#I'm not allowing this to be reblogged because I get really uncomfortable with putting these sort of things just out there

[captainhunnicutt]

HI SHAN!!! since I’ve been thinking about late seasons Beej lately, how do you think he would handle his return home from the war?

HI BABY

Oh man. Hitting me with the good and difficult stuff right from the start.

I don't think BJ deals well with returning from Korea, and I don't think he actively does anything to help himself.

I've often wondered about this, and always come back around to the idea that BJ's entire world view has been flipped upside down and bled all over. Mike said it best when he said that "if [BJ] continued to do his best to give of himself to people in need... that it would be somehow serving his wife and daughter as well. And at the end, he'd be able to go home with his head held high." so the question really becomes... did BJ go home with his head held high?

I don't think he believed he could, and because of that he struggles from the day he gets home until... who knows when.

I don't think he becomes a drunken shell of a man. I don't think he becomes outwardly angry or cold or totally unrecognizable - but I do think his worst traits have been exacerbated and he struggles to learn with how to deal with them. I think he struggles with how to reconcile with which came first: was he always like this and having his entire world view flipped upside down and bled all over - against his will - brought it out of him OR was having his entire world view flipped upside down, bled all over and repeatedly challenged - against his will - the reason he is the way he is now? It's a chicken and the egg thing, and I think for someone like BJ (tries - and yes sometimes fails - to maintain some level of rationality) that is an impossible thing to accept and live with. Something has to be first. Something has to be to used to explain. Something has to be put to blame.

I think for a long time, BJ struggles with trying to figure out who he was before Korea, who he wanted to be during Korea, and who he is after Korea - and how are all three of those BJs him?

I think he also just really struggles with acclimating to the sense of "normalcy" that he left behind. Little things like dishes being in a different cabinet, new pictures on the wall, a new toothbrush, being able to come and go as he please ("Ag, you know what I am? I'm a prisoner of war.") and really wrestling with seeing actual physical proof that life went on without him. The Hunnicutt household did not implode in his absence, but that doesn't mean he wasn't needed or missed or wanted. But so much of his self worth seems wrapped up in the idea he needs to be needed - that stepping foot into a home where everyone is healthy, the gutters are clean, and everything is satisfactory... cannot be easy for him.

Does any of that makes sense???

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 OFFER ME MY DEATHLESS DEATH

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: one drunken encounter with dazai sends everything spiraling. suddenly, all of your problems are catching up to you at once and you're lost as to how you should proceed... or that's not entirely true—you know how you're going to proceed but it's impossible for you to come to terms with how far you've let this go.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: sorry that i haven't really been active this week </3 i've been so busy. ill try to get to asks and everything soon. forgive me</3 i hope you guys enjoy part 5, i rlly had fun writing this chapter. as always, comments and reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited - i've been busy. reader and dazai argue, reader is a bit intoxicated, dazai heavily implied suicide attempt (not outright said/described bc he can't remember, but he assumes that's what happened) & he dissociates, dazai is in a pretty bad mental state the first half of the chapter, i don't think i'm missing anything but pls lmk if i am, i didn't have time to reread

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

You stopped seeking him out after that night.

Dazai sits in his apartment, knees curled to his chest and back pressed against the wall. He has to forcibly keep his breath steady—his homework for his engineering class is discarded somewhere to his left, he’d been working on it for class tomorrow before he made the mistake of checking his phone and seeing that you’d once again stopped reading his messages. 

Two days straight now of silence on your end. He could go to your apartment like he’s been doing for the past two weeks but every time he tries to push himself to his feet with the intention of going to you, he finds himself rooted to the ground. Your words ring damningly and persistently through his head—how you told Nakahara Chuuya that you’re only doing this because he found the proof of your occupation, how you told him that you tried to cut him off.

Dazai knew what he was doing by using the video as leverage over you. He knew he was forcing you into indulging him, that he was backing you into a corner, but he’d allowed himself to be blinded by your treatment of him. 

Even if it was coerced, no one has ever treated him the way you do—you remember the things he tells you off-handedly like he matters and you buy him the things he wants without him having to say anything like you care. You’re gentle with him—Dazai has only ever experienced bruising touches; Oda and Ango weren’t physical people and he can hardly remember his mother. He remembers the way his aunt dragged him out of the car kicking and screaming, tossing him to the ground in Suribachi before driving away. He remembers all of the nights he would get drunk at bars, ending up in strangers’ beds and waking up with a body that ached painfully and dark marks littered across his bandaged skin.

It’s hard to remember that you don’t actually want him when you treat him the same way he’s dreamed someone would treat him one day. It’s hard to remember that you turn your head away when he leans in to kiss you, that you ignore his lingering touches and change the subject whenever he almost gathers the nerve to bring the topic up to you.

You don’t want him. 

He’s forcing you to do this by using the video as leverage. 

You don’t want him. 

He rests his forehead on his knees. That gaping hole in his chest that had started to return that night after Nakahara Chuuya showed up at your apartment is all consuming now. His entire body feels numb and prickly, he feels uncomfortable in his own skin.

He needs to put a stop to this.

His gaze draws from his knees to the floorboard he’s hiding the flash drive under. He could just… get rid of it. Get rid of it and disappear—you probably wouldn’t even notice. Maybe you would, he remembers how you came to his apartment when you hadn’t heard from him after sending the couch. Then again, you might’ve only shown up because you wanted to lie about why you were cutting him off. Dazai just doesn’t know with you.

Maybe he should just go to talk to you. 

But if he talks to you… and the thought of leaving his apartment right now…

Dazai sighs, leaning back against the wall, tilting his head to look up at the ceiling, weighing both options carefully before coming to a heavy decision.

You’re not in your apartment when he gets there.

Dazai would usually wander around and find something to make himself busy with while he waits for you. You have a piano on the opposite side of the room that he sometimes likes to fiddle with—he’s taught himself a few basic songs while waiting for you to get back from work the past few weeks. He ordered a gaming console and a few games to go along with it when you made the mistake of leaving your laptop open last week, but he doesn’t even have the energy to go look for one; not that any are even particularly standing out to him. Sometimes, he just snoops around, but his legs feel like lead, like they’re bolted to the ground, so he just sits on your couch and stares at the black television screen as the minutes tick by.

He doesn’t even know how long he’s been sitting there—too long, it was still light out when he walked his way over to your building in Naka-ku and the sun had set a long time ago. He’s never felt lonely in your apartment before; in fact, he usually seeks out your apartment because he feels lonely and whether you’re here or not, it eases the void that grows in his chest.

But now? Each passing second, he feels colder and colder. A part of him thinks that he should take this as a sign and just leave, but his body is uncooperative, keeping him rooted to your couch as he awaits your return.

He’s planned out what he’s going to say to you; he’s rehearsed it in his head so many times that he thinks he could say the dreadful words while sleeping. Now, he just-

Dazai’s head snaps to the side when he hears the fateful ding of the elevator arriving at your floor. His eyes widen and his tongue swells with anxiety as he stares at the doors, his breath slows and his fingers bite into his pants as he waits to see you step into the room but when the doors finally start to slide open, he freezes when he hears laughter.

“I can’t stand you,” an unfamiliar male voice snorts and Dazai’s mouth dries as his gaze darts around, trying to figure out what to do. The last thing he wants is for a repeat of the other night—if this is another one of your mafia friends, Dazai has to move, but he doesn’t know where to go.

His gaze settles on a nearby hall leading to the bathroom and an unused room—it’s closer to him than the kitchen, he’d never make it to the kitchen because he’d have to go right past the elevator. His legs feel so heavy that it’s an effort for him to push himself to his feet. He almost stumbles right over them as he rushes into the spare room, keeping the door cracked open so he can hear and see what’s going on.

He peeks carefully through the crack, watching as two men enter your apartment—you’re with them and Dazai’s chest tightens painfully at the sight of you. You’re smiling as you lean against one of the men—Dazai recognizes him as the man who had come with you to his apartment complex the first time, he’d been waiting by the car for you—and you’re dressed prettily in a short black dress. You’re so dazzling to him that Dazai nearly tumbles right out of the room he’s hiding in, but luckily, he’s drawn out of his dazed state by another unfortunately familiar face: Nakahara Chuuya, the executive who had been at your apartment the other night.

Dazai quickly leans back into the room when the ginger’s eyes snap down the hall as if he could sense someone watching him. He lets out a puff of air as he looks around the empty room—he’d looked in here before when he first started coming to your apartment, but had been sorely disappointed by the fact that there was nothing in the room for him to snoop around in.

Now, he blinks because while the room is still mostly empty, there are some tools in here as if you’d had someone come in to take measurements to start building something in there. His gaze slides from the far wall to the one nearest to him, dragging his feet against the wood floors to slide his fingers against the lines drawn on the wall in pencil, realizing that it’s about the same size as the piano in the other room.

His throat tightens as he remembers your offer from the other day, wondering if you’d gone ahead and started having it done even after the argument with Chuuya and Dazai not showing up for two days. 

God, he doesn’t understand you—he doesn’t understand you at all. He starts to doubt every conclusion he’s come to the past two days because why would you go to these lengths for someone you don’t care about? For someone who’s forcing you into indulging him through blackmail? It doesn’t make sense, Dazai has never had so much trouble reading someone before you.

He leans against the wall, lashes lowering as he looks down at the floor. He doesn’t know what to think and now his well-rehearsed speech starts crumbling in his head. Distantly, he can hear the conversation between you and the other two mafiosos—you’re talking about something happening in Tokyo and Dazai wonders if it has anything to do with that argument from the other night.

But regardless of the topic of discussion, what matters more is that you sound happy. Your voice is light and airy, and you seem entirely unbothered by the fact that you hadn’t seen Dazai in days. Dazai doesn’t think you’ve ever sounded so happy with him before and why would you when he’s blackmailing you? Your laughter rings bright and pretty like a chime and Dazai feels sick to his stomach at the thought of you laughing like that for someone else; he imagines the way your laughter will fizzle when you see him, all of the liveliness in your face dying at his unanticipated appearance.

It feels like an eternity and all too soon at the same time when Dazai finally hears the two leave. He takes one deep breath, preparing to force himself out from where he’s hiding but then freezes at the sound of you raising your voice.

“Dazai, you can come out now.”

He blanches, staring at the partially closed door in front of him, half-debating on not even coming out because how did you know he was here? He thought he’d been careful, there’s-

“I know you’re somewhere in here, the cushion was warm where you were sitting.”

Dazai has half a mind to throw himself out of the window.

He takes in a deep breath as he pushes the door open, stepping out into the hallway that’s suddenly too cold and all too short. He swears it was twice as long when he was stumbling from the couch to hide in the spare room. His feet scuffle against the ground as he walks forward, not coming any closer than where the hallway meets your living room.

You’re laying on the couch he’d been sitting on, head resting back against the pillows and a curious expression on your face as you watch him. He can’t read it—if he didn’t know any better, he’d almost say it was fond, but he refuses to let that hope bubble up into his chest only for it to be crushed again. He thinks he should say something, tossing around a few options in his head, but he doesn’t get the chance to.

You hold out your hand to him. “Come here,” you say.

Dazai hesitates, eyes lingering on your extended hand before flitting back up to your face. He shouldn’t—he knows he shouldn’t—but he finds his feet moving forward before he can stop himself. He stands in front of you awkwardly for a moment, not sure what you want from him, but then his eyes shoot open when you reach out and grab his wrist, tugging him forward onto the couch with you. 

He pretends he doesn’t yelp when he lands on top of you, face flaming up when he shifts himself into a sitting position so that he’s straddling your waist, trying not to drop all of his weight onto you. He also pretends that he’s not entirely thrown off by the way your hands rest on his thighs, absently running them up and down the sides of them. 

“Where have you been the past few days?” you ask him quietly.

Dazai’s blood pressure spikes at the curious look you give him, as if he hadn’t been texting you for days with no response. He can smell the alcohol on you now that he’s closer and he wonders how much you drank—he thinks that’s probably why you looked so fond before and that’s probably why you’re suddenly being so touchy with him, it has nothing to do with him. That empty feeling in his chest starts to return.

He should have just left, should have just destroyed the flash drive and disappeared. 

“I texted you,” he replies tightly, feeling wildly uncomfortable as he’s unable to get a hold on the way he’s spiraling internally. “I can see you’ve been busy though.”

You tilt your head to the side as if you’re unsure of what he means and Dazai almost wants to get up and leave but the feeling of your hands on him, his lower body pressed to yours, it leaves him dizzy and slow. His breath catches as your hands slip beneath his sweatshirt, smoothing out against his bandaged sides, thumb drawing slow circles over the covered skin as if trying to calm him down.

Dazai thinks he might hate you.

He thinks he might hate himself more because it works. His heartbeat slows and relaxes into you a bit more. He wants to take you by the shoulders and shake you, wants to demand answers, wants to know if you actually care about him or if this is all just some big show for the flash drive. 

“I haven’t looked at my phone,” you finally say. “I’ve been the one dealing with the issues in Tokyo. It’s just been meeting after meeting the past few days. I thought you’d be here when I got back but you weren’t.”

Were you waiting for him? He wants to ask. Expecting him? Or are you just saying that because you can tell he’s unhappy and don’t want to deal with his attitude? Dazai just doesn’t know, it’s hard to concentrate with your hands on his body.

“Can we talk?” Dazai asks quietly after a few moments.

“What about?”

About the flash drive. About you. About him. Dazai doesn’t know—about everything. So, instead he just says: “About this.”

Instantly, you turn your head away from him and Dazai’s frustration rises at your attempt at blatantly ignoring him. He reaches out to grab your cheeks, forcing you to look up at him and Dazai’s breath catches when your lidded stare lands on him.

“I’m drunk,” you tell him flatly. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Bullshit,” Dazai immediately snaps, the pads of his fingers digging a bit too hard into your cheeks but you’re unfazed by it, staring up at him with an unreadable expression. “I think-”

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to finish his sentence because you’re pushing yourself up from your laying position, one hand slipping out from his sweatshirt to cup the back of his head, the other still firm on his hip as you drag him down against you. Dazai’s breath catches when you press your lips against his, lashes fluttering shut. The hand on his hip slides around to his back, holding his body flush to yours—he lets out a low moan into your mouth when you nip at his bottom lip.

No, he thinks hazily, trying to push himself off of you but instead, his hands cup your cheeks and he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. Your tongues dance in a way that leaves him dazed, it feels almost intimately familiar to him, somehow so in tune with one another that it’s like you’ve kissed hundreds of times before. 

He shouldn’t be doing this, he knows this. You said it yourself that you’re drunk, he knows you only kissed him to get him to stop talking but…Dazai sighs into your mouth when he feels the tips of your finger card through his hair, feeling you shift beneath him to let his hips slot between your legs.

But isn’t this what he’s wanted this whole time? 

