#( do you ever actively ignore your own pain / reservations out of a mix of guilt and self loathing and dehumanization because he does )

[erabundus]

no one has to know you have problems and toxic coping mechanisms if you just don't TALK about them — ever!

[yandere-flower]

I wrote this for another blog months ago but could you do a piece where reader has a memory erasing quirk and she has used this quirk on Shinso (or any other bnha guy) 5 times. When he reveal their Yandere side the first time, she erased their memory and would avoid him. But not matter how many times, he always ends up falling for her. The 5th encounter was the last straw and during this 5th love confession, she just breaks down and feels so defeated. Reality: She can’t get away from him.

HEY I ACCIDENTALLY DELETED THIS THE FIRST TIME AND I HATE MYSELF SO MUCH

Anyway I’m sorry this isn’t as good, I feel terrible about that mistake

Shinsou x Reader under the cut

The first time you took Shinsou’s memory, you immediately regretted it. It should’ve been just a normal day, walking back from school together as you lived on the same street. You grew to really like Shinsou, you even admired him. Just, not like he wanted. You had no idea the stoic boy had any feelings for you, his confession leaving you frozen in place. You could feel your skin boiling and yours cheeks reddening by the second. To him you probably looked like a blushing bride, ready to be swooped away by the corniest of confessions. He was so blunt in his wording, it’s hard to forget such few words.

“I want you to be with me”

It wasn’t the most romantic of words, more so possessive than anything. You did the only thing that came to mind and said no. You hadn’t imagine you of all people could hurt this danger of a man, but you could see his face fall in something akin to actual sadness. You started to hate yourself for what you did to him. He use to be so closed off and reserved, only recently coming out of his shell and because of you it would all fall apart. So you took the memory. Took it right from him like you had any right.

The second time you took his memory, you felt a twinge of relief mixed in with your overwhelming guilt. He was suppose to confess again. He was suppose to look at you, and be reminded of sadness without ever really knowing why. You left just a bit left, just enough to free him of you. Yet you found yourself at that spot once again. You normally tried to walk faster, leave the awkward tension that you and Shinsou had. But halfway through your walk he grabbed your hand and pulled you to face him. He started to utter those same words, but this time you took the memory before he could even finish. You told yourself it was the right thing to do as you walked even faster home, leaving a confused Shinsou behind you.

The third and fourth time is when you realized the depth of his affections. After a third attempt of taking his memory on that afternoon walk home, you told yourself you had to ditch Shinsou. You pretended like you had after school activities or that you had a ride now. Anything to repeat the events of the past few days. You hoped that maybe confessing was just a muscle memory to him now. You hadn’t expected him to show up at your door, uninvited, with snacks and a movie you’ve been telling your friends you loved. Not him though, you barely talked to him anymore. You remember how you meekly told him you weren’t feeling well, cursing yourself for not looking out the window to see who it was first. As you went to close the door, his foot suddenly found itself wedged between your door and it’s frame.

“Let me take care of you, we have finals coming up”

You didn’t want to let him in, but taking a memory filled with rage and anger would leave behind some residue. Maybe if you were just cold to him the entire night you could take his memory and just leave behind enough to sour whatever feelings he had left. The entire night you could feel the sweat glide down your neck, wondering if his eyes were watching you or the movie. You didn’t dare look at him however. That night your realized you didn’t care about Shinsou and his sadness anymore, you just wanted out. You were sick of him, hell, you were frightened of him. As the night carried on, he would edge himself closer and closer to you, and you always had some excuse. More popcorn, a glass of water, potty break, oh my friend needs me. That last one let you see just how scared of Shinsou you should be. You held the phone to your ear, barely listening to whatever gossip your friend was telling before the phone was quickly taken from your grasp. Shinsou’s glare that night was intense, fueled with jealously and anger, as if he wanted to be the only one in your life. He confession of love echoing in your head as he cried, desperate to explain his outburst. You didn’t want to hear it, you just didn’t care anymore. You pushed him out your door despite his cries, taking his memory and locking your door behind you. A confused Shinsou knocked on your door, confused as why he was there but wanting to see you. You drowned out the noise by crying into your arms as you just wanted him to go away.

It’s been over a month since you last spoke to Shinsou, and some days you wonder if he heard your tears that night. If he understood the pain he caused you. Or if he just gave up on you. You silently wished this was over, but every once in a while you felt a chill down your back. Like someone was watching you. Your friends started to become more distant, and you could see the fear in their eyes. They would blow you off, or tell you hurtful things they thought about you with tears in your eyes. You knew what this was about. In deeper reflection, you guess Shinsou was getting back at you. Perhaps he figured out what you did to him on top of the constant rejection. But you don’t care anymore.

