#And loneliness or not that’s just self-absorbed & dense

[mysticalcoffeequeen]

I like how people in the notes & comments are like “yeah who doesn’t like a person who listens to them” or “ he probably does this with other people LMAO you’re not special” yeah that’s not the fucking point! This is about men who are so simple & self-absorbed, they automatically assume their date/crush is genuinely interested in them (esp. romantically) because they didn’t interrupt or leave after minute 3 of him talking about himself . These guys don’t want or care for conversation, they’ll never ask how your day was or discuss actual topics. They only find themselves interesting & so long as you sit still and listen for however, they’ll think you do too & get so comfortable they let their true selves shine right through & it’s only the second date.

[jedifarmerr]

The Olgo Shipmax pt. 2

Mando x F! Reader

Rating: E (18+)

Word Count: 5.3k (oops)

Warnings: male masturbation, mild violence, yearning, sad!Din, sexual themes, sexual situation, smut!

Don’t want to give too much away, so if you are worried, send me a message and I will give you a full list.

Pt. 1

The fluorescent lights of the Shipmax edged closer and closer with each step, a signal of the end of the walks that Din cherished. He enjoyed the normalcy, the almost intimate conversations shared between ships, two friends catching up after time spent apart. He talked about planets you never knew existed, and you of a less dangerous life that Din never experienced, one ripped away from him. In those moments, Din forgot the painful ache of loneliness that awaited him at the end of the ramp. The reminder would follow, in the enclosed coldness of the steel walls that lacked noise outside of the ship’s hum.

Din’s steps clumped across the gravel, his usual strut, one more confident and appealing, hindered by the release that covered his thighs. Honestly, he hampered the whole walk, from his lack of self-control and his paranoia from his actions, despite the contradicting evidence of your unaware demeanor and vow to continue your fruitless search.

The loom of darkness draped the interior exposed by the open ramp. Din turned one last time to watch you safely enter the store, soaking in the last few moments of companionship before he headed into the vast openness of space.

Din never made minuscule mistakes, years of experience and training ensured that, but lately he found himself preoccupied, more vulnerable, his mind elsewhere. The pathetic crush he harbored seeped into all aspects of his life, a slow trickle that now left his mind totally absorbed by thoughts of you.

The boundless shades of pine and moss camouflaged the glossy green bounty. Branches crunched underneath Din’s weight, the wind whistled through the leaves and around the large bases of the trees. Din thermally scanned the area, cursing himself under his breath that he allowed the slippery creature to escape into the dense forest, another slip-up made by the trained hunter.

The limbs that dangled above rustled with a loud snarl, Din spun around, coming face to face with the large trandoshan. The bounty’s claws slashed in the air, he whiffed a few times before finally, he landed a hit on the light material that covered Din’s forearm, a rip of his skin torn in one quick slash. Din howled in pain, the claw still pressed into the tender skin, his back now pressed against the dew slicked grass.

The reptilian bared his teeth and slithered his lengthy forked tongue across the T of his visor. He snarled, a signal of attack, and with a jut of his head, Din ignited the flames of his vambrace. The wild blaze sparkled against the silver helmet, the bounty fell back, momentarily blinded by the harsh heat, and Din pounced, ready to claim his dominance.

Din hissed as the bacta sprayed against the festering wound. He stared at the dull green bounty, his acute claws and large form, a reminder of the risky lifestyle he lived, one that couldn’t be impacted by an unrequited crush. He realized he needed release from the hold you unknowingly claimed on him, his well-being depended on it.

Din sat in the far corner of the dimly lit smoky room, a straw pressed underneath his helmet, the gritty taste of jet juice burned in the back of his throat. The lively cantina music bounced around the sleazy establishment, drowning out the bright pink women's efforts to entice him with her red-stained lips and vulgar promises of pleasure. Her body twisted on the barstool, each movement used to convey her desire, to tempt him with a new sultry position that highlighted her large breasts that sat between her lekku.

The idea of release from something other than his own hand lured Din, but not just from any hand, only yours. He found his usually insatiable cock unwilling to budge, it poofed away at the painted images she created with her words. Instead, he wished for the vision in front of him to change, to one of you, and that gaudy striped uniform. He dreamed for her seductive tone to turn into your dulcet one, for the words to become vivid descriptions of ship features and furniture pieces. It became impossible not to think of you.

A single beep drew Din out of his imagination, he looked down to find the red light flashing. The small sign captivated him, making his cock throb for the first time that night, a promise of your voice upon his return. Din immediately aborted the doomed mission, unable to think or care about the ramifications of this decision, the potential impact it held for both his job or the next visit to you. The protests of the Twi’lek turned into a dull roar as Din disappeared into the cool wind of the desert air.

The holovideo shimmered in waves of dark blue against the cold gray stain of the walls. Discarded beskar littered the hallway from the ramp to the pilot seat, the final piece, his helmet, laid perched on the panel next to the video, almost watching him languidly stroke his erection.

The sight of your body against the cool porcelain of the large jetted tub, a tactic used to emphasize the size, wreaked unknown havoc on Din. His grip tightened around his girth at the fetal fantasies of his mind, the thoughts of you and him soaked in the warm water, your body pressed against his chest, your clit against the jets, the sounds of pleasure that mixed with the rumble of the jets. He swiped his thumb against his sensitive bulb, the same thumb he wished to use, to roll across your nipples, tug on them, until you begged for more.

His hand dove into his hair, his pace quickened, he wondered how hard you would pull at his locks as you withered in pleasure, each movement, a harder tug as he brought you closer to your peak. He imagined the pleasure your wet core would provide, much better than the rough callousness of his own hand. He wanted you to envelop him, bounce against him as the waves splashed around your entangled form. Instead of Mando, he wanted you to say his name, his real name to scream it while—

“Fuck!” his release shot across the grainy dull image, a reminder of his decision to choose a spotty connection over a real partner. “-I need you to come in next week, if you can of course,” Din cleaned himself up, still listening to your final spiel, “I have a ship coming in that you just have to see in person! Well! Umm…See you soon Mando! Bye!”

The familiar ache of silence and the stilled photo of your smiling face consumed Din in his post-orgasm haze. You felt so close to him seconds ago, with your voice surrounding his bare ears. With some desperate and depraved hope, Din reached out, a slow and hesitant extension of his fingers towards the picture that dulled his reality. He wanted to feel you, the softness of your lips against the rough of his, to feel the silk of your skin. His fingers swiped at nothingness, the inevitable dissatisfaction of cold blasts of air, no warmth or soft touch.

The video zapped away, the image of you gone, leaving Din in the penetrating silence of the dark.

Large banners flapped across the glass exterior of the Shipmax, workers scattered frantically in and out of the store, all of them maneuvering around the giant inflatable, meant to resemble your father, that sat in the middle. The intercom obstructed the squabbles coming from the back room, the over-the-top sales voice boomed across the lot: The famous Olgo’s Ship-A-Thon is here for one weekend only! Come on down to the Shipmax, and fly out of here in a shiny new ship for 0 CREDITS DOWN! terms and conditions apply, offers subject to change. limited-time only, only applies to select ships and speeders.”

Din stood from the deformed chair at the swing of the back door, “-this is the most important weeked of the year, you better-“ the menacing voice halted at the shiny man, a smile now replaced his angry demeanor.

“Mando!” a wave of relief washed over your face, “I didn’t think-“

Your father wagged his finger at you, “Uh Uh uhn,” he shook his head.

Din found himself in the middle of a whispered spit fight, Do the new one, Din whipped his head to your father, no, back to you, yes, back to your father, no, back to you, yes. You pleaded one last time with your father, a pouty look on your face, one Din easily would cave into, but your father did not.

Plastered fake smiles turned back to Din, your voice changed to that sing-songy tone, “Welcome to Shipmax, the place to,” you made a finger gun and pointed it at Din, “bounty hunt for deals,” your father lipped the words along with you

Giddy claps and a small prance filled the awkward silence that hung between the two of you. Din tilted his head at the man, almost amused by his obnoxious and oblivious ways. You cleared your throat, “Well, come on”- you pulled at the edge of your dress - “let’s get going.” Your father waved goodbye, happy as can be that he won out.

“Let’s go hunt for a deal,” Din said sarcastically after he followed you outside. Your only response came in a muttered rant under your breath about your father.

A walk through the Tatooine desert with Grogu on his hip and the meat of the Krayt dragon he slayed was a breeze compared to his ascent up the ramp of the third ship of the day. Din felt the consequences of his decision to leave the Twi’lek, and now he was paying for it. Reduced to a quivering sweaty mess at a detailed description of a kitchen on the first ship. He wondered what the guild would think if they could see him now, the usually unfazed bounty hunter who yielded the dark saber, now unable to control his own in a used ship lot. He knew for sure, he would be laughed out of the cantina, never to be feared again.

Din huffed and puffed like a massiff on a hot Geonosis day as he entered the tight office space. “-I’m not sure what you would use this for,” he could probably find a few uses, “the desk is a built-in, made of high quality wroshyr wood. It comes with the leather chair, so I guess for all your bounty business meetings,” you giggled, grazing your fingers over the wood, “this material does stain easily, but it’s really smooth.”

Din prayed to the maker for restraint, for him to stop imagining the nice sales lady naked. To focus on the comments about the bookshelves, not the thoughts of your ass perched against the smooth material. Focus on the wallpaper, not his face in between your folds. Pay attention to the art pieces, not the way he wanted to paint the easily stained wood with a mix of your wetness and his saliva, an experience of pleasure that became available once he broke the creed.

A sudden surge turned Din’s attention away from his vulgar thoughts, and to the dark fabric that it affected. He found his erection begging for your attention, almost waving at you from the painful pulses in his pants. When you turned back around, Din wondered how it remained hidden, but you seemed completely unaware, professional like always as you continued your tour to the open space of the main area.

Din stumbled over to the cabinet to shield his bulge. He opened the wooden doors with a few “hms” in an attempt to remain inconspicuous. You continued your gentle pad around the living room, unfazed by your own description of the sofa that made Din’s member leak.

“-over here is a bonus area” - Din pressed his palm against the edge of the counter, in a vain effort to calm himself, -“some people call it an activity room or den.”

Din’s beskar-covered knees crashed against the cabinet. The already worn rope of his restraint began to snap, every moment in your presence tearing at the material, the akin of his name falling from you now left him with only a small thread to hold himself together. The sound was glorious, so close to his fantasies. An utterance he never heard fall from a woman he felt deeply for, never becoming close enough to reveal his name in ecstasy.

You stepped closer, “Mando! Are you okay?” Din winched at the word Mando, the sad reminder of reality hit again, that while the similarity lay there, the intention did not. It seemed however, that his erection did not receive the same memo, as it continued to ache with fervor.

Din waved his hand in the air, “Fine, fine,” his voice sounded strangled from his efforts to ignore the mix of lust and mortification that clawed at him.

“Okay…” you sounded unconvinced, “as I was saying,” Din chanted in his mind, don’t say it, “this is”-

Don’t say it.