Aren’t you finally giving him what you’ve denied him for weeks?

Your lips are intoxicating against his, and not because of the gin staining your tongue, he can hardly focus on anything with the way your tongue traces the back of his teeth, dragging against the roof of his mouth. He groans when you shift beneath him, one leg hooking around his waist. He separates his lips from yours to gasp for breath.

Shit, he thinks, lips parting when you kiss his jaw, trailing your lips to his ear to suck gently on the skin there before kissing slowly down his neck. He swears his entire body is on fire, breaths quick and shuddered; his mind feels so muddled and hazy that he has to actively tell himself to put a stop to this and even that is almost not enough.

It takes all of his willpower to push himself off of you, still breathing heavy, lips wet and swollen, his whole body tingling everywhere your lips and hands had touched. You stare up at him and Dazai’s body aches with need when he sees you’re nearly as breathless as he is, your own lips wet from his, eyes a bit glazed over. Heat burns in his lower abdomen but he can’t, not when he knows you’re drunk and not when he knows you’re only doing this to get him to stop talking.

Before Dazai can say anything, you look away from him again and he knows that it’s over.

“I’m tired,” you say. “Help me get to bed. We can talk in the morning.”

Dazai’s lashes lower as he nods, leaning down to help you to your feet. Even with your heels kicked off, you wobble on your feet, so he wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. The silence is almost foreboding as Dazai guides you up the stairs to your bedroom; you don’t make any move to break it, so Dazai does.

“We’re not going to talk about it in the morning, are we?” he asks quietly, looking down at you. You don’t look up at him and Dazai just wants you to at least look at him so when he gets you to the door of your bedroom, he stops and looks at you. You still don’t look at him. “Can you at least look at me?”

Dazai thinks he might be sick from the way you have to seemingly force yourself to look at him. Even drunk, he can see the displeasure plain on your face and it makes him want to curl in on himself again.

“I don’t want to talk about it, Dazai,” you finally say, your voice is tight. “I want to go to bed.”

“I want to talk about it,” Dazai stresses. “I-”

Frustration flies across your face, emotions loosened in your intoxicated state. You turn away from him and slam open your bedroom door and Dazai winces, taking half a step back.

“It’s always what you want, Dazai,” you hiss. 

Dazai’s heart sinks, shaking his head because he doesn’t want to hear where you’re going with this. “Stop.”

“For weeks, I have been catering to what you want and now I don’t want one thing and you throw a fucking tantrum over it. I don’t want to talk about this—I don’t want to talk about it now, I don’t want to talk about it in the morning, I don’t want to talk about it. Can you just leave it be?”

Dazai takes another step back, staring at you silently. His ears ring as your words echo through them and though he can watch your face shift from frustration to guilt, it doesn’t process in his head—not really, not when all he can hear are your words on repeat over and over again. 

You reach out for him, fingers curling around his wrist but Dazai pulls his hand back, taking a step away from you, closer to the stairs. All of his fight or flight instincts are triggered, his body itches to run, to flee downstairs and get out of your apartment, but his legs are uncooperative, feet rooted to the ground as he stares at you blankly.

“I didn’t mean that,” you say after a few moments. “I didn’t-I just-”

“It’s okay,” Dazai replies, voice a bit distant even to his own ears. “I’ll drop it.”

“Dazai-”

“Let me help you get into bed,” Dazai interrupts, forcing a smile onto his face as he pushes himself forward. His movements feel weird and clunky, unnatural almost, but he successfully leads you into your room, pulling back the sheets to help you into bed. “C’mon.”

He helps you slip into the bed and pulls the sheets over you, there’s still that hazy look in your eyes as you look up at him and Dazai tries his best to make sure that the smile on his face doesn’t look strained. He’s pretty sure you can see through it even while drunk. You reach out to grab his wrist again and this time, Dazai doesn’t pull away. 

“Stay here tonight,” you say quietly. “Lay down with me.”

“I have class in the morning.” Dazai shakes his head, as much as he might ache to stay in your presence, he thinks if he stays in it a moment longer, he might actually break down—he can’t get your words to stop echoing. Only a steadily crumbling dam is holding back the torrent of emotions ripping apart his chest. “I can’t.”

“I’ll drive you.”

“I have to get all of my books, and finish my homework,” he tells you. “I can’t.”

“We’ll leave early,” you press, leaning up on your elbows. “C-”

“I can’t,” Dazai stresses, taking a step back and shaking his head. “I can’t. I have to go.”

You look conflicted, but to his relief and distress, you finally let go of his wrist. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow. After your classes. You finish at three, right? There’s a restaurant in Minami-ku I’ve been meaning to take you to.”

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, shaking his head again. “I’m busy after class tomorrow. I have meetings for group projects.”

“When are they over? I’ll pick you up after.”

He feels a bit sick to his stomach as he looks up at your ceiling, in turmoil and unsure as to what to do. He knows you’re not doing this because you feel bad—not really—he knows it has to do with the flashdrive. He knows it. He thought it would be easier having someone to talk to, someone to hang out with, even if it was only because of blackmail because at least he would have someone, but he was wrong because this is a type of torture that Dazai just can’t endure any longer.

“I’m not going to want to do anything after, I’ll be drained.”

“Then we don’t have to do anything.” God, you won’t stop trying. You won’t stop trying and Dazai knows that if it wasn’t for that stupid flash drive, you’d have laughed in his face and told him to get out. He thinks he might actually throw up. “I’ll pick up the food before going to get you. We’ll stay in. Watch a movie.”

“No,” Dazai says, raising his voice now. “No. I’m just going to go back to my place. I have to go.”

Though his legs feel like lead and his body still yearns to be near yours, he forces himself to leave your room. Doesn’t look back when you call his name. Doesn’t hesitate at the top of the stairs when you tell him to wait. He nearly stumbles as he makes his way down the stairs and when he gets to the bottom instead of rushing toward the elevator, he sits on the arm of your couch, resting his head in his hands as he tries to gather his thoughts.

You’re so frustrating. So impossible to read that it’s beginning to take a toll on Dazai. He doesn’t understand why you’re so adamant on not having a conversation about all of this. He thought you would’ve wanted to have a conversation about it for the chance of getting the flash drive away from him. 

You’ve done everything in your power to avoid any physical contact with him until now; only finally giving it to him when there’s an issue you really don’t want to talk about to try to distract him. Hell, you’d prefer to even talk to him about mafia business—you vented all about the issues with the Shimazaki-kai to him, and Dazai would think that’s the last thing you’d want to talk to him about. 

It doesn’t make any sense.

He’s drawn from his thoughts at the sound of something buzzing against the ground a few feet away, frowning as he looks around and spots your phone on the ground, probably lost in your drunken attempts to get to the couch. He hesitates before pushing himself off the arm of the couch, taking a few steps toward it before kneeling down to pick it up. 

He chews at the inside of his cheek as he stares down at the home screen of your phone, staring at Nakahara Chuuya’s name in the text notification. He knows that he shouldn’t go snooping. He knows it.

He does it anyway.

He spares one last glance up the stairs before unlocking your phone with the code he’s seen you put in hundreds of times by now, clicks on your message app and lets out a puff of air when he realizes that no, you hadn’t been lying. You have at least twenty unread message threads—Dazai’s is pinned at the top with Chuuya’s and someone called Mori, who you’ve never mentioned to him. There’s only one message thread you’ve evidently been reading the past few days considering there’s no dot next to it: Tolstoy, the last message being from a few hours ago.

He shouldn’t look. He knows he shouldn’t look.

He clicks on it anyway.

He bites down hard on his bottom lip as he scrolls to the top of the conversation—only a few message exchanges between the two of you, but they’re decently long.

Tolstoy: Do you still want Ilya? I can have him there by the end of next week, I just need him to finish up some business in Moscow first. You: Haven’t decided. You haven’t even given me the rundown on the side effects of his ability. I’m not going to use it if it’s going to fuck up his head—stop playing salesman and tell me what’s actually up with him. No ability comes without consequences. You know that. I know that. So stop fucking around. 

Dazai suddenly has a sick feeling in his stomach, vision tunneling on the ‘him’ you’re speaking of in the messages. A foreboding air settles over him, dark and oppressive, he has to physically force himself to keep reading.

Tolstoy: We don’t know of any side effects. Haven’t used it enough to figure it out.  You: So, you want me to use him as a lab rat? Be real, Tolstoy. Thought you had more respect for me than that. Tolstoy: I’m trying to help you. You want that kid’s memory wiped, I can have it done for you, it’s just a matter of how badly you want it done.

Dazai doesn’t read anymore than that. He drops your phone onto the couch, takes a step back, a step away. His mind spins, ears ringing as he stares down at—he doesn’t even know what he’s staring at. His vision is swimming and blurring—with tears, maybe? Or just from exhaustion? From panic? He can’t tell but he knows he’s not breathing properly and he knows he needs to leave, everything suddenly feels too suffocating, too enclosed. 

He stumbles over to the elevator, slapping the button and leaning against the wall as he waits for it to come up to your floor. It takes long—too long, each second that passes feels like an eternity and he can’t breathe. He can’t breathe. He can’t breathe.

There’s only one “him” that your texts could be referring to. And it makes sense—it makes sense, doesn’t it? It makes sense why you’re so willing to divulge confidential information if you don’t intend for him to keep the knowledge of it. Makes sense why you’ve been notably careless with leaving files around your apartment. Makes sense why you told him about your ability. He’d thought you were finally letting him in, letting him know you, but-but of course, you weren’t. 

Of course, you weren’t. 

You were just…you were just trying to keep him placated, feed him bits of information to keep him happy because you knew you weren’t going to let him keep the knowledge of it. That you were gonna wipe his memory of it, of you, and send him back into that cold, dark void that’s been following him around his entire life and-

The bing of the elevator startles him, he flinches and still, he can’t breathe. His skin feels numb and prickly, his bandages are scratching uncomfortably at the scars hidden beneath them and he can hardly see straight.

Dazai needs to go.

He needs to go.

You wake up with a dry mouth, a pounding headache and an oddly foreboding feeling hanging about you. You push yourself into a sitting position, grimacing at the sun blinding you through the window—you don’t remember much of the night. You vaguely recall leaving the club last night with Albatross and Chuuya, the two of them incessantly bitching about dealing with you while you were drunk but in your defense, you think you deserved it after three days straight of meetings with the Shimazaki-kai on behalf of the Sun and Steel. 

Everything after leaving the club is a blur. You grimace as you push yourself out of bed, glancing around to see if you’d dropped your phone anywhere near the bed only to come up empty-handed. You don’t even bother to go to the bathroom and brush your teeth, anxious to find your phone and figure out what happened once you left the club.

You pray to god that it’s downstairs and you hadn’t left it at the club, making your way out of the bedroom with a sigh. You doubt Chuuya or Albatross would’ve been dumb enough to leave it there, but you’re pretty sure they were both drunk too and neither of them are functioning drunks.

You’re not even halfway through the door frame when pain shoots through your head, sharp and uncomfortable and then-

“It’s always what you want, Dazai.”

Suddenly, that foreboding feeling you awoke with makes sense. You stare ahead blankly as you remember who exactly was waiting for you at your apartment after you got back from the club. You remember the argument, you remember the crushed expression that crossed his face when you snapped at him, you remember pleading with him to stay or to at least let you take him out today and you remember him refusing, his voice pitched and cracking, wobbly, on the verge of collapse because-

Because of you. 

Fuck.

It’s with increasingly more urgency now that you rush yourself down the stairs, a small lingering hope remaining that maybe Dazai had stayed in one of the guest rooms or on the couch, that you could do something to fix this before it escalates even more. 

You don’t even know why you said that—it’s not like you mind giving Dazai what he wants, in fact, you enjoy it. You enjoy it a lot. You like seeing his face light up when you do nice things for him, you like when he tries to hide the way he gets all flustered, you like that he’s allowed himself to have hope with you—something he’s clearly denied himself for too long—and you what? 

You ruined it because you got scared? 

You ruined it because you didn’t want to talk about… whatever you have going on with him? 

You ruined it because you were terrified he was going to force you to come to terms with the fact that you’re using his stupid flash drive as an excuse to indulge yourself in him. That it would take minimal effort to have it destroyed but you’re putting it off because you want to be able to rationalize what you’re doing.

You feel sick to your stomach when you realize that your apartment is empty, eyes darting around to try to find your phone. You need to call him—he told you that he wanted to be alone today, or maybe he didn’t say exactly that but he implied it, but you need to at least talk to him now that you’re sober and can think straight. 

A distant part of you, a cold and logical part of you, tells you to just use this as the excuse to cut him off—you don’t need to get Ilya to fuck with his mind if he just hates you, you don’t want Ilya to fuck with Dazai’s mind. The thought of it makes your chest feel tight with guilt, so maybe you should take this opportunity for what it is, no matter how shitty it might make you feel, but-

But you won’t.

Finally spotting your phone on the couch, you snatch it up and unlock it, grimacing at the low battery percentage and then grimacing even more when there’s not a single message from Dazai lighting up your home screen. There’s seven from Chuuya, three from Albatross, and two from Mori, but you’re more concerned by the missed call from an unknown number and the unread voice message.

The foreboding feeling that has been looming only grows more intense when you click on the message for it to play out loud.

“This is Doctor Okamoto of Keiyu Hospital calling on behalf of a recently admitted patient… listed you as his emergency contact when he was brought in last night… unable to disclose any information regarding his injuries over the phone… suggest that you get here soon…”

At once, your vision tunnels and everything around you becomes white noise, your gaze is pinned on the ground, a smudge on the tiled floors as you try to keep yourself grounded because what? Dazai is in the-he’s in the hospital?

Because of you? 

You hadn’t been subtle approaching him that day in the library, it’s been a lingering thought since then, wondering if unsavory eyes had caught sight of you talking to him. The bar and the cafe were different, he had approached you—if any of your enemies had happened to see it, they wouldn’t think twice about it. But you approaching him had been dangerous. 

It had been a mistake.

Had it been a mistake to cost him his life?

And it’s not just that—you’ve taken him out to dinners. Picked him up at his apartment building. Places that you or your trusted affiliates own but there’s always the chance… and if he left the Port Mafia building last night in a rush, upset and not thinking straight…

Oh, you might throw up.

You’re not dressed properly. You’re still wearing your dress from last night and you fumble to put on the heels you must’ve kicked off in your drunken state. You don’t even care to get dressed, more intent on getting to the hospital and figuring out if—nausea builds in the back of your throat—if Dazai is alive, if he’s okay. You need to re-listen to the voicemail because your hearing had been unfocused and you’d only been able to catch bits and pieces of the doctor’s message.

And-

And you don’t even get into the elevator because your phone is ringing again as soon as you click the button. You don’t even look at the number before picking up, fearing that it’s the hospital again—it’s not, it’s Chuuya, and you immediately regret your decision because you aren’t even able to bark out a ‘what’ before he’s speaking.

