#making this post partially as a reminder for myself LOL

[crazysnor1ax]

Friendly reminder to drink water and take breaks during Grand Fest!! You can’t party hard without taking care of yourself first <33

[skitskatdacat63]

2005 Australian Grand Prix[Redux] - Giancarlo Fisichella, Rubens Barichello & Fernando Alonso(my personal post-race highlights)

[stunfiskz]

i think that more ppl should draw transmasc characters w skin graft scars from phallo

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 ICARIAN

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai had known he was flying too close to the sun, he should have stopped himself while he still had the chance. {wordcount: 11.5k; fem!reader, romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: installment fiveeeee otherwise known as part 2 of installment four LOL! ugh guys i'm dragging myself thru the trenches right now i'm so miserable - i wasn't even up to posting this today i won't lie but </3 i pulled thru </3 if only barely. fun fact this is actually only a 3 scene chapter but the second scene is just MASSIVE. i wasn't up to restructuring so you guys are just going to get it as it is. this is also unedited because i just wasn't up to it so bear with me regarding mistakes. JUST TO REMIND YOU ALL: the last installment is DELAYED - i have 3 finals next week and haven't had the time to finish it. it will be up by the end of may </3 sorry guys. wow this actually is attempt number three trying to post this correctly - i'm so shot

IMPORTANT NOTE FOR 17 & UNDER FOLLOWING THE SERIES: partially copy and pasted from badlands - if you guys read badlands, you know the deal. y'all knew what you were getting into. this is the smut chapter. but again, i'm not going to ask y'all to not interact/read a whole 12k chapter just because there's 4k words of smut, but i am going to say here the smut is in the SECOND scene. there is very little plot development in the smut itself, so i ask you guys, again, to respectfully scroll past it. i'll make the sentence when the smut starts red like this so you know that's when it starts, and then you can continue reading at the next divider. thank you for understanding! there is NO plot development in the smut, i'll reiterate that at the end where i put the summary in badlands, i restructured to make sure none of it was in it.

SMUT WARNINGS: unprotected sex, dazai cries </3 poor baby, sub!dazai, as always pussy drunk!dazai, bit of overstim on dazai's part too, jfhsuhdfsu i will say it starts on the bathroom floor so that might be a bit gross to some of you but dazai hardly even uses his apartment anyway so trust it's clean. bear with me. it just flowed from there i had to go with it. the story writes itself, i'm only the scribe. LOL let me know if i missed anything, i might have

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

Dazai is hardly listening to the conversation at hand. They’ve been going back and forth for thirty minutes about inconsequential matters. Tolstoy is getting increasingly heated as he goes tit-for-tat with Nabokov, evidently the tripartite alliance between the Russian mafias is not quite enough to quell all of the bad blood that’s simmered between them, but something about the situation isn’t sitting right to Dazai. He can feel it in his gut, swirling in the depths of his chest—something is wrong but he doesn’t know what.

Mishima looks equally put out, gaze trained on Tolstoy and Nabokov’s conversation, occasionally looking back at his executives. Cao seems bored, head tilted back against the red cushions of the round booth as he smokes a cigarette; in all regards, he seems relaxed, but Dazai notices the way the fingers of his free hand are tense on the table, as if he’s bracing himself for something.

Something isn’t right.

Dostoevsky is cunning. Intelligent. He’s been lethally sharp in every universe that the other Dazais have encountered him in. He wouldn’t send Tolstoy and Nabokov into this meeting with them at each other’s throats like this without an ulterior reason. Dazai is missing something critical; he knows it’s not something as simple as wanting to give off the appearance of a divided front as means to get Dazai and Mishima to lower their guard. Nothing is that easy. There’s some ulterior motive that Dazai has to figure out.

Cao’s presence. Tolstoy and Nabokov’s blatant hostility toward one another. Mishima’s words from earlier, warning him that something seems to be brewing, that Tolstoy and Nabokov had been on edge since he arrived at the event hall. Dazai’s head hurts, and he can’t focus, not when you’re in the other room without him.

Already, he feels as if he’s been separated from you for too long, he’d been hoping this meeting was only going to last thirty minutes at most, and it’s been thirty minutes already and hardly any progress has been made. If Dazai didn’t know any better, he’d think that…

He’d think that Tolstoy and Nabokov were stalling.

At once, Dazai starts catching onto the things that he missed. The way Nabokov keeps glancing up at the clock on the wall above Cao. The way Tolstoy’s gaze keeps flickering to his phone. The way Cao’s attention seems to be elsewhere. 

Cao Xueqin. A Dream of Red Mansions. A scrying ability.

His heartbeat slows and Dazai blinks. Once. Twice. Blood roars in his ears as his gaze twists down to where his phone is laying on the table in front of him, on its face. Tachihara should have texted him to let him know that he got to you. Him or Chuuya. He usually reports to Chuuya anyway, so Dazai figured that Chuuya would’ve gotten the confirmation. He turns his head to the side to look at the executive from the corner of his eye, trying to keep his breath as slow and steady and natural as possible when he realizes that Chuuya is frowning with furrowed brows, looking at his phone. Unsure.

Dazia reaches for his own phone, fingers deceptively steady despite the way his insides are curdling with a sudden jolt of anxiety. His eyes zero in on the top right corner of his phone. No signal. Dazai has been to this event hall countless times in this life and dozens of others—there’s always service throughout the building. 

Unless it’s being jammed, that is.

Dazai’s blood runs cold, gaze dragging from his phone to the door that leads to the hallway connecting to the event hall where you are. He feels as if he’s been doused with icy water and lit on fire all at once. For a second, he doesn’t move—he’s not sure if it’s anxiety or fear, or both, but he knows it’s because you’re out there and Dostoevsky is plotting something while trying to keep him out of the picture in this meeting. 

He should have known better. Mishima had assumed that Dostoevsky wasn’t in the building—he had his three best scouts prowling the whole building trying to place the real leader of the tripartite but had failed. Nabokov had apparently told him that Dostoevsky had to stay back to handle residual business in Russia, a blatant lie, one that has had Mishima on edge all night.

The one with the overcoat. The clown.

Dazai stills as he remembers the white haired man who hung around Dostoevsky in some of the other universes. Not all of the other Dazais encountered him—in fact, Dazai thinks there were only half a dozen other universes where he met the man, he can hardly remember his name, but when he did…

Spatial linking. Of course Mishima’s men hadn’t been able to hunt down Dostoevsky. Dostoevsky would’ve predicted that the Sun and Steel would seek out the mastermind with their scouts. He used the clown to enter the building without anyone knowing after the scouts finished their hunt.

Dazai had missed a critical piece on the board.

Dazai rises to his feet abruptly, mind numb, eyes distant, and lips parted to speak but no words escape them. Tolstoy and Nabokov exchange a sharp, pointed look, pausing in their hostilities, and Dazai knows. He knows.

Dostoevsky is going after you. 

He hears Chuuya and Kouyou calling after him but it sounds like a distant buzz. His throat feels clogged, his heartbeat is erratic and uncontrollable, his ears are ringing. His surroundings are blurry, a part of him doesn’t even know where he is: the event hall, your apartment, in the cafe below the Armed Detective Agency, it’s all blurring together.

This is it.

His vision swims and his head spins. The hallway seems impossibly long, much longer than it was to walk to the room. He can hear Chuuya spitting curses, scrambling out of the room, and he’s sure that his other executives and the other mafiosos aren’t far behind, but Dazai’s mind is on a single track. He doesn’t know how fast he’s moving—fast enough that Chuuya is chasing after him but can’t catch him. Something is heavy and cool in his hand—his gun—numb fingers moving to click the safety off.

This is it.

He might enter that hall and find you dead, slumped over the bar he’d last seen you sitting at, blood splattered across your face. Limp, cold. Just like you were on your bedroom floor. In the booth at the cafe. He’s pulling you from the water. He’s screaming for Yosano when he’s with the Agency. He’s screaming for Mori when he’s with the Mafia. Sometimes he’s alone, and he has no one to call for help, so all he can do is hold you and cry. 

It’s his fault. He knew this would happen from the beginning. He knew that being with you would lead you to the same fate that you’ve met in every other universe because of him. He knew that being with you would be your death sentence, but he couldn’t stop himself. 

His vision swims again, the red and gold patterns on the walls of the event hall are indistinct blobs, he feels someone try to grab his wrist—Chuuya, probably—but Dazai rips himself free and pushes himself into the event hall.

He ignores the eyes on him and the way people all instinctively move away from the sight of him with his gun out, he’s sure he must look deranged but he’s hardly even keeping himself grounded to this reality. Pages pile around him, every single one has variations of the same scene that’s haunted him for almost eight years written on it; one is being written before his eyes, he can see the words appearing on the blank sheet. He needs to find you before it’s complete. He has to stop it.

His eyes cut across the room, toward the bar he’d last seen you at, and you’re there. You’re there. It’s almost enough to make him scramble to put his gun away, cover up his steep spiral of paranoia even if you are looking right in his direction and see the gun in his hand. He can hardly come to terms with the consequences of this, how you’re seeing him right now, because his gaze tunnels right in on the person sitting next to you and his world comes to a halt. 

He lifts the gun. He ignores as people shriek and scramble to the edges of the room. He ignores the look on your face as he moves closer to where you’re sitting with Fyodor Dostoevsky. He ignores the way Chuuya and Kouyou and Piano Man have all skid to a stop somewhere behind him, trying to figure out what to do. Dostoevsky’s hand is mere inches away from brushing against your body, it would only take the slightest movement and you would be dead. It would be a game of who’s faster: Dazai’s trigger finger or Dostoevsky’s ability. Dazai’s always been quick to pull the trigger but now, faced with your life on the line, when he should be at his best because of what’s at risk, he finds himself scared and unsteady. 

He can’t lose you. He can’t watch it happen.

He paces toward you slowly, steadily, he swears each step he takes echoes across the suddenly silent event hall. He doesn’t stop until the muzzle of his gun is pressed against the back of Dostoevsky’s head.

“Stand up.” Dazai’s voice is deceptively cold and steady for the rage and fear that’s clawing at his chest, threatening to take control.

Dostoevsky turns his head to the side to look at Dazai, faint amusement in his eyes. “Are you sure you really want to do this here, Dazai?” 

The mocking lilt his voice takes is almost enough alone for Dazai to pull the trigger. And if that wasn’t, the way Dostoevsky smiles at Dazai like he’s won is certainly enough to push him over the edge.

Before he can, he feels Chuuya grab his bicep hard. 

“You can’t do this here,” he hisses quietly. “If you kill him now on neutral territory, we’ll have all of the mafias in the Eastern Hemisphere coming after you and the government on your ass. You can’t do this here and you can’t do it in public.”

Dazai doesn’t care. He doesn’t care how many mafias come after him for killing on neutral territory when invited as a guest. He doesn’t care that the government will come after him for such a blatant murder. All he cares about is getting Dostoevsky away from you.

“Chuuya is right,” Kouyou murmurs, low enough for only Dazai to overhear. “We can cover this up as is. If you pull the trigger, there’s no hiding what happened here. You know better than this, boy. You won’t be the only person this affects if you do this. Think of her. She will be implicated for coming here with you. Lower the gun and let us handle sweeping this under the rug.”

Dazai can’t even bring himself to look at you. He’s scared of what he might find. But he doesn’t even consider lowering the gun, not until Dostoevsky raises his hands and slips off the bar stool to step away from you. Even when he does, Dazai keeps it trained on him, still tempted to blow his head right off his shoulders.

“I meant no harm,” Dostoevsky says smoothly. “I was intrigued, wanted to know the girl who’s managed to capture your interest. I must say, I see the appeal. Beautiful and intelligent, you have quite the eye, Dazai.”

Dazai’s lips stretch into a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. It’s not kind, and it’s mildly feral, and Dazai’s pretty sure he must look entirely deranged from the way Dostoevsky’s eyes widen in a mixture of surprise and entertainment, just enough to be noticeable.

“If you ever go near her again, I’ll put a bullet through your fucking skull, Dostoevsky.”

He should do it now. He should. Fuck Chuuya and Kouyou’s warnings, he should put a bullet in his head and be done with it, move onto handling Christie so that both of the major threats to your life are gone. But he can’t. If he takes this opportunity now, if he kills Dostoevsky so blatantly on neutral territory, the Pale Flame and Three Deaths will come at him in full force, and Dazai is sure the Red Chamber won’t be far behind them with Cao’s recent interest in expanding his business into Japan. And you’ll be caught in the crossfire of all of it, Dazai has ensured that by bringing you here. Dostoevsky must have accounted for all of this. He knew that Dazai would be put in a situation where either way, whether he kills him or lets him go, he’d be throwing himself onto a blade. 

Is that it? Killing you wasn’t the goal, was it? Exposing Dazai was. Forcing him into this impossible decision.