“a”-

Don’t say it.

“-den.”

With every fiber of his willpower, every last strand that remained of him, he pushed it down. His teeth pressed into his lips, he felt the droplets of pre-cum leak from his angry red tip. He tried to remind himself of your unknowing, but it did not work, it still felt like a symphony in his ears. He could not restrain, no matter the fight, not with you. The final strand broke with a back arching, almost painful, deep groan that ripped from his chest, the erotic noise escalated across the modulator.

You dashed over, at a speed too quick. Leaving Din no time to escape, no time to run to the fresher. “What’s wrong?” you asked with a creased brow. You moved your hand to the beskar plate on his back, a pressure so close, but not a touch.

With an awkward tilt, Din tried to slide the erection away from view, but he failed, he was too late. A barely audible gasp came from your parted lips, the thick heavy erection pressed against the wood.

“Mando…” you whispered. No answer came from the frozen man, just a shake of his head, a signal of both an apology and regret. His chest tightened, he felt saddened by his own pitiful display, a moment he thought would haunt him forever.

“Mando…” your voice somehow softer than last. He again, could not answer. You stepped closer to nuzzle your body against his side, your breasts brushed against his arm, and a sudden warmth spread across his hipbone.

Din watched in utter disbelief at the scene, the warmth on his hip bone, now skimmed the material of his pants, edging closer to his needy member. The look of your dainty fingers, spreading across the large expanse of his thigh, your small breaths next to his helmet, he drew his hips back, not able form words, but imploring you to explore his vulnerable body.

“Is…is this okay?” you asked, the tips of your fingers just mere centimeters from his bulging erection. The place he fantasized, the area no one but him had touched in so long. He felt so needy, he could feel the dampness of his pants, his body already so sensitive from the build up. He nodded his head.

Din whipped his head back with an animalistic growl, the longing, the years of no one, the grip and pull of your hand, the friction of his pants, it already felt too much. Each stroke emitted another groan, each one built at his rapid release. He wanted more, before he got pushed off the edge, he needed to feel your skin against the ridges of his base, to feel the warmth of your palm, just like his fantasies, like he imagined on every ship you have shown him.

“Please. Tou-touch me, ple-please, need-you-to touc-” he begged, his usual protected front, now replaced by a vulnerable yearning. The weapons of his holster dropped with a clang as you unbuckled him. You pulled at his zipper, ignoring the other pieces of armor despite the odd angle. He could feel the warmth of your hand, so close to his skin, he could see the protrusion of your dainty hand, he buzzed from excitement and nerves at the soon to be fantasy come to life.

“So needy” you cooed at him when you found the material slick with pre-cum. You brushed your fingertips against the thick vein of his cock, your fingertips followed it upwards with a tease of a touch. Din felt crazed, the moment so tender and raw, the eager need flowing through the nestle of space that remained between you two. A pool of loose droplets seeped from his slit, the culprit of his mess. Din whimpered and cried as you pulled the slit apart, the thick beads cooling against the redness.

“It’s-ahh-been-oh mhm-a long time-” he tried to justify his reactive state. Feeling a twinge of embarrassment at the noises that echoed around the cage of silver.

“It’s okay,” you gripped at him, with a mischievous smile, “Does it feel good?” you asked, your hand delivering long slow strokes to his length.

“Yes-yes-“ Din mewled, “Feels so good. Wanted this for so long. So long. Oh-“

You tightened your grip at his admission,“Me too,” your voice more husky, “I thought of you all the time. And at night, when I was alone, I thought of you.”

Din growled as the confession warmed his body, he felt wanted and desired. All the moments he spent thinking of you, of his own loneliness felt worth it, as your delicate pumps brought him to a fast approaching climax, one he didn’t worry about in the safety of your pleasurable touch.

Each ridge and vein of his thick girth dragged against the crevices of your palm as he started to rock his hips, seeking his release. His pre-cum spilled over the wrinkles of your knuckles, the blaze of your touch fully ignited in his belly. His sight disappeared as his eyes rolled in the back of his head, blubbered nonsense meant to a warning escaped the wrecked hunter. With a coherent cry of your name, his body jolted and stuttered, his taut length pulsed with hot thick ropes of his climax that coated your hand.

You slowly eased the shaking man down from his powerful release. Din slumped against the counter, finally feeling some relief from the ache that plagued him for months. A hard sucking noise flipped his satiated cock to needy again, he stared in awe at the vision of your fingers locked between puckered lips, your greedy movements to stuff the glisten into your mouth. Din ripped his gloves off, desperate to touch the lips that moaned at the taste of release you milked from him.

Din stalked over, a quiet prowl to his prey, as you suckled on the digit with closed eyes. When you fluttered them open, you were met by the T shaped visor, boxed in. You popped the finger out of your mouth, dropping you hand to the side with a shy smile, insecure of your eager action even though you just rubbed his member a few seconds ago.

Insecurity filled Din, apprehension at removing the helmet that he wore for so long, a safety blanket. His fingers traced where he wanted to kiss you, he felt the grooves and curves of the tender plushness. The worry chipped away at the feel of your lips. He practically choked when you instinctively opened your mouth to take his thumb into your wet crevice. His nerves desensitized with the suction noise of your mouth, the swirl of your tongue coaxed away the fear he had to reveal his hidden features. At the soft hum of your mouth, Din pulled away.

The sound of his heartbeat echoed around the cold metal confines, his thumb toyed with the silver by his chin, and with one final deep exhale, he bared himself. The rough stubble of his jawline replaced the silver indents. The black T shaped visor now taken over by pink plush lips, an aquiline nose, and warm brown eyes that sat below a few deep wrinkles of a creased brow. Dark brown helmet hair substituted in for the large silver dome, the statue now unveiled, vulnerable, and raw.

The helmet swished to the side, “Wow,” you smiled at him, “So, that’s what you’ve been hiding.” Din’s lips turned upward with a subtle nod as he placed the helmet next to you.

He watched in frozen fear at the scan of your eyes, taking in his features in wonderment. You leaned forward with your eyes closed, a slight pucker of your lips.

“Ummm…” you startled over, “I’ve never-I haven’t ever kissed anyone.”

“Was that your first-?” not a shocking question after his display and quick finish.

Din shook his head, “No, no. I broke my creed,” he gulped, “Until a few months ago, no living thing had seen me without my helmet since I took my oath, so I have, you know,” he clicked his tongue, “Done other things, just not the-“ he tilted his head.

You cupped his cheek, “Well,” he nuzzled himself into the tender feeling, “Can I kiss you?” you leaned closer to brush your nose against his, the soft whisper of a yes fanned against the nestled space between the two of you.

His body stiffened at the novel feeling, unsure of how to move or what to do. The soft tingle of your lips against his began to relax him as he slowly eased into the intimate movement. He enjoyed the slow and steady motions, your guiding of him in the hypnotic rhythm.

Your fingers combed through his curls, he groaned at the feeling, never having anyone but himself touch his hair. Your wet tongue probed at his lips, letting you claim his virgin mouth, each flick of your tongue made him feel hot, erotic, and addicted.

Your moan of pleasure egged Din’s movements to explore the meaty flesh of your inner thigh. He grazed his fingertips up, up, until he felt the cotton lining of your panties. He tugged at the seam that sat at the junction of your thigh, his fingers skimmed at the sensitive skin, so close to your center, but yet too far.

Your small hip movements spurred him on, building back his old bravado he lost only months ago. His lips trailed down, placing a kiss at the edge of your mouth, then to your cheek, and down to your collarbone. His fingers ran across your clothed slit, the soaked area of the soft cotton, “So wet already mesh’la,” you whimpered in response.

Suddenly, his presence disappeared, followed by a loud clang of his beskar against the metal floor. Wide eyes peered down at him, his massive hands pulled at your inner thighs, an unspoken demand to separate, to let him see his effect on you. He licked his lips as he eyed the wet stain, he could smell your arousal, the scent of another new addiction.

“I’m guessing you’ve never-” Din shook his head with large innocent eyes. Your fingers raked through his hair, “Do you-”

“Yes,” he frantically nodded. “Will you let me?” he asked, his fingers sliding across your clothed slit. He kissed your inner thigh. “Will you show me?” he placed a kiss on the other.

Your whimpered consent started a frantic removal of clothes, Din practically ripped off your underwear, you lifted your dress above your head. He stared at your nearly nude form, only a sheer bra remained that displayed your hardened nipples, reminding him to enjoy those later.

Your wet and swollen pussy intimidated Din, despite his previous battles, this one mattered more than most. He looked up at you as he flattened his tongue, licking a long stripe against your slit. You said light praises as he continued the movement. With one long stripe, he reached the honey of your entrance, one little flick of his tongue, just a small taste, and he craved more.

He lapped at the wetness that he had been deprived of until this moment. The unique essence fell against his eager tongue, each lick driving him mad. He dove into the source to suck and lap at the juice, each push forward made the tip of his nose rub and dig at your clit, a delicious mess of ecstasy.

He could feel the way your body shook around him, the erotic noises that escaped you, further spurred his motions and movements. You pulled at his hair, “Are you sure you’ve never done this before?” his nose moved tantalizingly against your nub with each nod of his head.

“Is it good?” he pulled away with sparkling lips.

“Yes, oh yes, more,” you bucked from the loss of contact, making Din feel rather smug.

Din shoved two fingers inside your soaked entrance, his eyes watched close up the way your pussy leaked and dripped around his digits. With a slight crook, his fingers brushed against your g-spot, his mouth went back to focus now on your swollen bud.

The noises combined with the sight was an erotic masterpiece, the large beskar-covered man kneeling with his face flush against your folds. His eager tongue licking and swirling around your clit. Your broken pleas and whimpers combined with the sounds of your wet pussy made Din’s cock strain for release.

He could feel you teetering on the edge of bliss, and with one final movement, Din took your clit into his mouth, sucking on it as his fingers plunged into your pussy with an obscene noise. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, so so good, oh so good, I’m gonna-” your pussy gushed around his fingers as your body quivered from the release.

Din slurped and sucked at your pussy, not letting a single drop go to waste. He trailed his wet lips upward, leaving a line of slick from your naval, up to in between your breasts, and then stopping at your lips. His tongue flicked around your open panting mouth, giving you a taste of yourself and the reaction he pulled from you.

Your hand pulled at his erect length, “Want you, please,” you whimpered.

Din ripped off the small bits of beskar on his legs, leaving his upper half covered, too desperate to be inside to deal with the hassle. You sprawled your body against the counter top, your ass high in the air, the glisten of your spent and swollen pussy on display in the cabin lights. Din swiped his swollen tip across your folds, smearing the droplets of his pre-cum across your sparkling lips. He notched himself at the heat of your entrance, he put one hand on your lower back to keep you in place, the other gripped at your hip.

You tried to wiggle your ass and push back, but you found yourself unmoving under his hold. With a few pleas from your smushed face, Din began to push himself inside your wet hole. Just his tip felt like a stretch around your aching pussy, his wide girth a struggle in your tight heat, a stretch that felt hellish and heavenly.