“Where the hell have you been?” Chuuya snaps on the other side of the line. “We’ve been trying to get ahold of you for hours, we-”

“I’m busy,” you hiss right back, interrupting him. “I can’t talk-”

“You can talk,” Chuuya says harshly. “Get to headquarters. The Guild is in Yokohama now. We don’t have time to fuck around anymore.”

You don’t respond to Chuuya, heart sinking to your feet at his words, distress clawing at your chest so painfully that you think it might be easier if you just carve out your heart and toss it out the window. You hang up the phone without another word just as the elevator makes it to your floor, but instead of going inside, you make your way back up to your room, numbly changing into one of your suits so you could at least look somewhat presentable. 

You hardly even recognize yourself in the mirror as you wipe off your smudged makeup from your night out. Your eyes are vacant and your expression so empty that you think you could almost be looking at a statue. 

War with the Guild. Dazai in the hospital.

Everything is catching up to you at the same time and your mind is fraying at its seams, collapsing in on itself as the weight of everything bears down on you. You do your best to compartmentalize, focus on one thing at a time but you can’t even concentrate on one issue. 

You try to figure out what to do about the upcoming conflict, try to determine what exactly Fitzgerald might be planning so you can figure out what the Port Mafia will retaliate with, and your mind drifts to Dazai, you wonder if he’s okay, if he’s in critical condition, if it was one of your enemies that got to him or if it was something else.

You think about Dazai, all of the fear and guilt and anxiety tearing you apart, and your mind shoots straight to the Guild. Because if Fitzgerald knows about Dazai—if he knows about Dazai—then it’s over. It’s all over. If the Guild gets their hands on him, they’ll kill him when you don’t give them what they want because you can’t give them what they want. They want Yokohama and you can’t give them that. 

You can’t, not even for Dazai.

You don’t even register that you’re standing in front of the elevator again until it bings, startling you right out of your thoughts. You can’t leave the building while you’re spiraling like this—you need to get a grip on yourself, you don’t even know where you’re going yet. You need to figure out if you’re going to go meet with Mori and the other executives or if you’re going to go find Dazai. 

As you step into the elevator, it takes all but five seconds for you to make a decision.

Dazai wakes up to the familiar scent of antiseptic and a citrus-scented floor cleaning solution, the air is too stale and the air-conditioning is cranked up too high. He forces his eyes open, lids heavy and uncooperative, but he immediately lets them fall shut again briefly when he’s met with too white walls and the steady beeping of the heart monitor next to him.

His throat feels swollen as he stares up at the ceiling—the last time he was here in the hospital he was seventeen and had nearly bled out in the bathtub in Odasaku’s house. The only reason he hadn’t was because Ango happened to stop by the house to pick up papers that Odasaku had left for him, finding Dazai unconscious and face half-submerged in the water. He woke up here to find both of them hovering over him, Ango concerned and Odasaku visibly upset for the first time since Dazai met him.

He wakes up alone now because Odasaku is dead and he hasn’t spoken to Ango in four years—doesn’t even know where the man is anymore, doesn’t even know if he’s alive, doesn’t want to know either.

“Dazai-sama.” He hears a nurse say from the door to his room. “You’re awake, how are you…”

The nurse’s voice becomes white noise with the beeping of the heart monitor and the vents blowing above. Dazai retreats back into his own mind—a dangerous place, but right now it’s safer than the white walls that surround him, knowing he’s going to be badgered with questions that he doesn’t want to have to answer. 

How are you feeling, Dazai-sama? 

What happened, Dazai-sama? 

We need to ask you a few questions, Dazai-sama.

Dazai feels defeated.

His head falls to the side as he stares out the nearby window, watching as a bird swoops down in view before taking off into the sky.

He doesn’t even remember what happened. He remembers leaving your apartment, he remembers… he remembers seeing your texts, your plans to wipe his memory. And… that’s about it? He vaguely remembers the familiar feeling of his lungs burning, remembers being tossed around by the rough currents of Tsurumi River. He doesn’t remember how he got there but it’s not exactly hard for him to piece together—even now, Dazai thinks he would rather be dead than have his memories forcibly erased.

“… to know what exactly hap…”

A dark and familiar cloud settles over him. His eyes feel heavy and his chest hurts. Dazai—he doesn’t even know what to think anymore. He’s so tired that his bones ache and his muscles feel so weak that he just sinks into the stiff mattress of the hospital bed.

He doesn’t know what he expected—he thinks that to some extent he expected you to leave him. Everyone has left him. His mother, his aunt, all of the brief friends he’d made over the years before they see him for what he is, Odasaku and Ango—everyone has left him, so he knew that you would too but… in this manner? Using an ability to wipe his memory of you?

Dazai has considered it before. He’s wondered if maybe his life would be easier if he could just… forget. If he could live without the memory of everyone who has left him hanging over him. Some days, on really bad days, he thinks it might be easier. To try to make himself feel better, he thinks that maybe he isn’t the issue, maybe it’s all just a self-fulfilling prophecy, that it’s his past experiences cursing him to make the same mistakes over and over again; that without them, he might stand a chance.

But then when he thinks about it—when he really thinks about it—he knows in his heart that it’s not true, and he knows that without the memory of them all, Dazai will only feel more empty. And to think that you were trying to take his memories of you from him… without even asking, without giving him a choice in the matter… it almost makes Dazai-

“Dazai.”

His gaze snaps to the side when he hears your familiar voice come from the door leading into his room. Instantly, he’s shaking his head and looking away again, he can’t even bear to look at you but you’re walking over to him, you’re coming to his bedside, you’re sitting next to him on the hospital bed and you’re reaching out to cup his cheek, forcibly turning his face to make him look at you. You look worried, something sharp and concerned in your eyes that makes his throat swell and he wants to spit at you and call you a liar but he can only sink into your touch.

“Why are you here?” he asks. His voice is hoarse, almost painful for him to use. 

“What happened?” you ask him quietly instead of answering his question—you never answer his questions, you always deflect, always maneuver around them. The ones you do answer, it’s only because you plan to- “Dazai, what happened? Are you okay?”

Dazai doesn’t know how you can look at him like this all the while planning the most diabolical betrayal that he could ever imagine. You’re either an actress deserving of international recognition or… or Dazai doesn’t even know.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice clipped. “Why are you here?”

“The hospital called me-”

“But why are you here?” Dazai cuts you off, grateful that his voice is firmer than the turmoil wreaking havoc through him. He must’ve given them your number while he was half-delirious when he was brought in—he figured that out already—but that doesn’t explain why you actually came. “Why did you come?”

“Because you’re hurt,” you say as if Dazai should believe you. 

And he wants to believe you. Wants to believe that you’d come running just at the mere idea of him being hurt, wants to believe that you would care enough to come for him. He wants to believe you so bad, but he knows what he saw. 

“Don’t lie to me,” Dazai tells you, finally gathering the willpower to pull his face away from where it’s resting in the palm of your hand. You don’t even let him shift away, hand slipping behind him to cradle the back of his head, fingers entwined with his hair. “Stop.”

“I’m not lying to you,” you say like a liar. “Tell me what happened.”

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

You sigh heavily and Dazai hates the way you’re absently drawing circles against the nape of his neck with your thumb, hates how it makes him feel at ease and especially hates the way his lashes instinctually flutter shut.

“I didn’t mean what I said last night, Dazai,” you say so quietly that Dazai almost believes you. Almost. “I was drunk, I didn’t… I don’t know why I said that. I didn’t mean-”

“I don’t care about that,” Dazai says, proud of the way his voice stays sharp and cold. “I saw the messages between you and Tolstoy. I know what you’re planning. I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t even want to look at you, just leave me alone.”

You draw back at his words, concerned expression melting into a blank slate as you pull your hand away to sit back straight. Dazai misses your touch instantly, longs for the warmth to return but he forces himself to ignore it all, keeping his gaze pinned on you, watching the way your mind races behind your eyes. He wonders if you’re trying to figure out if you can salvage this, wonders if you’re going to lie.

Instead, a heavy look settles over your face as you frown, glancing back at the way you came and for a moment, Dazai thinks you’re just going to leave. You rise to your feet and words lodge in the back of his throat, preparing to spit insults at you: he wants to call you a coward, a liar, wants to tell you that you’re cruel and vile and he can hardly even stand to look at you.

But then you look back at him and hold out your hand to him. “Come on,” you tell him. “Let’s sneak you out of here… I’ll explain everything when we get out of the hospital.”

Dazai wants to be spiteful, wants to turn his head away and ignore you, wants to slap your hand and tell you that there’s no explaining what he saw.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he places his hand in yours and lets that treacherous, treacherous spec of hope bloom in his chest again.

Dazai hasn’t spoken a word since leaving the hospital. You’ve tried to make small talk with him, but every time, he just turns his head away to look out the window. You gave up twenty minutes ago and Dazai is already regretting not indulging conversation with you because the silence is agonizing. He knows he should break it, but he doesn't know how to now. 

He glances at you from the corner of your eye. You’re leaning back against your seat, one hand on the steering wheel—he can’t see your eyes because they’re masked by sunglasses, but he can see the way your free hand rests on the gear stick, knuckles tense.

“What is this place?” Dazai clears his throat as he leans forward in his seat, peering out the windshield of your car to try to figure out where you’re taking him. He forces his tone to lighten, the smile on his lips strained. “Are you kidnapping me? Oh! Or are you taking me to some remote cabin to kill me? Bella, you truly know the way to a man’s heart.”

You let out a heavy sigh, one that makes Dazai toss a sweet smile in your direction. 

Some type of beach house, he recognizes as you pull up a windy road to the top of a cliff looking over the water. He can see to his left a path leading down to the water and to his right a nice view of a distant pier. It’s not a large house, but it’s nice—well-kept and refurbished with a view over Sagami Bay. It’s not too far out from Yokohama, probably only a little over an hour, but considering Dazai’s never left the city in his entire life, this might be the furthest he’s ever been. He can almost feel a bit of excitement bubbling in his chest. 

“I wanted to take you here, away from the city for a bit,” you finally say, fingers thrumming against the wheel of the car as you slowly guide the car up the gravel path. “So we can talk in peace.”

Your bland words whittle away his excitement and Dazai’s smile falters. He tries to distract himself with counting the strands hanging off the sleeve of his sweater but keeps losing count.

“Something you couldn’t have talked to me about in Yokohama?” Dazai asks airly as you pull to a stop in front of the beach house. 

He doesn’t turn to look at you, doesn’t move until you finally get out of the car, reaching into the back seat to grab two duffle bags, nodding for him to follow you.

Wow, he thinks dryly, you came prepared.

Dazai feels distinctly like he’s walking to his execution as he follows you to the steps leading up to the house, but instead of walking up them, you toss the bags on the porch and then continue up the path.

You’re going to push him off a cliff, Dazai thinks, feet dragging against the gravel as he follows you. This is it, all of the years that he’s longed for death and it’s finally about to find him at your hands. 

“I might not die from the fall,” Dazai says, words drawn long as he pouts. “You wouldn’t really leave me to suffer in freezing water, would you?”

“No,” you say, glancing back at him. He lets out a quiet breath of relief that’s quickly snuffed out when you add, “I’m not that sloppy with my kills. I’d kill you before dumping your body over the side of the cliff.”

Dazai blanches, but your lips curl up into an amused smile so he settles down, sighing as he purposely knocks his shoulder with yours.

“My bella is so cruel,” he sighs dramatically. “She hates me.”

You sigh as you reach the edge of the cliff, not turning to look at him. The wind whips around the two of you—it’s a cool, early spring night, the temperature just enough to be uncomfortable but you don’t seem bothered by it as you stare out across the water as the sun starts to set.

You’re beautiful, Dazai thinks, breath catching at the sight of you beneath the setting sun. The golden rays cast an ethereal glow over you, the wind ruffles your clothes and hair, and your expression is solemn in a way that’s become terribly familiar the past few weeks.

“I’m not going to do anything with the video,” Dazai finally says, voice quiet—finally taking the chance to say what he wanted to say last night. “You don’t have to keep… pandering to me because you’re trying to protect yourself. I was never going to do anything with it, I just… wanted you to give me a chance.”

When you look over your shoulder, you give Dazai a small, genuine smile that makes all of the air whoosh from his lungs. 

“Dazai, I’ve known you weren’t going to do anything with that video since day one,” you say, amused. “If I thought you were, I would’ve had someone confiscate it from your apartment.”

Dazai’s lips part, mind racing. “But then why-”

Your smile softens at the edges and you sigh as you lower yourself down to the ground, feet dangling off the edge of the cliff. Dazai joins you, thigh brushing yours and shoulders absently knocking together. Your hands rest in your lap and Dazai’s fingers twitch to reach for yours. He only hardly refrains himself.

“I don’t remember a life before this,” you say after a few moments, a distant look in your eyes as you stare ahead. “When I was seven… eight, maybe, I was pulled out of a warzone by the current leader of the Mafia. I don’t even remember my parents—anything about them. Their names. Faces. What they sounded like, what their job was. Mori… he found me in my town sitting in the middle of a whole pile of bodies and I couldn’t even point out which pair of corpses were my parents. I don’t remember anything before him… It’s all just black. Blurred.”

Dazai stares at you, eyes a bit wide as he listens to you speak. His lips part to say something but he decides against it, instead he seals his lips back shut and presses his shoulder against yours. Mori—that was the other name pinned up with Dazai’s message thread and Nakahara Chuuya’s—he must be the Port Mafia boss. His gaze traces your face as you stare ahead, catching the melancholic expression on your face. He itches to reach for your hand.

“I could hardly remember anything about myself. My first name… that’s just about it. My new birthday became the day Mori found me, my new surname—when needed—was his, he… he became my reason to live when I had none. Gave me a purpose,” you tell him faintly. “I spent two years on a warfront trying to figure out what my ability was so I could be the finishing touches of the immortal regiment that he was trying to create. As far as I remember, all I’ve known is… this. Him.”

Dazai wants to say something but every word he tries to push out dies on his tongue. Instead, he finally does reach out to grab your hand, fingers curling around yours tightly. You look down briefly, an unreadable expression on your face before it softens and… and for a split second, Dazai can see you, he can see you: not a hardened executive of a mafia, but an eight-year-old girl, lost and confused and landing in the arms of the wrong man, and it makes him sick.

The traitorous part of him wonders if you’re only telling him this because you still plan on following through with the memory wipe, so Dazai does what he always does when someone threatens to take one of the few things he wants—he digs his claws in and doesn’t let go. 

“The war ended before I could figure out how to use my ability and I followed… him to the underground. We ended up with the Port Mafia while the previous boss and his family were still leading. He was…” You trail off, frowning. “Dangerous. Yokohama was a terrible place under his leadership. He slaughtered civilians who spoke poorly about him and the Mafia, killed his own men for looking at him wrong… Mori became his doctor and for the good of the city, he decided to kill him.”