Did he really just fall into Dostoevsky’s hands so easily? Even with all of the forewarning the other universes have given him?

It’s you. You always make him reckless, his mind is never as sharp whenever you’re involved, muddled with thoughts of you, plagued with spirals of paranoia and anxiety that make him double guess himself. It’s like this in every universe—he becomes stupid, he becomes rash, he becomes careless. It’s you.

You.

Suddenly very hyper aware of your eyes on him, Dazai lowers his gun, gaze turning in your direction. Dostoevsky lets out one last snide comment, something toward you, telling you ‘don’t you see’ but Dazai doesn’t even process it, heart in his throat as he looks at you. He doesn’t know what he expects—fear, betrayal, even anger. He’s not prepared for the emptiness. He can’t read a single emotion on your face, your eyes eerily void of any feeling as you stare at him. 

He says your name quietly. His voice cracks. He should be embarrassed, so many people watching the scene play out, so many of his enemies and allies and subordinates, and he’s staring at you like a lost child with an unsteady voice, but he can’t bring himself to care. The fingers of his free hand are trembling, and the ones wrapped around the grip of his gun are so wound so tight that his knuckles are white. 

You’ve never looked at him like this before. Not in any universe. 

He thinks he might throw up. 

You’ve been mad at him before, scowling at him whenever he distracts you from your work and snarling whenever he makes messes that he never cleans up, but your eyes always stay soft in spite of the venom you spit. He’s seen betrayal on your face a few times before, screaming at him through tears when he got a bit too close to a successful attempt, cursing at him for trying to leave you, but you hold him so gently that it makes up for the harsh words. You’ve been scared of him once, when he lashed out so badly during one of his slumps that he nearly hurt you, but even then, you were more concerned for him then you were scared for yourself, speaking to him softly to settle him down.

He’s never seen this. He wants it to go away. Desperately.

“I’d like to leave,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, and your voice is so vacant of emotion that it leaves him feeling even more sick.

Dazai nods, because he can’t bring himself to speak. 

He holds his hand out for you, waiting for you to take it.

You don’t.

You haven’t spoken a word since the event hall, and Dazai doesn’t know what to do. He used to find peace in silence—for years, he’d become accustomed to it, isolating himself from everyone around him, keeping everyone at arm’s length. The most he ever spoke was a few sentences to give out orders to his executives; his voice had become hoarse and raspy over the years of self-imposed isolation, unused to being utilized. But the past few months with you have utterly obliterated any semblance of comfort Dazai had found in solidarity. 

It’s become entirely intolerable, the silence is making him sick with anxiety; he has hundreds of lifetimes worth of memories with you and he can’t even vaguely predict what to expect from you right now. You’ve been tense and cold since leaving the event hall. Dazai tried to open up a conversation in the car once but found himself promptly ignored. Chuuya tried to say something to you but only received the same cold shoulder. Even Albatross tried to lighten the mood when the four of you got in the car, but all you did was stare out the window with your back to Dazai. 

Now, you’re back up in his penthouse with him. You haven’t sat down. You’ve hardly budged from where you’re standing near the elevator—Dazai wonders if you’re scared of him now, if you want to be as close as possible to the only exit in fear of him lashing out at you. The thought makes him even more nauseous.

He doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He doesn’t want to sit down, he’s uncomfortable standing in the living room, waiting for you to say something, and he can’t bring himself to try to break the silence because if there’s one thing he learned very swiftly, it’s that he can’t handle being ignored by you. He’d prefer anger and hate to the stonewall iciness you’re giving him.

He can’t even fathom what you might be thinking right now. You’re not looking at him. You’re staring at the window that looks over the city, he can see the bright flashing lights from Cosmo World flickering faintly in your eyes. It’s so quiet that he can hear the distant honking of horns, police sirens coming from the streets below. 

He just wants you to say something, do something. Yell at him. Scream at him. Hit him or punch him. Anything is better than this. 

It feels like an eternity before you finally move away from the elevator. You still don’t speak, but Dazai watches raptly as you make your way into the kitchen. You fling open the cabinets, searching for something, and Dazai’s lips part to ask what you’re looking for but he decides against it. You stop with your jerky movements when you catch sight of the numerous bottles of sake Dazai has stored in his cabinets—room temperature, because Dazai can’t stand cold drinks, they make his teeth hurt. He watches you struggle to uncap it and his body itches to move toward you to help but he knows it won’t do any good. It’ll probably just piss you off more.

When you get the cap off, you’re immediately bringing it to your lips. One. Two. Three. Four large gulps before you put the bottle back down on the counter and turn to look at him. The emptiness in your eyes is gone, replaced by something caught between hurt and anger and betrayal. It makes his heart sink, but he thinks it’s preferable to the emptiness.

“You lied to me,” you finally rasp out, shaking your head as you pace behind the counter. There’s a whole length of a room separating the two of you and Dazai longs for your touch but he forces himself to stuff his hands in his pockets and keep still. “You lied to me, Dazai.”

“Osamu,” he corrects quietly without thinking, not liking the switch up. He’d finally gotten you to call him by his given name earlier in the night, he doesn’t want to lose it so quickly.

For the briefest of seconds, the hurt and betrayal in your eyes disappears and only fire rages in them. “Dazai,” you spit out pointedly. 

Dazai almost draws back, not having expected that. In all of the other universes, you’ve always been gentle with him even when you’re livid. You speak his name softly, even with a tight jaw and fisted hands—his given name, you’ve never used his surname against him like this before. Probably because most of the major fights he had with you in those other lives, it was months into the relationship; it’s only been a few weeks in this life so of course-

Dazai realizes, a bit dizzy, that he’s about to lose you.

You found out too soon. You found out through Dostoevsky, through Dazai's own loss of control. You found out in the worst possible way and you found out too soon.

Dazai is about to lose you.

“Okay,” he murmurs, not wanting to test your temper anymore, giving in as a means to try to soothe your anger, regardless of how much it might wound him because being wounded is nothing compared to losing you. “Dazai.”

His compliance seems to do nothing to quell your anger from the way you just scoff and shake your head again, looking away from him. You stare out over the city, dozens of emotions cloud your expression but Dazai still can’t predict what you might do next. He feels out of his depth, in murky waters with an anchor tied to his ankle.

“I knew it, you know?” you finally say quietly. “I knew it from the beginning, honestly, but I kept making excuses for you. I mean, the guns. The secrecy. You weren’t really subtle about it. Did you think I was stupid, or something?” 

“Never,” Dazai says honestly, without hesitation. He sees your gaze flicker down to the ground at his words, but you don’t make any move to speak again so he takes the opportunity to, in hopes that you’ll finally listen. “You’re the smartest woman I know. I-”

You interrupt him with a sharp laugh, it’s loud and almost cruel, and Dazai turns in on himself at the sound of it. He feels small and unsteady, like a child who’s being scolded by a parent. When you look at him again, your eyes are wide and wild, half-crazed in sheer disbelief. You don’t believe him. Of course, you don’t. It’s plainly displayed on your face. And why would you anyway? He’s given you every reason not to. 

“If you think I’m so smart, why didn’t you think I would figure it out?”

He tries to say that he knew you would. That he’s been living in fear for weeks that you’d finally see him for what he is but when he opens his mouth to say it, no words leave him. Like he’s frozen in fear, ice crawling through his veins, stones weighing on his tongue; he can’t respond, and he knows that he’s only condemning himself more. He tries to force something out but he can’t even make the barest hint of a sound. The mindkiller. He’s never responded well to fear, much less when you’re involved. 

You click your tongue, as if to solidify that his silence proves your point, or maybe you know what he can't bring himself to say and you just don't believe him. His stomach churns again, and dread spreads through chest when you say: “If I’m so smart, and I was going to figure it out anyway, why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You would have left.” Dazai is finally able to speak, but he speaks the wrong answer, clearly, from the way you let out another humorless, breathless laugh, eyes wide in disbelief. You look at him like he’s the most audacious man in the entire world. Maybe he is.

“Yeah, I would have,” you agree and Dazai flinches. “Without hesitation, without even looking back. And now, I can’t because you made me fall in love with you without even warning me about what I was getting myself into.”

Dazai’s heart should be leaping through the roof at your confession, but if anything, he feels even worse. His throat feels clogged and his chest feels so heavy. You’ve never regretted falling in love with him before. Not in any lifetime.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out, because he doesn’t know what else to say. The words are still foreign on his tongue, he doesn’t think he’s ever apologized to someone in this life before the last twenty-four hours.

“No, you’re not,” you say bitterly, looking away. “Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to care so much about you that when you finally tell me who you are and what you do, I won’t be able to leave.”

Dazai stares at you, lost. He remembers how just the other day he was finding comfort in the way you could read him so easily, knowing he didn’t have to speak for you to know what he needed at the moment. He thinks he hates it now, because you’re finally reading deeper into his soul and seeing him for the sick, twisted monster he really is. Just like he feared from day one. Manipulative. Selfish. Undeserving. His fingers tremble in his pockets, nails biting into his palm so deep that he can feel blood trickling down his skin, but not even the stinging pain can distract him from the numbness spreading through him. 

“I didn’t-”

“Didn’t what?” you interrupt him. “You didn’t think I’d be upset? You didn’t think I’d be angry? Or maybe you didn’t think it would happen this soon? Is that it, Dazai? You thought you’d have more time to win me over in hopes that I’d take the news in stride. News flash, Dazai, no amount of time or charm would have made me accept this easily. Accept you easily. How could I ever accept any of this?”

Nausea rises to his throat so suddenly that he almost gags. He feels dizzy, taking a step back so that his back is against the wall, keeping him steady. Your last words echo through his head over and over again, he can’t escape them. The one person who’s always accepted him in every lifetime, the only person he was ever able to find a home in—how could I ever accept you? 

His cheeks feel wet, his eyes are wide as he stares at you. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t even think he could if he knew how to respond to that. His lungs are burning and his throat feels so swollen that even just the thought of trying to speak is painful. 

You let out a sharp breath, caught between a hysterical laugh and a sob as you press your hands to either side of your neck and pace across the kitchen. “What am I supposed to do, Dazai?” you ask, voice hoarse. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?”

He thinks it might be a rhetorical question, but he still forces out: “Don’t leave me.”

You scoff again, louder and harsher this time. Dazai’s eyes flutter shut as if to futilely minimize the blow. “I wish leaving you was still an option for me.”

Oh. He’s going to throw up. 

He wants to blame it on the alcohol he drank earlier in the night. He wants to blame it on the stress of the past few weeks. He wants to blame it on anything but this, even though he knows damn well that this conversation is what triggered the bile that rises to his throat. He forces himself to move, nearly tripping over his feet to get to the bathroom because he doesn’t want you to see him vomiting up his guts.

He hardly makes it to the toilet, crashing to his knees and clutching at the seat as he dry heaves. Nothing comes up—he hasn’t eaten enough the past few days to have anything solid in him, too busy with preparations—but he can’t stop gagging, eyes stinging with tears and throat burning. He doesn’t know how long he stays crumpled at the toilet, losing track of time entirely, a part of him just wants to stay there forever so he doesn’t have to go back out and face you. 

Evidently, he doesn’t have to go back out and face you because you come to him. 

He’s gagging again when he feels your hand brush his back, hesitantly at first and then firmly. Your touch is warm, and Dazai thinks he must look pathetic as he turns his head to the side to look at you. Your expression isn’t as harsh now, your eyes are still conflicted but your face is softer. After a moment, you take a seat on the floor next to him—you don’t say anything, but you let out a soft puff of air as you slip your arm around his shoulders once he stops heaving. 

He crumbles into your chest, body collapsing against yours. You wrap your arms around him, and at once, the numbness starts to fade away. His fingers clutch at your dress desperately, afraid that you’re going to disappear, but you only hold him tighter. You bury your face in his hair, forehead pressed to the top of his head.

“You’re so unfair, Osamu.” Your voice cracks, you’ve lost all of your fire, but Dazai finds no solace in it.

“I know,” he croaks out, throat scratchy and voice wavering. “I know.”

And then words are spilling from his lips before he can stop them, jumbled and hardly intelligible and he’s not even sure that you’re understanding what he’s saying but he can’t stop himself: “I tried. I tried to stay away, I tried so hard, you don’t understand. I knew it would turn out like this, I knew I would ruin you so I tried to stay away, but I’m selfish. I’m so selfish, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I knew better, I’m going to-you’re going to-”

The panic is returning, the words he wants to say but can’t push out are too damning: I’m going to get you killed. You’re going to die because of me. Dazai is breathing but the air isn’t getting to his lungs, his chest burns, and now even with your arms around him, the numbness is returning. It’s rapid now, spreading from his chest to his arms, down his abdomen to his legs; it’s going to consume him entirely, he can feel it, he can-

Oh.

