backhand that hits Bobby first and scratches slightly on Nubbins’ jaw too. He gives an order with a grimace, hating to be undermined but never rising to his duties, “You boys take Bubba ‘n show ‘im upstairs to your Gran’parents’ room.”

Timidly, but the curious, argumentative spirit never quite extinguished in him, Nubbins asks, “Why? W-Wha’s up there?”

“I’ll show you when I get to that for God’s sakes!.. Need a damn smoke firs’..” Draytons voice trails off as he storms for the front door, slamming it shut and, from the sound of it, pacing around the porch.

Unfazed, the twins start dragging their little brother around again, “C’mon l-lil’ Bubba!”

Frustrated at being babied in his teen years, Bubba whines all the way up the steps. already a head taller than the shortest of his three older brothers, he can’t grasp why they want to see him as some tiny, fragile baby. Maybe then they’d understand his growing pains, if they could just see him as a regular 13 year old.

“M-Mean ol’ man, huh Bubba?” Bobby bumps him with his shoulder playfully, big cheeseburger smile on, like it’s funny he got hit and Bubba didn’t get any answers.

A whole slurry of sad and frustrated and scared mixes together and just turns Bubba’s stomach. The best he can muster is a shrug.

They take reluctance as a sign of worry, with Nubbins informing him in a harsh whisper, “Y-You’s allowed to say it. Ain’t n-nobody like Cook.”

“E-Even Cook don’ like Cook!” Bobby adds, breaking into a cackle that makes Nubbins laugh along.

That confuses Bubba, making a noise he hopes they can understand so they explain better, “Duh?”

Sort of better. Bobby starts up his rambling, “He’ just pissed ‘cause.. ‘cause I-I bet he had that d-dumb ol’ face his wh-whole life.”

Now that’s confusing. Everyone in the family always had just the one, except for Bubba, ever since he started wearing masks just a couple years ago.

Nubbins starts to steer his twin into understandable territory, “Heh heh, yeh, B-Bubs gets a newww face when- when he’s feelin’ like a stuck-up bitch hog!”

“But all the old man does, i-is make that ol’ sucker face!” Bobby howls.

Of course both twins immediately imitate Drayton’s grumpy face with exaggerated pouts and scrunched features. A rumbly laugh squeaks out of Bubba, though he feels guilty for finding their insults funny. It dies off pretty fast and then he stares at the ground instead, hoping they’re done with their teasing.

It doesn’t help that they’re wrong. Bubba isn’t upset about anything to do with the face and neither was Drayton. The masks have already been serving their purpose, with their makeup and shiny hair. That’s just what scares him. Thinking maybe Drayton got mad about that he likes to wear lady faces sometimes, and the questions starting up now surrounding if that’s allowed.

Because that ain’t the reason, what the twins said ‘bout changin’ every time he gets bored and stuffy and irritated. Bubba thinks that, some of the time anyway, he really is a lady, underneath the face and all.

Miming for the twins to understand that is futile, but he tries anyhow, flashing his hands and pointing to his mask and shaking his head in a pattern.

The twins are not subtle about their confusion. Staring blankly, Bobby asks his twin, “You gots any idea w-what he’s sayin’?”

Nubbins shakes his head no, taking a random guess based on earlier, “Bubba- B-Bubba is you askin’ why.. why the Cook’s so mean?”

“Oh yeah! I-I bet that’s it!” Bobby bounces on his heels, like he’s excited to be wrong.

Poor Bubba makes an ‘X’ with crossed arms, but they just ignore it, their minds made up already about his intention.

Starting with Nubbins, they tell the story they’ve been told when they’ve asked why Drayton was treating them badly, “Well uh..uh.. m-me an’ Bobby, we was born jus’ when Drayton was ‘boutta m-move real far a..away.”

“He-He found some.. some dumb job was gonna s-steal him from the fam’ly. And we th-thinks he had a.. a secret l-lady friend!”

“‘T-‘Til us lil’ cripples was born. Th-That’s his words eh-zactly.”

Bubba’d heard all that before by himself, but it sounded more interesting when the twins told it rather than big brother. At least they weren’t holding it over his head. If he could manage reasonably communicatin’ with them, he’d like to know more, so he makes a motion with his hands pulling towards himself.