Din almost forgot the euphoric feeling of a wet pussy, how warm and tight it felt around him, how intense it felt. He swore he could lose himself in you, in the feeling of your slick. He needed to take it slow, he wanted to savor each inch of your heat, to cherish each lewd noise he pulled from you with each movement. He placed soft kisses on your shoulder blades as he reached the hilt, “So tight, so good, mesh’la, taking it so well,” he whispered with strain.

Your pussy pulsed around his fully sheathed length, “Mando-oh, so big. Feel so full. So-“

You felt his breath hot against your ear, “Din,” his voice came out husky and rough, “My name is Din,” you clenched at the words.

You turned to look at him, “Oh, ohhh,” the realization hit you, “Sorry, Din,” you said mischievously. He tightened his grip on your hips, holding himself back, all his effort put into not fucking you senseless at the purposeful and seductive tone of his name.

“Din,” you said again, loving the way his cock twitched inside, “Din,” his brows creased and his eyes shut, “Din, please,” his cock pulsed, his breath caught in his chest, “fuck me.”

Din thrusted into your silky warmth, his pace hard, but still allowing you to adjust to his size. “Fuck, so-fucking tight, so wet,” he groaned as he dragged his cock through your wet walls.

His thrusts started to penetrate deeper, each one brushed against your sweet spot. You clenched and pulsed with each rock of his hips. “Harder,” you mewled, “Din-ple-”

His hips snapped, his cock speared against your tender bliss with a loud cry of his name. Your body scrambled for purchase at his new brutal pace, each movement teased at the hardened, covered peaks, a tantalizing and intense drag.

Din craved to feel the flood of your pussy, he needed to feel you drench his shaft. He bent down and pinched your clit, his pace still brutal as it ravaged your g-spot. He rubbed your bud in between the grip of his forefinger and thumb, turning your body slack. Grunts and groans mixed with the squelch of your tight heat and the slapping of thighs.

“I’m gonna-where should I-“ he groaned, holding onto a very thin thread.

“Inside, please Din, inside, I’m-oh fuck-” a body thrashing orgasm ripped through your body, your pussy clenched and drenched him into his own mind-blowing climax. His movements stuttered as his seed shot deep inside your wet heat.

Din swiped at the mix of the two of you, he tasted the salty sweet mix that he now watched cascade down your slit, and fall to your thighs.

“Wow,” you said in a shaky voice, “If I would have known den was all I needed to say, I would have said it a lot sooner,” Din chuckled as he wiped at the last remains of the mixture with a paper towel.

He gave you a long sloppy kiss before he reluctantly clicked the helmet back on, “I wish you would have, trust me.”

“Not to ruin the moment, but I do have one more ship to show you,” you turned to leave the ship you defiled with a wink.

The large No Trespassing sign hung on the large barbed wire fence. Din stood with his hands on his hips, his helmet cocked, “I told you, I didn’t want a fixer-”

“I know,” you chimed, “Can you just be patient for once?” you giggled.

Din stepped back to put his weight on one foot, “I’ve been patient.” He looked you up and down. You let out a deep exhale, “Are you ready?” your feet created little dust bowls around you.

Din nodded, “Are you?” he teased. He gripped his hand into yours as you pressed the button to the gate. Din looked over to you, realizing that he would be fully content to never find a ship as long as he could return to the happy expression on your face.

“Watch,” you said with a pointed look.

The metal grinded at a slow pace against the track, inch by painful inch. Din swayed at the eerily similar sight, a ghost from his past. It couldn’t be though, right? It shared the same glossy silver exterior, the one he hadn’t seen in awhile, and the gold stripes shined brighter, but this ship seemed wider and newer, but almost a mirror image. The large cylinder engines solidified what he believed to be impossible.

The gate emitted a loud boom, signaling the end of your magic trick with its own “Ta-da!” The semblance of his old ship, now stood fully on the ground, real and unbroken

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[n1kolaiz]

"Man fears death and yet, at the same time, man is drawn to death. Death is endlessly consumed by men in cities and in literature. It is a singular event in one's life that none may reverse. That is what I desire."

Character Analysis: Dazai Osamu

Age: 22 || Ability: No Longer Human

I've done a lot of research concerning Dazai's character because of how complex he'd initially appeared to me. It is still a question as to what his personality type is; some say he's an ENTP while others argue that he's an INTJ, and his enneagram would most likely be 7w8 (The Realist), but that isn't the thing I'm going to focus on.

According to general databases and fan analyses, his temperament is dominantly melancholic. A person's temperament is basically how they react to and live in this world. For those of you not interested in such details, don't worry, I'll get to my point.

The melancholic behaviour is characterised by individualism, self-reliance, and reservation. People of the melancholic temperament are described as having been overcome with sorrow and depressive thoughts, which is beyond the feeling of "just being sad."

Nonetheless, they are generally calm beings, with a tendency to hide how they truly feel by keeping their composure, even in events that demand severe reaction otherwise. Other aspects of melancholic temperaments is that they are absorbed in the cruelty and tragedy of this world, and tend to get lost in their thoughts.

Sound familiar?

Dazai is seen to be as the comic relief of the adaptation, and he'd never fail to bring about a sense of lightheartedness to relieve the serious moments; we all know that for sure. Remember the time both him and Kunikida found Nobuko Sasaki in that godforsaken hospital, and how Kunikida asked him about his opinion on the current state of affairs?

But, despite having developed a calm and serene personality, Dazai's dark side was more apparent during the Dark Era. There was a type of intimidating and arrogant flair evident in his behaviour, or even on his face. It was the type of demeanour that came off cold and terrifying to the rather unlucky people he dealt with. In a moment's notice, they could literally die by his hands. And I believe most of them usually did. It was during this time, he was more brutal and vicious. He lacked remorse. Plus, Dazai's suicidal ideations were more dense during this Era, and his suicidal tendencies did not do anything to alleviate the depth of how dark his character was posed to be.

Side note: Unfortunately, people misunderstand this 'depressed' part of Dazai; they minimise his character so much to the point that people use only a single word to describe him: suicidal. He is, in fact, so much more than that. I'll elaborate more on that in a while.

"Hey, Odasaku, do you know why I joined the Mafia? I joined the Mafia because of an expectation I had. I thought if I was close to death and violence—close to people giving in to their urges and desires, then I would be able to see the inner nature of humankind up close. I thought if I did that… I would be able to find something—a reason to live."

Dazai's approach to life is that of an aimless soul, weary of the world's oppressions and exhausted from the concept of living itself. Nevertheless, what he said above about having an expectation made me realise something: he had a goal, which he wasn't that enthusiastic about achieving—seeking for a reason to carry on with life. So he joined the Mafia.

And there, he met Oda Sakunosuke.

Despite how resilient Dazai carried himself to be (especially during the Dark Era), this specific excerpt stands in direct opposition of how he effortlessly embodied all things daunting:

"With every step I take, I feel as though the earth has opened up into a bottomless pit as I fall endlessly. As Dazai pointed to his forehead and approached the muzzle, the look on his face – like that of a child about to burst into tears – had already been branded upon my eyes."

- quoted by Oda Sakunosuke, excerpt from Dazai Osamu and the Dark Era Light Novel.

When I read this, it sent my mind into a spiral of despair and confusion. It was so vague, yet it made so much sense. Dazai was desperate to escape from this life, but part of him seemed to live in conflict with his desire for death. I won't elaborate more on this, because this specific excerpt has personal meaning to me, as I'd expect it to have for others as well; so I wouldn't want to ruin anyone else's perception on it.

Back to my point: Odasaku was one of the only characters who managed to interpret the complexity of Dazai's mindset and was able to compartmentalise the specific details of his persona that made Dazai the way he was. Oda knew that Dazai wasn't just suicidal.

"For most things in life, it's harder to succeed than fail. Wouldn't you agree? That's why I should attempt suicide rather than commit it! Committing suicide is difficult, but it should be relatively easier to fail at attempting suicide!"

Others boasted about how he was just a suicidal maniac, and that was only because of how good Dazai was at concealing his own feelings whilst flamboyantly priding himself in new, risky techniques, which he sometimes elaborated on. But Oda, on the other hand, saw through his jokes, and empathised with his friend, never wanting to ever barge into his vulnerability without Dazai's permission, but still trying to be there for him.

"Listen. You told me if you put yourself in a world of violence and bloodshed, you might be ale to find a reson to live. You won't find it. You should know that. Whether you're on the side that takes lives or the side that saves them, nothing beyond your own expectations will happen. Nothing in this world can fill the hole that is your loneliness. You will wander the darkness for eternity."

Notice how Odasaku recognised Dazai's despair, before Dazai even dared to acknowledge his very own emotions? That was why, at Oda's death, he took the initiative to uncover Dazai's bandaged eye to show him that there was no use in concealing his feelings anymore.

Odasaku's last words to Dazai was to "be on the side that saves people," for he was aware that even though Dazai didn't believe there was a clear distinction between good and evil, he thought that perhaps Dazai would find meaning in his life, even if it was just a little bit of purpose.

In Dead Apple, we briefly relive this moment, but I'll write more on that some other time.

And when Dazai joined the ADA, he loses that dark side to him. No, wait, let me rephrase that: he loses a part of that dark side to him. He eliminated the raw sense of bitterness against the world from his face, and instead, he is seen to be a little more passive, and a little more adaptive. No doubt, he still does explicitly state his desire to die, but his wishes are very specific, if you know what I mean.

And a few years later, his journey with Atsushi began.

Atsushi and Dazai's relationship is just one of a kind. I think it isn't a matter of whether Atsushi needed Dazai, or whether Dazai needed Atsushi. It's the fact that they both needed each other. It's the way they both worked hand in hand, and how they sustained each other in ways they were lacking.

The two were polar opposites, but they had a tender kind of warmth embedded in their protectiveness for each other. Atsushi was just as lost as Dazai, but somehow, they worked together just fine. It was like their duality was meant to be. It was the type of symbiotic relationship, where their care for each other was implied, but very deep.

Does this also sound familiar... perhaps, in relation to Dazai's friendship with Odasaku?

Side note: Oda and Atsushi have the same enneagrams, which is Type 2, 'The Helper.'

There is a sort of balance that is brought about by two opposites. Odasaku taught Dazai many things, and I believe Oda learned a lot about a man's life from the way Dazai lived out his life with the innate desire to die. Atsushi sought for the right to live, while Dazai searched for a reason to live; in addition, Dazai validated Atsushi's feelings, and Atsushi was able to acknowlegde the amount of pain Dazai was going through.

Despite how Dazai's perspectives and beliefs stood in contrast with those of Oda's and Atsushi's, a type of inseparable bond connected the man who no longer felt like he was human, to the people who was the most human.

No Longer Human in the Japanese romaji is 'Ningen Shikkaku.' Ningen means "human," and Shikkaku means "disqualified." The late author, Dazai Osamu, wrote the book No Longer Human. He had gone through the rough throes of trauma and wrote this book as a semi-autobiography, whose plot was centred around a man who faked happiness, for he was tainted by the truth that everyone around him was fake themselves. He turned his life into a joke in order to protect himself from the delusions of this world.