Your lips press to his. Tilting his head back to angle his face up toward you, you lean down and press your lips against his, swallowing his words, his air, his panic. One of your hands cup his cheek while the other cradles the back of his head, Dazai can hardly kiss you back, his lips feel cold and prickly, but his eyes flutter shut as your lips move slowly and carefully against his.

Not for the first time, he thinks that he doesn’t deserve this. Especially not now. He tastes something wet and salty against his lips—he doesn’t know if you’re the one crying, or if he is, and he doesn’t want to know, so he forces himself to move. His arm feels heavy and clunky, and his fingers feel stiff, but he’s able to bring them up to your face, palms cupping your cheeks as the tips of his fingers tangle into your hair. He kisses you until his lungs are screaming for air, and even as he starts to feel lightheaded, he kisses you still, because your lips are the only thing able to push away the numbness overwhelming him. 

When you break away from him, you keep your foreheads pressed together, nose nudging against his. You share the same thin sliver of air and Dazai feels dizzy, he wants to kiss you again but he doesn’t think he’s capable of moving yet, so he only stays crumbled in your arms, waiting for you to grace him with your lips again. 

“I wish I still had the chance to be a better man,” Dazai says hoarsely, honestly, gaze searching yours desperately. “I would be. For you.”

Please believe me, he thinks to himself helplessly, because it’s the truth. He would try to be. For your sake. He might fail, he might be too far gone, his soul corrupted beyond salvation and his blood black beyond purification, but he would try. He would try so hard for you. But he can’t, not in this lifetime, not without risking everything he’s strove to protect since coming in contact with the Book. He has to stay the criminal, the monster, the demon so that you and Odasaku can live out your lives here. Until Dostoevsky, Christie, and any other person that could turn out to be a threat to either of you are killed, Dazai has to keep playing this role. He has to. 

You don’t respond. Dazai thinks it’s because you don’t believe him and it makes him feel sick again. His lips part to repeat himself but you only press yours against his, as if to silence him. 

You don’t believe him, the kiss confirms it, and his heart sinks but he can’t even bring himself to protest, to insist that it’s true. Instead, he decides if he can’t prove it through his words, he’ll prove it through his actions. Even though his limbs still feel leaden and clumsy, he forces himself into a better position, sitting up a bit more and bringing both of his hands up to cup your cheeks. He tilts your head back, leaning into you and slowly pressing you back against the floor and distantly Dazai recognizes that this is not the place for this but the thought is only fleeting, he’s too lost in the feeling of your lips against his and your body pressed to him.

And you let him ease you back against the floor. You let him tilt your head back and when his tongue darts out to swipe against your bottom lip, you part your lips for him. He doesn’t have to knock your knees apart, because you spread them just enough for him to slot his hips between them to keep your bodies flush. He wonders if you can feel how clunky his movements are—his fingers still feel heavy against your face and he can hardly hold himself up above you. He hopes he’s not crushing you with his weight, he might be, but you don’t seem to care. 

He pulls back to ask if you’re okay with this but you chase his lips and he lets out a soft, muffled noise when you tug gently at his bottom lip and bring your free hand up to cup the back of his head, fingers tangling with his hair, pulling him back down to you. You drag your lips from his to slide them down his neck to the edge of his bandages. He twitches a bit at the feeling, wondering if you’re going to ask to take them off, but instead, you just trail your lips back upward, nipping at his jaw, and he shudders.

And then he finally hesitates, pulling away and not letting you chase after this time. He weighs his options in his head anxiously. He feels like he should do something, that he owes something—a lowering of a mask, a show of vulnerability, you’re entitled to at least that much after everything he’s done. Aren't you?

You give him a curious look and he tries to respond—he does, his lips part for him to speak but nothing leaves them. He swallows thickly, eyes fluttering shut as he braces himself before trying again, bringing one of his hands to yours and wrapping his fingers around it gently, lifting it from his chest to the bandages covering the left side of his face.

“Take them off,” he tells you, voice hoarse and shakier than he would have liked.

Your eyes widen, and he shudders a bit when your fingers smooth against the bandages, uncertain. “Are you sure?” you ask him softly, bringing your other hand to his opposite cheek, cupping his face in your hands again, eyes searching to make sure he means it.

Is he sure? Dazai doesn’t know. He can’t speak again as he stares down at you; a part of him is nervous, and he doesn’t even understand why. You already know who he is, what he is, but a part of him still fears that once you actually see him, something will change. And it’s ridiculous, so many other universes you’ve seen him without his bandages and you’ve never made him feel uncomfortable about it. But you’ve also never used his surname against him during an argument in the other universes, you’ve never regretted loving him, and you’ve certainly never wished you could leave him. 

So, yeah, he thinks the anxiety of you removing his bandages and then seeing him in a different light might be more of a possibility in this universe than any other one. His body is more covered in scars than not, and he knows it’s not attractive; he thinks if he sees your expression shift in a negative way when the bandages come off, it might shatter him entirely.

Just the face bandages then, he bargains with himself, swallowing thickly as he forces himself to nod. You sit up from where you’re still laying back against the tiles, propping yourself on your knees to shift closer to him. 

Dazai thinks his heart might be in his throat when he feels your fingers unclip the clasp holding the bandages together around the left side of his face, eyes fluttering shut as you slowly unwind them from around his head. He isn’t sure why he’s so nervous for this part—there are no scars on his face, but he still feels distinctly vulnerable, like he’s giving you a window into himself that might reveal more than he means to. He can barely breathe as he feels the last of the bandages fall to the floor, he can hear you push them to the side. 

Still, he keeps his eyes shut, counting each second that passes. He’s anxious, can’t even bring himself to look at you until you cup his cheeks again. 

“Look at me,” you say quietly.

Dazai does as you ask, he always does. He doesn’t know what he expects when he opens his eyes to meet your gaze; he prepares himself for the worst, for a twisted expression or thinly veiled pity, but he finds none of it. Rather, your eyes are soft and fond, tracing over his face, looking between each of his. He can feel the pads of your fingers gently brushing over his cheekbones, tracing absent patterns.

“You’re so handsome, Osamu,” you whisper, one of your hands sliding behind his head, intertwining with his hair. “Why do you wear them?” 

Dazai doesn’t know how to answer that. His throat feels swollen at your words, eyes a bit misty and fingers trembling against your thighs. Instead, he breathes out, “Kiss me.”

And you do. 

God, when you kiss him again, it’s so intense that it has his head spinning. He doesn’t know how long he sits there kissing you, back against the cabinets with you half in his lap. It could be a few seconds, or a few minutes, or a few hours—he has no concept of time whenever his lips are against yours. It’s only when you press your hand against his shoulder, murmuring for him to get up, that he finally pulls himself away from you.

Dazai forces himself to push up to his feet—it’s much more difficult than he thought it would be, nearly tripping over his own feet, but you follow him up to your feet, steadying him when he almost tumbles over. You bring your hand up to rest against his cheek, fingers gently toying with the edges of his hair. He leans into your touch, eyes fluttering shut for just a moment before he forces himself to look you in the eye. 

“You’re so frustrating,” you say softly, but all of the fire is gone, replaced by that same soft look you’ve directed toward him—not him—hundreds of times before. “You are so frustrating, Osamu.”

His throat feels tight again, the sound of his name on your lips causing a wave of warmth to spread through him, the numbness slowly subsiding.

“I know,” he whispers, swallowing thickly, and you sigh, gaze averting to the side for a moment before you look back at him. He still can’t fathom what you might be thinking and it scares him.

But then you kiss him again, your other hand coming up to his other cheek and his hands fly to your waist, holding you close. You walk him backward, out of the bathroom and into the hallway. His back hits the wall and you press your body close to his, and this time it’s you whose tongue is darting out to brush his bottom lip, urging him to part his lips for you. He does, and he thinks he might be in heaven when he feels your tongue dip into his mouth, sliding against his tongue. His eyes flutter shut, rolling back just a bit when you trace the back of his teeth with your tongue before sucking gently on his bottom lip.

Your hands slide down from his face to his chest, over his jacket, down to his waist. Your fingers hook in his belt loops and Dazai groans as your lips ghost from his down to his jaw, breath shaky as trail slow, wet kisses to the sensitive spot behind his ear. He can hardly do anything but follow along as you guide him from where he’s been backed against the wall into his bedroom, dazed and entirely consumed by your touch. His head already feels a bit fuzzy, breath hitching as your teeth graze his pulse point, kissing down to the edge of his bandages and then across his throat.

He barely even knows where he is until he feels the back of his knees hit his bed and he topples backward until he’s laying flat on it. His chest is heaving, head dizzy and breath shaky as you straddle his waist. You don’t kiss him again and Dazai wants to drag you down for another but he can’t even bring himself to move. His body refuses to cooperate, nervous that he’s going to make the wrong move.

“Do you want this?” you finally ask after a moment, voice raspy as one of your hands squeeze his gently, as if to get his attention. 

Dazai’s brows furrow a bit, lips parting to respond but for a second, no words leave them. You wait with the patience of a saint as Dazai tries to process what you’re asking and respond to it. After what feels like an eternity, he nods once. Of course, he wants it. You search his eyes as if to make sure he’s not just agreeing to agree, and once you’re satisfied, you continue you with: 

“And do you trust me?” you ask softly, your gaze gentle as it searches his face for the next answer.

Dazai doesn’t hesitate this time, and he speaks as he breathes out, “With everything.”

He can’t tell what you’re thinking, but your expression is still soft and your touch is still gentle as you run your thumb over his knuckles. Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the gentleness you show him. You lift your hand to cup his cheek and he leans into your touch, throat spasming beneath his bandages as he waits for you to say something. 

“Let me take the lead then,” you say quietly, his eyes widen a bit at your words. “I want to try something.”

He watches you carefully for a moment, guarded and studying you. He thinks this might be another first, and the thought alone makes him feel a bit giddy because he can’t recall any other life where you’ve ever been the one to take the lead like this, especially the first time the two of you sleep together. You look a bit anxious the longer he goes without responding, so he nods and says, “Okay.”

He’s pliant beneath your touch as you lean down to press your lips against his; he lets out a soft, muffled noise when he feels your hips shift, unintentionally grinding down a bit on his straining cock. He’s more hesitant this time in the way his lips move against yours, unsure of what to do with himself. His fingers twitch from where they're resting on the bed, itching to grab your hips but not wanting to make the wrong move.

This has happened every time one of you tries to take the next step, either he gets interrupted or he ends up getting cold feet because he’s scared of doing the wrong thing and making you uncomfortable. And it’s ridiculous because Dazai has so many memories, he should know at least vaguely what you like and what you don’t like but he thinks having the memories are a double-edged sword because he overwhelms himself if what ifs: what if he assumes you like something and you end up not liking it in this universe, what if he does something that you only liked after the two of you have been together for a while and you’re uncomfortable with him doing it because you’re not as comfortable with him. Maybe Dazai is just overthinking it all but how can he not when you’re involved. He wants everything to be perfect for you. 

“Is this okay?” you whisper, separating your lips from his just enough for him to answer your question. Your breath mingles with his and Dazai can hardly think straight; it’s hot, dizzying, there’s something so intimate about it that it makes his body fuzzy.

“Yeah,” he says, eyelashes fluttering as he looks up at you. “It’s okay.”

You kiss him again. His lips move against yours desperately, needy, he’d be embarrassed if you weren’t matching his energy, but you are. He can feel your fingers tugging at his hair, your hips grinding down against his. Every time you start to pull away, he lifts his head from where it’s laying flush against the pillows, chasing your lips. 

He needs you. His hands slide from your thighs to your waist, keeping your body pressed to his. He’s needed you since the day he came in contact with the Book and learned about you, since the day he met you at the club, maybe even since the day he was born even if he hadn’t known it at the time. He thinks his entire life has led to this, to the two of you being together; your souls have been entangled since the moment you were born and he isn’t sure how he ever thought a life without you was possible. 

“I need you,” he gasps against your lips, hips jerking up just a bit to try to alleviate the pressure building in his lower abdomen, desperate to reach down and unbutton his slacks, but wanting you to make the first move.

Whatever nerves that have made him get cold feet all of the other times the two of you have tried to take the next stop are long gone. You don’t give him any time to wonder if he’s doing the wrong thing—the fingers of one of your hands intertwining with his dark locks, just tight enough to make him hiss into your mouth, eyes rolling back at the pleasant sting. Your other hand slides across his chest, even through his dress shirt, your fingertips seem to scorch through to his skin, leaving his body tingling everywhere you touch.

“You have me,” you tell him, breathless, and Dazai can’t bite back the noise that slips from his lips, wanton and obscene, borderline pornographic—if he was any more coherent, he might be embarrassed but he can’t find it in him. Not when he’s finally getting what he’s wanted after all of this time. 

His hands fly down to his slacks, he fumbles with the button and zipper before yanking them down just enough to free his cock and he watches as you sit back on his thighs, eyes wide and lips parted as your gaze focuses in on his cock, watching as the leaking precum dribbles down his length, alongside the vein running along the underside of his cock. 