Nubbins understands Bubba wants more knowledge, but doesn’t know what to tell him, deciding to reminisce, “I-I-I’s gonna pull out them-them photo picture albums! W-We’ll find somethin’ good in them! Drayton’s book ain’t th-that big, w-we could pull it down for answers!”

Frantic, this attempt at bonding not at all what he wanted, Bubba tries to whine and make a ‘stop’ motion with his hands on account of they aren’t allowed. Getting in trouble is the last thing he wants right now.

But Bobby scolds him, while helping his twin to drag down the giant dusty photo book, “Oh hush, b-big brother ain’t gonna be f-finished with them cigs ‘til- ‘til he’s stinkin’ worse’n G-Gramma used to.”

“Shush it! B-Bubs don’ remembers her neither!” Nubbins gives a thwack to Bobby’s head not unlike the one they received from Drayton earlier for that slip up. Without asking first if Bubba even cared, which he didn’t all that much.

The twins sit on the dusty old bed, each with a cover of the book in their laps over crossed legs. Bobby flips the first few pages, past the really, really old photos of people they never even heard of. Once yellows and orangey browns fades to black and white, they find what they're looking for an’ point for Bubba to see, “Lookie, h-here she is!”

It’s Grandma in her dressey clothes, wrapped in layers and layers of lace and pretty colors they can’t quite see under the colorless photo. She died wearin’ that same Pearl necklace and the curlers that would’ve made her up-did ringlets if she ever gots to take ‘em out. Her gappy, black toothed smile shows a different side, where she’s not so fancy, but they loved her all the same and she loved them. According to how her eyes crinkle and her cheeks look rosy, whole figure outlined by the faintest blur from the shake of her laughter, she loves the little baby in her arms too.

That’s the trouble though. A baby girl, according to the bows on her tiny clothes. Nubbins’ face gets all offended, “W-Wha’s she doin’ in Drayton’s pictures book with some lil’ l-lady baby?” He flips to double-check the name on the front, and sure ‘nough it says ‘Drayton’ right there, in clear as day handwriting. ‘Sides, far as they know, ain’t been a little girl Sawyer born in sixty some years.

“Lemme see that!” Bobby snatches the book away so he can bring it up to his face and narrow his fuzzy eyes at it, focusin’ real hard ‘til he concludes, “Well th-that outta b-be Mama.”

Now Nubbins knows that ain’t right and rolls his eyes, “No, you-you dummy, Gramma was only our age w-when Mommy was born. Ain’t no ol-old lady already.”

“That ain’t old.” Bobby concludes without looking again at Gramma’s obvious wrinkles in the picture.

“It ain’t y-y-young neither!”

“Sh-Shuddup!”

Nubbins being taller is able to snatch the book and clamber to his knees, holding it high up above Bobby’s head. With his other hand, he blocks his scratching and swatting to defend the book, when he turns his head and notices their little brother watching.

“Bubba, y-you wanna sees it?”

Bubba nods oh so excitedly, making hands like grabby little claws. Nubbins giggles and hands it to him, probably hoping to dump it off anyhow so he can fight Bobby with his full attention.

Only a little disturbed by all the commotion and rattling of the bed they’re using as a fighting ring, Bubba slowly flips through, watching the stranger baby girl in Grandma’s arms grow up into a toddler, and then a little kid, no older than seven or eight years old.

And suddenly, the little girl chops all her hair off, and starts swimmin’ in baggy old clothes, and smiles bright ‘n wide, showin’ off two little bucked teeth. That is Drayton.

Bubba gasps and squeals and bounces to get the twins’ attention.

“What? W-What’s a’ matter Bubba?” Bobby checks up, showing actual real concern underneath the big red slap mark on his face.

Nubbins looks, double-takes to process the shocked expression on Bubba’s face, and then gets angry at his twin, blaming him and all the arguing for Bubba’s emotion, “Y-You scared ‘im!”

“Nuh-uh! Uh-uh!” Bubba insists, waving his hands.

They stop to get their answers and see Bubba’s fished out the little picture from under the sticky plastic, holding it out. Flipped to the back, there’s some blue pen, sort of sideways and scratchy writing but easy enough to read.

The twins know it as Mama’s handwriting, a little script that says: ‘Little Es is officially a big boy. Asks we call him - Drayton. 1925’

��Woah.” They deadpan at the same time, sharing another playful nudge over their jinx.

Nubbins is the first to deviate from their identical surprise, with a question, “W-What’s this business big brother was a b-baby girl for? Is a-all babies girls?”