“I remember the old boss—what he did to the city,” Dazai says quietly—how could he not? His aunt was terrified of being in Yokohama because of him, was constantly talking about leaving the city… she finally did after dumping Dazai off in Suribachi and leaving him to fend for himself against the wolves. “It was bad.”

“It was,” you agree absently. “Mori—he wanted it to be as bloodless as possible. He tried every route, but the only way for it to be bloodless was if he had someone to corroborate that the previous boss died in his sleep and left the Port Mafia to him.”

Dazai almost scoffs.

“No one would believe that.”

“We’d hoped maybe one of his grandchildren would step up. Even if it was clearly a lie, people would have to listen because they were his blood,” you say with a wry smile. “They didn’t.”

“So, what happened then?” he presses when you don’t immediately continue. He frowns when he catches the sudden change in your demeanor, like you’re sick to your stomach, unable to push out the next words. He feels a bit dreadful, squeezing your hand gently. 

“We had to wipe out the whole family,” you whisper, looking down at your lap, “and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s granddaughter—she was asleep, had a bear tucked in her arm and a nightlight on the right side of her bed. I slit her throat, then both of her older brothers. They were kids.”

Oh.

Dazai’s throat spasm as he swallows, the picture forming in his head cold and chilling, but instead he forces out:

“You were a kid too.”

“No, I wasn’t. Hadn’t been for a long time,” you say, voice flat, leaving no room for argument. “We hunted down the whole bloodline, immediate to extended family. Mori was insistent on it, said we couldn’t risk one of them ever returning and upending everything we’ve built. He’s still searching for some to this day just to make sure.”

That’s… foreboding to say the least. Dazai watches you carefully, the grim expression on your face and the frown on your lips. He pulls your hand into his lap, tracing your fingers gently to try to ease you and he watches from the corner of his eye as your expression softens again when you look at him. It makes his chest feel tight and fluttery.

“I was sixteen when I met Itou.” The cold expression on your face warms at the unfamiliar name. Dazai watches as the corner of your lips curve up into a fond smile, as if you’re reminiscing. “He was seventeen. We were partnered up for years. This was his beach house—or, well, I don’t know whose it was but Itou took it. He was awful, honestly. A terrible fucking person, had more blood on his hands than any other member of the Mafia, found way too much joy in tormenting people. He was awful, but he was the closest thing I had to family. He tried to show me a world beyond just… bloodshed and violence. Took me to amusement parks on days off, snuck me onto school trips with random groups of kids and told me to ‘blend in’ as training for infiltration missions, showed me how to live, not just… survive. He died on a mission a few weeks after I turned eighteen, made me promise him that I wouldn’t go back to how I used to be without him, that I’d at least try to be happy.”

Double oh.

Dazai almost does throw up now, mind drawing back to a face that has been haunting Dazai for four years now, Odasaku’s last words ring through his head painfully—a reminder of his own inadequacy, of his failure to fulfill his friend’s dying wish.

He remembers the way your face shifted when he told you about Odasaku at Kido’s Boutique and he wonders if he’d reminded you of Itou back then when he spoke of the man and his promise, just like how he was reminded now. His grip on your hand tightens unintentionally—as if you can sense his thoughts, you squeeze his fingers gently. 

“I didn’t,” you say with a tight smile. “Threw myself into work, accepted that my fate was to live, breathe and die for the Port Mafia. I didn’t see the point of anything—well, not until I met you, at least.”

Dazai’s eyes flicker up to you, breath catching when you meet his gaze this time. And god, you look beautiful—so beautiful that Dazai thinks that if he dies now, he could die happy. He almost wishes that he could die now, fall off the side of the cliff with the image of you burned behind his eyelids. It would be a better death than he deserved.

“You made me happy. Make me happy,,” you tell him quietly and Dazai’s heart leaps into his throat. “So effortlessly that I can’t even understand how you do it, but it’s impossible for me to justify dragging you into this world just because I’m selfish.” Dazai parts his lips to disagree but you don’t even give him a chance to speak. “So when you came to me with your stupid blackmail, it was so… easy to just use it as an excuse for me to indulge in you.”

Dazai doesn’t get it. He still doesn’t get it. You’re sitting here talking to him, explaining everything, and Dazai still doesn’t understand. He makes you happy—he makes you happy and you make him happy, there doesn’t need to be any more complications than that. You don’t have to push him away, you don’t have to cut him off, you don’t have to use that memory wiping ability on him.

“I don’t understand,” Dazai says, voice hoarse. “You make me happy too, so why is…”

“Because Chuuya is right,” you say with a smile that doesn’t meet your eyes. “The risks… Dazai, you can’t ask me to put you in danger like this. It’s not fair.”

“It’s not fair to cut me off because you’re scared,” Dazai counters, voice a bit pitched. “It’s not fair that you want to wipe my memory without my consent. I don’t care about danger, I don’t-”

You look at him sharply, an intense expression on your face that makes Dazai hesitate.

“I never would have done it without talking to you first,” you say tightly. “Do you really think that little of me?”

Dazai looks away, not answering the question. “I never would have agreed to it,” he replies, voice equally tight as yours. “Never. It’d be a waste of your time.”

You sigh and Dazai feels you shift next to him but he pointedly keeps his gaze trained ahead, refusing to look at you. He feels your fingers brush his cheek before the pressure becomes a bit firmer as you turn his face so that he’s looking at you. You’re so close that his nose brushes yours, the pads of your fingers are warm against his skin; if he leans in just a bit, he’d be able to kiss you.

He wants to kiss you.

“You don’t know what’s at stake,” you say softly, breath fanning across his lips as you speak. He can almost taste the mixture of mint and nicotine on your lips—you smoke when you’re nervous, he’s noticed it over the past few weeks with you. The more nervous you are, the more cigarettes you run through; he wonders how many cigarettes you’ve gone through since you’ve gotten the call from the hospital. “The danger-”

“You want me,” Dazai whispers, squeezing your hand, leaning in a bit more. “No one has ever wanted me before. Not like this. Not for me. You want me.”

The last sentence—it doesn’t come out as a statement, it comes out as a plea. He wants you to say it. You didn’t the last time, but he needs to hear it now. Desperately. His nails dig into your hands, he doesn’t even dare to breathe as he waits for you to speak.

“I want you,” you agree, voice so quiet like you don’t even dare to speak the words out loud in fear of the consequences of them. “I want you. I want you so bad that it scares me, Dazai Osamu.”

And Dazai breathes. The breath he lets out is long and shaky, the relief that sweeps over him is almost debilitating. He searches your eyes to make sure you mean it and when he only finds honesty and a type of fear that he’s never seen in you before, Dazai knows.

“You think it doesn’t scare me?” Dazai asks you, voice cracking. “Everything I ever come to want is always lost. Ever since that first day we met, I-I knew that I wanted you more than anything I’ve ever wanted before and I’ve been terrified that one day you’ll leave me. Promise me that you won’t. Promise me.”

You stare at him and for a terrible moment, Dazai thinks that you’re about to shake your head and say you can’t, but then you swallow, nod and say, “I promise.”

Dazai kisses you. And then he kisses you again. And again. And again. Until his lungs burn and he can feel your lips curve up against his and even then, he kisses you still. Kisses you as the sun sets over the bay and the moon rises above the mountains. Kisses you until the wind becomes too bitter for the two of you to stay outside and still, he smiles as he peppers kisses across your face, walking back down the path to the beach house.

He ignores how your phone has been buzzing incessantly all night, praying for at least one day of peace before reality slaps the two of you in the face again.

[eclaire-went-bam]

it doesn't help that a lotta people i know are mentally ill in some way, and oftentimes that manifests in "they don't care about me ... they wouldn't miss me if i were gone ... they don't care about what i'm going through ..."

which sucks, because i know if they knew that i don't really have much empathy and struggle to miss people, i can see how that'd reinforce those beliefs. but the reality of it is, is that i'll still try to support them if something's wrong, and i still enjoy being around/talking to them

it really sucks that the way my symptoms manifest can trigger their symptoms. feels like i have to be extra conscious for them, which is already difficult for me because i already have a hard time understanding when i do or say something wrong sometimes

i hate it when people ask if i missed them or something. i don't know. it may sound harsh but i don't really understand the concept of missing someone. i move on from lack of communication fairly easily, i feel like?

don't get me wrong. i like my inner circle. i just don't really miss people a whole lot. maybe it's tied to low empathy ??

[maidragoste]

Family

Harwin Strong x Velaryon!Reader (unrequited love), Alicent Hightower x Velaryon!Reader, Larys Strong x Velaryon!Reader

Part 3 of this Part 4

Serie Masterlist

comments, reblogs, likes are always greatly appreciated. I will always thank you for supporting this series 🥰💖 because I really did not expect so many people to like it

My inbox is open so I'm always willing to read your headcanons, opinions and answer your questions.

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so I apologize for any mistakes.

You had only stopped by the nursery because you wanted to see Daeron before continuing your duties. Normally there were two nannies to take care of the smaller princes but one of the women had fallen ill so the other woman was left alone to take care of. You were sorry to see how tired she was so you told her to take a break for at least an hour. You took care of all of Alicent's children so you didn't have a problem. You knew how to calm Daeron down in case he woke up. What is the worst that could happen?

Jacaerys.

He was the one who woke up crying. Probably any other woman would have refused to comfort the bastard of her husband and went looking for a maid. But you didn't even doubt it, you took him in your arms and began to sing the song that your mother used to sing to you when you were little. You only did it because you didn't want him to interrupt Daeron's sleep.

You thought it would be something strange or uncomfortable because the truth is, whenever you could, you avoided being near the little prince. You were sure you only picked him up when Rhaenyra introduced him to you. For a moment you thought that the baby's crying would get worse but to your surprise, Jacaerys' little hands clung to you. It didn't feel bad. You supposed that the little prince had a bad dream because if you didn't you didn't understand his reaction after all you thought you were a stranger to him… Or maybe Laenor sang him the same song when he was restless. Still, you were relieved that Daeron hadn't woken up.

You started walking around the room while you sang. You were surprised to hear him babble as if he was trying to sing with you. You couldn't help but laugh. Jacaerys smiled at you. And at that moment you knew you couldn't hate him. It was unfair. Rhaenyra and Harwin have no right to have such cute babies… Years ago you imagined what your children would be like with your husband. Of course, they didn't look like Jacaerys. You always imagined them to be more like you, but they shared the same eyes as Jacaerys, Harwin's eyes.

"He likes you"

Your brother's voice brought you back to reality. Laenor had gone to check on Jace and was amazed to see you carrying his son while you sang to him. The truth was that Laenor had lost hope of seeing you form a bond with his son, but after seeing this scene he had hope again. He knew that your heart would not allow you to hate Jacaerys and he hoped that one day you would forgive him.

“The prince woke up grumpy. I'm sure I would have accepted anyone's company" you said trying not to give importance to Laenor's words "Now that you're here and you can watch over the princes I can continue with my duties" you wanted to pass the baby to your brother but as soon as Jacaerys saw As you walked away, he began to cry again. Laenor returned the prince to you and you began to sing again. You were sure that neither of you two thought about it and you only did it to avoid hearing his cry.

The situation is this: you can't leave because if you do then Jacaerys cries again. So now you have to put up with being in the same room as Laenor, whom you avoid as much of the time as possible, and knowing him he would take this opportunity to talk to you.

"Sorry," your brother said over your singing. You knew he was apologizing for not telling you about Harwin's affair with Rhaenyra. It wasn't the first time he apologized "I thought you knew."

"That's new," you said surprised, interrupting your singing.

"Well, if you weren't avoiding me all the time we could have had this conversation earlier."

"Continue" you demanded. You weren't about to admit that he was right, they probably should have had this conversation months ago, but I couldn't blame you for ignoring it. He is your brother, he is your family, and he chose Rhaenyra over you. He betrayed you, too, and his betrayal hurt more than Harwin's and Rhaenyra's because you had always trusted that Laenor would have your back.

“I thought they had an agreement. The three of you” you looked at him like he was stupid because you couldn't understand how he came to think that you would let your husband fuck your cousin “Don't look at me like that. You loved her. I remember when you were little girls"

You couldn't help but tense up at his last words. Of course, you remember. You remember all too well. The picnics on sunny mornings, how shiny her hair looked in the sun. The races to see which dragon flew the fastest, her smile every time she won, and when you taught her to swim at Driftmark. But that was in the past.

"Of course I loved her. We were friends and she was my family" you said trying to ignore the wave of nostalgia you were having.

"Of course, friends." Laenor looked at you sadly…as if he didn't believe you and as if he knew something you didn't. “The point is that if I had known it was something between just the two of them I would have told you and even done everything I could to nip it in the bud. I tried to do it now but-"they both winced as they remembered the big celebration Viserys had after Rhaenyra announced her second pregnancy"I swear to the gods I thought you knew, I realized my mistake when I saw your face holding Jace for the first time" he approached you and felt joy when you didn't back down "You are my little sister and I would never do anything to cause you pain. I miss you"

A week ago your parents and your sister had written to let you know that they would be coming to King's Landing soon because they wanted to be by your side during your pregnancy. You were sure that Laenor had also received their respective letters with the same information.

"In part" he admitted with a small smile and it didn't take long for you to imitate him. You still hadn't fully forgiven him but you were tired of being mad at him all the time. You missed your family.

•••••

“It's a joy to have the whole family together again,” Viserys declared, and Daemon raised his glass with a smile.

Sometimes you're surprised by how dense Viserys is. Sometimes you think that in reality, he is not stupid and that he only pretends to be blind because he does not want to see reality… You refuse to believe that the king is such an idiot that he does not realize that your parents seem to want to kill Harwin and Rhaenyra. If looks could kill they would already be ten meters underground. It gives you satisfaction to see the discomfort on the faces of the princess and your husband. Still, you wish the king hadn't organized this dinner, you just wanted to be with your family alone. Every time Viserys talked about how your son and Rhaenyra's baby could become great friends in the future because they'll only be apart for a few months made you want to punch the king. Alicent also seems to be sick of hearing those words because you think you see a tick in her eye.

Laenor and Laena seem to restrain themselves from jumping on Daemon because he won't stop smiling every time Viserys talks about your and Rhaenyra's son. Of course, he also sometimes makes his own contributions to the conversations, stressing mostly the surprise that the Baratheon genes are so strong.

The Strongs had been invited out of courtesy. Larys is silent for most of the dinner but you're sure he's thinking of different ways to torture Daemon for his comments.

Poor Lyonel Strong seems to be on the alert all the time, especially when your mother takes the knife to cut her meat. You're sure he fears that she'll throw the knife at Harwin or she'll throw herself across the table and murder his heir.