This brings us back to the melancholic temperament, where a person was too deeply immersed in the sad truths of reality and the world itself.

And that's what Dazai's character and ability is based on: being disqualified as a human being, because he wasn't well-versed with what being human was actually like. The fabrications of being human sprung up all around him, but he wasn't willing to be fooled by how ingenuine the world truly was.

“I am convinced that human life is filled with many pure, happy, serene examples of insincerity, truly splendid of their kind—of people deceiving one another without (strangely enough) any wounds being inflicted, of people who seem unaware even that they are deceiving one another.”

- excerpt from Dazai Osamu's No Longer Human.

People who don't feel human emotions or don't react to circumstances the way humans do have a variety of ways of explaining how they feel inhuman. They are highly intelligent, which separates them from the average class of humankind, since they've analysed and untangled the truths of life in order to attain understanding, which they value above all else. But, this understanding of the world and its painful truths results in a deep kind of sorrow, which only a few people can seem to empathise with in order to help them out with that burden.

“Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth.”

-excerpt from Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment.

Don't you think that this deep sorrow that lies in the heart of the intelligent, makes them the most human of all? They're too human, to the point where they don't feel human. Perhaps, it is a type of defence mechanism, where the mind numbs the heart from feeling normal human emotion, because logically breaking down such concepts is easier than feeling them. But it comes at a price. The heart is willing to recklessly comprehend and fathom any sort of emotion, including pain in its true form, but the mind bears more pain in understanding such concepts because it seeks to decipher every single agonising detail of how complex human emotions are. The mind thinks, the heart feels. There is a clear distinguishing factor between the two. Whether feeling hurts more than thinking, or thinking hurts more than feeling, or whether both these processes work hand-in-hand to make up the reality of life itself, is up for an individual to decide.

Only a few people can seem to empathise with intelligent people who are deeply sad at heart, in order to help them out. As for Dazai, it was Atsushi and Oda. They never took away the pain, but they made him grow from it; it worked vice versa, too.

Of course, there are less tedious and more appealing aspects to the concept of Dazai's intelligence. Dazai was seen as a threat to his enemies because of how manipulation and his keen skill of deduction made up how sharp his mind was. Besides, no one could commit '138 murders, 312 cases of extortion, and 625 cases of fraud, along with various and sundry other crimes,' without having a certain level of intelligence, right?

Dazai had the moral alignment of 'chaotic neutral.' He was more focused on using his intellect to achieve the desired end results of a predicament, and he wasn't afraid to use the wrong means. A famous example was when he deflated the airbags of Ango Sakaguchi's car in order to gain the assured protection of Kyouka Izumi.

Justice is a weapon. It can be used to cause harm, but it cannot protect or save others.

Another example was when he blew up Chuuya Nakahara's car.

Just kidding. That was just a simple pastime (；・∀ ・)

His moral alignment points to what Oda said about him: the part where he mentioned that Dazai didn't really see any difference between good and evil. As long as his ends were achieved, especially if it were in the benefit of his fellow colleagues, he wasn't afraid to exploit, threaten, or endanger others' wellbeing. Because, at the end of the day, the end result triumphed the morally bad methods utilised to achieve it, correct? He always had a reason for his motives and actions, even if those actions were evil and inexcusable.

(eg. action: the psychological abuse he bestowed upon Akutagawa Ryunosuke.

motive: to enable him to hone his own ability favourably and to curb his arrogance)

But the consequences of one's actions will always catch up with a person, no matter what heights they've achieved.

Okay, we're reaching the end of my rambling very soon, I promise.

“If I had to go, I’d like to go out just as beautifully.”

“I’d prefer you don’t go.”

This part of the post is highly inspired by iwachuwu!!

An important factor of Dazai's development is highlighted BSD Wan's episode 10:

I'd like to appreciate that this scene focuses on how much Dazai actually means to Atsushi. When Atsushi responds with "I'd prefer you don't go," he said it lightheartedly for he thought Dazai was joking. But he wasn't. And once Atsushi absorbed the fact that Dazai meant what he said, he was overwhelmed with anguish at the thought of ever losing Dazai. Dazai, on the other hand, had a sense of longing on his expression. There was that look of pure desperation on his face. He was so desperate, yet he knew he couldn't act on his desperation due to a promise he'd made to someone dear to him. But keep in mind, Dazai is unpredictable, so we can never be sure of what's going on in that headspace of his.

Nevertheless, this time, Atsushi recognised Dazai's suffering, as no one usually cared to do, and Dazai didn't put in any effort to hide how he truly felt, as he habitually did. And this mutual emotional connection happened countless times during all the times Oda spent with Dazai as well.

To summarise,

Dazai's character had been carefully wired and patterned out in a way only a few would put in the effort to understand. Dazai was more than just suicidal; he was a being wandering from place to place with no specific aim. He was too smart for his own good. Dazai understood too well of how the world worked and deemed it void of any sort of hope.

Side note: Yes, the truth does come at a price, but it all comes down to how a person understands the truth. As for Dazai (both character and the author he was based off upon), well, it was quite tragic. But that's the way it is for some people, I suppose. But everyone has a different path to travel on, remember that.

His transition from working with the Port Mafia to the Armed Detective Agency was proof of how well-executed his character development was. It was two different personas morphed into what he is today: a womaniser with questionable morals a person who is still standing even after the rough refining process endowed upon him by the realities of this life.

However, he had people along the way come and teach him a thing or two, which perhaps made his life a little more interesting. Perhaps these people were passing clouds that hid the void out of sight for just a moment, and Dazai was always seen to be grasping on to these moments, and letting them go whenever it was time to let go.

His outlook on life makes his intellect look all the more intriguing. It shows that not only does his intelligence contribute to his own wit and shrewdness, but also the practical sense of realism that explains how tired he is of the concept of living because of the truths there are to bear.

However he's enduring the pain right now is by far the most bravest thing a person could commit themselves to doing. It takes courage, and it takes strength, but only a few would ever take the time to recognise such efforts.

Dazai has one of the most beautiful character developments, but I do hope that the development doesn't reach its end anytime soon.

fanart credits: @S7dOZPN3jWBB6cW on twitter

“Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness.

Everything passes.

That is the one and only thing that I have thought resembled a truth in the society of human beings where I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell.

Everything passes.”

excerpt from Dazai Osamu's No Longer Human.

[palegengarsiloved]

Utangatta

"You were the only one who knew all my stories. You are the only one who knew about mom."

I re-engaged with Maniac alone armed with distance. After Russian Doll I finally felt like I had the emotional vocabulary to understand what Maniac was going for. The first time I simply absorbed it, uncritically, amniotic, expecting a fairly mindless psychadelic experience with a big-name cast and a tiny-word script. Jonah Hill and Emma Stone are absolutely outstanding, as is the entire cast, but the direction and writing and set design are unexpectedly exacting and wonderful on a level that are comparable with Mad Men or Lost In Translation. I will discuss some thoughts I had about the characters and themes after my Russian Doll-percolated re-watch. *Spoilers below*

Owen, Jonah Hill's character, is dealing with mental health issues, including fixations and the inability to separate reality and hallucinations, and is completely and utterly alone, sexless, inert -- withdrawn into a shell for fear of interacting with a world he doesn't trust to be fully real, unable to talk to women or peers or family in any authentic way after a series (a whole life, really) of errors and blips. To help this, his dreams in the clinical trial revolve around being in interesting and fulfilling and complicated relationships with women (Olivia, the woman he frightened with his first blip/break, who is a representation by the supercomputer to entice him into playing the little roles and 'solving' (and eventually trapping, after the machine breaks) him, and Annie, Emma Stone's character, who is working through her own grief and loneliness). All his dream roles are reluctant stereotypically-masculine projections that he ultimately rejects in part or whole, revealing to himself that he can move away from the toxic masculinity of his father and brother and be a man in his own way. In his last dream he finally confronts and questions the presuppositions and shoddy mental frameworks he has clung to around Olivia, and realizes that she isn't the wound he thought she was; he was his own wound, his poisonous modes of thinking and his complete lack of self-worth were shells placed around the idea of Olivia to maintain his patterns and routines of justifying that he was unlovable.

Annie is dealing with awful family trauma, stuff that put her dad in a self-sustaining capsule, literally sealed from the outside world. She is dealing with her problems through self-medication, bitter toxicity towards everyone and everything around her including herself, and a defeatist attitude to the wage-slave dystopia she is crushed under day after day in every tiny petty interaction. In contrast, her dreams in the trial have her as strong people with big agency and agendas to match - spies, femme fatales, a drunk con artist elf, basically dangerous women who have been deeply wounded or wronged on some level but who persist nevertheless. Owen reveals to her that other human beings still care and are worth fighting for, that friends can still exist as friends and not pill dispensers or faces to yell into or people who will someday die or go away like everyone she has ever loved has. Annie's confrontation and reconciliation is, like Owen's, just as much about herself as it is about a figure from her past. She initially would rather die than be vulnerable to another person after her past trauma, but she realizes that she has been deliberately nursing this idea of her sister as an controlled effigy to burn over and over rather than risking the sometimes-searing warmth of human contact again. However, her journey is interestingly different from Owen's dream-breakthroughs and real-life avoidance: it isn't the shared dreams that truly bond her to Owen, but the impossible idea that Owen actually might be right with his paranoid fixations. The idea that Owen and her might actually be truly connected in some strange cosmic manner. This belief allows her to be vulnerable again in her near-suicidal hollowness, because it allows her to believe in salvation; that she and her sister and her family might all someday be reunited, sterile and plastic and neatly arranged, like the toy diarama that she so often returns to in dreams. The fact that Owen and Annie's physical and eventually metaphysical escape is ultimately achieved through about four different secret plots all running into each other at the same time does not necessarily disprove her.

I think the idea of a supercomputer-aided clinical trial is an interesting thought experiment excuse for a story, much like Russian Doll, which I also adore, in showing that people who are so unbelievably and totally alone and broken can be fixed by looking to one another, even in the face of overwhelming pain and vulnerability and loss, even in the face of a giant omniscient system that has been broken somewhere along the way into thinking that it must kill those it fixes (read: modern healthcare, consumerism-as-medication, capitalism, patriarchal values, toxic masculinity, etc etc). I think Maniac and Russian Doll are, in their own macabre and somber ways, hopepunk - stories of hope and post-post-apocalypse, a finding of a way, in a world that has already largely ended in a fascist-capitalist techno-dystopian eco-armageddon.

Who hasn't struggled with mental health and a full array of personal demons in response to comprehending this world as it is? But in some ways I believe this shape of a story, of individuals who meet under a totalitarian system and still find each other, over and over again, and fight and ultimately sacrifice for each other and themselves, is a blueprint for how to operate in the 21st century and beyond. I believe it is, like Beauvoir and Satre, or Deleuze and Guattari and Foucault, an impassioned advocacy for recognizing the soul in each other and ourselves - a very specific, individual plea that is of course at the same time universally applicable: it is how you choose to operate in the face of certain defeat, the modes of thought you allow to have power over you, the family and friends you choose to retain in a world that tries to always put you in separate capsule beds.