“No way, stupid. J-Just the ones that the Mama and the Daddy gets- gets confused.” Bobby snorts at him, always acting like he’s so much smarter.

Since he wants to be, Nubbins asks him sarcastically, though it is true really doesn’t know on his own, “What’s ‘at mean?”

“They m-mixed it up a-and c-couldn’t tell which was it.” Bobby says it like it’s obvious.

Now it’s Nubbins’ turn to get all haughty, ‘cause he thought of somethin’ smart that says what Bobby’s actin’ like is true, ain’t. “What, y-you thinks babies change they-they’s own diapers? Nope.”

Fed up with them, Bubba covers his ears and squeaks as loud as possible, “Eeee!”

No more words, they both snap to attention looking at him. Bubba calmly starts to mimic with his hands, pointing to the baby girl picture, slicing through the air, and pointing again to Drayton’s first boy picture. He’s trying to show them the progression, that this was a gradual change.

“Uh… Dr-Drayton splitted in half?” Bobby guesses.

Nubbins claps his hands once as he realizes, “No! Bubby says Drayton jus’ a-a replacement! Th-They switched ‘im out!”

Yet again, Bubba is sighing at their wildness and shaking his head over their out of place assumptions.

But he feels bad about it immediately, once Drayton appears. Liked he cursed his brothers to a punishment for mostly innocent teasing by being frustrated at them.

Drayton reeks of cigarette smoke so badly they could prob’ly all suffocate in this dusty old room. He scans and finds the book out of place, immediately turning sour about the face, “What the hell you boys got into, huh?”

Bobby takes their incorrect theory and runs with it, “W-What’s it your business, you ain’t e-even our real big b-brother! Y-You just a replacement!”

“Yeh!!” Nubbins backs him up, nodding furiously.

“Give me that..” Drayton snatches his photo back, cradling it between his hands like they were playin’ with another wounded little baby bird or somethin’, “I oughta whoop you boys. I-I oughta beat you both senseless!!”

His red-faced rage scares them, but they deflect instead of admitting that, Nubbins pointing to their younger brother with accusation, “H-Hey! Bubba looked too!”

“Have you forgotten Bubba was who you two ingrates was s’posed t’ be helping!?” Drayton seems to just shrug off the attempt, turning it into more furious ammunition.

Brown-ish eyes get all wide, Nubbins frantic to insist, “Uh… no! We jus’... uh..”

“W-We don’ understand ‘im!” Bobby finishes for him.

So much for pretendin’ like they got it all handled, they gotta go cryin’ to big brother to fix it like they aren’t grown themselves now too, “We-We’s tried it! But like you s-said, we ain’t v-ver’ smart!”

“B-Big brother, we's jus’ stupid!!” They lament, lanky, scarred up arms finding their place around each other as they both start wailing.

Now Bubba really feels bad. The twin’s last birthday was number 18, meaning in the eyes of the law they was liable on they own now, full grown enough to move out and do somethin’ besides just play all day. Funny thing though, is the government not knowin’ they been workin’ all their lives, ‘round the farm or helpin’ Drayton with his business.

Just don’t seem like it sometimes, when they’re both burstin’ into tears, all torn up over bein’ bad at their assigned role as Bubba’s big brothers. The way they baby him don’t sting quite so much now, knowin’ they was just tryin’ all they knew to get it right. Shouldn’t really be up to them, or Drayton for that matter, it should be their mama.

Bubba saw her picture in his book, her giant brown eyes, carved into her slender face by puffy rims. Her smile was sort of the same way, chipped away from a bony, pale sort of glow about her. Unlike Gramma, Mama didn’t doll herself up in dark red lipsticks and spidery eye lashes. Mama wore every freckle and mole and the burn scar on her cheek with pride.

Looking into that face, peppered with all kinds of realness, Bubba can’t imagine her leaving jus’ ‘cause of his face. Drayton told him that all along, that his face had these awful gaps and dents and pinches that warped it around, along the lines of where he now had ropey pink scars and droopy eyes.

Mama was pretty, so pretty he’s a little jealous, but her eyes just got this look a lot like love and acceptance that makes Bubba want to believe somethin’ different happened back then. It’s nicer to think Mama would’ve helped his ways of communicatin’, than it is to admit she walked out, whatever the reason.