So the only people who seemed to enjoy this dinner were Viserys and Daemon. The rest could not wait for it to end once and for all. It seemed that the king did not plan to end the evening soon so you decided to use your condition to withdraw early. You groaned and put your hand on your stomach. Instantly all eyes turned to you.

“Are you okay?” Harwin asked, looking at you with concern.

“I'm fine” you forced yourself to smile at him because any other woman would have appreciated her husband's concern “I'm sorry the baby is fussy” you winced ”. My king, I hope I do not offend you, but I will ask your permission to withdraw. In my condition, I'm sorry to say that I don't have the same energy as before."

“Sure, dear. You do not have to apologize"

"Thank you" you smiled and got up from your seat "It really was a wonderful evening"

"Let me walk you," Harwin said, getting up quickly.

You wanted to hit him. But instead, you told him "No need, my love" you felt disgusted for calling him that but you tried hard not to show it. You couldn't abandon the role of the good wife “I would really prefer my mother to accompany me. She has more experience than you in this area” you rubbed your stomach with a small smile as you felt that this time she was really kicking your baby.

"Oh good," your husband said somewhat stunned by the nickname. I haven't heard you call him that in months. I was already thinking that you would never call him that again. He wanted to hear it again soon. He also missed when you spoke to him in High Valyrian.

Harwin was so deep in his thoughts that he barely said goodbye to you and your mother. In fact, his father had to remind him that he was still standing.

“I know you were lying,” your mother whispered to you as they walked, arms linked, toward your chambers.

You didn't answer. There weren't many servants awake yet but you don't want to risk one of them overhearing you talking to your mother. You always had to be careful.

“Yes, I lied” you admitted once they were alone in the safety of your chambers “But it was for a good cause. If we continued at that dinner someone was going to end up dead," you said as you watched her take your comb.

Your mother made you sit on the bed. She sat behind you and began to brush your hair. She reminded you of the ritual you had when you were little. Every night before you went to sleep she would come to comb your hair and they would talk about your day, sometimes she would tell you a story, other times she would sing to you. When your baby was born you planned to do the same.

"I can still kill your husband," your mother said making you snort.

"You can't burn him alive"

Rhaenys allowed herself a moment to stop combing your hair and imagine Harwin's screams as Meleys's flames engulfed him. That image calmed his anger a bit.

"I can kill him in other ways"

“If you kill him, you will be the first suspect. Everyone can see how you look at it. Lord Hand was on alert for you all dinner."

"I'm not going to apologize. Your husband deserves nothing but death. He humiliated you in front of the whole court, in front of the whole world. He not only humiliated you, but he also humiliated your brother and our entire family. There is no part of the entire kingdom in which the resemblance of Jacaerys and your husband is not discussed ”he tightly gripped the comb“ He never deserved you. ”

Neither of your parents had been happy with your marriage but they supported you because they love you and you looked so happy that they were not going to get in the way of your happiness. For them, you were always destined for great things. Not necessarily to be queen, Rhaenys would never say that but much of her was relieved that Viserys won't marry you, but there were better matches than a Strong. Your beauty and kindness had always been a source of admiration in the kingdom so you could have gotten any man you wanted.

“You deserve better than this. You can still start over. I can hire someone to—

"I need him alive" you abruptly interrupted your mother, surprising her.

If Harwin dies then you have no reason to stay in King's Landing. You cannot leave your house. You could never leave Alicent or Larys, let alone the children. You would not hesitate a week without being able to see your children; without going to Dragons'pit with Aegon and teaching him Valyrian, without accompanying Heleaena to look for new creatures, without singing to Aemond and Daeron.

It made you want to cry to imagine yourself without Alicent and Larys. They are your lovers. You couldn't abandon them. Nobody cares about them as you do. Alicent doesn't have any real friends, people only see her as the queen, not the real Alicent. And Larys, people see him as a burden, as someone broke, as someone useless, all because of his clubfoot.

They love you, they care for you, and they are always ready to punish anyone who has upset or hurt you. Your lovers know when you are having a bad day and they are there for you. They remind you how important you are, Alicent is always ready to pamper you, asking the cooks to prepare your favorites and give you kisses, and Larys lets you unload while he massages you.

“I need him alive” you repeat, turning around to look her in the eye “I know everything he did” you continued talking to see that your mother seemed to want to interrupt you “Mother, I'm not stupid, I didn't forgive him and I won't. You taught me well to value myself. I don't need him alive because I love him. I need it because I want my son to meet his father” you took her free hand and squeezed it “Please don't do anything” you kissed her knuckles.

Your mother dropped the comb and caressed your cheek "My little girl, what did you do?"

Rhaenys was not stupid. If you said you hadn't forgiven Harwin then it meant you hadn't slept with him…You aren't pregnant by your husband.

"I did my duty" you answered with a smile "I gave the Strongs an heir"

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If you want to be part of my taglist

[lightofraye]

The reason(s) I’m anti-Danneel

Hello all!

This is actually my first official anti-Danneel post as opposed to reblogging an anti post or responding to anons who somehow found me.

First, a note: some of what I'm posting are reposts from other now defunct/deactivated Tumblrs that I was able--thanks to the Wayback Machine and/or Tumblr preserving the reblogs with information--so whenever possible, I will credit the original authors. It's because of them that I was able to find out all the crap Danneel had done and the evidence.

If it's a "Jensen said this", don't ask me where precisely, because there are way too many cons, panels, interviews. Just trust that Jensen did say it, okay?

Now... to begin with the biggest crime to lay at Danneel's feet: Abuse.

So I'm going to preface this with a content warning/trigger warning. If you are bothered by description of abuse, even emotional abuse, I advise you to skip. I will not be held responsible for how upsetting this might get. You've been warned.

Now to begin! Here's the issues I've noticed (and others). Hat tip to @taraslittlecorner (now defunct/deactivated) for the original post that I was thankfully able to find on the Wayback Machine.

I'll add a cut here because it's going to get long!

Public Humiliation:

Jensen eating gummy bears. This post was made as a public stab at Jensen for the amount of gummy bears he was eating. It was a stab at not only his eating habits/weight, but it was also a stab at him being greedy or gluttonous.

Jensen on the carousel. Another stab at Jensen about his weight.

The whole AD house tour is full of stabs at Jensen. She takes a swipe at everything from him not wanting to change the children’s diapers, not cleaning the toilets, not cooking, and not being able to organize or clean behind himself. (There’s a lot of sketchy things in that video as well.) She even made fun of him for being proud of his side of the closet for being tidy.

Jensen didn't cry at the birth of his children. Yet another attempt at making an important, emotional moment in Jensen’s life about her, as well making Jensen seem as if he is emotionless and detached from his family and children, and she’s the one that’s so sensitive.

The FBBC interview. Now, that interviewer sucked ass too, let’s not kid ourselves, that was one of the worst interviews I’ve ever seen in my life. Elta continually trying to make Jensen look lazy, saying that he didn’t smell good, saying that she was pregnant knowing it made him uncomfortable. All of this was with one goal, to humiliate him.

The gaslighting hairdresser. You will never convince me Elta put this woman up to posting this photoshopped, off guard, horrible pic of Jensen and herself, as well as disclosing the location of his family in order to make it look as if she’s been there the whole time when really she’s not. Jensen is very self conscious about his appearance, and this showed him in a bad light, again to humiliate him and make him look like a slob. (That seems to be her MO.)

(These are just the ones we’re all familiar with, but if you guys send more receipts you want to add to this I’d be glad to add them to it as a receipt collection.)

2. Controlling: This is another all day topic. Seriously, we could talk all day about how one can be considered controlling in a relationship, and Elta is no different. The biggest and most public thing that we can see is her constant control over his Social Media.

Now, we know good and damn well that she’s also doing this to hold up to her facade of a “happily married couple”, but it’s also a way of controlling his interactions with other women, (originally he was never allowed to follow women on Social Media; something that has recently changed since The Boys and Big Sky has happened), and to keep track of who he’s talking to and what he’s doing.

Access to one’s cellphone, email address, and other social media is almost as good as attaching a GPS onto a person. If she access his cloud, she can access everything from text messages he’s sent to his most recent emails to his employers.

I have some proof but it will take time to document all of them.

**For those SPN buffs out there. You will also notice that Dean got a whole lot less action between the sheets and with female guest stars after his wedding to Elta, and that’s not a coincidence.**

Jealousy, or extreme jealousy in Elta’s case, can also be the mark of an abuser. The NEED to maintain that state of control, and if he get’s attached to another woman that is paying him better attention, he may try and break things off with her.

3. Isolation: If you’ve noticed Jensen hardly sees his family anymore. He used to speak of his family often, now it’s rare that he’s ever seen with them. They usually have to come to Dallas Con just to see him, and the only actual evidence we have of Elta being there with them all in years is a sketchy ass post on Instagram of Thanksgiving a few years back. Jensen did take his dad, brother, and brother-in law to the Nascar event he recently attended. Other than that, there has been little to no evidence of contact with his family at all as the years progressed, and it’s gotten worse as the years pass of that “marriage.”

He also seems to have shorted his circle of friends to people she gets along with. Marcus, Steve, etc. And even on “vacations” it’s surrounded by her little group of mooching family members and friends: New Orleans, she brought her brother and mother, as well as Steve Carlson and Marcus. Marcus even attended the trip to Cali when they went to the Golden Globes after party.

If you really take time and look, he’s rarely seen with anyone that ELTA doesn’t get along with, or are friends with. He doesn’t even hang out with Jared outside of Canada like he used too, and that should raise suspicious eyebrows alone.

4. Hypersensitivity:

We’ve seen this in the countless attacks Elta, as well as her friends, feel the need to do to SPN fans, or anyone that questions the legitimacy of anything she does or post. I don’t have all of these anymore on hand, but will add the links if I can find them. She’s called fans “fat whores”, anti joker face used to have the receipts, they went on for a while. You don’t have to dig very deep to find this stuff people.

She’s even had Clif write long ass post in order to make it looks as if she’s been so targeted when she just really brings all this shit on herself. She feels threatened because somewhere deep down, she knows she’s doing wrong. You know how the old saying goes, the guilty dog barks? Well, Elta barks a lot.

Even Jensen can get a little defensive when they attack her at cons and to his face. He knows that if he doesn’t defend her, or trys to stand up for himself there will be repercussions. “I don’t tell my wife what to do. I’m not stupid, or suicidal.”

5. Unexplained injury, or weight-loss: Since about 2018, Jensen has progressively lost weight. To the point that the FBBC instagram page even removed the photo I used in this example because people were commenting on Jensen’s weightloss. They try to explain it away in marathon training, but we all know that’s not the case. The constant attacks she’s made against his weight are starting to show.

Every time Jensen has to quarantine with her he starts to look like death warmed over, weight drop, sickly looking skin color, (which is also a sign of malnutrition), and that dead look we can’t get seem to forget. Then we get him back to work, and it’s almost an immediate improvement.

Then there is the chunk that’s missing out of his nose now because of a nose injury that kept being explained in different instances at the same event as to how he even got it. It first appeared a day after the FBBC family reunion event that took place in May of 2018 in a post made by Elta of Jensen playing with the kids, and people thought it was just a breathe right strip.

If you look closely, you can even see that his eyes looked to be blacked, as if he’d somehow broken his nose.Once he got ot an event for Elta’s Limbo Jewelry line launch in NYC, he kept changing the story as to how he got said injury. First he told fans that he’d hurt it by hitting a pool wall while playing with his kids. Then he said he’d dropped a keg on it. Well, if you’ve ever worked for a bar or been around kegs you know those things are heavy, and that story is a blatant lie.

CONSTANTLY SHIFTING STORIES OF HOW AN INJURY OCCURRED ARE ONE HELL OF A RED FLAG PEOPLE!!

If it were Elta with the injury, and she kept changing the story as to how she got it, there would have been questions asked; but since Jensen is a man it was never looked into.

Take all these for what you will guys! It’s only my observations and opinions! You may not agree, but I know you all can agree that if Jensen were female, this conversation would have happened a LONG time ago.

Men can be victims of domestic abuse/violence, and the evidence is there! I’m sure there is more, and if you send it to me via submission, even if you want to keep quiet and not put your handle on there I will add the evidence to this post.

THIS MAN DESERVES BETTER!!

[galstelperion]

hey, alma. i have been following you for a while and i like many of your takes, you always seem level-headed in this fandom, but i think you missed this time around and that post wasn't it. i'm not writing you this to make you feel bad! please, believe me, my intent is not to bring you down or anything of this sort. but the user you were talking about is getting witch hunted by celeb0rn fans, and she made that post because she has been harassed by haladriel-antis and celeb0rn fans for months and months, simply for her interpretations of the show. she never attacked anyone personally, she never rebloged anyone's takes to dismiss them. she just expressed her dislike of celeb0rn fans' own witch hunts and their own insistence that they get galadriel the right way. so it was quite disappointing to see haladriel shipper such as yourself add fuel to the fire that is eating up our fandom right now. turning on each other for celeb0rn is a bit of a waste, isn't it? and we know that the majority of celeb0rn stans aren't genuinely his stans, they are just antis.

i think the fandom is getting more and more toxic, not sure what it is about. im not writing you this so that you answer to this ask, i know you probably weren't coming from a bad place, but i just think this time your post had consequences that you did not intend to happen.

Hello anon, since you seem to be at least cordial, I will respond to this ask and it will be the last time I address this situation:

"we know that the majority of celeb0rn stans aren't genuinely his stans, they are just antis."

This is the root of the problem here. I am saying this in the kindest way possible. Yes, you are allowed to dislike a character. You are even allowed to bash said character in your own spaces. A line is crossed when you make untrue statements like this. The attitude that the majority of "Celeborn stans" who also happen to enjoy Haladriel are just antis is inaccurate and has made a lot of people incredibly uncomfortable. It has made me uncomfortable as someone who is friends with many multishippers who like and explore dynamics with all of these characters involved.

As I said in my original post, I do not ascribe to this all or nothing mentality to shipping or fandom in general. The idea that there is only one right way to like and consume this ship is hurtful and makes many people feel ostracized and unwelcome in this space. I say this as someone who doesn't even care for Celeborn as a character at all and have actively shit talked him around mutuals who agree with me. But I also say this as someone who has been friends with the most incredible Haladriels for 2+ years at this point, Haladriels who have written 100k+ word fanfictions, Haladriels who have dissected and analyzed lore back to front since the early 2000s, who are also interested in exploring Galadriel's dynamic with Celeborn! *gasp* Don't put me in shackles and drag me to the town square but someone who likes a character you don't isn't a crime! It doesn't make them any less of a Haladriel. It doesn't make them "antis in disguise"

This sort of mindset has been permeating the tag for many months now. I never felt inclined to really say anything about it until these broad generalizations were being made by people who I've personally never even seen before here. Like my good friend @nocaptainonthisship has said, "I've been in this fandom since its inception two years ago" isn't a dick measuring contest. It's saying I've been here. I've seen it.