“Please,” he breathes out, fingers biting into your thighs as he bunches your dress up to your hips, another low moan spilling from his lips just at the thought of what’s about to happen, lashes fluttering.

You don’t even take off your panties, clearly driven by the same desperation that he is as you slide them to the side and position yourself above his cock and Dazai gnaws at his bottom lip when he feels the tip pressing against your entrance. He can feel how wet you are already, so drenched that your slick is dripping down the length of his cock. His hips stutter up instinctively, but instead of pushing inside, his cock slides between your folds and he whimpers, arm flying to cover the lower half of his face. You don’t let him, fingers wrapping around his wrist to pull his arm from his face and pin it to the mattress above him.

“Don’t hide yourself,” you say softly.

Dazai thinks there must be stars in his eyes as he looks up at you. You’re so beautiful, lips parted as you pant softly, an adoring expression on your face as you look down at him. He loves you. He loves you, god, he loves you more than he’s ever loved anything in his life; he thinks that nothing the other Dazais ever felt for any of the other yous could ever compare to how he feels for you.

When his tip starts to push into your tight hole, all he can let out is another loud, lewd noise; his head falls back against the pillows. His ears are ringing, but distantly, he can hear you gasp. His vision is blurry as he forces himself to look up at you but Dazai thinks you look otherworldly with your head tilted back as his cock starts to stretch you out, lips swollen and wet from the kisses you’d shared. He thinks he must look insane, pupils blown wide and eyes wild as he tries to focus on the sight of you. All of the clever wheels that usually turn within his mind are crumbling.

His fingertips leave crescents in your thighs as you sink down on his cock slowly—too slow, it leaves his head dizzy as your warmth slowly envelops his length. He’s imagined this so many times before. Dozens. Hundreds. He has so many memories of the feeling of your body flush to his, thighs over his shoulders as he fucks you deep and slow, swallowing your moans, but he thinks that nothing compares to this, the sight of you above him, watching your body tremble and face shift as his cock stretches you out. He barely refrains from letting out a string of strangled curses, barely able to hold his eyes open to watch you. 

You give yourself a moment to adjust, and when you do, you look down at Dazai. He thinks he must look a mess—chest heaving, breath erratic, eyes heavy and lidded and entirely glazed over—but he doesn’t care, not with the way your hand slides up his abdomen, fingers tracing patterns along the bandages covering his body. You look beautiful—you always look beautiful—but you look extra beautiful right now, and he thinks he could stare at you forever and never tire of it. 

Experimentally, you roll your hips—it’s still slow, agonizingly slow—and Dazai throws his head back, another obscene moan spilling from  his lips.

“Fuck,” he gasps, his fingers falling from your thighs to twist the sheets below him, knuckles white. “Feels so good. So good.”

You let out a hum that’s caught between a moan and agreement as you continue the slow rolls of your hips, hands sliding up and down his abdomen in a way that’s deceptively innocent and soothing compared to how his cock is dragging along your walls. His body shudders at the feeling of it, heat pooling in his abdomen so quickly that it has his whole body tensing as he tries to push it away. 

“You’re so perfect.” Words spill from his lips, more of a babble than anything else as you lean down to ghost your lips over his jaw, nibbling over the bandages covering his Adam’s apple. It bobs beneath your teeth as he lets out another shaky noise. “S’like you’re made for me. I’d do anything for you. Anything. You know that, right? Anything you want, it’s yours.”

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, clawing at the sheets and occasionally reaching for your thighs, and he doesn’t know what to do with his body, hips jerking up at an erratic pace, like he’s trying to meet your pace but his body simply can’t match the slow rolls of your hips, desperate for more. He doesn’t know how you’re so put together—maybe you’re not, he can see through a blurry vision how your lashes are fluttering with each roll of your hips, breath shaky, but you’re just not as far gone as he already is.

“Anything?” you murmur, and he can feel your lips curve up against his neck.

“Anything.” His breath hitches, fingers reaching for your hips as he rocks his up into you, a desperate attempt to get you to pick up the pace. “‘d give you the whole world, burn it for you, anything you want, I’d give it to you.”

His hands slide up from your thighs to your waist as you lean down to press your lips against his in a deceptively innocent kiss. He tries to chase your lips as you straighten up but you don’t let him, one of your hands curling around his throat—not choking him, but firm enough that it goes right to his cock, lips parting in a silent moan—while the other braces back on his thigh.

He thinks that nothing could have prepared him for the feeling of you picking up the pace. His breath hitches, he chokes over a moan, stars sparkle in his vision as the tip of his cock presses deep inside of you. You sigh out his name and Dazai thinks this might be the closest he ever gets to heaven: you on top of him, cock buried to the hilt in your cunt, the sight of your blissed out face above him as his head spins. 

“Oh, fuck,” Dazai cries out, back arching and hand flying to cover his face again but the hand you have on his thigh flies forward to snatch his wrist before he can, pinning it back above his head. Dazai’s eyes roll back, you’re leaning over him entirely now, leaning most of your weight on the hand that’s pinning his wrist but the new angle adds pressure onto how you’re squeezing his neck, paring his airways just enough to make his lungs burn. “More. Faster, fuck, I-ah-”

His voice falls off into another moan, head falling to the side to press his cheek against the pillow. He thinks drool is starting to pool at the corner of his lips but he doesn’t care, he can’t even think at this point, too lost in the lewd sound of skin-on-skin, the sloppiness of his cock fucking deep in your cunt, your soft moans and gasps, lost in the feeling of your tight walls clamping down on his cock, the warmth, the wetness, your fingers digging into his wrist and the sides of his neck. He wants to tell you that he needs more but the words are garbled, entirely unintelligible. 

He forces his eyes back open, feeling the tears spilling over his cheeks just from the intensity of it all, the intensity of you. You’re gentle with him even when your hand is wrapped around his throat and his cock is splitting you open—he can feel the soothing circles you rub with your thumb, he can see the way you’re searching his face to make sure he’s okay. Dazai is just so overwhelmed that he can’t stop the way his next moan breaks into a sob; acutely realizing just how deprived he’d been of any type of care or love before meeting you, and forcibly coming to terms with the fact that he is never going to be able to go without this again, without you again. He’d known it to some extent before this, the thought of losing you and the light you bring him has made his stomach churn violently but this…

He’s torn from his thoughts when you suddenly stop the rolls of your hips, halting the spreading heat in his lower abdomen desperately. The noise that escapes him is something caught between distress and betrayal, dark eyes wide as he looks up at you questioningly, but the expression on your face makes his breath catch. Your hand slides up from his throat to cup his cheek, your other hand releasing his wrist so that you can hold his face between your hands, thumbs wiping away the tears spilling over his cheeks.

Distantly, Dazai recognizes that he’s still choking over sobs and that’s probably why you’ve stopped and that only rips his chest apart more because of course, you’re still putting him above you—even when you’re mad, even when you’ve just fought, when he’s betrayed you in a way that should be unforgivable, you’re still kissing away his tears and putting aside your own needs to take care of him

He doesn’t deserve you. Not in any universe, but especially not in this one.

He thinks he could stay here for eternity. Fuck the rest of the world. Fuck the Port Mafia. Fuck his plan. He just wants to stay here with you, your lips brushing his, sharing the same sliver of air. He leans into your touch, groaning against your lips when he feels your walls spasm around him.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes out, unsure if you can even understand him. “You’re so-”

His words fall off into another moan, and he can’t control his hips as they thrust up sharply against yours, another string of incoherent curses escaping his hips as your breath catches and you straighten back up, head falling back as you gasp his name.

Your nails dig crescents into his upper thighs through his bandages as you brace yourself back against them. You move your hips again—faster, this time, harder, and Dazai thinks his head is in the clouds. He’s so deep inside of you that he can feel everything, jaw falling slack as heat spreads through his body too rapidly for him to get control over. He wants to throw a hand over his mouth to muffle the lewd, pitched moans spilling from his lips but he can’t drag his hands from where they’re clawing at your hips, desperately trying to help you meet him with each thrust.

“I-hah-shit, I’m gonna-fuck-”

He slurs out your name and several obscenities, trying to warn you that he’s going to cum when he feels his cock twitching inside of you and his abdomen tensing, but you only lean down to press a lingering kiss to the corner of his lips and Dazai is gone. He wants to watch you, he tries, but he can’t hold his eyes open, they’re half-rolled back as he chokes over moans of your name, hips stilling as he cums deep inside of you. His body twitches, expression twisted as he presses his head so hard into the pillow that he thinks he might permanently indent it. 

His head is spinning, lungs burning, sweat beading at his forehead and hair matted to his face—he thinks he’s never cum so hard in his entire life; all of the nights he spent alone, desperately trying to fuck his hand to the thought of you in attempts to mimic how you’ve made all the other Dazais feel, to give himself some semblance of the pleasure you’ve brought him in other lives to hold him over on particularly lonely nights, they’ve never felt like this.

You don’t stop, even as he squirms and lets out jumbled pleas beneath you, body shuddering at the overstimulation but you’re too lost in chasing your own high now. He spasms beneath you, nails digging into your thigh as you fuck his cum deeper inside of you, bouncing on his cock desperately. He doesn’t care that the sensitivity is pushing his body to the brink, letting you use him however you want if it means he gets to see you like this. 

Dazai’s head feels light, pins and needles pricking his body—he thinks he might pass out but he forces himself to hold on, enraptured by the sight of you on top of him with your eyes half-rolled back, lips parted and throat bared to him. Your tits are half-spilling out over the low-cut of your dress and Dazai thinks you’re fucking divine. The only holy thing in this godless world. He wants to spend the rest of his life worshiping you.

“I’m gonna-” you gasp, head falling backward as one final roll of your hips that has your clit grinding against his pelvic bone sends you spiraling over the edge. 

Dazai wants to sear the image of you behind his eyelids, watching as your nails drag against his thighs, drawing red lines even through the bandages, back arching, head tossed back—your body is trembling violently as you cum on his cock, expression twisted and entirely blissed out, sobbing over his name. He chokes and gasps at the feeling of your cunt tightening around his sensitive cock again, jaw tight and spots dancing in his vision as he’s so abruptly pushed over the edge a second time, the coil in his abdomen tightening and snapping all within the span of a few seconds.

He’s still reeling when he feels you slump forward onto his chest, burying your face in the crook of his neck, shivering in the aftershocks of your orgasm. He’s only half aware as he instinctively brings his hands up to rest on your hips, rubbing soft circles of your hip bones to try to soothe you. 

He shudders when you press a kiss to his neck right at the edge of his bandages, and then tilt your head up to press another on his jaw. One of your hands comes up to caress the back of his head, fingers carding through the dark locks in a way that has his eyes drooping shut. 

“We’re not done with this conversation,” you finally say after a few moments of silence, voice soft, breaking the silence. Dazai stiffens a bit, lips parting to respond but no words leave them. “... but let’s just lay like this for a while first, okay?”

He lets out a shaky breath, still not entirely convinced that he’s not going to lose you, so he lets his eyes flutter shut as he nods. He may as well bask in this for as long as he can, and if you notice the way his fingers dig just a little deeper into your skin after your words process, you don’t mention it. 

“Yeah,” he murmurs, “okay.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning and you’re nowhere to be seen. The bed is frighteningly cold next to him and his heart is instantly in his throat. He doesn’t waste a second before he’s sitting up in bed, looking around, eyes wild and heart racing. He doesn’t settle down, not until his eyes fall upon where you’re sitting curled up on the chair of the desk he never uses, eyes trained on the dark clouds outside the window, the beauty of the sunrise wilted by a morning storm.

“His intention was to make me leave you.” You’re not looking at him, but you must have heard him sit up. “Fyodor Dostoevsky. The things he told me, they were to make me leave you.”

Dazai doesn’t move an inch, throat swelling. He forces himself to ask, “What did he tell you?”

He isn’t sure if he wants to know.

“It doesn’t matter,” you say—Dazai thinks that it definitely does, but he bites back the questions that rise to his tongue because you’re clearly not about to budge on your answer. “Who is he?”

“A monster,” Dazai bites out, bitterness seeping into his tone as he leans back against the headboard, eyes still trained on where you’re curled on his chair, gaze distant. “You have to stay away from him.”

“Well, I didn’t intend on seeking him out,” you say it so dryly that Dazai nearly finds humor in it. Nearly. The smile that rises to his lips is mirthless at best. You turn to look at him, finally, and Dazai finds only cool indifference on your face; the fondness, the softness, the gentleness from last night are all gone. He wonders if you regret it, but he doesn’t let that thought linger, it’ll only make him sick. “... He doesn’t seem like the type to give up.”

“He never is,” Dazai murmurs, ignoring the brief, questioning look you direct toward him, mind drifting off to all of the Russian’s incessant attempts to take you from him in all of the other universes. “Did he tell you what his plan was?”