You wanted to yell at him and confront him, but you know you would only be inviting him to control you. You just had to ignore him. The entire day you spent trying to figure out how to get back at Shinsou. You could tell the teachers, but you would get in trouble as well. You could transfer, but this is everything you ever wanted. You were so lost in thought that you forgot to ask your mom for a ride this afternoon.

You had to walk home.

You hadn’t felt that fear in so long, but it was eerily familiar. You walked alone, each step heavy with fear and anticipation. Any moment Shinsou could appear, could ramble on about his feelings for you and why you should be together. You didn’t want to paint him in such a way but it was hard not to after everything that has happened. Just another corner and you would be home. You could craft your apologetic email to the staff at UA, and confess what you did. Surely they would understand, or at the very least just protect you. You didn’t care you decided, as long as you were away from him. You were to busy mentally writing your email that you hadn’t notice Shinsou sulking behind you, his expression wrought with frustration. You wouldn’t even notice him as he was right behind you. Shinsou may not have known what you were planning, but it didn’t matter. He had a plan of his own. You didn’t notice him until his hands were wrapped firmly around you, one hand clasped over your mouth and nose, forcing you to roughly fall unconscious in his arms.

When you woke you were in an unfamiliar space. The place was kind of rundown, but all the locks on the windows looked new and sturdy. Just like the one on the chain around your ankle. You wish you could be confused, but you knew exactly who this was. That didn’t stop the tears from flowing as your purple haired stalker coughed to get your attention.

“I guess you could just take my memory again, pretend that someone else kidnapped you and you’re excited to see me, your hero”. he sighed, almost dreamily, as if he liked the idea. “But do you really think I’d free you? After all…”

“I just want you to be with me”

[vampiricallyinclined]

Prompt: “Do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now” & “You come to my room and wake me up at 4am, to cuddle?” - Prompt Lists

Tagging: @xodanielle101 (requester)

Could you really call it a win, when so many had died in order to get there? The thought raced around your mind as you tossed and turned in your bed, restless and self-aware. It seemed as though the rest of the household had no problems celebrating the win; Klaus and Kol had been cheerfully celebrating, drinking straight from the bottle as he danced about the kitchen, Rebekah was surprisingly more sedate, simply sitting down at the breakfast bar, rolling her eyes at her brothers’ antics, yet still happily joining them in their drinking. Only Elijah appeared to show any hints of remorse, ignoring the celebrations along with you, and heading to bed some hours ahead of his siblings. You followed suit soon after, a forced smile on your lips as you shook your head at the offer of another drink from Kol, slipping off upstairs into the relative quiet.

It had been some hours now since the noise and excitement downstairs had died away, the rest of the Mikaelson’s finally heading off to bed, but you still found yourself awake, plagued with the images of the witches and werewolves who had lost their lives in your surprising victory. Normally a fight wouldn’t affect you as much, after all, associating with the Mikaelson’s certainly led to an awful amount of fights, but this time you weren’t fighting for them. This wasn’t Klaus’ battle, and you weren’t dragged into along with his siblings; this was your doing.

A witch you had unintentionally hurt in the 1950’s had spurred her coven and a pack of werewolves against you, convincing them you were a threat to their lives and their loved ones, and the truth held no say in the matter. You hadn’t wanted it to come to this, though. You were willing to sacrifice yourself, to pay for your wrong doings, even if the punishment outweighed the crime, as long as no one else was hurt. Of course, that plan was throw to the wolves, rather literally, when Kol, curious as to where you were going, decided to follow you. The second he realized what was going on, he instantly called Elijah, in a rather uncharacteristic display of worry. Before you knew what was happening he had, with a rather arrogant swagger about him, interrupted the inaccurate charges being thrown at you by pitching a nearby pipe towards the witch, catching her in the throat, mid-sentence, nonetheless.

The sights rushed from your mind as you hurriedly shook your head, desperate to clear the image and the ensuing battle from your thoughts. With a deep frown you decided to give up on sleep, knowing all too well the battle would not allow you any peace for a good while. Getting out of bed, not giving a damn you were in your pyjamas, you decided to head downstairs, perhaps you could find a book that would grab your attention, or get some cleaning done; after all, you knew there was no chance Kol, Klaus or Rebekah had bothered to touch the mess they made last night.