I don't know a whole lot about this account that you're referring to in the ask. I don't even know anything about these people supposedly harassing them either. I don't condone that. I have refrained from @'ing them at all either here or in my original post so as to not to contribute to pile-ons if that is indeed happening. I did block them about a week ago after continuously seeing these actively hostile and confrontational takes about who can and can't be considered a real Haladriel based on their character preferences. Feel free to block me if that is the approach to fandom you want to have. It will certainly never be mine.

[v-tired-queer]

So You're A Queer Kid and You Spot a Fellow Queer In Public: A Very Quick Guide Because I Have Class in an Hour

I just saw (and reblogged) a post talking about how queer kids will all too commonly approach a fellow queer person in public and unfortunately, are putting others--and themselves--in potentially dangerous situations, not to mention just straight (*snorts*) out uncomfortable. So I got to thinking, "Did . . . did anyone teach the baby gays how to interact with fellow queers in public . . . ?" because, lets face it--technology is advancing, and weather you think it's a good or bad thing, that doesn't change the fact that culture changes with it, especially for kids, teens and young adults. Even language changes for them, like it did for us (I do, in fact, use Vine Language, but I have no idea what drip, rizz or cap is, and at this point, I'm too afraid to ask).

So, queer kids: first of all, hi, nice to meet you! I--a demiflux lesbian--know it's exciting to meet or see another queer person in public, outside of the internet, but remember: safety comes first. So, as stated in the title, here's a quick guide to interacting with other queers in public.

Don't: Assume Anything

Seeing a patch on a jacket or dyed hair and a lot of piercings doesn't always indicate that that person is queer. Maybe they're an ally and wearing the patch in solidarity with a loved one, or maybe they just like alt fashion. Of course there's every possibility that this person is queer, but remember that looks =/= sexuality or gender identity. I'm absolutely positive that you've passed by or met a lot more queer people in public than you realize because a lot of us don't "look" queer. For example, I'm fem presenting and wear a lot of floral print dresses, heels and makeup--a lot of people assume I'm straight (which, rude.) So remember, looks won't always tell you if someone is also queer or not.

Don't: Ask

You know that policy that the US military had called Don't Ask, Don't Tell? Basically, it allowed queer people to enter the military but only on a hush-hush agreement--higher ups didn't ask, and you, as a queer person, didn't tell. Unfortunately, being in public spaces, it's kind of like that. The world just isn't as safe as we'd all like it to be, so we have to be careful. That means not asking someone their sexuality or gender identity in public, where others could hear. If the wrong person overhears that conversation, it could trigger a whole host of bad situations for everyone involved.

Not to mention, it can just be plain uncomfortable. Not every queer person wants to be approached about their sexuality or gender identity. Use your discretion. If someone looks like they really don't want to be approached, respect that.

You also want to be careful about accidentally outing someone. If someone is out with another person, but has a pin on their bag, that doesn't always mean that that person knows about the other person's presumed queerness. For example, when I was a young girl, my mom took me into the city, to buy some new clothes. I used to have a pin with the pride flag on it on my bag, but I wasn't out to her yet. Someone flat out announcing my sexuality to mom because of a pin would have outed me way before I was ready to come out to her. So remember to be discreet.

Do: Complement Them

So, you see a person, you've deduced that they're probably queer, just like you--yay! That's a very exciting thing. I still get excited when I see other members of the community out in public. But again, safety comes first. So, how can you low-key let them know that you know? Complement them! But you want to do it in a safe way, too.

See a patch on their jacket? Complement their jacket, not necessarily the patch itself.

A person has a lot of pins on their bag and one or more is representative of who they are as a queer person? Compliment their pins, plural.

There's a person with blue hair that is just giving off That Vibe? Don't ask if they're queer, just smile and complement their hair.

Trust me, we'll know what you're talking about.

Do: Use Code in Social Settings

I. Freaking. LOVE queer codes. Basically, back in the day, there were a couple of ways that someone could discreetly ask another person if they were queer. For example, asking someone--usually a gay man--"Are you a friend of Dorothy?" was a way of asking if they're gay, Dorothy being a reference to the Wizard of Oz, as the actress who played Dorothy, Judy Garland, is widely considered to be a queer icon. I couldn't find any information on her sexuality, but I did find that a lot of queer people related to her back in the day, if not on a sexuality level than on a personal one.

There was also the green carnations, started by Oscar Wilde, as a subtle cue to fellow queer men that you yourself were a queer man. For women, you could give another woman violets as a representation of sapphic love and desire. Though, to be honest, I'm not sure how well known this one was, especially after the fall of using floriography, or the Victorian language of flowers (which can also be used to express negative feelings for someone, too, just so you know--don't like someone? Send 'em a bouquet. They probably won't get it, but you will).

Queer code still exists and is used to this day! For example, sometimes a sapphic person will ask someone if they listen to Girl In Red, which is a modern way to discreetly ask if someone is also sapphic.

Queer code should really only be used in a social setting. If you're at a café, and you spot someone who is fem presenting, and they seem open to conversation and you want to actually meet fellow queer people, you can ask if they listen to Girl In Red. But remember to read the room, and the person. Not a place where conversation can be had? Then probably not the appropriate place to be using queer code.

Long Story Short

While spotting a fellow queer out in the wild is a very exciting thing, remember that safety and comfort for everyone involved comes first. You never want to accidentally out someone, or put you and them in an unsafe situation. Use common sense and manners.

Happy socializing! 🏳️‍🌈🩷🏳️‍⚧️

[sebastianstanisahotmf]

a perfect winters day

Bucky Barnes x Reader

A/N This is a part of my 100 followers celebration. At this point I'm gonna stop apologising because my shitty time management issues and son make it hard for me to adhere to the time frames I have given to myself so I will post the fics when I have time to. (I love my son millions so I'm not blaming him for me posting so late but I'm just saying that I like to spend time with him which means it's hard to find time to write) I hope you understand. Also, likes, comments and reblogs are appreciated.

THIS IS NOT AN 18+ FIC BUT I STILL FEEL UNCOMFORTABLE WITH MINORS READING MY FICS SO PLEASE DNI IF YOU ARE A MINOR.

Summary You and Bucky have the perfect day in as it snows outside.

DO NOT REPOST ON ANY OTHER APPS/WEBSITES. THE ONLY PLACE THIS FIC IS ON IS TUMBLR.

Warnings Fluff, allusions to smut

“Wake up doll,” Bucky whispered into your ear, “It snowed last night.”

“Mm?” you slightly opened your eyes.

“It snowed doll!”

You sat up as soon as the words registered in your head,”Really!?” 

“Yeah doll, look,” Bucky wrapped your blanket around you and picked you up.

He walked over to the window in your bedroom and you gasped when you looked outside. Everywhere was covered in a sheet of pure white. The snow untouched, unbothered by anyone. The streets were empty, not a soul out there. It was like a winter wonderland especially since everything was so still it didn’t look real. 

“It’s so beautiful,” you gushed.

“Not as beautiful as you doll,” Bucky added, winking at you.

“You’re so romantic it’s almost disgusting,” you told him with a smile on your face.

“But you love it doll,” Bucky leaned in to kiss you. 

It was such a perfect moment, kissing the person you love the most while the world outside stood still, a beautiful landscape, the type you see in the movies and read in books. 

Bucky pulled back from the kiss with slightly swollen lips and a massive grin on his face, “I think we should make some hot chocolate and waffles.”

“I think thats a good idea babe.”

Bucky took the blanket off you and then took you into the bathroom. He put you down so you could brush your teeth while he did the same. 

Once you had done that, you walked into the kitchen to get started on the waffle batter as Bucky was making the hot chocolates. 

The way you both moved around the kitchen so gracefully and in sync made the scene seem rehearsed. The truth was that you and Bucky regularly made it a team effort to make breakfast so that neither of you feel like you have too many responsibilities. That’s how everything worked with you and Bucky; you both shared the workload in your shared apartment which not only made it easier, but allowed you both to feel equal. 

This may not have worked for other people but it worked for you and Bucky which is all that mattered. 

After the waffles and hot chocolates were made, you sat next to eachother at the dining table in your kitchen. Bucly had put every imaginable topping for waffles and hot chocolates on the table. 

“What do you want to do today?” Bucky asked, as he shoved an almost too big piece of waffle - loaded with every topping possible- in his mouth. 

You rolled your eyes and finished chewing the food you had in your mouth before responding, “I just want to stay in today, you know I like looking at the snow but going out in it is a different story.”

“I’m very aware doll, especially after our trip to Canada a few months ago,” Bucky chuckled at the memory of you slipping over. 

“You’re so sadistic Barnes,” you retorted.

“You didn’t moan about it last night, well you did, but not in that way,” Bucky smirked.

You picked up a strawberry and threw it at him.

“Hey, that’s not fair, I’m only telling the truth, Santa doesn’t come if you lie.”

“And you’re not gonna cum tonight if you keep teasin’ me,” you retaliated. 

“Is that a promise?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

You knew that Bucky would always be in charge in the bedroom, but it was fun to joke around. 

-------------------------------------------------

A few hours later, you and Bucky were cuddled up on the couch. He was laying with his head on your chest and the rest of his body was ontop of yours, acting like a weighted blanket. There was an actual blanket over the two of you and Home Alone was on the tv. 

This was the first christmas you and Bucky were spending together so you decided to introduce him to some of your favourite films especially since he was a few years behind on films.

Bucky let out a laugh which was a rare occurrence. You kissed him on the head and wrapped your arms around him tighter. 

“I love you so much baby,” you whispered.

“I love you too doll,” Bucky replied, pressing a kiss to your chest. 

This was perfect, you and Bucky cuddled up on the couch, watching a Christmas film and occasionally looking at the world outside.

If you want to see be tagged whenever I post a fic then click on the link.

If you want to see what I repost my other account is @sebastianstanisahotmf-reblogs

Taglist:@nicoline1998enilocin, @buckys-wintersoldier, @kenzs-world, @cutedisneygrl , @nekoannie-chan, @kandis-mom, @hisredheadedgoddess28, @booscherripop

[gt-jar]

The poll is far from being over and the majority of the g/t community probably doesn't know about secret santa 2024 yet, but I wanna start with organizing everything as soon as possible!!!

I'm not gonna explain what secret santa is in general (or is that necessary?) and will skip to the important changes right away.

MAJOR CHANGES:

Here are a few things I want to exclude this year.

- fandom g/t (This secret santa is going to be for original artists/writers only. If your blog is centered around fandom g/t, no problem :) But the gift you're going to make has to be original!)

- vore (Sorry, guys! Last year only a small portion of participates was into vore, which will probably be the case this year too. And the chances of a vore blog drawing a giftee who's also into vore are so low that there's no point in including it. Also last year I was exposed to many different types of vore (the list you had to sent me) and... I want to avoid that this time. If your blog includes vore, no problem! But make sure it's tagged properly, if you want to participate, so your secret santa can block it in case it makes them uncomfortable.)

- nsfw (This one is a given. And doesn't count as change, since it wasn't allowed last year either, but I wanted to make this one clear. Also! Don't participate with a blog that includes nsfw stuff! I have 'NSFW DNI' in my bio for a reason!)

...

Something else I want to adress:

If you're going to participate I want you to take this event seriously.

What does that mean you ask?

Well, it means that you should put effort into the gift you're going make (and don't participate if you know you won't have the time, obviously) :)

I don't want people to think they can get a commission basically for free and can get away with spending like 10 minutues on the gift for their giftee...

How do I make sure that doesn't happen?

For writing it's easy. If you want to participate solely as a writer (or already know you're going to write a one-shot as a gift) the one-shot you're going to write has to have a certain word count. Aiming for at least 1k words.

When it comes to art, it unfortunately gets a little tricky, because you can't really measures art. Well you can based on the time you spent on it, but that's something I can't supervise and also depends on the artist's skill level. Speaking of skill level, I don't want to exclude anybody depending on their skill level nor do I want to discourage beginner artists, BUT!

You don't have to be a professional artist nor do you need years of experience to ensure (This mostly applies to traditional art. Digital art will be allowed as well, of course!):

- you erase something completely, if you need to use an eraser

- the pencil lines look clean and aren't smudged or wonky

- that if you use colored pencils the color is applied evenly (no visible pencil strokes, no paper showing)

- the drawing is on paper made for drawing and not writing (don't use checkered paper for example)

And I know anatomy is hard (I know shit about it myself, so who am I to judge?), but I believe it doesn't take years of anatomy lessons to not draw one arm/leg/eye twice as thick as the other.

And just so you know... if I can't find any art/writing on your blog, I won't let you participate.

Which brings me to one of the most important and drastic changes:

I RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE ENTRY TO ANYONE!

Sorry, not sorry!

Like I said in my last post, if I'm going to host secret santa this year, I want to guarantee the exchange runs soothly. Last year definitely taught me a lesson and now I know I was way too naive :)

I let anyone who wanted to participate, even though I never saw that person in the g/t community before, even though that person didn't have a g/t centric blog and I needed to scroll for ages to find a g/t related post/reblog (if I could find any at all), even though my guts were telling me 'maybe I shouldn't let that person participate'.... BIG MISTSKE!

Also this is something that @might-be-tiny-gt point out to me (and I'm kinda dumb for not looking at it from this perspective), but I want you to know that not a single one of the participates who never posted the gift for their giftee reached out to me to inform me about being unable to provide a gift, so yeah...

I won't be so lax this year!

...

There will also be some organizational changes, I'll go into more detail about it in a separate post (general guide how to participate), but something I want to adress now is the "Do's & Don't's" lists.

First of all, you won't send me your list/I won't send you the list of your giftee. Waaaaay too much unnecessary work for me.

All the participates are going to post it on their blog, so your secret santa can look it up for themself. But more on that later!

What's more important is the list itself. Something I noticed last year was that the people were waaaaaaaay too specific. Remember that the "Do's" are merely a suggestion for your secret santa, so me pointing this out isn't all that important, but if you're looking/hoping for something super specific as a gift, maybe you should look for people who are making commissions instead.

"Do's" are supposed to be things like general g/t genres, like romanctic/platonic relationships, fluff/angst/fearplay, shrinking/size-shifting, fantasy (fairies)/classic borrower stories, etc...

Or simple prompts like first meetings, giant finds tiny in the snow, sick fics and so on.

...

That was the most important information for now, I think...

If you want to participate, you can let me know already :)

So far not too many people have voiced that they want to participate, I hope that's going to change in the next few days, I also think last year was such a success (participate number wise) because some really popular g/t blogs reblogged my original post, and maybe it's not the best decision to post this when most of the g/t community is asleep, but... meh!

Let's get this party started!

[bbyquokka]

Hello ! I kinda have rough time and I would like to request a comfort short work from you because I really like how you write 🥺 it's really specific so feel free to reject it !