Dazai doubts it, but maybe there was something he said to you that shed some light to it.

“He didn’t have to,” you say quietly. “He wants Yokohama, for whatever reason—couldn’t figure that out, I think he’s looking for something—and clearly, he has to get through you to get it. He thinks the best way of getting through you is by taking me away from you first. That’s what I’d gathered from how he was talking at least, what he was saying about you, the way he was phrasing it. I’d put together enough on my own during the night to fill in the blanks. He told me things about what you’d done as… what you’d done as boss of the Port Mafia—things you’ve done to enemies… to allies. He told me that I’d see the real you as soon as you realize that the meeting he set up was a farce; that the mask you put up would crumble and I would see you for the demon that you are.”

Dazai doesn’t respond, jaw tight as he averts his gaze to the window—he’d played right into Dostoevsky’s hands. He can hardly bring himself to look at you; he wonders if you do see him differently now that the cloud from the night before has worn off, but he can’t bring himself to ask. Now’s not the time anyway, there are more pressing matters.

“... He’ll come after me again, won’t he?” you ask quietly. “Getting me to leave you willingly didn’t work. If he’s so set on me being the trigger to your downfall, then he’ll come after me again.”

He would. As he always has. Of course, Dostoevsky would try to get to him through you, he’s tried it in every universe, and Dazai hadn’t been careful enough. He hadn’t been smart enough. He’d known this was going to happen and was still arrogant enough to believe he could somehow prevent it. He was a fool, and he was a fool at the cost of your safety. He doesn’t know how to respond to you, he doesn’t want to confirm your suspicions, he doesn’t want to admit that this is all his fault, that he knew this would happen and was selfish enough to pursue you anyway.

“... I’m scared, Osamu,” you finally say quietly, and you suddenly look a lot smaller from where you’re sitting on his desk chair, hunched over with your knees tucked to your chest. “I’m really scared.”

Dazai’s heart claws up to his throat and he pushes himself out of bed, still dressed haphazardly in his suit from the night before. He makes his way over to you and kneels in front of you, hands curling around your ankles as he looks up at you.

“I won’t let anything happen to you,” he tells you, voice a bit more raspier than he intended for it to come across as. “I don’t care what I have to do to ensure it, how low I have to stoop. I will not let anything happen to you, do you understand?”

Your eyes meet his, and he can’t help but notice that doubt still riddles your gaze as you search his face, as if you want to believe him but can’t bring yourself to. A pit starts to grow in his stomach, wide and gaping as he realizes that this is all really about to happen, and one mistake on his part could lead you to the same fate you’ve met in so many other worlds because of him.

Finally, the doubt slowly clears as you let out a soft breath, nodding, and Dazai inhales sharply, laying his forehead against your shin as he lets his eyes slide shut.

He won’t let it happen. Not again. 

again there was NO plot development in the smut - you guys didn't miss out on anything, pinky swear. i restructured the scene to fit the only notable scene (bandage removal) into the part before the smut, so if that felt a little forced, that was why </3 it wasn't supposed to be there. i was struggling trying to figure out how to move it upward a bit. the only arguable "plot" development was dazai letting go of his control freakiness to let her take the lead

[its-time-to-write]

chapter 5

guys I got confused and apparently I’ve had chapter five done for a while and the chapter I’ve been stressing over is actually chapter six??? I’m so terribly sorry! But here it is lol, I’m still a bit concerned I’ve written myself into a corner but I’ll post chapter six on Monday if not sooner.

table of contents

at least I’m trying

Jamie’s the one driving the car, but he’s actually worried that he’s about to be a murder victim. He’s never been a big fan of true crime, so he’s not entirely fucking thrilled that he’s going to be come one but he supposes he probably deserves it and anyway, maybe death isn’t so bad in the grand scheme of things.

Except he wants to actually hold Clare and buy her things and tell her he loves her and never leave her ever.

So maybe death-by-Madeline is actually so bad in the grand scheme of things.

“What the HELL is your problem?” she asks, and she’s actually expecting an answer so Jamie has to think fast. What the hell is his problem? No- what has he done in the present for Madeline to come straight from Milan to chew him out?

“What exactly do you mean?” he asks carefully. He needs to make sure Madeline knows he isn’t fucking hostile or some shit, and that maybe if he handles this right she can put a good word in with you.

He knows he’s reaching, but hey. He’s made it this far in life.

Madeline glares at him. “I mean, where the fuck do you get off showing up like this? Are you trying to take Bean? Because let me tell you, only one of us was at the birth and that shit was fucking gross. But the ones who showed up are the ones who get to take care of her, not some deadbeat father who’s too busy kicking a ball and fucking models to actually care about anything.”

That offends Jamie, but it terrifies him more than anything else. Because yes, he wasn’t around, but he didn’t know. And now he does fucking know and he has to actually see if he’s a good father or if being a piece of shit truly is genetic. 

But he can’t imagine treating Clare even a fraction of the way his father treated him, so he’s hopeful.

He says, “I just want them to be taken care of,” and Madeline sighs.

“You can’t keep dragging her around, Tartt,” she reminds him as if he didn’t remind himself a year ago before thinking fuck it and calling you. It was supposed to go different. He was supposed to tell you he loved you and wanted you back and was done being a fucking idiot, except he got freaked out so he clammed up and left. And maybe that’s the strongest evidence as to why he should just leave the whole thing alone.

Jamie says, “I’m not,” but it feels like he’s trying to convince himself at this point.

“Being a parent is a lot of responsibility,” Madeline says.

He says, “I know,” then realizes he’s driven them to your street. He parks where he knows you can’t see him and waits for whatever Madeline has to say next.

She pinches the bridge of her nose. “She still loves you a little bit, you know. That’s why this whole thing is such shit. I truly think she’d take you back if she could trust the fact that you wouldn’t leave her, and I actually fucking think it would be good for her. But you’re the fucking worst so it isn’t going to happen, obviously.”

“I’m not leaving,” Jamie says. “I wouldn’t do that to Clare.”

Madeline says, “You’ve met her twice,” and Jamie gets her point. Because yeah, he’s met her twice and he loves her but that’s not really a reason to try to patch things up with you, and that’s what Madeline’s really saying, so Jamie says, “It’s not because she has our baby.” 

“Oh, is it not?” Madeline asks in her most sarcastic posh voice. “Then by all means, enlighten me as to what you think you’re doing with my best friend other than re-fucking her up.”

She’s got bags under her eyes, partially from Milan and partially because she’s just tired too. It’s her firmly-held opinion that you deserve the whole entire world and nothing less, but there isn’t much she can do to give it to you. She can try to protect you, she can threaten Jamie and torment him and bring you coffee and help put Bean down for naps but she can’t take the entire weight of it off of you. 

And she was being completely fucking honest when she said she thought Jamie would be good for you. He was the best when you were together, always taking care of you when no one else would, and Madeline worries sometimes that you’ll never let that happen again. 

“You don’t NEED a man,” she’d said more than once, “but if you wanted one just to take your mind off things or to buy your dinner I have a whole list.”

“I’m pregnant, Madeline,” you’d reminded her to which she’d just grinned and said, “Babe, there are real men out that who love that shit.”

You’d never taken her up on her offer because she knew, down in her core, that you were waiting for Jamie. She never, ever brought it up because she also knew you would be mortified to admit it. And that even though you wished for it deep in your soul, you also knew it would never happen.

“I’m not going to re-fuck her up,” Jamie says firmly, and if this were less serious of a situation he sees at least three ways he could turn that sentence into something dirty. “I have a plan.”

Madeline raises an eyebrow. “I find that hard to believe,” she says. She reaches for the door and shoulders her away bag. Jamie watches her walk up the street and to your house without looking back once.

—

The first thing Jamie does is call Georgie because he actually does not have a plan. He has a vague idea of sweeping you in his arms and kissing you and that’s about it. He just can’t for the life of him figure out how to get there.

But his mum’s been on the other end of this, so she’s got to have some wisdom for him which is why Jamie calls her before he’s even out of your neighborhood.

He starts talking before Georgie can even say hello. He tells her the whole thing and about the fact that he’s an entire father out of nowhere and he has no idea what he’s even doing but there’s a part of him that wants to quit football and yes mum, he knows he’s being fuckin’ dramatic but he just wants to get his point across yeah? And by the time he’s done explaining that he just wants to make things right and permanent, he’s back inside his big empty house and wishing he were over at yours instead.

Georgie sighs and says, “I love you darling, but you’ve really fucked it,” and Jamie feels awful.

“I just don’t want to be like Dad,” he says quietly and Georgie says, “Jamie Tartt, you are nothing like that man. You’re my sweet, sexy little baby and you’ve grown up so much since you’ve been away. Don’t you ever think you’re like him.”

She’s right, Jamie knows that, but still. “So what do I do?” he asks.

Georgie’s silent on the other end of the line for a moment. Jamie doesn’t know if she’s hesitating or thinking but she says, “Now Jamie, I can’t promise this will work for you. And you need to make sure you’re listening to what that poor girl wants every step of the way. But I can tell you what I used to wish your father would do for me back in the day.”

Jamie digs around his house for a pen and paper because what’s the good in being England’s best striker if you can’t go for a long shot?

—

You’re not surprised Madeline is at your door, but you are surprised that she hasn’t been back to her flat yet.

“Your flight got back hours ago,” you say, baffled. She just shrugs. “Customs was an absolute nightmare,” she responds and you know she’s lying but you don’t question it. You just wave your hand vaguely to the guest shower that doubles as Mads’ second home and pull out a takeout menu. 

Clare is on the brink of sleeping through the night, but she still isn’t quite there so you just do not have the brain space to cook a real dinner. It’s not like Madeline cares, anyway.

By the time the food arrives, Madeline is out of the shower and laying on the couch with Clare as she recounts her trip, carefully omitting how much time she spent with Keeley fucking Jones. You know you shouldn’t hate her, but god, every time you see or hear her she just says one insensitive thing after another. So you don’t pry when Mads clearly skips over something; you only press when you know it’s about whoever her mystery fling was, which she is less tight-lipped about.

It’s only after you’ve both eaten and Clare is (mostly) asleep for the night that she asks far too casually, “You’re not thinking of getting back together with Jamie, are you?” and you nearly choke.

“I beg your fucking pardon?” you laugh and she lifts a shoulder in a shrug.

“I think he’s going to try something,” she says. “I just don’t want you to get hurt again. Just because he wants you back doesn’t mean he’s going to fucking change. It’s really not the same shit, you know.”

You say, “Yeah, I know,” because you do. But if he’s going to volunteer to be awake late at night so you don’t have to, you might just take him up on it. Especially because you think it would be a much-needed humbling experience for him.

“What if I did?” you ask while Madeline sips her wine. “What if I did take him back?”

Madeline sets down her glass with a clink. “Then I think you’d need a plan,” she says seriously.

—

Madeline’s plan consists of specifically detailed criteria Jamie must meet before he’s redeemed as a trustworthy person. It includes signifiers of emotional intelligence, maturity, and a general sense of stability that has been previously dispelled. She writes everything down and sticks it to the fridge with a magnet, right under Clare’s ultrasound photos. 

“If he can well and truly change, then he’s allowed back,” she says, and you agree. 

And for the first time, you allow your hope to come to the surface.

Meanwhile, Jamie’s finished his own list. Everything his mum would’ve like to see his dad do and everything Simon actually did do to win her over. It’s a wide range, that’s for sure, from flowers to grocery shopping to fucking cooking which he definitely hasn’t done since he was twenty-one but he knows how to fucking read, doesn’t he? Cooking’s just following instructions and he can do that pretty well on the pitch, so it probably is the same thing. 

He’s awake all night. All he can think about is how much he misses you in the bed next to him, and then around four in the morning he gets really fucking worried that all of this is just selfish and he should actually just leave you alone.

So instead of trying to sleep (because apparently it’s useless) he makes a cup of coffee and goes for a walk. 

He walks all the way to the green in the dark and goes to sit on a bench, except it’s already occupied.

“Mornin’ Jamie,” says Ted. “Bit early for a walk, ain’t it?”

Jamie just looks at him. “You’re awake too,” he points out, and Ted shrugs.

“Just a little jet lagged,” he replies.

Jamie knows that’s bullshit, and he says it. “You’ve been here long enough, coach.“

Ted shrugs again. “Guess it never really leaves you.”

He doesn’t say anything else but he doesn’t seem like he’s trying to get rid of Jamie, so Jamie sits down. A few minutes pass before Ted says, “Henry wanted to talk, so I woke up to FaceTime him. Then I couldn’t go back to sleep because I just miss him so dang much.”

Jamie says, “Same coach,” without thinking, and now it’s Ted’s turn to give him a look. Jamie ignores it and says, “I got a kid. Couldn’t fucking sleep thinking about her and her mum, you know? I just want to be fucking… involved but it’s all weird, like.”