"For people who are supposed to love unconditionally, families sure have a lot of conditions."

Like Russian Doll, the show confidently reuses lines and material and themes, keeps pushing and probing away at them, reworking and reangling their vectors of attack. I like shows that feel truly thought-out and self-contained, variations on a theme, a text that knowingly references itself: not as irony but as an argument that all things - ourselves, included - are this dense and self-referential and synchronous, that tell us that we unwittingly internalize everything about this obscene world that surrounds us, everything that's ugly and wrong, but also funny and random and utterly mundane. It also works as an analysis of what the show is saying about parents and children: that we are in fact of course remixes and variations of them, but we are also our own people, trying to make sense of the world using all the strange broken tools that they gave us. They, like authority figures and suicidal supercomputers, shovel so much seemingly-innocuous input into us, never guessing that we might refashion their tips as spears.

Early on, Owen dreamt that he had a plan: he was going to run away together with Annie, that they were in a car and driving really fast and escaping some unnamed, totalizing entity. I couldn't help but tear up: I knew, deep down in my bones the weakness and vulnerability as he revealed his plan, the defeated mumble acknowledging that this could never happen, and I knew from Annie's big wet eyes looking on in complete empathy and understanding, that she was also searching, as much as she denied it, for a partner to escape with. This is why the final scene was real, not another dream-within-a-dream. They learned to take control and manifest their desires, and allow themselves to believe that there just might be a plan for the universe, not handed down by God or God-adjacent drugs or supercomputers but one that you could envision and execute yourself, that you can in some way, through existentialism and each other, perhaps find meaning in a desolate world.

"This is it! This is it."

[astrolocherry]

Mercury ~ a little Goddess told me

Mercury in Aries: The girl who falls asleep with a headache mercury in aries is a refreshing, young, inquisitive and desiring energy. they have a childlike intrigue in just about anything and imagine themselves as different characters in different stories. the reflex to provocation can be rapid fire defence and critically wounding verbal delivery. there is a short attention span, but they learn quickly - largely too because they are not afraid to ask questions and follow the detour of distraction, and look for answers in every opportunity that promises an explanation.  here is considerable raw energy combusting inside this active, restless, and animated mind. mercury in aries knows how to get conversation started, and better yet - they know how to keep people amused and engaged. they can be under performers in school, and not due to lack of intelligence but rather lack of stimulation, distraction, and resistance to teachers

Mercury in Taurus: The girl whose mind grows a garden when comfortable, mercury in taurus people can become very pressured to tap into a never ending supply of energy for conversation. but sometimes they can feel too awkward around new environments, mentally lazy, lethargic, tired, or uninspired by the discussion. these people share most of their greatest and most beautiful thoughts in their private diary, songbook, or blog. it’s like they have to be away from the dense energy of other people so they can feel free to wonder and whip words like buttermilk cream. to onlookers the mental process can seem slow, but the mind has a rich, active, and continuous activity that co-ordinations information through creative and rational dynamics to extract useful resource, skills, and intellectual capital. this mind is habitual by nature and they can find a sort of quiet delight or satisfaction in the solitary practice and rehearsal of their natural talents. the appetite and desire for food and culinary gratification can be strongly influenced by psychological balance and wellbeing, nerves, and loneliness.

Mercury in Gemini: The girl that was talking to Hermes when she was three minutes old mercury in gemini people have quick comebacks and love to playfully tease and weave complex webs with words. their forgetfulness can be a form of freedom and inconvenience. there is a constant intake of information and automatic disintegration of short term and emotional memory, personal and monotonous details - basically anything that consumes the brain space where facts and knowledge should be. this process clears and provides another bookshelf for new information. it can create the intriguing combination of someone with  composite and clever intelligence who faces significant challenges in basic principles like punctuality, remembering to eat, day to day planning, attention to detail, focus, and applicable common sense. they can be devouring information about a new intellectual fascination and completely unaware that the sun is rising. there is little concept of time when there is so much domination of mind. mercury in gemini people can command the conversation, but this is very much to everyone’s delight. they can blend comedy, conspiracies, and current affairs into one amusing interplay  

Mercury in Cancer: The girl who went to school on the moon the emotional state will be evident in the tone of voice. the cancer qualities of reticence, side-stepping, and withdrawing are not really encouraged to develop by mercury. it can make for quite a comical and slanted perspective and portrayal, a rapid fast verbal defence to threat or antagonism, and the ability to direct emotion into the opponent’s weak spots with critically wounding words. they can love to learn from picture books. as adults, these people can enjoy biographies, human stories, and keeping a journal of memories. mercury in cancer can make a great teacher. the cancer mother can see students as children and nurture through educating a new generation, the inner child present in the moon that rules cancer finds creative and inspiring ways to relate and deliver the message. these people are more receptive of body language than what is actually being said. they will quickly establish if someone in the conversation is uncomfortable. unexpressed emotion becomes mental contamination  

Mercury in Leo: The girl with a lion on the loose through her mind there is never a dull moment inside this mind. but they have a very day and night experience. thoughts can roar like a valiant lion in the day, radiating supreme pride in thoughts, intellectual creativity and talent, and personal convictions. but by night the sun is gone and so has this part of the mind, the crown has fallen, the protective lion is asleep, and the baby cubs become trapped in the cage of replaying moments of shame, self-consciousness, and regressive need to have troubles responded to and soothed through conversation. they identify closely withe mind, so there can be an uplifting and lifelong elevation of confidence when validated by a teacher, certificate, degree, or academic. they can feel ravenously devoured by psychological darkness, and their hope and resilience is a burning light of redemption. mercury in leo honours the mind through learning and achieving personal best results, imaginative writing, creative verbal demonstration, and experimenting with different mental characters

Mercury in Virgo: The girl who was born to think mercury in virgo is always operating from part of the mind, it has an orderly style of automatic consistency. it refuses to stop operating regardless of circumstance, it can be difficult for the person to fall asleep, push thoughts aside, and remain focused in their environment with relentless chatting and discourse, order, disorder, and constant intellectual arranging taking place in the background. even though mercury is the ruler of virgo, there can be so much mental activity and brilliance that there can be black outs and catastrophic breakdown like a tangle in the wiring that can make them stumble over their words, become overcome with nerves or paralysis in public speaking or answering a question, or say something different to what they were thinking. they may not like to study, but the feeling of being unprepared and failing is worse

Mercury in Libra: The girl that could read your mind mercury in libra people are active and charming conversationalists. they are intelligent and they can discuss just about anything with ease - except themselves. these people are very skilled at personal observation and reading body language. this is largely because they have spent a lot of time being so mentally overwhelmed and so paralysed by their environment that they are unsure what they should do. so they watch the people around them and try to replicate their actions. maybe they even laugh or just because other people are laughing, or take on a different accent or vocabulary. they may have practiced this at school with classmates when they were distracted by daydream and missed the teacher’s instruction. mercury in libras can spend a lot of time confined inside the mind self-reflecting, wondering whose inside, and analysing their thoughts, questions, and behaviour. they constantly practice psychoanalysis on themselves and delve the responses they generate from people 

Mercury in Scorpio: The girl that can hypnotise with her eyes scorpio is always secretive by nature, but these people are not afraid to unleash when conversation is deceiving, simple-minded, ignorant, or misinforming. mercury in scorpio focus is unmatched, and they make continual transformations in how they think about. and perceive the world. thought patterns and convictions can be completely different from the person they were a year or two ago. there is an appetite to supply the mind with abundant resource of information, and knowledge is their power. mercury in scorpio does not think, learn, or interact with the world like anybody else. they are instructed in the lesson plan from unseen forces, and they seem to make contact with the right people, sources, and conversations that provide clues to their questions. there are 3 processes taking place with the intake of information. one is the process that we can see take place, a mesmerising calculation and truthful excision see in the eyes, a hesitance to trust, and contemplative listening. the 2nd is flames of personal honour and perspective. the 3rd is saturated in emotional water and throttled through the psychic beam that x-rays and executes delusion and reveals revelation

Mercury in Sagittarius: The girl who asks for answers from the world mercury in sagittarius can have a conflicted mental experience. they can see everything through 2 different eyes. there is one view from the top that compresses the whole spectacle, where they feel grand and important in the world. the other view is from a sight that feels small in a big world, surrounded and ravished by inflating details and a deceiving path seen and unseen. mercury in sagittarius people are highly responsive to environmental intellectual stimulus, winning the debate, and taking any opportunity to grow the mind. there can be a significant nervous experience with mercury in sagittarius, worries and concerns can blow enormously out of proportion and crush with an intense intellectual weight and bended prophecy. a thought can quickly inflate to unease, angst, then into fear, nerves, or panic. they have a wide-ranging sense of opportunity that makes everything seem possible. it also means that there is always the glimmer of hope that burns inside the mind 

Mercury in Capricorn: The girl that hid her mind in the closet this mind is very private and guarded, and they would often rather think something than say it out loud. they are simultaneously stimulated and threatened by information that can fragment their view of reality. they are absorbed and internally preoccupied by the constant automatic process of cataloguing and examining thoughts, information, and objectives. these people can seem difficult to trigger a response from, but you can tell if something has aroused their mind through the widened eyes and attentive focus. they like to learn through private repetition and it can be challenging to relax because they are ultra conscious of time wasting. mercury in capricorns like to finish what they start, even if they don’t really enjoy a book they will commit to reading it. these people are not as conservative as it seems. mental patterns and psychological coping mechanisms easily become habits and ritualistic attachment. it’s possible for them to adopt, maintain, and remain secretive about self-destructive practices that help them deal with the mind

Mercury in Aquarius - The girl that read upside down mercury in aquarius people will like to hear and digest information from multiple ranges of perspective and insight. they will often ask endless questions and ways for someone to explain their point of view. mercury in aquarius has great ideals and experiment with various mediums to get their point across. they identify strongly with the mind, so it can be difficult to compromise personal ideologies and convictions. they are not afraid to change their mind, but they will not subject themselves to adopt an opinion or outlook that lacks objective and subjective evidence, personal scrutiny, and a vast spectrum questions and answers. they don’t like to judge, but they can ridicule ignorance, indoctrination, and lack of substance. there is no shortage of intelligence in mercury in aquarius, but it may not have been compatible in early schooling and consequently deeply eroded confidence in themselves. it’s important for these people to find a work, social, and domestic environment that invites and celebrates their unique mind and stellar ideas

Mercury in Pisces - The girl with books filled with spilling words and ink blots from watery tear drops conversation and intellectual stimulation can be very moving and suggestive for mercury in pisces. they can be very swayed based on their subjective emotional response and their ideals, they can almost be too sensitive to the other person’s opinion. these people can be natural teachers because they have an inspiring and creative way of delivering information and they are very patient with people learning and understanding. truth is flexible based on their point of reference. they interact with their environment through the eyes of the higher mind, so immaterial, unseen, cosmic activity expands and dominates the perspective. this viewpoint appears to make the material and concrete constructs vague and obsolete by comparison. the meander of dream, daydream, and thought can seem to be more real than the lived experience. this is also one of their blessings, as it taps the person into stream of telepathy that sources intuitive information and the muse of the mind

-C.