“Now.. Now, that’s enough of that! Quiet!” Drayton is hollering at the twins to stop their cryin’, drawing Bubba up out of the photo book and into the current problem. Or rather, problems, counting being caught with the picture books, yelling at Drayton, all their bickering, and Bubba struggling to communicate on top of all that.

For their part, the twins do quiet down to just sniffles, watching as Drayton points in their faces and turns,

“I’ll be back to you two after ‘ while.”

For now he’s dealin’ with Bubba, who’s got dread pumpin’ in his veins like a rainstorm against the windows.

Drayton wets his lips and forces a chuckle like he does when he’s talking to a victim. Bubba thinks his brother must be half scared of somethin’, as he motions to the photo book, “What’s ‘at you got there?”

It’s got to be a trap. A trick question. Bubba slams it shut and snatches it close, wrapping his arms around it. A teeny part of him hopes he can hide that it’s Drayton’s particular book, until he remembers that he’d already seen the particular snapshot in history they was all lookin’ at.

“Ah, c’mon now. Show me.” Drayton coos, a tone reserved almost exclusively for folks tied to the dinner table, or the way he talks to the food in the truck when he thinks the boys are too busy to listen.

There’s danger in that. Bubba eases up slowly, presenting the book on the page he’d been fixated to. Drayton takes it full out of his hands and flips through with skill and ease, clearly looked through this photo book many times while nobody else was s’pose to see.

What he lands on is another photo of himself, a little older this time, proudly in line with Grandpa, officially recognized as a man of this house. Someone in their history’d doctored it to have a small cut out photo of little Drayton next to it. With his hair in girly piggy tails and a skirt lengthwise down to his shins.

“See here, this’n’s the one I wanted t’ show ya.”

Bubba thinks he’s starting to understand that they were supposed to look in the photo books. Drayton would’ve hit them already instead of later on, if he could truly bring himself to be angry about their spying. Big brother must ought’ been too shy to show off the pictures, preferring them to find it without him in the room. Maybe in case they said somethin’ mean.

“You was sayin’ ‘bout all that, boy-girl business. One to the other, huh? There ya have it. Know a fella myself done that.” He starts, bridging together all the small pieces in Bubba’s head to build the bond he’d hoped.

Earlier, what Bubba told Drayton that the twins couldn’t understand, he was tellin’ about his questions, his crisis, his out of body feelins.

Bobby gets impatient with Drayton takin’ it all so slow though, “Y-You did, you ch-changed-“

“Damn it, I know that! Tryin’a make friendly!“ Drayton whips his head ‘round to yell, taking a slow, deep breath on the way back to brace himself for the serious side of this, “Lookie, Bubba. You know.. heh.. big brother ain’t as naive as I look. Let you do all that business with your makeup ‘n them suits of your departed auntie’s, ‘cause I seen the inklin’ of this all along.”

Like a confused critter, a puppy at the door wonderin’ who’s on the other side, Bubba tilts his head sideways, “Guh?”

“Well now I watched you grow, didn’t I? Noticed you wasn’t like your brothers.” Drayton laughs like there’s a joke, but it’s still too tense to be real. His cold tone and accompanying lisp drop in, “But Bubba, you gots to be real serious ‘bout this if you’s gonna switch it up. Now I.. you know I can’t just start sayin’ I got’a little sister and everybody gonna be okay with it.”

Now Drayton won’t look him in the eyes, in the pretty woman face he’s wearin’ to feel the way his brother is describing, instead fixing his eyes downwards to his hands, “They’ll see through ya. God knows it. Best to stick ‘round the house much as you can if’n you go on with it. Can’t run ‘round the slaughterhouse or the station so free. ‘Til the idea of boy Bubba dies off anyhow.”

It still feels like too much. Like all kinds of commitment and work that’s still going to leave the problem exposed. What Drayton’s talking is doin’ a heart surgery on a brain-dead bitch hog. Ain’t gonna fix a damn thing.

Bubba shakes his head defiantly. The room around him is silent, Drayton’s face falling so bad you’d swear somebody done slapped him right ‘cross it.

Nubbins must noticed, cause he taps Drayton on his arm, whisper-informing him, “Cook, I-I thinks he’s sayin’ he don’ want that.”

“That right, huh? You wanna stay a boy?” Drayton tries to clarify.

But Bubba shakes his head at that too, and crosses his arms now.