“Weird how?” Ted prompts. He has enough questions to fill a black hole but he’s sure it’ll come out sooner or later so for now he’s just going to listen. 

Jamie leans back and stares at the sky as it begins to lighten. “Pretty sure I’m still in love with her. I sort of fucking suspected when I were with Keeley, but it weren’t till I saw her again that I knew for sure. But I don’t want to be fucking selfish and shit, so now I think I should just leave them alone.”

“Is that what she wants?” Ted asks as if he hasn’t had this conversation with himself a million times and moved to stinkin’ London to try to prove that he wasn’t selfish himself.

Jamie lifts a shoulder. “She doesn’t want me to leave again.”

Ted says, “Then don’t.”

next chapter

[kirby-the-gorb]

reply roundup!

reminder that there's actual stuff on the patreon once again, link in the pinned post :)

@capitalismdisruptedmybarbeque added an [image description] for blanket, thank you!

also thank you for all the boops, what a good website feature.

@optimus-jetpack asked: What is your favorite Kirby game? Probably asked before but I'm new to Tumblr and I love your drawings

my actual favorite is epic yarn, but if we're talking mainline only it's either crystal shards or forgotten land! I grew up with crystal shards and the design in forgotten land is super charming (as is the design in epic yarn lol). and thank you!

on [do not fuck with me] @nogoinghomegame said: roman reigns

how does it feel to be the funniest person on this website? I still think about this and it's been 2 months.

on [quicksand] @graycoin said: Yeah...that sounds like a rough day. :/ I hope all that leads to something better, at least.

thanks. I'll get the rest of the paperwork turned in this month and then we'll see I guess -n- (and thanks for all your other supportive words too)

on [pudding] @xurkitreeking said: I want to eat your art, i feel like it would make a satisfyingly cronch like one of those puffed air chip

omg that's so nice??? like puffed rice or something yeah, I can totally see what you mean

on [pudding] @ceylonsilvergirl said: I know things like spills are technically so small, but when you’re already at the end of your rope it’s fascinating how something like this can send you into a crying fit. you held it together so well for so long, and this was the straw that broke the camel’s back

ugh yeah sometimes when there's already So Much you just look at it and you're like. haven't I already been through enough. but it's like, kind of a "safe" thing to get upset about? because it's obvious to anyone there that it happened and that it's unambiguously negative, even if it is only minor, and it's also not like you're taking space away from someone else or whatever.

on [reborn] @ceylonsilvergirl said: I’m not allowed to watch any more, after I laughed so hard I gave myself an asthma attack

that's so tragic, this world is in shambles

they also did a delightful [expansion] of [outline] that's just so fun honestly, I love that every single object has the same gormless expression that kirby already had lol

on [bug] @theraphos said: me irl, literally i was about to clean the tub earlier and noticed this baby spider that was seriously just a fuckin. dot. i somehow managed to get it in a cup unharmed

whenever there's a spider in like, the shower, or the sink, I always worry so much about it going unnoticed and getting drowned until I know it's moved somewhere safer (we are a pro-spider household)

on [injection] @fakejtwelve said: I hope new meds work well for you 💜

thank you! so far I feel about as bad as usual except that my nose is finally not congested. which I guess is something. (it usually takes a couple months to really kick in so there is still grounds for hope!)

on [ghost] @11-eyed-rook said: this purple is a good purple thank you

there are many good purples in the world :)

anonymous asked: what is kirby's favorite swear word

honestly I think he's partial to "fuck", it's just got a good arrangement of consonants in it. easy to apply forcefully to a variety of scenarios.

on [eyebrows] @joekingv1 said: *asks baby what is their secret*

they definitely do not have a brown marker hidden behind their back :) don't bother checking you can trust them :)

on [pumpkin] @beardedhandstoadshark said: oh my god. Look at the lad. so round, so happy, so pumped (ha) to be here. no candles in and already glowing. happy halloween to everyone but especially this pumpkin (also as someone who can't cut circles for the life of me, let alone small ones, this seems genuinely impressive)

thanks! tbh my partner just handed me a steak knife and let me go, I smoothed it out some by just kinda like, jamming a finger in there to mush down any particularly jagged parts. it was a small pumpkin which probably helped.

@edgywithaheart asked: opinions on terminalmontages kirbo ?

excellent shape, excellent face. not all the jokes are For Me but clearly others enjoy them.

[neonbodyache]

neon

abt

u can call me neon! Welcome to my 3d blog 24 | black | chronically ill | they/he

Pro recovery for all! Except not for me rn lol which of course means Pls dni if you are in active recovery I’m just living my life 😭 and that means a lot of cycling between destructive habits, this is my safe space to talk about it because none exists for me in real life, and hopefully to commiserate with others in the mud with me, not to cause any harm.

I both b1ng3 and r3str1ct in fucked up phases i cant rlly control so tw for discussions of over3ating and r3str1cting!

middle image is me from some years ago as a way to hold myself accountable every time I open my own blog lol. Don’t look like that anymore but ill get it back or something better >.< Stats Post coming soon!

blog

will tag the heavier shit as #vent (but heavy is relative so follow at your own risk) that may mention sh, sui, and mania/delusions but not intensely. no graphic self images will ever appear on this blog. I will crack tasteless jokes at my expense

Harm reduction/reminders are #reminders Rambles are #neonyaps

But I mostly post lots of spo- meals, body, fashion- couple of sillies and diet/lifestyle stuff in ways I find motivating or otherwise but i like trying to romanticize my issues bc being fucked in the head just gets so dreary if u dont at least try to be creative when u can

my spo posts/moodboards will have a range but be mostly masc/androgynous side :’) all will be under #neonboards and u can find me on that tag if i ever get got

other

been on tumblr since 2013 just never this side unless u count silently scrolling long lost tags when i was younger so pls be patient if i make faux pas when posting in the community!!!

my interests will inevitably slip thru ive got a few hyperfixations that will become obvious! n im a big film guy ! I like some anime and viddygames but I’ll censor the names partially so they dont show up in tags :-P

Thx for stopping by xox

[kijosakka]

how. how would i even write out a proper fic of dramaturgy au,,

cutting this off bc i got too caught up in myself and rambled

ok umm,, dramaturgy as an au is just so character study-ish and generally character-focused,, plus the initial developments made on island are kiinda important to the cast dynamic?? so as i see it there are a few options:

A: rehash/go through the unchanged plot of island, the TDDDDI special, some eps of WT, using it to develop the Situation from other characters perspectives while maybe having one or two to emphasize noahs characterization

it gives a lot of time for character developments outside of noah himself, and time to reinforce noahs own characterization using that outside perspective,, but could potentially get boring/long-winded, since nothing different happens and its literally just Characters Having Screentime

^ maybe sub a full going-through with character vignettes and specific scenarios throughout island/the special/celeb. manhunt or after TD/eps of WT??? i guess you could also slot smth like this in with the other ideas aswell

B: begin the hypothetical fic post-jamaica challenge and leading into london, use it to exposition some minor things and generally establish characterization before getting into challenges and actual canon divergence

it doesnt drag on (as much atleast), gives you enough time with enough cast members to establish what the others think of noah and what noah thinks/how he behaves and why (probably slot in his distrust of alejandro here??), more challenges gives noah more chances (and reasons) to break character, though the character development has to be slow and conflict should probably be built up (but im kinda partial to this one ngl)

C: kindof half-baked but beginning in london (i’m imagining literally at his eel line), where hes eliminated that episode, but comes back via comeback challenge; arc kicked off by being so pissed off that he has to come back and do the Same Shit yet again (and probably because of producer-rigging. again.)

the conflict/character dynamics would move a little faster, its less to trudge through and figure out canon changes like the butterfly effect of noah staying in the game in london, but having less characters to have relationships/interactions with (but making the ones had can be more developed/rounded as a result), less Time in general, the original idea of noah ‘unmasking’ alejandro is kiiinda less impactful this late into the game?? slightly i feel like

or D: even more half-baked than C and kinda just 'possible' and feeling out of place, but you could have noahs arc happen in all-stars instead (smth smth the audience was vv dissatisfied with how he ranked in WT and so he gets brought back)

^ this is mostly bc i like the motif of noah having eel-pond related scars and seeing it as a physical reminder of where 'acting like the camera isn't there' can get him (but you could potentially fit this into the C idea, posing it more as a bitter feeling/theme rather than a motivation to continue his facade)

i dont really like this one from a storytelling standpoint, and it doesnt make much sense since theres no character motivation via unmasking alejandro since everyone already knows at this point?? idk it is there though

umm yeah thats all ive got, i guess you could also mismatch ideas like B&C so the fic starts post-jamaica but noah still gets eliminated, or have noah eliminated after london but still winning the comeback challenge and coming back swearing vengeance (within his own head mostly) or smth like that

i kinda wanted to just put this Out in the World and let it simmer before i start combing through WT to make the allotted ‘official’ canon changes of this au lol

(and not to mention theres still the issue of the actual Ending,, does he win?? is his winning both symbolic and the first genuine, intentional break of character he makes, to the audience and his peers beyond the unintentional ones hes made along the way???

smth smth character growth, hes learned how to let himself break character but now hes learning to do it intentionally too??? < im partial to that but im also biased towards noah and any hypothetical win of his

^ or does he lose?? and his ending watching the finalists parallel the island bit where he Did Not Care but now??? idk idk the longer i think the more i like the whole symbolic win thing but in terms of storytelling/the Themes, does it Work. i do like to think so

the original draft of this idea has noah not in fact winning but it also had a strangely,,,,, vindictive tone?? that might not be the word but the Themes were different and noah was more scheme-ish rather than defense mechanism-having so im thinking the ending should change as well)

[butterflydm]

WoT reread: The Strike at Shayol Ghul & some final thoughts, post-reread

So, I was not planning to do a full reread back when I first picked EotW back up again! My primary motivation was to refresh myself on books 1-3 so that I would be prepared for S2 of the show, lol.

But I'm glad that I did this reread. There was a lot in the books that I had forgotten or where I'd bought into the fandom party line despite the books themselves not supporting the arguments imo, so it was great to dive into them again and see what I think and not simply what general fandom thinks. Thanks so much to everyone who commented on or interacted with my reread posts. <3

While this next bit is technically not a reread because I never got around to reading it when it first came out, I went ahead and read "The Strike at Shayol Ghul" (written in 1996 by Jordan). Thanks to @wafflelovingbatgirl for reminding me about its existence! I may try to get around to reading "River of Souls" (about Demandred, by Sanderson) at some point, but TSaSG was easy to find online.

here there be spoilers

The Strike at Shayol Ghul

It's pretty short -- it's "an introduction" written by someone in-world -- Jorille Mondevin, who is the Royal Historian for the Queen of Kandor. Looks like the Queen that we know in the series -- Queen Ethenielle. Nice. I always enjoy 'in-world" texts, so this is very interesting.

She's telling the queen about a recent discovery of a "partial copy" of a "history of the world" from the drilling of the Bore until the end of the Breaking of the World. We get a worldbuilding note here: that the practice of printing survived the Breaking "when so much did not", which helps explain the high literacy level in the Westlands. While many inventions were lost, the printing press survived! Though most of the actual writings were lost during the Trolloc Wars and the War of the Hundred Years.

"We must marvel at any writing that has survived more than three thousand years." So true, bestie. (I've decided that Jorille and I are besties) "What we know is based on fragments, copied and recopied a thousand times, but at least we know something from them. Even a little knowledge is better than ignorance."

I love how this feeds into the basic concept we're dealing with -- history becomes legend. We're talking about that process here, of knowledge being reduced to fragments that are passed on.

Oh, man, reading this does remind me about reading about IRL fragmentary texts. "Such a history would no doubt be a vast, multi-volume work, yet of the two hundred and twelve surviving pages, the largest number of consecutive pages number six, and nowhere else more than two."

She notes that the dates given in the text make no sense, because "no calendar dating from the Age of Legends has ever been found". There are references both to large-scale events such as cities destroyed by balefire during the War of the Shadow, as well as mentions of individuals' personal appearances. But nothing that tells the special significance of most of the people mentioned.

The six consecutive pages that survived are of particular interest, because they are about the sealing of the Bore by Lews Therin Telamon and the Hundred Companions.

"We still cannot be certain how long passed between the creation of the Bore and the actual beginning of what would come to be called the War of the Shadow, yet plainly at least fifty years and possibly more than one hundred were marked by a rapid decline in the social order". During the first three years of the War of the Shadow, the Shadow made great in-roads and then during the next four, Lews Therin pushed them back to reclaim some of what was lost.

But ultimately, the Shadow began to prevail because it did not care if it left disaster in its wake. It was soon clear that they were losing again and their losses were accelerating. "If they were to win at all, it must be done quickly".

