#autumns writing

[autumn-foxfire]

Prompt 45) "Where are you from exactly?" from (x)

"Where are you from exactly?"

Izaya was a curious man, a very curious man who was very curious about humanity. That was why he was always fascinated when he met up with these types of people, those who post online about their fantasies of ending their life and yet kept secrets from those who they share their desires with like they actually cared about the life they had wish away just moments prior.

He knew he current subject of interest was not from Ikebukuro, nor was he from any of the surrounding towns and cities. It had immediately caught his interest that all of his attempts to look up the man had resulted in nothing but a wild goose chase, he was like a ghost, someone who had just blinked into existence that very day and yet here he was messaging Izaya about how much he wished for the embrace of death.

The man gave Izaya an impish smile, "I'm originally from Yokohoma," he answered simply, "However I've been travelling around Japan these past couple of months."

Izaya hummed as his mind buzzed with ideas and possibilities of the man and his life that had ultimately lead him to be standing next to Izaya beside a bridge he was intending to jump off.

There was something very different about this man than the others Izaya had met in this very scenario. Many of the humans he had met with before had been anxious about the meet up, skittish about taking their own lives even though they had gone into a great amount of detail with Izaya about their suicidal thoughts just hours prior over text.

This man however carried with him a sense of calmness that he had yet to encounter with any of the others. He looked over the side of the bridge almost wistfully, as if he was about to meet an old friend and not the hard concrete lying below.

It fasinated Izaya to no end.

The man was a mystery and Izaya was eager to pull back his layers until he found what made the man tick.

"This isn't your first attempt," Izaya guessed, eyeing the bandages wrapped around the man's neck and wrists.

"Not at all," the man sighed almost dramatically, like he was discussing the weather and not suicide, "My endeavor for a quick and painless death that inconveniences no one has so far been in vain however when I saw your tempting offer of a double suicide, I couldn't resist."

He turned to Izaya and looked him up and down, "I'll admit, I've always dreamed to die in the arms of a woman however beggers can't be choosers and every woman I've asked so far has rejected my offer."

Izaya couldn't stop the scoff that left his lips as a disappointment flood him, "It's always the same with you people," he complained as he collapsed against the railing of the bridge, "You want a 'quick and painless' death, an impossible feat regardless of how much you think otherwise," he drawled, "Even if you pop a bunch of pills and drift off in your sleep, someone is bound to find your body eventually, jump off this bridge and you'll be another stain on the pavement, an inconvenience to the people who have to clean up your worthless corpse when they inevitably find you."

Izaya has said a variation of this speech countless of times and is usually met with anger from the recipient yet just as Izaya let the disappointment roll over him, the man did the unexpected.

He laughed.

It wasn't the manic laugh of a man losing his mind. No, it was a laugh that spoke of it's agreement with Izaya's words. He perked up and looked over at the man.

"I'm well aware, Orihara-san," the man eventually replied and Izaya stiffened and went on guard.

He narrowed his eyes, "You know who I am," he said. He never used his real name during these internet conversations but he was also aware his reputation often proceeded him. This was an unexpected outcome but not an unwelcome one. It just fueled Izaya's curiosity once more.

"Of course," the man replied with a simple smile, "Izaya Orihara, 21 years old, an accomplished information broker known for his many dealings from upper class business men or Yakuza-" he paused and scrunched up his nose "-though from my experience those two tend to be the same people."

Izaya couldn't stop the shark-like grin that spread across his lips, "My my, it seems like you might be interested in taking my job," he joked, "You're becoming more and more interesting the longer I speak with you, Osamu Dazai."

The man, Dazai, returned the grin with one of his own, "I feel the same way."

[emilybraydenblogs]

I confuse people. i have a happy personality and a sad soul. i'm bold but shy. i love deeply but sometimes i feel heartless. i'm healing and hurting at the same time. i'm dedicated to growth, but i self sabotage

[nondelphic]

“you’re a writer, can you explain your process?” yes. first, i panic. then i procrastinate. then, in a fit of productivity at 3 a.m., i create chaos.

[quinnjgraham]

I know this is the website where we talk about artists and writers doing anything other than making art or writing, but man, we REALLY undersell how good it feels to actually work on your stuff.

Like you hit your word count for the first time in a week and its like

[wednesdaysfullofwoe]

[thedeadpoets-blog]

late night studying in october 🍂☕️🎃📚

[mournfulroses]

Diana Galbadon, from "A Breath of Snow and Ashes," originally published in 2005

[floralpoeticss]

November is the month of poets, artists, thinkers, lovers and wanderers.

[patroclusplaylist]

warm autumn slumber //pinterest

[odraziduse]

Keaton St James, September Affirmation (Don't Be Afraid)

[malusokay]

end of summer journaling prompts 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

Which month of summer was most memorable to you and why?

At what point do you feel like summer is over?

Top 3 summer memories?

How do you plan to spend the last summer days?

Have you made vacation friends, and if so, have you stayed in touch with them?

Top 3 summer fruits?

What is your favourite summer beauty ritual?

Does time feel like it's moving faster or slower in summer?

What is something that you wanted to do all summer but haven't done yet?

Top 3 summer songs this year? make a playlist!!

How did your routine change over the summer?

What habits did you pick up this summer, and what do you want to continue in the upcoming school year?

Summarise the entire summer in just 1 word!!

3 unpopular summer opinions?

How would you rank all four seasons now that summer is coming to an end?

Do you feel the "summertime sadness"?

hey dolls I hope August is treating you all with plenty of kindness!! for me, this has probably been the busiest month so far, trying to manage moving, work, school, and relationships while also enjoying summer to the fullest!!