“So you is wantin’ to be a girl?”

Another shake. Drayton’s skipping over the right answer, and Bubba hopes he’ll understand that if he could just deny his questions enough. It feels strange, that his usual go-to for understandin’ is now so closed off, caught up in his own experience so much he can’t see Bubba’s how it is.

The twins ain’t perfect about the way they talk with Bubba but they do try, or at least they’s goin’ to now, ‘cause Bobby excitedly declares. “I know this! I-I-I know this! I think Bubba w-wanna be both!”

A little surprised honestly, Bubba feels a big burst of happy energy from his heart out into his limbs. He wiggles his arms and claps his hands together, faster than he would if he were talkin’ this way.

Drayton is stuck up on Bobby bein’ right, not takin’ it a good way like Bubba, “That ain’t the way it works, fool.”

Bubba ain’t sure if he’s talkin’ the boy-girl stuff, or the ‘Drayton isn’t always right and the twins know their shit sometimes’ stuff.

“S-Sure it is! If that’s what B-Bubba wants!” Nubbins sounds too confident, and they all realize he’s just rubbing salt in the wounds as much as he is extending an olive branch past the old man to Bubba.

“Yeh! O-Old man don’ make the rules!” Bobby agrees, and they’re across the other side of the bed, but Bubba feels like they’re huggin’ him, wrapped around with happy feelings and pleasant warmth.

“I ain’t old yet. And damn it I didn’t say a contrary word!” Drayton insists, taking the high road. No fists go flying, or belts for that matter, just a sort of vulnerability uncovered that would usually have that violent shield over top when his usefulness slipped, “Bubba, help your big brother understand.”

“Uh…” Bubba don’t know how. It’s been put plainly already. He just kinda freezes with his wrists bent up soothingly.

“U-Use the p-pictures, Bubs!” Bobby encourages him, since that’s how he got his point across to them before. Poorly scrawled words didn’t ever really cut it and neither did his gestures, so pictures would have to do.

Only, he doesn’t really get how to do that with limited photos of Drayton’s upbringing that got nothin’ to do with this current issue at all. That must show in his eyes, the panic and the just stuck feeling that’s catching up to him.

Nubbins suggests, “Make.. m-make new ones!”

To show it’s possible, Bobby fetches another yellow-paged notepad, while Nubbins produces a pencil from behind his ear, there ‘cause he was copying the pen Drayton usually keeps there on his own person.

Bubba babbles his version of a thank you, simple phrases like that still known to the family more than this complex stuff, and begins doodling. It takes two entire pages to show it all in his pictures, things like Bubba changing outfits, wearing his boy self and then his girl self, a calendar and the rotating sun showing it’s a day to day sort of thing. At first, Bubba had wanted to know if that was normal, his questions being about how to handle it.

Their reactions were answer enough though, and now it’s just like he’s answerin’ his own questions. Makes him feel kinda smart, drawing out answers and showing all the feelings her never managed to speak on. Really and truly communicating.

Drayton looks it all over when he’s finished and sort of half, fake-smiles.

“Sometimes a she, sometimes a he. Long as yer dressed accordin’ly, think I can work with ‘at. Knew a few fellas down… well you don’ want ‘t know all ‘at. Heh. Older you kids get, less I think I’m knowin’ how ‘t talk to ya.”

Shaking his head at himself in something like shame, Drayton gets up to leave. He’s frustrated at having failed at understanding, but just as much about having passed on his afflictions in the way of the human sex to poor Bubba somehow.

Hands shaking, he goes to the door to leave, before stopping. His heavy, quivery breaths fill the room more than any of the noise they’d been making today, “Bubba. Don’t go tellin’ this to the outside, you hear? These drawins, they stay in the home. To the outside you’re mute again.”

“That ain’t f-fair! I-If we can understands his art, e-everyone oughta, a-and he’ll be jus’ like normal!” Bobby stands and argues, his twin nodding furiously behind him.

Bubba though, he doesn’t like all the yelling and covers his eyes to hide from it.

“Hell what makes you boys think you know a damned thing about normal? Huh? What makes ya think I don’t?” Drayton had stomped forward, probably grabbed the boy according to the way Bobby yelped. Bubba curls up tighter and hopes that slap he just heard doesn’t hurt as bad as it sounded.