[dat-town]

Destined to fall | scene iv.

Characters: Taehyung & You

Setting: fallen angel au, reincarnation au, historical au

Genre: angst

Warnings: attempted suicide, character death

Summary: Your love story is a tragedy written with blood throughout the centuries.

Words: 4.7k

Chapter index

SCENE IV. GARDEN OF EDEN London, Victorian era

Taehyung had long accepted that God indeed wanted to teach him something. Manners? Respect? Or how to be a good man? He never knew nor cared. He had been living his boring life sitting on a throne of guilt and regret, commanding to an army of powerful soldiers but he despised his own influence. What was it good for if he couldn’t save you? If he had to watch you wither away in every single life you had? He swore he wouldn’t torture you – but also himself - anymore, because after dozen failed attempts of breaking into heaven, bribing his way through its entrance, he realized he couldn’t face the Almighty just because he wanted to. He couldn't question him how long his punishment would last and how much more you would have to suffer. He didn’t give up but focused more on ruling his kingdom than battling in a war he couldn’t possible win against a faceless god.

“You never asked me to join you. Why?” Seokjin asked, the one creature in this wide world whom he considered the closest thing to a friend he knew and had.

The angel visited him from time to time, on neutral grounds in hazy times. His snow white suit made him outstanding in the grey crowd and his fluttering white wings only Taehyung could see, rested close to his back. The fluffy, soft feathers stirred a pang of jealousy even in Devil because he had missed his wings as black as his soul, but the fractured bones couldn’t sprout again leaving him with two identical scars on his back that ached constantly like a never-ending dull music in the background, constant reminders of what he was and what was taken away from him because of his rebellion.

“I have enough demons,” he shrugged thinking back of those prideful angels falling one by one and searching for a new, more liberal reign under his hands. They listened well, that was something God taught them well but saying no was now in their blood and the only thing that kept them in order was fear. They feared Taehyung, at least since one of them tried to snatch the throne from him and ended up on Hell’s torture table. “Everybody needs something to fall for. You have to decide it for yourself. That's the beauty of free will.”

Each of them, angels and humans made choices and carved their own fate. Even if it wasn’t a conscious decision that time, he didn’t regret falling for you. Loving you was the best thing that happened to him no matter how short-lived it was. He never knew when you would be taken away from him, so he liked to spend and cherish every possible moment with you but not in the possessive way he once did, he swore on that.

“What He gave us as a gift,” Seokjin reminded him kindly and it was something Taehyung couldn’t deny. God really gave them the right to choose.

“Yes and it may be his fatal mistake,” he nodded looking down at the mass of people below the building. Clueless, dense people running around in the haziness of life, sacrificing themselves in the process, losing their purpose setting a mindless treadwheel ahead of them. Angels, humans, all the same: their existence lost its meaning when there was nothing more to live for.

Decades passed in silence, Taehyung drifted with the flow. He laughed when people pointed at machines calling them devilish and inhumane, although it was only the evolution of their race. With the industrial revolution, came the new danger of getting caught because of his forever young looks if he stayed in one place for too long. But Taehyung was really good at fleeing and staying in the shadows if it was necessary, he changed his identity as often as those rich girls throw out their clothes.

A few years after Queen Victoria occupied the throne of England he settled down in the British capital as a foreign artist. In this life he was a painter called Vante, one who lived for art, beauty and self-fulfilment. He enjoyed 5pm tea afternoons, chatting with other artists in downtown pubs and drawing people. He took up art during his first years of loneliness as a way of coping and till this day, he couldn’t get rid of this urge of creating. It was in his nature despite the Devil was said to be able to destroy only. His talent wasn’t recognized until this century when it became popular among the wealthiest families to order portrays. Still, he didn’t do it for the easy money. He didn’t even need that since he had no desire for such human things. He took these jobs out of boredom and curiosity, for the sake of art.

He lived a lowkey life in which he had no intention of searching for you. He gave up on that in order to provide you with a normal life, finally, without bloodshed and pain and suffering. He didn’t care about the constant longing in his heart, the stinking pang in his chest, the thorn of his never-ending love that bled from inside. He told himself he didn’t deserve you and you would be better off without him anyway but jokes on him, fate had brought you together once again.

He should have said no when he was called into another rich British household. He should have because his cold heart just skipped the beat knowing you would be there waiting for him. But he couldn’t, oh how could he? You were the gravity he fell for, he stood no chance.

“Pleasure to have you here, Mr. Vante. We are all admirers of your works,” a man his age greeted the painter and he nodded in acknowledgement, a lump of anticipation choking him.

“Especially our dear daughter. She was the one who chatted our ears off about your works until we hired you,” the head of the family chimed in.

“But papa…” you protested with your cheeks dusted pink and cast your careful gaze down.

“It’s an honour that my questionable talent is recognized by you, Miss,” Taehyung bowed again with a smile playing on his lips because of your adorable shyness.

The fashion in this era made women wear gloves and high-collared dresses that covered as much skin as it could, so when you were introduced, it didn't matter that he took your hand to give it a kiss, the thin silk stopped you from remembering. Maybe it was better this way because on your fourth finger, over the glove you proudly wore a diamond engagement ring labelling you as another man’s fiancée...

Taehyung didn’t cry, nor did he throw a fit. He took defeat like a man with his chin high up. He loved you so much that he wanted nothing else for you but happiness. However, he wasn’t selfless, he wasn’t that kind of person. He thought it was unfair that God decided another man could have you right in front of his eyes. Yet, he knew better than to blame Him, it was better to think of it as a challenge, a test to see if you really loved him as you claimed in your earlier lives or it was merely your sense of duty all along after you remembered your time together. What if you regretted loving him after so many awful deaths? Didn’t you deserve a peaceful life?

He should have left, go far away but he couldn’t stay away. As Vante the artist, he had bi-weekly visits at your family’s mansion working on you and your future husband’s portray. It was for your wedding, you said once with a forced smile when the strict man you were engaged to stood beside you rigid in his pose, with a hand over your shoulders.

Since after spending decades without you, Taehyung only had two methods of passing time: killing and his newest hobby, art, he was pretty good at both. He loved to get lost in details, absorbing each tiny miniscule piece of reality into a painting. He was a precise artist but he kept making mistakes when it was about you. Sometimes the yous got mixed in his head, different faces but the same sparkling in the eyes and the same loving heart. Even though you had ginger curls brushed under a laced hat and eyes blue like hyacinths, he knew it was you, he could feel it like every other time. And it distracted him, remembering your times together while you had no recollection of it at all. Maybe that’s why your fiancé got bored of these painting sessions, the mistakes and he came by less and less often.

Sometimes you read a book in your lap giving the fallen angel the opportunity to stare as much as he wanted. Sometimes you asked him questions of Paris, the city he supposedly came from. Sometimes like now your gaze was fierce, your posture tense as you were sipping on a tea. Taehyung couldn’t help but wonder. Did you have an argument with your parents? With your fiancé perhaps? Is it about the wedding that fabricated arranged marriage he knew you never wanted? Or did you?

“Is everything alright?” he asked as a tentative approach and you pursued your lips shaking your head, fingers playing with each other.

“It’s nothing, just… complicated wedding preparations. George’s family is a little bit too enthusiastic and I…” you bit down on your tongue, hard, to stop yourself from saying more but you had already done the damage.

Taehyung’s gaze zoomed on your hand, your fourth finger in particular with that gorgeous diamond ring and he blurted out the most impolite question ever:

"Do you love him?"

A short pause. A hiss in the silence and you looked at him coldly, answering a bit belatedly. Too late to not be written off as hesitation.

"Of course I do. I wouldn't marry him otherwise," you scrunched your nose slightly offended.

It was a lie and you both knew.

Your fiancé was a busy man, he barely made time for painting sessions since he had more important things to do than standing there watching an artist work. So most times the two of you were alone in the study room of your family's impressive house. Vante with a brush between his fingers, you sitting on a sofa, your midnight blue dress falling to your legs in airy waves. Small talks came natural to you but anything else felt too intimate to share with a stranger, another man who wasn’t supposed to captivate you like the artist did.

There was something in his eyes, the way he looked at you like you were his muse that made you blush and uncharacteristically shy. Especially now when you had his intense gaze at you after such a blunt confession that shouldn't have happened. You wanted to change the topic immediately.

"The girls on your paintings..." The words stumbled out of your mouth slowly, without your consent but Vante didn’t stop you, he didn’t interrupt, so you kept the eye contact and asked it anyway before curiosity could have eaten you up: "Do you know them all?"

Ever since you fell in love with this mysterious artist’s paintings at an exhibition downtown, it intrigued you. There was only a handful of portrays he didn’t do for money and all of them had young, pretty women on them. They all looked like they were in love, eyes shining, mouth curved up in a mysterious smile but somehow there was also sadness in those orbs.

"Yes, I once knew them."

"They are beautiful,” you nodded as a slight pang of jealousy poisoned the blood in your veins. Ridiculous! You had a fiancé and yet you were jealous of past muses, perhaps-lovers of an artist you barely knew.

"So are you," he said easily like it was nothing, merely a fact like the Sun rising on the East. Given your family status, you weren’t used to genuine compliments. Still, it had you blush.

"Oh please, you only say that sir because my family pays your bills."

"I don't need your family’s money," the man answered very seriously, lightning in his eyes as he looked at you. There was it again, that something in his gaze that made you feel as if he was reading you like an open book.

You wanted to ask what he needed then but you didn’t dare and you lost your chance to say anything at all when the door opened and you mother busted in calling you into the salon for dress rehearsal. Excusing yourself early had never felt so wrong.

You fell in love slowly but too easily for a woman with an engagement ring on her finger. Meeting Vante brought those smiles and fluttery feelings you associated with love and it scared you. Being the only daughter of a newspaper firm’s owner gave you many benefits: piano and dance lessons, the prettiest dresses, treated like a princess among your acquaintances but for all that you owned your father something in exchange: to marry the man he chose, the man who would continue to build his empire and make it famous. George was a good man, he had always acted polite towards you and it was more than a lot of fiancées could tell about themselves. You got lucky but it wasn’t enough for you to love him and you couldn’t help but be doubtful about your future marriage.

When the painter appeared in your life he made you feel he was there all along. Like you came home to him… like he was home. Impossible, right? You had just met him! But he was so different from everybody you had the pleasure to meet: the way he asked about your days, complimented the way you dressed, dared to disagree with you on meanings of certain poems and discussed politics with you, a topic from everybody hushed women away. He was interested in every aspect of your life, in your opinion about everything and maybe it flattered you enough to say yes to his bold question.