As always, please feel free to share your own prompts or even your summer highlights in the comments! <3

✩‧₊*:・love ya ･:*₊‧��

[dionyrtal]

september 6, 2024 — brainstorming my new novel, reading articles about women's bodily autonomy and hysteria, re-reading the yellow wallpaper, and sipping my hibiscus tea in the calm hours of the day. the weather finally feels like fall.

[do not repost without credit]

[nondelphic]

the stages of writing:

amazing idea

doubt

despair

snacks

somehow, a finished story.

[rawhoneybliss]

"October will be good to me."

— Raw Honey Bliss

[triflingthing]

Saturday mornings are for ✍🏽📝☕️

[pricetagged]

Idk how to label this. Wifehunter John?

The idea of possessive/obsessive John manipulating a situation and stealing a wife for himself struck me, so just coughing the idea up while I sneak away for a coffee before I actually have to start work in 20 mins 💖 entirely unedited, abrupt ending

Edit: Part Two

________

For someone married to his job, he has put quite a bit of thought into what he is looking for in a wife. Namely, that she's already married.

His reasoning is threefold. He can admit to himself, firstly, that it satisfies his need for control. Competency. He's a busy man with a demanding job. Not quite retired yet, no time to build his own from scratch. With this, he gets a wife boxed up and ready-trained. Broken in.

Secondly, the need for control bleeds into his saviour complex. She'll need a shoulder to cry on, someone strong and capable to get her back on her feet. She'll be feeling a little fragile. Needy. Perfect.

And thirdly, it does something wild to his jealous, possessive streak. The idea of taking something precious, of breaking her bond to another man and tying it to him? Delicious. The idea that she used to be someone else's, that he has to imprint himself onto her knowing that in doing so he is erasing the imprint of another man? It has his teeth aching, grinding even as heat rises in his belly. Stirs at him.

The idea swirls lazily in the back of his mind, never quite finding the right time or right partner. He bats at it a few times, lazy cat playing with the notion, seeing how far it can stretch before it snaps. Eyes up pretty things everywhere he goes, glancing down at their left hands just to check, but nothing quite tugs on that string. Until one day it does when he's outfitting the security system at your house.

It's side work. Cash in hand, word of mouth. Something to keep him busy when on mandated leave. Something to keep in mind as his retirement from active duty creeps closer. And your husband is a real piece of work, all blustering braggadocio energy. Young buck, not knowing his place in the herd. Not knowing that he'd be better scratching his antlers off on a tree than going head-to-head with a gristled thing like John.

It's like John's energy, his presence in the house, sends alarm bells ringing in your husband's mind (Be the man. Don't back down. Puff up your chest and strut). And it plays so perfectly into John's hands because your young buck doesn't realise that what he's really doing is fawning. To John. (Look at me, be impressed by me!) He makes his biggest mistake in putting you down in front of him, trying to sidle up to John and create some kind of desperate camaraderie. Ordering you to bring tea to the men at work. Rolling his eyes at your attempts to talk, to ask questions about the work being done. Waving you off so he can stand and watch the proceedings. Like he could supervise. Like he has any clue what he's doing.

Only the promise of the long game keeps John from levelling him with a hard look, from calling him outblike he'd love to.

He hears you both in the in the other room, having swatted the young buck off like a particularly virulent pest. Noisy and bothersome. Not needed - or wanted- in this home. And entirely too stupid to realise that John wasn't being jocular in his dismissal.

You've been scribbling away for the past few days, something occupying your time, keeping you happy and hidden away in the kitchen.

"You're not serious, are you?"

"Well, yes," he hears the slight quaver in your voice before you find your footing. You've got at least a bit of spine. Good. "You said that I should find an occupation. Not just 'laze around the house playing housewife'. This is what I-"

"Oh come on, I didn't mean- You don't think that this is viable, do you?"

"Well... I love gardening. And I'm good at it. And there's no reason that it can't be more accessible for people, especially with the current economic-"

He cuts you off with a scoff. "Dear, just- I don't want you to be disappointed. I think you don't quite understand the time and effort this will take. And you know nothing of marketing, publishing. Why don't you put that away and start on dinner?"

And oh, isn't that delicious. He can taste it now, that idea that has been swirling. It's thick, almost tangible on his tongue. The tension in the house, the bitter lacryma of stifled tears. The slight acidity of words you left unsaid. It has his mouth watering, pupils dilating.

And when he's packing up that evening, tools and materials tucked in to the heavy workman's case, he swings by the kitchen on his way out. Catches the way something is jutting out slightly from the bin, lid slightly askew. When he pulls it out he realises it's some kind of notebook, carefully (lovingly) bound. Pictures pasted, mindmaps and notes and plans scribbled in the margins. Your gardening tips. Kitchen scraps, window boxes, rooftop plots. Urban gardening. It's deeply thoughtful, well researched.

A labour of love, lying in the rubbish.

Sweet, clever little thing. That just won't do.

He leaves your house with a little piece of you tucked away in his toolkit and a nice plan forming. He'll be back, of course, not quite finished with his work. He'd planted a few little links into the system he'd almost installed, projecting not just to the monitor in your home but also in his. Got to keep his eyes on you, keep you safe and cared for in ways that your useless husband can't.

Finding that book was a boon. He'd say it was divinely ordained if he believed in all that. It weighs heavy in his toolbox as he whistles out the door.

Now, how to get you alone and return it to you..

________________

This idea may have been done before? I'm not sure, sorry! I've seen a lot of possessive John floating around. Tagging @stellewriites because I said I would last time, and you've been so encouraging of my nonsense.

Anyway I've got like 4 long-form WIPs that I'm working on, so I may never actually write this one but thought I'd share since that image set I just reblogged made me feral 💖