“Thats right ain’t nothin’ normal ‘round here, ‘n I ‘llow that much, but you find yourself testin’ my damn limits!!”

The door slams again and something falls over, a bone animal Bubba is pretty sure but not positive until he’s ready to uncover his eyes. In the quiet, the twins check up on each other first before coming back to gently inform Bubba.

“Psst. Bubba. H-He gone.” It’s Nubbins that says that.

Slowly Bubba comes out of hiding, obvious to all that a couple tears slipped past and wet his mask just so. Staying hushed, Bobby gently takes the drawing pad he was using and puts it in the big pocket on the inside of his sleeveless jacket.

“Iss alright. Lookie. Here look. I-I’s gon’ keep this.. this lil’ pad in my pocket, a-an when you wants to speak you tell one ‘f us. Th-That way, you ain’t the one c-carryin’ it so y-youu won’ get in trouble!”

“Tha’s sm-smart.” Nubbins testifies, grinning some. Seeing his toothy smile makes Bubba feel better, catching his breaths and steadying back out to no more panic. He gives a nod in agreement.

Bobby got a little ego about him from that claim, “I know it! W-We both is!”

Instead of the argument Bubba was expecting, the twins clap their hands together and clasp them there, connecting and silently saying that they handled this good. Cheeriness comes back into them and they’re laughing like hyenas before Bubba’s had time to process.

He still feels a little sad on his own. Ain’t easy bein’ told he’s a freak of nature needs to hide from the public, no matter how many times or for which reason it happens.

At least the notepad wasn’t burned up or somethin’, and he’s still ‘llowed to use it at home. Looking at all the photo albums, home to the first inkling of this understanding, he gets the idea to make a new one, that will hold his communication drawings as the pictures. That’ll be his next craft, and surely Nubbins will be able to help him with the sewing and gluing ‘til he gets real good on his own. Brings a crooked smile to his face as well.

[danothan]

a very important characteristic i try to keep in mind when drawing barry is giving him that polite white ppl smile. you know the awkward one that goes like:

this is as essential as his lightning blushies to me.

[appallinnballin]

ELLO 😊👋

First off your art style is SO AWESOME 💯

Second, why don't you draw nikusa,agoti,aldryx,or solazar anymore if you don't mind me asking of course, but if you are going to draw them soon can you draw nikusa for me pls I love her; also thanks for reading my question have a good day

thanks so so much ☺️ I do still draw them, lately I haven’t had the motivation nor the time (job and school) to really do any art in general. but for you, I’ll strive one time to doodle the void queen <3

[skrunksthatwunk]

devil marbly carbly ft me trying to figure out how to draw all of them in real time

(the dubstep weed jacking off shirt is from a meme i would source if i uh. remembered it sorry </3)

[delivish]

Little Stanman-ish drabble hehee;; ✨✨

Kyle, Kenny, and Cartman were already waiting at the bus stop. 

They used to all walk together, but ever since Randy had packed the family up and moved them out to that fucking farm, Stan had been making the daily trek by himself. Of all the things he hated about living on a farm, having to walk to the bus stop alone was probably the thing he hated the most, and that was really saying something because he found fresh things to dislike about it nearly every minute of every day. Stan had sort of hoped that his mother's common sense would have won out, and they'd be back in town by now—

 (back to the same old routine, the same old neighborhood in the same old slightly-shabby house, the same shitty walk to school in the cold, half-halfheartedly listening to Kyle and Cartman argue about some stupid thing or another, and, god, he'd wanted to be anywhere else back then but now Stan would give anything to have that sense of normalcy)

—but to his immense disappointment, Sharon seemed to have adopted a 'let's just make the best of it' attitude. Stan had been sulking for months: shirking his chores, ignoring his homework, snapping at his family when he saw them, isolating himself in his room when he didn't, and it must have been bad because his mom had finally looked him in the eye this morning and told him with grave seriousness that life wasn't fair. People didn't always get what they wanted simply because they wanted it, and he could either learn to roll with the punches or spend the next few years completely miserable. 

"...bitch," Stan muttered under his breath as he stormed out, expecting—or maybe only hoping—to feel cool and smug and vindicated, but he'd just felt bad. Stan loved his mother, but she just didn't get it. 

Nearly every day had been a bad day since he'd moved, and today was no exception. School had become his reprieve, but Stan hadn't been looking forward to showing up this morning. If it weren't for the knowledge that Kyle and Kenny would only have given him more shit than they already had, Stan would have come up with some excuse to stay home.