Slipping into the hallway quietly, you did your best not to wake any of the original vampires, but it seemed you didn’t have to worry quite as much as you had. Light shone from the crack under Elijah’s door and before you knew what you were doing, your feet were leading your intrigued mind towards it. Stopping outside the door, you listened carefully for any hint as to whether he had somehow fallen asleep with the light on or was, for some unknown reason, still awake. A heavy sigh came from within the room, followed by the slight crinkle of a page being turned, and a hint of a smile played on your lips.

“Do you plan on standing out there all night, or are you coming in?” an amused voice called out lightly, prompting you to shyly open the door. Not knowing what to say, you simply lingered at the doorway awkwardly, sights quickly glancing over the original vampire who sat propped up against the headboard of his bed, a sheet covering his lower half, his chest bare, hidden slightly by the book he still he up, merely looking over it to watch you carefully.

Normally you wouldn’t feel quite so awkward around him, he was, by far, your favourite of the family, and you had grown rather close during the past few decades. But with the horrid feeling of guilt eating you up inside and the fact that prior to now he hadn’t said so much as one word to you since arriving with Klaus and Rebekah to help you and Kol fight the menagerie of opponents, you found yourself uncertain around him for the first time since 1962.

With a soft and sympathetic smile, Elijah tilted his head, beckoning you towards him as he patted the bed next to him, encouraging you to join him. With a small smile, you made your way into the room, carefully closing the door behind you before slipping under the sheet and curling up next to him, not knowing exactly where to look as you avoid focusing on his now much clearer and closer toned chest. A blush rose to your cheeks and you were suddenly glad that it only the lamp on his side of the bed illuminated the room, keeping it dark enough that you could hide your traitorous cheeks.

“You come to my room and wake me at 4am, to cuddle?” Elijah teased, putting his book away as he wrapped his arm around you, pulling you closer to him. You couldn’t help but relish in the warmth and comfort that came from his hold, and for just a moment you couldn’t help but savour the feeling, wanting nothing more than to remember exactly how it felt to be in his arms when you no doubt would crave to be there in the future.

“Shut up,” you pouted with a small, emotionless laugh. “We both know you were awake, unless reading in your sleep is some Original thing you’ve forgotten to tell me about.”

A light chuckle fell from his lips, his chest vibrating at the sound. “Very well,” he nodded in admission, turning onto his side so he was facing you properly. “I couldn’t sleep, my mind seems to refuse to let go of today’s activities. I take it you’re having the same problem?”

Your head hung low, shifting against his bicep until your gaze focused on the fitted sheet below you. “It shouldn’t have even happened,” you spoke softly. “Kol never should have followed me there, none of you should have been involved. This was my fight.”

“A fight you weren’t going to have,” Elijah added with a pointed look as he gently lifted your gaze to meet his once more, his eyes now filling with anguish and pain. The fact had been plaguing him ever since he answered Kol’s call, and while he had done his best to hide it, he wasn’t about to let it go just yet. You were willing to give yourself up without any form of resistance and that fact seemed to eat away at his very soul. He had always been so careful when you were involved in any of the family’s altercations, terrified of losing you, and the thought that you would willingly give yourself up after all that you had been through brought a horrid ache to his very soul. “What happened today had to happen, there is no way around it.”

“You don’t have to lie, Elijah,” you sighed, your gaze slipping from his comforting features as guilt overtook you, but his fingers stayed there, encouraging you to look at him. “I know you, I know you’re no happier about what happened today than I am. You shouldn’t have been pulled into my mess.”

“Y/N,” Elijah sighed sadly, desperately wanting to comfort you. Perhaps he hadn’t hidden how he felt as well as he had thought, he thought with a heavy frown. “Today was not your fault, and if I made it seem that I thought that-” he trailed off, searching for words.

“I know you, you were angry when we got back,” you prompted, a frown settled on your lips as you glanced up at him, almost daring him to refute it. Over the decades you had witnessed his silent rage a few times, usually directed at Klaus, and the fact that it had been you that had received the silent treatment, well, that would not leave your mind any time soon.

Shaking his head against his pillow, his hand gently brushed your hair from your cheek, his eyes filled with a solemn sadness. “I was not angry with you, Y/N. I was angry that any of this happened. I was angry that I only learnt of what was happening when Kol called. I was angry you did not think we could work this out together.”

“I didn’t want to pull you into my mess,” you repeated meekly, your sights focusing once more on the cotton sheets that surrounded you.