So my request is either an ot8 "reaction" or only chan, the plot is reader having some ptsd regarding water/pool and skz trying to "heal" it with building sweet and calm moment with reader

Sorry if it's too specific or if you dont feel comfortable enough to talk about ptsd you can ignore if you do ! ♡

baby steps

MATURE/SENSITIVE THEMES BELOW CUT – MINORS, AGELESS & DEFAULT BLOGS; DNI

warning: gender neutral reader, established relationship, reader has trauma/ptsd around water and pools, panic attack (mentioned not described) pet names. LMK IF I MISSED ANY! words: 1.6k ~ (1,617)

dont repost. dont translate. feedback and reblogs are highly advised and appreciated!

water. it terrifies you to no end. after a certain traumatic event that happened a period of time ago, you've been petrified of water since; especially pools.

your body would freeze, hands clammy and a sense of insecurity would hit. your fight or flight mode activates resulting in you fleeing from the scene to calm down your erratic breathing.

chan loves the water. he would spend every single minute in the water if he could. he often spoke about how he would surf the waves back in Australia, how invigorating it was to him and how much he misses it.

you never told chan about your trauma with pools and water, feeling that it's a silly thing to be scared of. it's just water, right? but to you, it's something much more fear inducing. 

chan would often invite you out to the swimming pools or offer to have a dip in the lake on a hot summers day but you always refused by making up excuses; but there's only so many excuses you can make before chan slowly starts getting suspicious.

he noticed the little things. when he would sleep over at your place, he often noticed how it would take you that extra bit longer in the bathroom, how you have no bathing suits and then the excuses would come in every time he would suggest going to a pool or lake.

he didn't press about it though and that's one of the many reasons why you love chan. he's caring and wouldn't do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. in the back of his mind, he wishes you would tell him and open up but he knows whatever it may be is a big deal to you and him pressing and forcing you to speak about it would only push you away.

“can i ask you something?” you look up at chan from across the table as he wipes his mouth clean from food. you swallow your own before speaking.

“ask away.”

“why don't you want to go swimming with me?” you freeze. your heart creeping its way up to your throat. you stare at your plate of food as a cold sweat coats your body quickly. you clench your jaw a few times as excuse after excuse rushes through your mind.

“i just don't feel like it. why?” you saw with a forced smile. chan raises his brow slowly as he puts down his silverware.

“babe. we've been together now for a few months. you know you can tell me anything, right?” his voice soft and comforting which makes you feel guilty.

to him, he sees it as you not wanting to swim with him or spend time with him, simply brushing him off when he asks but to you, it's so much more. you understand that he might be doubting himself as a person and a partner to you but you've tried. 

you've tried so many times to tell him about your trauma but when the time felt right, it just wasn't and you'd shrink back into your shell and swallow it all back down, allowing it to fester and morph into something bigger until it's suffocating to you.

with a heavy sigh, you place down your silverware before looking at your significant other. you close your eyes as you swallow down your heart that's creeped up to your throat.

“i'm scared of pools, well water to be more precise.” you shakily say as your eyes open. chan's expressions have soften, the self doubt lifting and evaporating. he feels a little silly for assuming the worst, for doubting himself and you in terms of your love for him.

“why baby? tell me only if you feel comfortable though! don't feel forced, you telling me that you're scared is enough.” you give chan a gentle smile as you wipe your clammy hands on your clothing.

“something happened some time ago. it's petrified me and has affected me since...” 

you bite down on your bottom lip as chan hums and nods his head. he listens to you speak, taking in every detail and reaching across the table to hold your hand. his thumb stroking the back of your hand which helps calm your nerves as you open up more.

the comfort chan is providing causes you to keep speaking. you talk about your worries, how it happened and how long you have been terrified. chan is providing you with a safe space and you couldn't be more thankful for that.

“i want to get better, i do! i want to be able to go swimming and paddle in the pool. to be able to just relax and not feel so sick and have a panic attack every second.” 

“i can help. if you'll let me that is.”

“you will?” you whisper, heart beating against your chest out of fear and excitement.

“of course! we shall start slow of course but if you truly want to get better, i'll help you yn.”

“thank you.. i appreciate it so much chan.” 

the first step was to buy a bathing suit and that was a slow and difficult process. the range of colours and patterns overwhelming you to the extreme. you struggle to decide what to pick because you know that once you have bought it, you'd have to put it on and face your fear.

only difference is, is that you're not alone this time.

after picking out a bathing suit, it took a few days for you to pluck up the courage to put it in your bag and go to the local swimming baths. changing into it in the changing rooms, your heart racing and body wanting to leave right now!

but you refuse. you know chan is ready and waiting for you and you don't want to disappoint him. he did say that you should only do this for yourself and not him but you can't help it. plus, knowing that a friendly face is ready and waiting (as well as willing to help) is enough of an encouragement.

you stand by the edge of the pool, chan swimming around as he awaits you. the water is clear and blue, rippling with each movement from chan. the smell of chlorine tickling your nose. 

your hands clasped together at your chest, your heart beating a mile a minute. nausea settling in your stomach like a thick blanket as you stare at the water. tears threatening to fill your eyes, your breathing becoming short and fast.

a wet yet warm hand places itself on your shoulder which causes you to jump and look at the hand. your eyes trail up the arm of the person to be met with chan, who's smiling warmly at you. he gives your shoulder a gentle yet reassuring squeeze.

“are you ready, yn?”

“i can't. i really can't.” your voice is small and quivering.

“yes, you can. i believe in you yn. you're stronger than this and you being here, being this close to water is amazing! you're doing so well and i'm proud of you. it shows that you want to get better and not be shackled by this fear.”

“what if i get hurt? or drown?”

“you won't, i'm here and i'll always be here. every step of the way. we take baby steps, ok? and you be vocal with me. tell me how you're feeling and what you're body is telling you.”

“it's telling me to run away right now.” you say with a shaky laugh, trying to lighten the mood. chan chuckles softly before pulling you into his chest.

“do you want to? if so, we can go home. don't feel bad if that's the case, you've made it this far and that's something you should be proud of.”

“i don't want to leave. i want to do this, even if i just dip my feet in the water.” you mumble against his wet skin. chan nods slowly before pulling away. he gets back in the pool, looking up at you as you stare at him.

“why don't we try sitting first, mhm? sit on the side and put your feet in. start small so you can get a feel of the water. maybe that way, it's not too much out of your comfort zone. think you can do that darling?”

you swallow thickly, nodding. chan smiles softly as he swims to the ledge. you shakily lower yourself down, sitting on the side before gingerly letting your feet dangle from the side and into the warm water.

all the while, your body is telling you no. mind telling you to stop and run away. your heart is pounding and the nauseous feeling is back your throat; but you ignore it.

chan's face lights up as he watches you exhale that breath you've been unconsciously holding. he gently places his hand on your thigh, stroking it slowly.

“relax baby. you're ok, i'm here.” you place your hand on top of chan's as he feels your muscles relax under his fingertips.

“how do you feel baby?”

“overwhelmed, but good? i don't know, it's hard to describe. i didn't think i would make it this far.” you splash the water with your feet, grinning at the sounds, smell and feeling of it all. 

“all i ever wanted was to feel water on my skin and be in a pool again. i slowly gave up thinking it wasn't possible anymore but look at me, chan.” you giggle as tears roll down your cheeks “i'm in water!!”

“i'm proud of you yn! remember, baby steps and soon, we will have you swimming in pools and being in water comfortably in no time!”

note: im so sorry this took so long to do. life got in the way :( don’t forget to leave feedback, reblog and tell me what you think here. i hope you all enjoy! ‹3

tags (open): not tagging anyone due to the nature of the fic!

[godisaknife]

I'm gonna be real with you, every wincest take I see relies heavily on fanon interpretations of the characters and their relationships. It's really not as integral as y'all think it is. Don't get me wrong, ship whatever you want, you do you, I just really don't see it. Unhealthy family dynamics? Sure. Parentification? Sure. Incest between Sam and Dean on any level but the show poking fun at the concept? Nope. Not at all. To be totally honest there's a more incestuous dynamic between John and Dean, but even that's mostly emotional incest (which is to do with the unhealthy dynamic of parents putting their feelings and issues onto their kids, it doesn't even have anything specific to do with actual incest). The parallel to Bela and her Dad doesn't help. Idk, I just don't see it. Like Webb Sherman and Keegan Sherman from Bounty Hunters? That's subtextual incest, not whatever is going on with Sam and Dean. Not to mention the characters that do allude to it in-universe are completely tapped themselves and have to be manipulative in order to even keep Sam and Dean together (Azazel - without him Sam would've stayed at Stanford, Zachariah - Dean during 4x17 didn't want to follow his destiny as a hunter and was totally fine parting ways, Soulless Sam himself - he only wanted Dean when he thought he was useful, Dean only stayed with him because of Bobby's speech and Sam potentially killing innocents).

i might say something controversial here but, first of all, i personally think that emotional and psychological incest is enough to be considered incest. especially when it comes to a show that doesn't allow the usage of the word "fuck", because incest is never going to be allowed to be shown on screen or talked about openly, so all we will ever be allowed to hear and see are implications and subtext. dean and john sure do have their own incestual subtext, but i do think that sam and dean have a very strong one on their own, i'd say all one had to do is look it up and plenty of lines and body language taken directly from the show will prove what im talking about. let's see a random example: one of the most recent posts ive reblogged that come to my mind is crowley saying that his valet has hidden a device to locate them in their car and "oh, the things i've heard" followed by dean and sam looking uncomfortably at each other. yes, it's can be a joke but it is heavy in implications. it is not a joke one would even think of making to a couple of normal siblings because if there was no substance to make implications about then the joke wouldn't land as such, as anything at all, because the one making it would come out as a groundless creep and the siblings wouldn't have any reason to be worried or uncomfortable about it. so why do they look so uncomfortable and worried about it? and this is a random example. such little things are scattered throughout the show. and that is only one part of the subtext. the dynamic, the relationship, the history they have, i think all of it is permeated with incest subtext that cannot be made explicit and is, at least to me, more interesting by being covert in a way you have to translate it yourself in order to fully see and understand it. i do not agree with what you said about them held together by other characters' manipulation. i see what you see and i see why one may think so, but outside forces are necesarry to drive characters and their story, in any story there is always an amount of outsider elements. yes, sometimes they are pushed in one or other direction by someone else, but at the end it is them who make the conscious decision to stick with each other, to break the distance, to come back to each other. despite all the things that have happened between them, for one reason or another, they always choose to come back to each other because of their abnormal obsession and love for each other. i got into the show curious as per why wincest is a ship and when i started watching the show i was pleasantly surprised by how obvious their incestual relationship is, especially to an eye trained to notice "fucked up" themes. i'd elaborate more on all of this properly but i'm on withdrawal so this is the best i can do atm

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

but isn't saying something like "you made me" putting all the blame on Caleb and not allow Philip to take accountability for the things he did and paint Caleb as the "bad brother" ? In response to the art you reblogged. Nothing against it or the artist, but I'm just wondering if it does or not.

So here is the reblog you're referring to. The way I interpret it is that Philip canonically blames everything and everyone before even considering taking accountability for his actions. We saw this in FtF with Caleb's apparition when Philip says, "It's your fault!...I tried to save you!"

However, I think that the artist wanted to further explore Philip's character and motivation by extending this scene to really get into why Philip always blames other people instead of himself.

Philip points out how Caleb raised him to be a witch hunter, that they were the good guys and now all of a sudden, everything they went through and did was wrong, which would make them the villains. Furthermore, Caleb disappears without any explanation leaving Philip feeling abandoned and that he, his own little brother, wasn't worth saving.

So when Philip says "you made me," he is putting the blame on Caleb because from his perspective, he did everything his big brother told him to so that they could fit in. That this behavior was encouraged, glorified even. And when Caleb leaves without even helping Philip escape his situation, that he could so easily disavow everything they grew up with, then what does that mean about their relationship? Was everything a lie? Rather than face these uncomfortable questions, Philip continues upholding the values and worldview instilled in him by the town and supported by his brother because to do otherwise would be too painful.

There's no Good Brother/Evil Brother dynamic here; the comic shows the tragedy of two brothers who were taught to conform by any means necessary only for the elder to do a 180 and leave his impressionable little brother behind apparently without offering to show him the right way forward. It's a tale of trauma, miscommunication, and broken bonds.

Obviously, Caleb didn't "make" Philip turn into Belos, what it shows is how the villain of the story sees things and how it possibly could have been avoided.

It's also what a lot of fans of the Wittebanes wished the show actually explored instead of dismissing Philip's goals and motivations with one line.

[demonslayedher]

Things that went through my mind while watching this episode:

--Tanjiro had told Inosuke that the reason Zenitsu didn't pull out his sword on him was because it was against Corp rules. Evidently, Zenitsu doesn't actually care about this rule.

--I know there is discomfort with Zenitsu chasing Nezuko around the room and pointing out that it wasn't in the manga, but like... the basis for it was there. ZenStans (and I am one) point out how the anime made him seem worse for how they added this chase scene and took out the later scene of Zenitsu talking to Nezuko in her box, but... the conniptions and uncomfortable attitudes towards girls do come straight from the manga. Zenitsu still had a lot of growing up to do (and given material that came out after the manga ended, in some ways, he never does). On first watch, I really wasn't being won to the ZenNezu cause... heck, I don't think it was until after the manga ended that I grew positive feelings toward ZenNezu instead of just "sigh, OK." (If you follow my blog, you've probably guessed by now that I do truly enjoy shipping ZenNezu now.)

--I also didn't have positive feelings for Inosuke yet at this point, I found him hopelessly unreasonable. But me now? LOOK AT THE BABY, BEING MOTHERED BY A HUMAN FOR THE FIRST TIME IN OVER 14 YEARS.

--In my digest of the last episode I said we get the joy of watching Inosuke explore his humanity, and that makes me see his perplexity at "live proudly" in a very different light. He has joined a pack (the Corp) and he wants to be a part of it, as beasts do, which makes him receptive to the rules. Oh, no swords? My bad, got it. Live proudly? What does that mean? Precisely, how? What's that weak old lady's position to be able to say this? Inosuke was so willing to go along and learn all these new things that he DID put on the full Corp uniform when he received it (but, according to the fanbook, didn't like how it felt and then demolished the top half). Look at how quick he changed into new clothes after Hisa-san brought him some new ones. He accepted it so quickly, whether just for a natural inclination to obedience or because it did feel nice on his sensitive skin.

--I wish the good-luck sparks lit against their backs would had been an ongoing thing. I love that touch so much.

--"Go bu-un wo" (good luck in battle) in a phrase that goes through my head a lot, and there are LINE messenger stickers of Hisa-san saying that as she makes sparks. A friend sent it to me before my first Nerd Test attempt and I felt very encouraged (and then I failed that time, but that's besides the point. I passed the following year).