Both Kyle and Kenny turned to stare as he trudged up. Kyle arched a brow at him, curious, whereas Kenny was already starting to turn red with the effort of holding in his laughter. Cartman was completely oblivious, his nose buried in his phone, apparently having decided to ignore them all for whatever it was he happened to be looking at. Stan could see the doubt written all over Kyle and Kenny’s expressions, smug and teasing: Dude, there’s no way you won’t chicken out. 

Stan clenched his teeth, turning his attention away from them and back to Cartman—he was sure he’d never spent more than a second or two looking at the boy, and even then, only to check that he was out of range of whatever scheme Cartman happened to be brewing that day.

They’d grown up together and went to school together, and, for some reason, they all hung out together; he’d known the guy literally all his life, so Stan supposed Cartman was his friend in that sense, but it'd never really felt like it. Cartman had always been a nuisance at best and actively hazardous to one’s health at worst, and Stan had learned a long time ago that the best way to deal with Cartman was to quickly check that you weren’t actively in his sights, then step the hell aside. He had none of Kyle’s bravery, his audacity to go toe-to-toe with him; watching them fight was like watching an unstoppable force ramming up against an immovable object, and sometimes, Stan couldn’t help wondering where he fit into all that, jealous in some strange and inexplicable way because he'd never driven anyone crazy the way Cartman and Kyle drove each other crazy. 

Cartman was short and fat and had a soft, round baby-face with full lips and thick brows that Stan realized he must trim to keep them looking so neat. His skin was perfect, and Stan kinda hated that because he’d been plagued with breakouts since the beginning of high school. Cartman finally glanced up as Stan stepped closer, only just now noticing he was there—his eyes were dark brown and fringed by equally dark lashes, and his expression cycled rapidly through a kind of blank surprise to an equally blank concern as Stan leaned in even closer. 

“Uh. Can I help you?” Cartman said. “Your little boyfriend’s over there,” he added when Stan made no reply; he would feel Kyle and Kenny’s eyes on him, and Cartman was beginning to frown, and Stan knew better than to let Cartman build any sort of momentum. 

So Stan cupped his face, hauled Cartman close, and pressed his lips to his. 

Stan wasn’t really sure he could even call this a kiss because Cartman’s lips were just kind of hanging slack while he was exaggeratedly puckering his own and mashing them against Cartman’s face like a pillow he meant to smother him with. Cartman’s cheeks were warm under his palms, like cupping a sun-ripened peach fresh off the branch, and he smelled surprisingly good up close, like fresh soap and moisturizer. Stan wasn’t sure why it surprised him so much to think that Cartman might be vain enough to put real effort into his appearance—because, of course, if anyone would be, it would be Cartman—but it did. Cartman had gone stiff and still under his hands. Stan could hear Kenny busting a gut, but the sound was curiously far away, his guffaws drawn-out by Stan's disgust at what he was doing and his determination not to be perceived as a bitch, as someone too chickenshit to follow through on a losing bet. 

Except he wasn’t disgusted, not really—Cartman was warm and soft, and he smelled good, and those full lips of his were as plush as they’d looked, and for half a second, Stan thought he felt Cartman’s mouth tremble against his. Had Cartman ever been kissed? Somehow, Stan doubted it. 

But in the next half-second, it was over. Cartman was shoving him away, his face a shade of red Stan didn’t think he’d ever seen on him before. He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth, staring at Stan accusingly. 

“‘Ey!” Cartman hissed. “What the hell?”

“Damn, dude,” Kyle remarked conversationally. “I didn’t actually expect you to go through with it.” 

[waterfallofspace]

A Game Of Chess

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

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

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

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

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

~~~ Check ~~~

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

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

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

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

“What a load of-” 

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

“AHK’SHHaa! Christ.”  

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

They’d be wrong. 

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

And besides- 

“AESHH’ah!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Perhaps.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“hiEHh– D-Dazai…” 

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

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

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

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

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

“Did I say you could?” 

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

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

“No.” 

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

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

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

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

“AESH’NGKT! Merde-” 

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

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

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

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

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

“hieHh–!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m gonna kiss you again.” 

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

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

“Shut up and kiss me, bastard.”

~~~ Mate ~~~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“AESHH’ou!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[szappan]

university.. university leave me alone