“Will you walk with me?

Asking an engaged lady for a walk alone was just as immoral as agreeing to the said offer. But after weeks of tiptoeing around each other, stolen glances between four walls and whispered conversations, you felt your heart swelling with this exciting new feeling that filled your insides until you feared you would burst.

“I finished the painting,” Vante said quietly just as you passed by the fountain in the middle of Hyde Park. His voice carried a spoonful of bitter sadness and your throat closed up nervously. The pleas that were choking you lately came alive again scratching at the back of your throat.

“Does that mean I won’t see you anymore?” your made a clumsy attempt of masking your disappointment but you failed badly when sadness clearly stained your voice.

“Would you miss me?” the painter stopped in his tracks and looked at you bewildered. That foolish hope in his eyes made you reckless too. Now or never, you thought playing with the ruffles of your beautiful dress.

“I… I know it’s wrong in its every bit but… I can’t control my heart and I am terribly sorry, that I put you into such a bothersome situation,” you blurted out without thinking, letting the urge to speak your mind have control. You would never want to burden him with your company since you knew he was such a busy person, yet you hoped he wouldn't say goodbye forever.

“What do you mean, Miss?”

What do you mean? Such a great question. You have no idea what to wish for, what to hope with that diamond ring on your finger. Would you really leave your comfortable and stable life behind just to be with him and turn childish dreams of true love into reality? You had no idea but you wanted to get rid of the weight of this heavy confession that had suffocated you for weeks. You couldn't let him go until he didn’t know how you felt.

“I… I am a disgrace to my family," you stuttered and since you didn't bear to look into Vante's black tea eyes, you rather marvelled at the way the sunshine hit on his beret in the rainy afternoon weather. “An engaged girl who caught feelings for an artist. A shame, they would call it but yes, it’s true. I have feelings for you.”

The man looked a bit shaken, the lazy curve of his mouth trembling as he asked: “Are you sure?”

“Yes… But please do not feel obligated to reciprocate anything. You are free to reject my indecent confession. It’s absolutely not fair on you, I know,” you were quick to answer and reassure him that no matter his answer, you wouldn't hold anything against him.

“How could I ever reject you?” It's a rhetorical question because he didn't need to ask twice to know he had you for a while now. “I have loved you in every life you had and I will love you in every following one. I love you more than anything.”

“It’s blasphemous to say such things,” you gasped.

As a Catholic you were taught that God was supposed to be the one you love the most. But it didn’t stop your heart from feeling things it shouldn't, like happiness for being loved back by a man who wasn’t your fiancé.

“What now...?” you whispered and your touch was so light he barely felt it: your bare fingertips brushing against his knuckles.

Realization only hit him when he locked eyes with you and saw that look. The look of those who had lived long enough to know what pain feels like. Your eyes were suddenly swimming in tears, rosy lips trembling. Hastily, you pulled your hand back so you could clench onto your chest with your panicked gaze turned away. Contrary to before, any other times when you remembered, now you had your responsibilities, a promise you made to a man who wasn’t Vante, who wasn’t Taehyung, your fallen angel you had never stopped loving.

“How many did you kill?”

The sudden question birthed silence. Taehyung took a deep breath.

“Thousands.”

It was the truth. There was no point in denying it.

You had loved him before. Fiercely even though you knew he was a killer. You had loved him before despite status and sins and how much of a monster he was. But now, now you stood up and turned your back on him ready to leave.

Taehyung didn’t think or calculate odds, he grabbed on your hand halting you, in need of answers and explanations.

“Love...” he called you desperately clinging onto your non-gloved fingers searching for your eyes, those traitors but you avoided his gaze at any cost.

“Please no...” you hissed at the pet name and flinched like he burnt you.

“But you said yourself… You fell in love with me even if you didn’t remember our pasts. What changed?”

You did, he was right. You fell in love with the painter just like you had fallen in love with the rich merchant, the royal advisor and the second-in-command. You had fallen deep and deeper you got with each day. It was a well too deep for you to get out, an ocean too vast to struggle to swim to the surface, because not loving him didn’t seem like an option. You were meant to be, like you were made to be the yin to his yang and for that reason you never felt whole until you met him.

“I can’t do this,” you kept shaking your head because it was too much, too painful. All the memories, the pain you endured and the unfortunate fates you had.

“Do what? Why?” The fallen leaned closer and gently cupped your face wiping away the tears you shed. They couldn’t help but fall.

“I can’t do this anymore. It hurts too much,” you cried grabbing at the fabric of your dress implying to the place in your chest where your heart burnt, ached. “Maybe it’s really a punishment. For you and for me for all the sins I have done and for the ones I will commit. Maybe we both deserve it: to love until it hurts, until our heart bleeds. Maybe we shouldn’t be together.”

“You don’t mean that. You can’t,” Taehyung begged, his heart breaking into tiny pieces. If you couldn’t be his, he was happy with you being his muse and nothing more but knowing you loved him and remembered him, it was unthinkable for him.

“I’m sorry,” you barely managed to force the words out because you were sobbing so hard. There were knives at your throat and poisoned arrows piercing right through your heart. It was a torture to look him in the eye, yet you still killed yourself slowly. “Please… Just let me be. Leave me alone.”

The words burnt like you slapped him, hard, across his face, it left an uncomfortable tingling and a wound deeper than the scars on his back where once his wings were. He thought he knew what pain and suffering meant, to drown while everybody was watching but this, this was worse than all punishments of Hell.

Quite a few demons had tried to kill Taehyung over the time. Rebellions against his rule weren’t rare but he was too powerful to die because of these weak attempts. However, he never tried to end his own life and standing on the edge of the hundred years old Westminster Bridge he wondered if God had let him die if he wanted to. He was finally ready to test the theory.

It had been almost two weeks since you left him behind in Hyde Park. He respected your demand and stayed away but today, he couldn’t. Even if he could only watch you from afar, he had to come here mixing into the crowd of guests of London’s elites. He saw you getting off a flowery, white horse carriage in front of the Cathedral and you looked so beautiful, so gorgeous in your snow white dress, the pearls around your neck and white petals in your hair. You looked like the princess you deserved to be and in your earlier lives, he would have given everything to make this possible. It was worth living just to see you like this, Taehyung concluded, but his heart ached so bad imagining you by another man’s side. Smiling at him, kissing him, making love to him. He couldn’t handle that, he just couldn’t bear that thought.

Dying because of a human girl, such a pity, others would have said, would have called him weak. He had everything after all: wealth, a handsome face, immortality and an empire to rule. But what did all this mean if he had nobody to share with? If he was all alone?

He took a step closer to the edge. Nobody cared. London rushed through around him as the busy commercial market it was and the Cathedral’s bells sounded magical as its clock hit seven o’clock. It was long overdue, to say goodbye. He should have died a long time ago anyway...

“Taehyung…” your lovely voice echoed in the dark, coming from afar and the once angel laughed sarcastically. He had hallucinated already, great. God must have found it appropriate to torture him till the end.

“Taehyung!” the sound of his name resonated louder this time, closer, not so dulled by the waves of Thames and the more he tried to ignore the chanting the more pragmatic, more frantic it became. He felt the pull on his coat as somebody yanked him backwards. At first, he suspected the always so nosy Seokjin, the angel who acted like his guardian but when he turned around he saw a different kind of celestial being. You.

You panted, holding your skirt with one hand, hair a mess, eyes frightened. It seemed too good to be true. Maybe he really was dreaming. Or dead already.

“You ran away? From the church? Why?” he deadpanned and raised his hand eye-level, uncertain whether he was allowed to touch.

“Because I realized I can't let God bind me to someone I don't love,” you said loud and clear taking his hand in yours and leaning into his touch. Oh, gods, you had missed this so much.

“But what if you were? What if once I will be too late? And you will love them?” Taehyung asked, still perplexed, holding you like he once did, like you were something fragile or simply a dream that can dissolve into nothing if he let down his guards.

“That won't happen. Because I'll always love you more,” you protested shaking your head that had your ginger curls fall into your face, framing your ocean blue eyes. You didn’t hesitate, you pushed yourself up to your toes and kissed the love of your life and your entire existence like you meant it because you really did. For a moment, he stilled, still processing what just happened but then he kissed you back deeply with all the desperation in his heart. The barrier made of stone dug into your back ruining your pure white dress but you couldn’t care less. Even the indignant shouting of your relatives coming from the Cathedral seemed dull.

“Let’s get married. Not in a church, of course. But let’s make a promise. I want to be with you forever,” you whispered pulling away and little did you know, your wish would come true this time around.

Taehyung had long stopped believing in Mercy but you were religious in this life and you had a different view on current event. You thought this wasn’t about God taking you away from your love but keep giving you back to him. You still prayed for his soul every day. Taehyung claimed it was naive and useless but it kept you alive. For the first time in forever you had things like wrinkle to worry about and you whined about being too old for a twenty something looking guy despite him being immortal and thousand years old. Miraculously you grew old with Taehyung and a bunch of dogs by your side. You weren’t ready to have kids after what happened last time and now you were happy with what you had. It was nice, growing old and experiencing things you couldn’t before. Taehyung showed you the wonders of the world, you travelled a lot and you loved deeply. You celebrated every anniversary like it was the first and appreciated each moment like it could be the last. You spent together decade after decade arguing more and more over the time because you thought he should move on, leaving you alone to grow old but he wasn’t willing. Never, when his soul was older than a millennium and he loved you even with your hair grey and winkles.

Even a heart attack couldn’t take you away but it landed you in a health care centre. Whenever you heard nurses talking about your handsome “grandson”, you chuckled. You weren’t jealous, not anymore because you wanted Taehyung to be happy more than anything. And lately, you had seen sadness in those mesmerizing eyes of his as if he was preparing himself to say goodbye.

“Why don’t you go find another love? You have plenty of time and there are so many people out there. You shouldn’t wait for me,” you told him who sat on the edge of your bed dutifully, not leaving your side if he didn’t have to. He signalled no with his head. At first, you thought he was about to scold you for talking about your own death again because he hated to hear about the inevitable.

“For me, there’s nobody else but you,” he replied and squeezed your hand like he never wanted to let go.

With your wrinkled hands in his forever young ones, death took you away in your sleep but this time, you left with no regrets and Taehyung cried because he had nobody to blame but himself.

Next chapter

[nolifepoints]

“May all your marshmallows burn.” You choose the ship!

I know this has been in my ask box since December. Sorry for the wait! I got… a little carried away. I sort of wanted to contribute to Pridecember even though I’d never written pride before, but I also wanted to add another ship Cupcake likes, and… my brain chose puff.  Which I’d also never written before. Lol.

So, please, enjoy this silly fic about Jounouchi inviting everyone to a campout after Atem returns in a secret bid to get to know him better and promptly getting mad that Atem and Kaiba are “ignoring” him. :v

Post-canon, returned Atem AU, established pride, unestablished puff, 1.8k words.

Excerpt:

“Thought you hated‘em,” said Jounouchi, leering at him.