--It's not stated anywhere how long they stayed at that mansion having a peaceful recovery (as peaceful as Zenitsu and Inosuke can allow it to be), but... this may be some of the longest Zenitsu has had people around willing to just chill out with him (as Kaigaku was never willing), the longest rest Tanjiro has gotten ever since his family was killed, and the longest Inosuke can ever remember sleeping under a roof.

--Watching that Corp member get sucked back into the trees as he screams for help? Legit terrifying. I love that they still show Tanjiro feeling scared enough for his hands to shake. Also, as an animation detail, Tanjiro does so much thinking with his eyes and the CG works so well to show this (it's like he's got some Rengoku in him).

--Inosuke just... stabbing spiders

--Murata!!! --Murata... I... I looked, but I didn't find relevant content in my blog to reblog in honor of his appearance.

--But, uh, look, Murata! It's the boy you took care of at the Final Selection! He's a Pillar now!

--AND THERE'S MY QUEEN NEXT TO HIM

--I don't know how long the Kamaboko boys were in recovery, but long enough for Kanao to do laps on them in jumping ranks through the Corp. She's exceeded Murata already (she was a Tsumonoto by this point, according to the first fanbook).

--Sorry, Murata... you're doing your best, I know. And I'm really sorry you had to witness your comrades killing each other. Murata deserves more credit for how much he's been through over the years, and how much he's struggled through with meager innate talent. Murata is proof of the merits of hard work. Let it be remembered that even when he had permission to give up on Himejima's strength training, he stuck it out (not likely successfully, but he deserves credit for effort).

--Love the sequences of the spider family throughout the forest, they set up Mother Spider to be a truly terrifying presence by coming last after Father being forebodingly large and still, Brother peeking at you, and Sister kicking her legs in time to the creepy music while she sits up in the tree tops.

--And later on we get our first Rui appearance. Forget wanting to "eat people and get stronger" as demons are tasked with, or even looking for the Blue Spider Lily, Rui truly does just want to play house and be left alone. Special treatment from Muzan, indeed.

--I hope the animators had fun on Spatial Awareness, zooming in to his hand at the end like he's grabbed hold of Mother Spider? Excellent.

--I HAD NO RECOLLECTION OF ZENITSU AND CHUNTARO DOING THE TAISHO SECRET TOGETHER. UKOGI LOVES RICE??? WHAT WASTED POTENTIAL FOR BIRD FIC.

[last-starry-sky]

It’s was the one where Simon pays an OF creator to keep her clothes on!

I love it! 😂 sir, my true calling is to shag you. Now stop encaging me with your big chest! I love mean Simon but I thought it wasn’t your thing!! I firmly believe mean Simon is just soft Simon before you win your way to his heart. How would we recover after he confronted us? 🤔

aaaaaa I loved that one too! It was so off the cuff (and rough lmao) that I wasn't sure anyone would like it but me. btw i will reblog and then die if anyone does more with that idea because its so so so so good!!! i don't know why making them obsessed over some cute girl on the internet goes straight to my heart but it just does!

alsooooo so funny that you asked what happens next bc i was about to add on to that first part when I got home but I was so wiped out I just fell asleep. lucky for you, you get to read it here!

You bolt out of the kitchen, terrified of being caught out. How did he know? You thought you’d acted the part perfectly, you think as you wipe away the tears that had welled around your eyes. You had heard word around that Ghost was skilled at, ah, "collecting information" as they put it. It made a shiver run down your spine as you darted down the halls to your room. What if he’s seen right through you this whole time? What if he’s told-

Your thoughts stop as you collide with a solid body.

(now it's choose your own adventure time. I'll use the emojis to help y'all find your place in my walls of text.)

⭐It's Gaz.

You gasp out in surprise, blurting out an apology as you try to back away. His hand lands on your shoulder. It's so nice and warm that you don't even notice his other hand wipe at your cheek.

Oh yeah. You're crying.

"Okay there, love?" he asks all sweet and low, concern wrinkling the skin between his brows.

You turn up the water works only a little bit. Tears continue to fall as you sniffle, averting your eyes and stepping away from him.

"I'm . . . i'm okay," you answer, lying as you wipe at your eyes again.

"Don't seem like it. What's wrong?" he says gently, trying to catch you in his arms as you flutter away always just a bit out of reach.

"I'm . . . it's just-" you answer, nervously peering down the hall.

With perfect timing, Ghost comes stalking around the corner. You jump, and it's no act. He really can scare you sometimes. His name isn't out of Gaz's mouth before you're running down the hall away from them both.

💥It's Soap.

"There y' are!" he says sweeping you into a hug that crushes you into his chest with one arm. "Skipped off with our tea, didya?"

"No," you whine, more from the uncomfortable press of his muscles into your face and neck than from your flustered mix of emotions.

He lets you go and watches as you wipe the tears from your face.

"Sorry," you apologize unprompted. "I was making it. Just-"

His hand is on yours where it's swiping across your cheek.

"Forget it," he says, voice gone soft. "What's with you? What's happened?"

You force a tear to well down your cheek into your laced fingers.

"Nothing," you lie back, voice warbling.

"Doesn't seem like nothing, hen," he says pulling you back against his chest. He pats at your head as you sob into his strong chest, t shirt absorbing your tears. "Talk to me."

A voice calls from behind you, startling you out of his chest.

"Soap!"

Fuck. It's Ghost.

Soap's arm slips a little bit, allowing you to dart down the hall away from the both of them.

🌀It's Price.

He doesn't seem the least bit concerned that you just ran into him, or that you're crying for that matter. He just holds you away from him, both hands on your shoulders, silently inspecting you. You falter under his stare. You can't speak. Can't even wipe at the tears that track down your cheeks.

If Ghost had any doubts about you he would have told Price. No doubt. It makes you quake in your boots.

"Ghost find you?" he asks directly.

Oh fuck. He knows. You try to compose yourself, try not to panic but it's no use. All you can do is prepare for what's coming next.

You nod and sniffle. A weak, 'Y-yes" following.

Price sighs, palming your wet cheek in his hand.

"Sorry," you whisper, not really sure what you're apologizing for.

He only shakes his head, wiping away your tears for you.

"He can be a tough one, love. Don't let it get to you." When he pulls away his hand, he gives your shoulder a friendly pat.

Oh, you think. He's doesn't know. You could kiss him for the weight he's taken off your mind.

"You're doin' good. Glad to have you." You give him a small smile through your still-teary eyes. He smiles back. "Need me to walk you back to your room?" he asks sweetly with a tilt of his head.

Before you can answer, Prices attention is drawn away. He's staring down someone who just walked around the corner behind you.

"Price," Ghost says plainly, more to acknowledge his presence than as a greeting.

"Ghost," Price says in return.

There's an acidic, electric feeling crackling between the three of you as you stand in the hallway. You can feel the eyes on you, the rumble of the storm about the break. Price lets go of your shoulders, allowing you to walk away. You feel his hand on your back as you brush past him. Perhaps he cares enough about you to not want to involve you in whatever is about to happen. Interesting.

-

More?? 👀👀👀 Let me know what ideas you have!

[tinywitchgoblin]

Hi I would like a ship request for tbb please :) I'm a 22 year old girl I have shoulder length dark brown hair with red highlights. How I dress is either kind of a basic androgynous look like T-shirt/sweatshirt and jeans or kinda sexually charged feminine look, when I'm in the mood to put in an effort with my outfit I typically like to feel sexy. Lots of really tight tank tops and crop tops. Most of my wardrobe is black, I'm a tiny goth at heart but I wouldn't say it reflects so much on my outer appearance as it once did.

I love watching movies + TV shows, it's probably my favorite pastime I rewatch stuff a lot (like I got paid for rewatching Grey's Anatomy or any marvel movie with Bucky Barnes and I could've probably bought a house by now). Hugely into all the nerdy franchises, super heroes, Star Wars, Star Trek, Doctor Who. I love to bake and paint in my free time. I like to read but don't get to as often as I would like because I need utter silence to concentrate or my ears like to hyper focus on literally anything else that is around me 🙃. I'm very soft spoken in group settings, I find it difficult to get in my piece, I get cutoff most times so I tend to just listen to conversations. I do like to be a person that others think they come too if they need to rant about anything but I also get wildly uncomfortable when people cry around me, unless we are like super super close. I do have a bit of maternal instinct and like babies and younger children but do not mistake that for me wanting my own kids. Not gonna happen. Animals only please lol. I like to be helpful were I can but please also be hyper specific with your needs because I will stress about if what I am doing is right or even at all helpful. I love to give gifts. Giving someone something special or thoughtful and seeing them light up brings me the most joy in life. Even if it's as small as like a cupcake if they get any kind of joy out of it I feel that joy too and it makes my heart happy. I can be very snippy and sarcastic especially if you are acting the same way with me. I'll end that here, thank you for your time. ❤️

Of course ❤️

I ship you with...

Tech!

As I'm sure we've all figured out by now, Tech is a Nerd(tm), so being able to learn about your interests fascinates him. He never got to watch movies or TV shows on Kamino; if he wanted to hear a story, he either had to hear someone else tell it or he had to make it up himself. However, now that he's with you, there are so many things for him to watch!! And to make it better, watching new things allows him to spend time with you? Win-win! Just be aware, he will multitask while watching; he just needs to do something with his hands at all times.

Baking with Tech is something you both enjoy as well. Tech much prefers baking over cooking because it's much more exact, and the directions tend to be a lot more specific- something he does well with. He researches new recipes that he wants to make with you, looking up multiple versions to see what techniques work the best, which ingredients to use, etc. so that the final product is the best it can be. Sometimes Tech takes baking a little too seriously, so you might have to reign him in a little bit and remind him that this is a relaxing activity.

When in social situations, you and he tend to stay close together. Depending on the topic, Tech most likely won't have a ton to offer up, so you and he end up sitting and listening to others talk, sitting there and enjoying the company. Sometimes Crosshair will join you, but other times, he needs space to be grumpy. However, whenever you eant to say something and can't seem to get a word in, Tech will make the others stop so that you can talk. It was a little embarrassing at first, but it soon became a habit, because if anything, Tech wants to make sure his loved one is able to express themself fully.

-

Thanks for reading! If you want a ship request like this one, drop it in my ask box, and don't forget to reblog 💚

[kissmetwicekissmedeadly]

I know you already talked about but this I think the fandom has changed a lot. I am a shy reader so I stay on anon and I don't reblog much because my Tumblr is small. But I have been around for a few years and its not the same.

There was a lot more playfulness and silly posts. People reblogged other people's writing a lot more. I also had fun following how people talked to each other.

The kind of writing people wanted was different. You didn't have such a focus on how "good" the writing was or how much imagery a writer used. It was about the stories being told and it feels like that has changed. The fandom seems to only want that flowery writing, those blogs that write at a "elevated" level. I was just fine without it, to be honest.

I am sad that people are not liking things and that Prince is taking over more and more. There is no love anymore for Vamp or Sen or Rev (my beloved Rev 😭)

I don't know why I am reaching out to you except you have been here a long time, one of the best blogs in this fandom. And part of me is just sad that it feels like the fandom is dying.

Oh my god anon..... when i saw your ask last night i got overwhelmed with emotion and with all the things that popped up in my head that i wanted to say to you, but today real life gave me another portion of problems and I'm sitting here giving my screen a blank stare. i hate this, i really want to give you a better answer, but let me try. and thank you for sending it in this blog, i feel even more comfortable talking on here!

The thing you pointed out about the quality of writing and people's demands.... it's actually something i wrote in my last reply to you. and then deleted it. because i thought, "haha no it must be just me", but now that you say it, im prone to agree - your angle of things is actually very trustworthy in my opinion, being someone who's been here for so long and observed from afar. for me it's easier to forget how it was in the beginning, but now that you say it, you're absolutely right... the blogs i looked up to, the writers i admired, weren't put on a pedestal for their skills, it was purely in my head how great they were - to a point where it makes me sad that it feels like ive received more praise now than they did back then. some of them don't write as often anymore, if at all... it's not right. i wonder why did that happen and when, and if it's actually harmful for us writers or im being too cautious. i want to be just like you sometimes, to enjoy the fruits of this fandom from the comfort of being a small blog seldom interacting with posts but still appreciating them from afar - i've been that person in other fandoms, and it has its perks definitely. it's just some strange miracle that i became what i am right now and broke through the shell of being a shy reader! seriously! i appreciate you and people like you, because im glad that i can make more of those fruits for you to enjoy. it's an unpopular opinion but ive never been mad at lurkers all that much. everyone has their reasons to feel uncomfortable interacting, and other than that, i personally want to have a blog where people escape from the hustle of being seen and present. again, that's just me, and i'll encourage commenting and sharing work when it comes to my peers... we're getting off topic, haha. and i should make a paragraph break already

i want to comfort you somehow but without lying to you that "nooo it's alright we're still having fun around here and the fandom is totally not dying" and we could make what the musicians on titanic did, but hey, we're not in the middle of the ocean and i seriously cant be a pessimist 😭 i don't think that it's that bad - i did say that some writers are put on pedestal, but are they really? i doubt anyone is seeing those things so dramatically, well maybe that one anon. but that's just one case, and unfortunately it affects how we see things A LOT , because noone else allows themselves to point out things in such dramatic light, no matter if they're right or not. we're paying the anon a lot of attention, so this fucks with our heads to a certain degree. i think that you should rest assured that this mood around the fandom is temporary, same with the more fun postings that you mentioned - i have a theory for that too, and it's because ikepri is simply not allowing for as much goofing around as its predecessors. you still see your doze of cursed jokes but they're not realistic in the nature of the game's world like they would in ikerev for instance, or even ikevamp . but that's fine because, and this is something i actually thought about the other day, they can't keep making more and more dramatic dark and twisted all overly serious games (right? right?) , somewhere along the way a game with the carefree atmosphere of ikerev will come to existence again, and we'll heal again. and the hateful anons who dont see that we're just a bunch of people having fun without that made-up hierarchy , will get bored and go away eventually. i believe in that, and i really want to make you believe too

i enjoyed talking with you about this, and i hope i didn't gave any unnecessary seriousness to our talk because im trying very hard to stick to the belief that our time here should be purely just positive and fun... and hey, we might have not interacted much, but knowing that you've been here for awhile already makes me feel you close somehow hkhkhkhk is that weird??

now, let me give you this ticket: 🎫 that equals one xxsycamore request (from the valentines/1000 followers one) and i want you to think of the most self-indulgent prompt you can come up with and send it. you said ikerev my beloved so if you end up choosing that (seeing that there is a serious lack of those requested 😭😭) id be even happier to write it for you. dont worry to refuse ofc <33

im sorry that this was all over the place and thank you for coming here anon. have a great day ❤