“After all the things my family has pulled you into?” he practically scoffed, his smile not reaching his eyes. “Y/N, had Kol not called you would have died at their hands. Those people were more than happy to see an end to you, and there is no situation in which that is alright.”

“Yes, I could have died, but only me,” you spoke up, determination in your gaze as you finally found your voice. “This was my problem, Elijah, I was willing to pay the price for my actions. I didn’t want you all brought into it because I didn’t want you hurt, how do you not see that?” your voice was pleading as you looked desperately into his eyes, searching for an answer as he furrowed his brow.

Shaking his head again, he ran his hand over your hair once more, a longing look in his gaze. “They couldn’t have killed us, Y/N, but you, you could have died.”

“But they could have hurt you,” you repeated with a frown, attempting to keep your focus on the discussion and not the soothing feeling that came from his hand against your head. “I don’t want you hurt because of me.”

“Y/N,” he sighed, inching towards you in a plea for you to see the truth behind his words. “I would die for you, surely you know that.”

Realization mixed with awe at his words and your mouth hung open, drawing his attention to your lips without reserve. A blush crept back onto your cheeks as your own gaze flickered to his lips before catching his eyes. “Do you want to kiss as bad as I do right now?”

“God yes,” he muttered, his hand pulling you towards him as he claimed your lips hungrily with his own.

[athina39]

senpai will u ever write dazai pov for your latest fic?

kouhai, ask and you shall receive!

♣ home is where the heart is♥ [read dazai’s pov @ AO3] ♦ [or read below the cut :D]♠ the intermission is 100% dazai’s pov + 100% flashback to the Moment dazai realized he’s 1000% into chuuya

your heart is my home

He’s leaning against a cool metal railing, splintered off from all of its buddies on the ceiling above that—oh dear, it looks like it’s all precarious and about to collapse on top of him.

On a day where everything has happened so far according to his plans—managing to use No Longer Human against Crime and Punishment just before both of their Abilities have been erased, restraining and gagging the Demon so that he’s ready for detainment, orchestrating every single person at his disposal so that they’ll arrive at this precise moment—getting crushed by an unstable building seems like a fitting end.

If he manages to just slide a couple more meters to the right, using his blood to lessen the friction of his body against the flooring, he’ll reach and topple over a broken tenth-floor window. He’ll have even more internal bleeding, some more broken bones, possibility of dying at more than fifty percent. Then again, if he stays here as the ceiling collapses – Atsushi-kun and Akutagawa-kun do not know the meaning of restraint when fighting, even as temporary allies – there’s a ninety-nine percent chance of dying.

It’s been a long twenty-four years. He’s managed to save people, screw some people over, helped others live, pushed others to death. He’s managed to stop a worldwide disaster – even at the cost of having Abilities permanently erased from this world – and he’s managed to defeat a long-time enemy. It’s a fairly eventful life, the gaping hole inside his chest that somehow has been partially filled by OdaSaku’s outlook in life still churning and gnawing at his entire being.

The people he’s currently with—he respects them, their shining brilliance in accepting life. The people he’s left behind—he respects them, their grim determination to thrive from the deaths all around them. He wants to continue existing just as much as he wants to exit this game that has dragged on for too long.

With his less-damaged arm, he rummages in his coat’s pocket – takes out his phone and a necklace. To be honest, he’s forgotten about the necklace – he’s removed it from its usual place prior to the final confrontation with the Demon, in a half-hearted attempt to keep it safe from harm.

Like a lot of things, the necklace started off as a whimsical joke, something that he’s thought of springing off in its intended target once things were less tense, reserved for a day that he needs cheering up because there’s always something incredibly fun about seeing that hatrack’s confused and enraged face. He’s fond of revealing things slowly and purposely, so he’s sure that even until now, that petit mafia is still not aware of the culprit behind his unevenly-chopped off hair.

So he ignores the necklace for a moment, focusing his efforts on his phone instead. He thinks of leaving a cryptic dying message – scratch that, multiple cryptic dying messages to various people, idly wondering if Ranpo-kun will manage to solve it quickly or if he will be tainted by the idea of a death of a colleague, lazily speculating the chances of the midget drowning himself in bottles of wine from receiving his message, half in celebration and more than half in enraged confusion.

He fiddles with the recording app – because hey, he still has a gorgeous face even if it’s a bit bloody and scratched, and these people deserve to see his face and hear his voice as he recites riddles to distract them from the fact that it apparently only takes one well-placed steel beam on top of his head to shut him up eternally.