There were two plans proposed at the time that are mentioned here: first Lews Therin's idea of directly attacking the Bore itself. The Seals were going to be used to shut the Dark One away from the world. The plan was considered risky due to the Dark One's influence on the immediate area surrounding Shayol Ghul, with Lews Therin admitting that he expected few or perhaps none of his "raiding party" (of twenty thousand soldiers and 13 Aes Sedai) would survive. Additionally, there was a concern that if the seals were not placed in precisely the right locations, the strain of them would rip open the Bore entirely and free the Dark One.

The other plan, in opposition to this, was proposed by Latra Posae Decume. Her plan was to use two massive sa'angreal (the ones that Rand ended up using during the cleansing of saidin) to push the Shadow's forces back and erect a barrier around Shayol Ghul until... you know, they figured something better out. Downsides to this plan: the Bore has kept getting bigger since it was first drilled, so it might continue to do so behind this barrier as well, and if the Dark One got loose inside the barrier, the barrier itself might come undone under the strain.

Latra and Lews were both, apparently, very convincing speakers, with Latra getting every female Aes Sedai "of significant strength" to sign what the manuscript calls "the Fateful Accord" though Jorille doubts that's what it was called at the time. I wonder if the 'strength level' was "Nynaeve-level" or if it was lower and more like "Egwene/Elayne-level". It was believed that the signing of this accord killed Lews Therin's plan in the water, because "men cannot create a circle, only be brought into one created by a woman".

Work on the massive sa'angreal was rushed into production. There is, Jorille says, a lot of speculation among historians about whether or not the sa'angreal would have worked as Latra had proposed. She also mentions speculation about whether or not women going with Lews Therin into his plan would have protected saidin from the taint or if it would have only meant that saidar was tainted as well.

But disaster struck as the sa'angreal were completed. The place where the access ter'angreal were created (needing to be done remotely due to "uncontrolled resonances during the finale stages" -- Jorille doesn't know what that might mean, but I'm guessing it would mean feedback leading to a big boom) was overrun by Sammael and the forces of the Shadow, though they did not find the access ter'angreal.

With the sa'angreal unusable, Lews Therin argued again for his plan but Latra wouldn't budge. As time had passed, even more of the female Aes Sedai had pledged to the Accord, even though they weren't strong enough to be part of the circle anyway. "Tempers and passions rose, and an apparently unprecedented division along male-female lines began to develop among the Aes Sedai in general, if not within the Hall itself". The Hall decided to stay with Latra's plan, attempting to smuggle the access ter'angreal out of the area now controlled by Sammael.

Jorille notes that all those making the attempt to find the access ter'angreal were later found out to have been captured, tortured, and killed, though none of them betrayed the location of the ter'angreal to Sammael.

As the Shadow swept forward, there was the "re-emergence of the peace faction" who argued that negotiations should be held with the Forsaken. Jorille notes that this peace faction, over the course of the War, would send people on its own to try to negotiate with the Forsaken but, upon the return of the delegations, they would act out plans that aided the Shadow's cause "though it seems that in some instances, they were completely unaware of what they had done" (aka Compulsion).

Despite how dire the situation had grown, Latra's resistance to Lews Therin's plan held firm. "the lines of division had hardened to a point where many female Aes Sedai refused to speak to male Aes Sedai, and the reverse as well". Lews Therin decides to act on his own, without the Hall.

Jorille notes at this point that Latra had earned the name Shadar Nor, translated as "Cutter/Slicer of the Shadow" but what deeds earned her that title have been lost to history.

So, Lews Therin launches his own assault against Shayol Ghul, with the "Hundred Companions" (though Jorille says that text notes they numbered 113 at this point) and ten thousand regular soldiers.

"Exactly what occurred that day can never be known, only the results. Of the soldiers, not a single man or woman returned to give any account." It is known that the seals were placed safely, that "all thirteen of the Forsaken" were at Shayol Ghul and trapped in the sealing along with the Dark One. If that had been the only result of the attack, then the world would likely have recovered well over the next few years, Jorille speculates. "Civilization has retained a large degreee of cohesion in the ares held by the Light" and without the top generals, the armies of the Shadow fell into struggles for power among themselves. "In any case, the War of the Shadow must be said to have ended that day at Shayol Ghul."

But, Jorille adds, this was not the only result of the assault. "Instead, there was the counterstroke from the Dark One at the moment of sealing, and saidin itself was tainted." Lews Therin and his companions "went insane on the instant" and by the time the taint was discovered, hundreds more male Aes Sedai had been driven mad by the taint. "That fateful day at Shayol Ghul ended the war, and began the Breaking of the World."

She says that the manuscript itself, in its own introduction, speaks for what the people at the time were suffering: "Whoever reads this, if any remain to read it, weep for us who have no more tears. Pray for us who are damned alive."

Very informative and pretty evocative as well. One of the things that I love about WoT is the post-apocalyptic setting and one of the things that I love about that setting is learning about the world before and during the world-breaking event (one of the reasons I also love the Horizon Zero Dawn games).

I have no clue why I didn't read that back when it was first published. It's great and it's pretty short. Though I realize that a lot of that information had kinda filtered into my world-knowledge already, lol.

My personal ranklist for the WoT books:

The Fires of Heaven (😍)

The Shadow Rising (😘)

The Dragon Reborn (😘)

The Path of Daggers (😘)

New Spring (😘)

The Great Hunt (😄)

The Gathering Storm (😄)

Lord of Chaos (😄)

The Eye of the World (😄)

A Memory of Light (🙂)

Towers of Midnight (🙂)

A Crown of Swords (🙂)

Winter’s Heart (🙂)

...

...

...

...

...

Crossroads of Twilight (😒)

Knife of Dreams (😒)

While I am glad that I did a full reread this time, there are definitely parts of the books that mostly frustrated me and I'll probably just skim past them in future rereads (I suspect I will want to do at least some rereading after S2 airs) -- I'm not sure if I'll ever reread Mat & Perrin's sections of CoT & KoD again. That's essentially the heart of the Slog right there.

Some things that definitely changed for me during this reread:

a. I noticed how much shipping material there is for Cauthor as a pairing (obviously this is mostly in the first five books but there are crumbs even after they separate). Very exciting to me! I didn't go into my reread expecting much, because fanon had definitely affected my memories of Cauthor and I was assuming that their friendship permanently broke in TGH after Mat found out that Rand could channel. Very untrue! I (and many of the other readers, I must assume) was just too young to pick up on all of Mat's subtext back when I first read the books.

b. Gawyn's stock massively rose for me. One of the best points that @markantonys made to me about Gawyn is how similar his 'coping with trauma' behavior is from the outside to Rand's is -- we just spend so much more time in Rand's head that we understand him and his choices better than Gawyn's. And I think that the TV show bears that out a lot because show!Rand got a lot of the same complaints thrown at him as book!Gawyn does. I gained a lot of sympathy for Gawyn over the course of this reread.

c. Min's stock, on the other hand, massively fell. I remembered her as my least favorite of Rand's romances but was still fond of her, but wow, my reread burned away so much of that fondness. Which is kinda a shame, because now it's going to be a genuine effort to make sure that I don't hold the sins of book!Min against show!Min, whereas before I did my reread, I was liking show!Min a lot. But between her (admitted to in her own PoV!) manipulation of Rand to get him to fall in love with (the invented version of) her, the way she acts in their relationship (to pick a few things: trying to force him to be jealous because she thinks it makes the sex hotter; threatening him with knives; reading his mail and trying to burn it before he gets the chance to read it himself; punching him hard enough to make him grunt), and the way she changes herself to suit the person she believes she needs to be to get and keep Rand's attention... it's just yikes all over. She's not my least favorite character in the books, but she's definitely the character who fell the furthest down on my list after my reread.

d. While I didn't like Tuon any better in this reread, Sanderson does set up the Mat & Tuon relationship to be much less.... character-breaking for Mat than it was in CoT & KoD. Mat's brain starts working again around Tuon in AMoL and she actually experiences some minor consequences for her actions, it seems like, instead of just skating through everything on brainwashed autopilot like she did in the Jordan books. I actually feel like the Mat in AMoL is prepared to Do Something about the Seanchan Empire and slavery, while it felt like CoT & KoD Mat would have just rolled over and let Tuon do whatever she wanted because (much like Min) he'd given up his morals and personality for the sake of his prophesied romance.

e. I was able to really parse through and see what I liked and disliked about some of the 'plot shortcuts' that Jordan used -- the ta'veren shortcut of coincidences is mostly fun, because it forces the plot to happen when the main characters are there but gives an explanation for it, but it also affects random things (like people falling off buildings or the rate of weddings in a town), but wow did I dislike some of the heavy-handed romance prophecies and how they mostly seemed to be used to bypass crucial relationship development (especially in Rand/Min and Mat/Tuon).

f. There are also the two major Mat-related plotholes I noticed that still bug me so much, even now, one during Jordan-era and one during Sanderson-era:

Everyone's vow of silence about Mat being trapped in Ebou Dar (Nynaeve is the worst offender because she spends weeks/months with Rand and never bothers to tell him that his best friend was left behind in enemy territory).

Mat's magical teleportation to Ebou Dar at the start of AMoL that completely breaks the logistics of the narrative.

Both in clumsy service of attaching Mat to the Seanchan storyline At All Costs (Even Logic), which really does stand out to me as the worst plot choice that Jordan locked himself into way too early on via prophecy and then didn't know how to handle when it actually showed up on the page.

[haneulislearning]

2024년 한국어 목표; Korean Language Goals

With my study abroad date coming closer and closer (only 19 days away ㅇ.ㅇ), I figured it was time to share some of my language/Korean specific goals for the year!

These aren't all of the things I want to "accomplish" for the year, and some are long-term while others are short-term goals, but it felt better to have something physical to look at to remind me of what I am aiming to do this year and have my thoughts organized.

The hardest thing about this is reminding myself (Hi, if you don't know me, I fear academic failure and set high expectations for myself), that it will be okay if I do these things only partially or if something didn't quite meet my expectations that it is okay.

There are some things that I want to aim for as a personal milestone that I didn't list here in an attempt to NOT overwhelm myself to get it done.

(Like trying to read Harry Potter in Korean, because 1. I am NOT at that level yet, and that will take quite the time to go through and 2. I want to buy the book second hand because JK Rowling is a bitch and I don't know yet where I could thrift the book while in Korea. Mostly want to read it because it is a book that I read over and over again as a child so the concepts/ideas/plot is familiar, just not the nuanced vocabulary and grammar)

So I am viewing this less so as a list of things to do before the year ends, and more as a set of remiders, affirmations, and sources for me to review throughout the year as I am abroad and expanding my use and knowledge of Korean.

There is so much to say about my goals and views of langauge learning, but I don't want to make this my longest post ever, so maybe some other day I will share some of my more abstract goals in another post.

Anyways, enough rambling, here's what is listed in my journal:

Listen to Korean podcasts

Become comfrotable reading short stories + news articles

Journal more often in Korean

Annotate + break down THREE songs in Korean (*not in my journal, but the goal is to understand, memorize, and practice reading speed and listening with this)

Read + annotate one book in Korean

Try learning AT LEAST 10 new words a week (*I see this one either not lasting long or turning more into 10 words every OTHER week lol)

Review each month what you've learned (*just trying to go back and refresh myself on things that I learned recently but may not have had the chance to put into practical use often)

Other notes:

Use your resoruces! I have so many Korean books and websites/apps saved, and I will use them for about a week before I forget they exist, so this is my reminder to look at them a little more often!

If you know how to say it, say it! Don't hesitate! The amount of times my friends and I have decided to speak in Korean to each other only to say something in English and then quickly realize we 100% know how to say that in AT LEAST broken Korean :/. Or when my professor would ask us to share what we did this weekend in Korean and think that my sentence or phrase is wrong, only for someone else to say something similar and realize I actually knew how to say it. Better to try and maybe be wrong and get corrected than to not try at all and learn nothing.

Keep it simple, but try to build your sentences! Actually a reminder from my Korean professor lol! If you don't know how to say it, look it up of course, but you can't pull out your phone in every conversation you have! Sometimes it is easier to keep it simple and short and others it's great to build on and connect where you can. The whole point of my last class was to work on using connectors and conjuctions for our sentences to lengthen them, but it's not always possible. Some days it is just easier to say 네 or 아 그래요 and move on if you know what I mean.

Any progress is good! There have been multiple times this year where I have literally gone to Korean tutoring and forgotten every Korean word I know and beat myself up over the fact that I feel like I "failed". Simply put, I burn out too quickly sometimes and take the minor victories for granted. Celebrate anytime you can when it comes to remembering a small vocab word or how to order food in Korean!

Consistency is Key! Seems obvious, but one summer in between semesters I didn't study Korean for at least a month and wanted to cry when I tried to self study again before the new semester because that sense of failure was kicking in and I couldn't remember a lot of what I had been practicing. Even if it is just reviewing vocab, watching a youtube video in Korean, or even a K-drama, consistency is key when it comes to learning. It doesn't have to be a lot, just something.