Kaiba shrugged. “No,I just don’t find them very exciting.” Nonetheless, he extendedhis stick and allowed the marshmallow to ignite. Atem did the same,taking the opportunity to brush shoulders with Kaiba.

“That’s it?Just… ‘not very exciting’?” Jounouchi squinted at Kaiba. “Youfeeling okay?”

Another shrug. Thelittle glance at Atem told Jounouchi everything he needed to know,and the encouraging smile Atem returned? Damning.

Atem crouched by thebonfire. As it flickered, the firelight drew out the shifting,alchemical hue of his eyes, a color Jounouchi had never been able toput a name to. So like Yuugi’s. But the face was different now –familiar, in the abstract, a song he could recall only in fragments.As Jounouchi watched, Atem inched closer to the fire.

“Just, uh… becareful,” said Jounouchi, wringing his hands. He knew,realistically, that Atem understood the boundaries of his physicalform – even before he remembered himself, he’d piloted Yuugi’sbody, after all. But part of him still worried, especially now thatAtem was mortal again – as far as any of them could tell. Jounouchiwasn’t eager to test it.

“It’s alright,Jounouchi. I can handle myself around fire.” A smile played onAtem’s lips.

“Right.”Jounouchi flushed. Atem had probably been around a lot more firesthan Jounouchi ever had, now that he could remember them. “So, youwant to-” He paused as Atem moved back and settled beside Kaiba.Several quilts were spread around the makeshift campsite (which wasreally just a secluded corner of the Kaiba estate), but of courseKaiba had taken up residence on the one furthest from Jounouchi. Ofcourse Atem had to join him.

“To what?” Atemblinked up at him, still smiling. At least he looked eager enough.

“Maybe… roastsome marshmallows?” Jounouchi indicated the bag at his feet,alongside several clean sticks he had gathered earlier in the day.

Atem rubbed hishands together. “Sure! That’s definitely something I’ve neverdone before. I’ve never had a marshmallow at all.”

“They’re hardlyremarkable.” Kaiba scooted a little closer to Atem. “Just sugar.”

“You’re hardlyremarkable!” snapped Jounouchi, waving a stick in Kaiba’sdirection. “Don’t listen to him. Marshmallows are great,especially over a fire.”

“Can’t wait,”Atem said, letting his leg touch Kaiba’s. Kaiba said nothing at all– only glanced at Atem, who met his gaze and smiled. This touch wasnot accidental.

Jounouchi sighed andbegan spearing the fluffy confections. Even if he had invitedeveryone, in his heart, he had done this for Atem. He didn’t needto know him to love him. He already did, just as much as he lovedYuugi. Yet, their entire relationship passed in the shadow of oneworld-rending crisis after another. They would always have DuelMonsters, but what else was there? When had there been time foranything else?

It was just… beingalone with him was a little intimidating. What if they reallydidn’t have anything to talk about but Duel Monsters? What if…

He just had to workaround it, that was all. Ease in. Get everyone together. Theimportant thing was that Atem was here again. If it lasted forever –great. But they didn’t know that, and Jounouchi wasn’t going totake any chances this time around. The problem was Kaiba.

(Wasn’t italways?)

He didn’t protestKaiba’s presence here, in theory. Aside from the fact that he letthem use his yard for their faux camping trip, Kaiba could use anyreprieve you lured him into. Jounouchi suspected that, if not forAtem, he wouldn’t be caught dead here.

It wasn’t likeJounouchi begrudged them their happiness, either. Atem was happy– Jounouchi couldn’t deny it. It was even kind of nice to seeKaiba smiling to himself when he thought you weren’t looking. Hecould pretend he didn’t have feelings all he liked, but it wasobvious to anyone who spent five minutes with him that he was one ofthe most emotional people on the planet. They just weren’t usuallypleasant emotions. It was a change of pace, anyway.

But did they have toalways do this? Right in front of him? Leaving him completely out ofthe loop? To make matters worse, it would be a while before anyoneelse arrived. He was the one who organized this, so he came early.Kaiba lived here. And Atem… probably had been here already.

When he handed themtheir sticks, something else troubled him: Kaiba didn’t complain.He didn’t snipe. He just… accepted his.

“Thought you hated‘em,” said Jounouchi, leering at him.

Kaiba shrugged. “No,I just don’t find them very exciting.” Nonetheless, he extendedhis stick and allowed the marshmallow to ignite. Atem did the same,taking the opportunity to brush shoulders with Kaiba.

“That’s it?Just… ‘not very exciting’?” Jounouchi squinted at Kaiba. “Youfeeling okay?”

Another shrug. Thelittle glance at Atem told Jounouchi everything he needed to know,and the encouraging smile Atem returned? Damning.

“Well,” saidJounouchi, “how nice to see the great Kaiba lowering his standardsenough to eat marshmallows with a peasant like me.”

“It’s… not sobad.”

Jounouchi paled. Notonly was Atem flaking out on him, now Kaiba was, too. Not thatJounouchi really wanted to get into it with Kaiba tonight, but theyhad – a certain relationship. It was just how they were. Somethinghe could depend on.

Apparently, though,Kaiba had more important things to concentrate on right now. Likesneaking his gloved hand over Atem’s beneath their coat sleeves. Ifthey thought they were being subtle, Jounouchi would hate to seeobvious. “May all your marshmallows burn,” he whispered.

“What?” askedAtem, head swiveling in Jounouchi’s direction.

“Oh, nothing…nothing at all.” He tried to grin, though it was more of a grimace.There was nothing like witnessing a flirt fest to remind you that youdidn’t have a date for Christmas Eve. Or Valentine’s Day. Or theforeseeable future. Not a single romantic prospect to speak of.

Well. Maybe one. Butthat was – no. Just a little gaming here and there, and even thathad probably only happened because Shizuka had to drop out of thecampaign for a while. If he’d made a habit of staying aftereveryone else left, laughing into the night, enjoying the company ofthe dungeon master… that wasn’t so abnormal, was it?

A rustle drewJounouchi’s attention. Atem sat up now, drawing his hand away fromKaiba, and started forward. “Oh!” With satisfaction, Jounouchinoted that both of their marshmallows had burned… as had hisown.

“Oh, come on…”Jounouchi yanked it out of the fire and blew furiously, feelinganother pang of satisfaction as Atem observed him and did the same,and his heart softened as Atem stared at his charred marshmallow witha furrowed brow. “Aww, don’t worry about it,” he said. “Somepeople even like ‘em burnt. You have to try it at least once,right?”

That did the trick.Atem brightened, and, before Jounouchi could stop him, popped theentire marshmallow into his mouth. His eyes widened, and his handsshot up, hovering in front of his face. “Hot-!”

“You gotta let itcool more than that!” He started to say something else, but Kaibaclutched Atem’s arm in concern, and nobody was looking at Jounouchianymore. Again.

“I’m fine,”said Atem, murmuring thickly around molten sweetness, though therewere tears in his eyes. He swallowed hard and stuck out his tongue,sighing as the cool air washed over it.

“Do you needanything?” asked Kaiba, grabbing Atem’s hand. “A drink?”

If Jounouchi had towatch another minuteof this…

“Hello, everyone!”

There he was. Anangel, here to rescue Jounouchi from this unfolding disaster – tosave him from his loneliness. And also from himself.

“I’m not late,am I?” asked Bakura. His eyes swept over the deserted campsite, andthen – over Atem and Kaiba, hands still entwined. “Ah.” Heflopped down directly beside Jounouchi, who could almost cry. Atleast someone was nice enough to sit with him. Very close, infact. As close as Atem was to Kaiba.

“Not at all,”said Jounouchi, peering down at him. It wasn’t the first time he’ddone this, of late – sitting a little closer to Jounouchi thancircumstance strictly necessitated. Until now, Jounouchi had chosento interpret this innocently: Bakura simply failed to register hisintrusion on Jounouchi’s personal bubble. He was, after all, soeasily distracted. Now, though… with their shoulders nearlytouching… Jounouchi swallowed. “You cold?”

But that wasn’treally the question Jounouchi was asking. Of course he was cold. Itwas cold. He wondered if someone as… self-absorbed as Bakurawould even pick up on it, but the look in his eyes when he noddedbanished all doubts. Steeling himself, Jounouchi draped an arm overBakura’s shoulder, and when Bakura relaxed against him, he relaxed,too. “No one’s really here,” he continued Casting a sharpglance at the others, he added, “We’re hardly even talking.”

“Sorry, I- got alittle distracted,” said Atem, scooching away from Kaiba. “Let’s-”

“No, no, don’ttrouble yourself about me now,” said Jounouchi, frowning.

Atem and Kaibastared at each other, blinking. “Are you… not having a good time,Jounouchi?” Atem asked, genuinely confused. “I just thought-since you and Kaiba don’t get along so well, we were trying to-”

How could Atem be sodense? Jounouchi’s free hand balled into a fist. “Me and Kaibaget along just fine when he’s not ignoring me!”

“Ignoring you?”Kaiba was just as bewildered now. “I thought I was…” Hewrinkled his nose. “’Behaving myself.’” Obviously not hisphrasing. Jounouchi had one guess for whose it was.

“It doesn’treally matter now. You can keep ignoring me. Whatever.” He squeezedBakura’s shoulder. “I have Bakura now.”

Bakura laughed andgave Jounouchi’s arm a mock slap. “Be nice. They’re justenjoying each other’s company.” Atem couldn’t help but smile.Kaiba set his jaw, but he didn’t deny it.

“I guess,”Jounouchi said, narrowing his eyes at them. He couldn’t keep thesulk out of his voice. ��It’s just-”

“Shh.” Bakurasnagged a marshmallow out of the bag and shoved it into Jounouchi’smouth.

“Mmph!” Herelaxed and swallowed the marshmallow, flushing deeper as Bakura’sfingers brushed his lips on their way back to the bag. Satisfied,Bakura offered him another, gentler this time. He took it, wide-eyed.

“There,” saidBakura. “That’s better.” Leaning close, he whispered, “Thisweek was awful, and I didn’t sleep at all last night. If you wantto show them up, take advantage of my temporary lack of shame anddesire for companionship.”

“Um,” saidJounouchi, swallowing his marshmallow.

“Even if it’sjust to spite them, you know, I really don’t-”

“No!” saidJounouchi, managing to startle all three of the others, tearingKaiba and Atem from their own whispered conversation. Now thateveryone was looking at him, Jounouchi wasn’t so sure hewanted it anymore. “What’re you waiting for?” he said, wavingdismissively at Atem and Kaiba. “He’s right. Enjoy each other.”

They gave up andscooched back together. Atem’s hand found its way to Kaiba’s– perhaps emboldened by the current state of Jounouchi and Bakura. It wasn’t the end of the world. Jounouchi would have other chances

Bakura, on the otherhand, peered at Jounouchi, head tilted. “No?”

Jounouchi sighed,whispering back. “I mean, it’s not- it’s more than-” Heexhaled, gratefully accepting the marshmallow Bakura extended, givinghim a moment to think. “Are… you doing anything on Christmas?”