But in a day where everything has mostly gone according to plan, it’s almost fitting that he ends up half-frozen, half-interested in the most recent recording showing up on his app. Logically, he already knows what’s in that recording. He’s the one who recorded it to begin with. But he can’t quite stop his fingers from opening the recording – the tinny sound reverberating fully inside his skull, the shaky video steady in his mind’s eye.

(It’s not an entirely coincidental meeting – Hirotsu-san has mastered the terribly neutral tone even in texts, managing to sound without any ulterior motives when he tells him about an embarrassment making a spectacle of himself at one of the bars in the outskirts of Port Mafia’s territory. But there’s no pressure in that message, no coaxing about making sure his ex-partner doesn’t die of alcohol poisoning, no guilt-tripping into taking responsibility for driving their most powerful Executive into a hot mess. It leaves him with a choice and that’s how he too-lightly makes his way to the bar that has no Port Mafia security lining up the entrances and exits.

He’s already taking out his phone and recording the plum-flushed cheeks of the midget, reddened eyes nearly overshadowed by his drunkenness, coat strewn around and shirt unbuttoned halfway down. “Too careless, Executive Chuuya~~~♪”

Chuuya, drunk as he is, merely groans like an aggressive cat against the wooden bar, questionable liquid near his mouth. He generously thinks that it’s spilled wine and drool, instead of something saltier and more painful.

“What would your beloved subordinates say about their favorite boss?”

He plucks the abandoned cellphone with one hand, stifling a grin when the most recent phone records all show his number, calls to M A C K E R E L in short bursts of 5 to 10 seconds, because he picks them up and doesn’t say anything until Chuuya starts screaming before he hangs up. The message drafts have 88 unsent items, more than half of them ridden with typos and capslock, all of them with a disquieting sense of loss and anger.

He sends all of the drafts to their intended recipient, his own phone buzzing seconds afterward and making the video shaky.

“I’m recording you so you can see how noisy your snoring is, you know. So irresponsible – I can kill you easily like this, you see.”

He thinks of a world without Chuuya and stops short, because he nearly drops his phone. He resumes recording the hatrack’s drunken snoring, incessantly poking at the other’s face – wait, he orders whiskey on the rocks and takes out the block of ice and presses it against the other’s swollen cheek instead.

Chuuya, who hates the cold ever since before, groans louder and tries to swat him away. Fortunately for his entertainment, the action only causes the man to flail about and free-fall from the bar to the floor. Unfortunately for him, he witnesses the other man’s strange ability to control his Ability when unconscious, his own Corruption corrupting him to the point that it automatically activates when he’s about to get his nose broken by collapsing on the floor, lessening the impact and instead just leaving him as a pathetic lump on the floor.

He’s never been a kind man, so he keeps the recording on as he nudges Chuuya’s body with his shoe. “Still alive, you drunkard?”

It’s not entirely unexpected, but the commotion apparently drags some semblance of consciousness to the other, blue eyes blinking blearily up at him. It’s not entirely unthinkable, but the fact that the first emotion on the other’s eyes is a mix of recognition and relief—it stops his breath short and his grip on his phone slacks again.

“D-Dazai.”

It’s a strangled sound, almost as though Chuuya’s had to wrench his name from somewhere deep, buried by years and resentment. It’s a wonderful sound, because he’s always wanted to be buried deep into nothingness. It should be a wonderful sound and instead it only makes him bend his knees as he lowers himself to be nearer to the reeking alcoholic mess in front of him.

“Where do you want me to take you, partner?”

It’s not supposed to sound so genuine, but maybe it is. He plans on dumping Chuuya on some abandoned alley regardless of his answer anyway – it’s not like he’s interested in sneaking around Port Mafia security with a deadweight lightweight on his arms at two in the morning.

“Aren’t I—” Chuuya makes a wretched, retching noise, the reddened rim around his eyes bringing out their blueness even more as he stares, blinks, stares some more. How he’s able to keep his right hand steady in angling the phone by his knee, he’s not entirely sure. “—but you’re here—already—I’m home?”

Dazai drops his phone then, the video ending with the immense confusion on Chuuya’s voice.)

Moments before the ruined building collapses entirely, Dazai Osamu’s phone records a grainy video taken with steady hands, the split-second transformation of apathy to determination captured. There’s only one line in it, spoken as a green pendant stuffed with a supposedly-shocking-joke of cut-off complementary red locks, settles into the other’s chest.

I need to go home.