Explore ways to learn, make it fun for you! I have only been learning Korean for almost 2 years now, and now that I am going abroad I'm realizing that I will be in much more different situations in terms of school and socializing, so how I experience Korean is going to be different for a little while. This is just a reminder to take advantage of fun opportunities and see where and when you can learn Korean.

You're probably doing better than you think you are. Don't stress. I feel like nothing needs to be said here, but if you look at where you started versus where you are now I am sure the distance is actually farther than it seems.

[izzy-b-hands]

So. I'm allowing myself a vent post or two abt Stuff in the Brain today that won't fuck off, but it'll all be under a cut if I feel I'm at risk of being too wordy so folks don't gotta see this if they don't wanna. And on this one I did get wordy, multi-paragraphs so. fair warning if u decide to be brave and read thru it lol

I'm behind on getting Mum a bday gift. Like two weeks behind. Partially bc money, partially bc the thing I really wanted to get her involves bidding on ebay and attempting to win a listing (and I just haven't managed it yet lmao), and partially bc like:

For once I've been living my life for me, thinking abt me and Housemate first and foremost, and focusing on what I actually want/need from day to day, and that means I'm away from my phone a bit more than usual, which means I've missed some calls and texts from Mum and just haven't been as Available via phone/apps/etc as I've been in the past

(including one time in the last week or so where Housemate and I stepped aside to the kitchen to make ourselves mac n cheese, and Mum was late to calling me for a planned call, so I figured I was safe to leave the phone by the couch while we cooked. Nope! In that less than half hour, 25 mins at most that it took us to finish mac and get plated up, she figured we'd both A. fallen down the stairs and were now dying from brain bleeds while the cats sniffed us in panic and fear B. decided to cut her out of my life forever and so now I wasn't going to be answering her calls (tho this point I didn't know until a much more recent text where she admitted to it and did say she was ashamed of feeling that way.) )

So I really need to get something out to her, either the chocolates I was planning on sending for her and the family from a local shop, the Snoopy Build-A-Bear plushie with a lil 'I miss you' tshirt and a voice thingy inside it with me telling her to remember that I love her and am always grateful for her help and care and things like that, whatever will fit lol (this is the fucker that triggered this whole train crash of a set of thoughts today lmao), and/or something from one of the ebay listings I've been trying to get (I just need to accept it and pay the buy it now price considering what the thing is isn't like. Uber rare? But apparently Bon Jovi doesn't have their figurines made any more, so they're a bit harder to find and I'm gonna risk not getting one at all if I don't just. do the dang thing lmao)

I'm thinking the Snoopy would be best/easiest for rn, but I keep getting stuck on what I'll say for the recording and it's so dumb but like:

I know, for the sake of both of us and the deeply grown and intertwined sort of emotionally incest-flavoured codependency Mum and I have, we probably should eventually try going NC or LC for at least like. a month or two in the future? Probably even a bit longer? Not as like a 'this is forever' thing (unless something would happen that would point to that as the best option for both of us), but just until we can maybe both heal a bit and work closer towards something even vaguely approaching a more normal mother/son relationship.

And the particular fear is very silly but like. I'd hate to say the things I have planned, that I mean (I do love her, and I know she does her best, and so I'm grateful for every bit and every sort of help she's ever given or will ever give me), and then we someday go NC or LC, and she's hurt by having the plush and audio around as a reminder of how things were before. I could see her throwing it away in a fit, and then being so sad and begging for a new one by the next day. And I'd want to get her one. I don't know if that's right of me or not.

Like, the trauma has me Entirely overthinking this and I know it's ridiculous, you know? But still. Got the Build-A-Bear tab open on my phone bc the chocolate is at least partially to be shared, so that's Not Enough as a partial belated bday gift; and I'd like to hit another paycheck (or part of it, since the uni rarely puts the full fucking direct deposit in on scheduled payday lmao) before I try for the Bon Jovi figurine (and hope it isn't bought before that point.) So the plush is really the best choice, and I don't want to wait any longer to send anything out bc like. Her bday was at the beginning of March, this is fucking ridiculous of me and not how I like handling gifts at all, for anyone!!

Fingers crossed I just. Get the fucking recording done, get it ordered and have them send it out to her, and that'll be enough until I can get my hands on a figurine and/or order the chocolates and candies for her, her bf, and to share with the rest of the family.

[boilingrain]

I forced myself to draw a little bit because it's been a while since I've drawn anything (mainly because of lack of motivation), so here's concept designs for Dovewing and Brightheart

Their designs will almost definitely change noticeably whenever it is that I draw them again, these are more of just me getting the basic ideas out and seeing what about those ideas works and what doesn't

I love Dovewing designs where she's got funky looking eyes. Some people looked at the Dovewing Eye Color Debate and decided that her eye color was "yes" and I just love that for her

I definitely knew that I wanted her to have four ears (a mutation in real cats where they'll have extra skin flaps, though that extra set of "ears" doesn't lead to any organs so they technically aren't ears. Also the way I drew it isn't really accurate to how it actually appears irl but shhh creative liberties)

Four eared Dovewing is a fun design, I think :)

While it's not something I've shown or gone into detail about yet (mostly because it's in the Po3 design post I've been making but Jayfeather is really fighting me so that post isn't finished yet), with my designs for the Three, their appearances change a little after they lose their powers in a way meant to symbolize the loss of their powers (if that makes any sense)

I didn't draw it here, but my Post-OotS Dovewing design has her ears kinda torn (something mainly from the battle against the Dark Forest), with her second set of ears (the non functional skin flaps) being almost completely gone. The two sets of ears were meant to be symbolic of her super hearing, so without that second set of ears (without her power) she's just a normal cat, y'know?

Anyways I thought it would be fun if she was a chimera and half of her face (& probably a few patches on her body) was black and the eye on that side of her face was green. To Lionblaze & Jayfeather, it would be a constant reminder of Hollyleaf and how they thought she was the third cat in the prophecy. It doesn't help that the black side of Dovewing's face is the same side that was ginger on Hollyleaf's

Here's a tiny doodle of Hollyleaf's (& Fallen Leaves but he's not important here) design that I've already shared, just so it's more clear what I'm talking about

Also her ears are super fluffy and sort of meant to look like wings and make her look a little angelic

Can you tell that I intend to go nuts with her design lol

Her final design will probably have more white spotting

I have less to say about my Brightheart design tbh

I'm proud of the torn ears, though!

Her eyes turned out a little wonky but that's not a big deal because this is a concept design

The shape of her markings will probably change a bit, but I've basically got her design down pretty clear unless I randomly decide to change something

Anyways I have a bit of a headcanon that Brightbeart used to try to hide the scarred part of her face (through various ways, such as wearing some sort of accessory that at least partially covered her face, hiding partially behind things, and not directly facing anyone) but as she grew more confident in herself, she would show more and more of her face until she eventually just stopped trying to hide her face at all

[cbunny9]

Thursday (01.11.24)

(Day 32/Whaddup)

This blog has reminded me of why I’ve never had a blog; I just can’t prioritize it in my brain lol. And by the time I have a second my brain is totally dead. It’s not totally dead right now but it’s getting there.

However, the longer I let myself go saying, “I’ll do it tomorrow”, it will get harder and harder to actually bring myself to do it, so here we are. I really tried to make it a thing where I have my dinner mindfully with tumblr open to log my thoughts, but it just didn’t stick. I can’t decide if it was because mindful dinners (mindful meals in general tbh) are still so difficult, or if it’s just that “blogging” in general isn’t for me lmao.

Time is weird in program.

Like cognitively I know it’s only been a few weeks since I last posted here but my body truly feels like it’s been months lol. It sounds cliché and corny but I actually do feel like a different person. I finally kind of feel like a real adult now? Like I’d just been masquerading as one for a while, but now I’m caught up with all the years I lost being a parentified child. If that makes sense.

Tomorrow is my last day doing partial hospitalization before stepping down to intensive outpatient and going back to work :)

My treatment team and I agree that it’s probably time. Recently I’ve been feeling like meals in program and in my home have been “too easy”. I’ve learned so much about how to properly nourish myself and have started building a healthier relationship with food, eating, and my body. On the other hand, being outside of my house without food planned and/or packed is still extremely stressful for me. So yeah …. the things I need to work on are out in the real world. Stepping down to a lower level of care will allow me to work on them, and challenge myself in the ways I need to be challenged.

I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this yet, but my boyfriend has been so enthusiastic and supportive through this whole thing. He has expressed how happy for and proud of me he is, and the fact that we can actually enjoy food together has been so impactful to our relationship. Where it felt like maybe there was a slight disconnect before, we’re able to be more deeply present with each other than ever.

Okay, now my brain is starting to really turn off lol.

I’m so grateful to past Me for making this choice for herself. I’m also so proud of her.

I’m proud of myself.

Thank you to whoever is out there reading this. Please take care of yourself.

I’m sending all my peace & love.

x

[randomgentlefolk]

CPC CHAPTER 139

Tw: $uicide

Please reach out, if you need help or if someone you know is struggling. I absolutely implore you to please seek help and help your closed ones.

I'm going to try my best to discuss about this respectfully.

But to be quite honest, I don't even know how to start with this. This is yet the darkest cpc chapter. My heart skipped a beat when I saw the warning. So let's start with the beginning of the chapter, shall we?

So it turns out Leelathae will be going to another country, I think? Or at least another kingdom.

Since she's in the same carriage as Jack's, I'm guessing Jack will find out she's inside the trunk when she accidentally make a noise or when he opens it up to check the clam?

I wonder what Leelathae will ask the clam, or if she would even ask it something. Maybe she will ask what her future holds for her? Or maybe about her folktale tragedy?

Anyway, here's some sweetening before we get to the Gwen part.

Ayy we get to see young Molly :D she looks so pretty.

And Leelathae's reaction to the clam is hilarious lol. I would be pretty dang confused too if a giant clam just starts to talk to me outta nowhere 💀

Okay, let's discuss.

This chapter reminds of this post I made about Leelathae

Now, first of all.

As I said before, I'll try to discuss this topic as respectfully and thoughtfully but still thoroughly as I can.

Gosh this chapter.. Now not only Gwen feels guilty for everything, her siblings will feel even more regrets and guilt too.

This chapter hurts so bad, because it hits really hard (and unfortunately relatable for me). And the worst part? It wasn't unexpected. Gwen has shown signs and we've seen her mental health goes worse and worse. We cannot do anything because we're just an audience behind the screen. I know this is all fictional, but it still hurts knowing some people in real life actually go through this.

Mental health is very important to take care of and Lambcat has done a correct disturbing "example" of what happens if we neglect it for too long. It's not something to romanticize about, it's something really disturbing and need to be talked about. Often times, people who suffers would isolate themselves away from their loved ones. In time like this, it's important to reach out to them but also provide the safe space they need.

Self esteem problem can be something dangerous, no matter what caused it. Honestly, every problem will be dangerous if neglected for so long. Remember chapter 40?

Yeah. If Saffron hadn't pulled her out, she could've.. Gwen is too selfless, that even people around her are starting to hurt too. Maria and Lorena confronting Gwen hurts, because they feel very guilty because they think they are horrible sisters for not noticing Gwen's need. But it's nobody's fault, really. Or maybe it's everyone's fault partially. But can we even blame them? I am speaking from experience here. Talking to someone, opening up, especially to your loved ones is one of the most difficult thing to do. I can't imagine myself telling my family that I don't love myself. Because I love them.

I'm not saying you shouldn't talk about these to your closed ones, you absolutely should. I'm saying that it's.. difficult, ya know?

And while reaching out to someone struggling is very important to do, often times we don't even know that they're struggling. That causes us to feel guilty for not being there for them. Even though we actually are always there for them, we just didn't know that they needed help.

In short, what I'm trying to say is: Is anybody really at fault here?

I almost forgot to talk about this.

This panel was absolutely heart breaking. The regret, the fear, everything.

Gwendrick is cute and all, but I don't think they should immediately go to a relationship. Both Gwen and Frederick desperately need help. They should work on themselves first before continuing their relationship.

Alright, theory time.

I wonder who will wake Gwen up? I'm hoping we will get to learn every kinds of love (platonic, romantic, familial) through Gwen's wake. I don't want true love kiss to wake her up. Maybe a little romantic love, but familial and platonic love are important too. Maybe the whole cpc, her family, and Frederick will come to her aid? Perhaps even Leopold would come too?

Remember, I'm saying all of these from my perspective. So there's a chance I might be wrong. If I am, please do correct me. Mental health is a topic that must be handled carefully, and I'm trying to do that.

Okay, before I end this post, here's a summary of what I've written about mental health and a message for all of you.

Remember, big problems stem from a tiny little problem. It's like a seed, or perhaps a weed. If you let it grow, it will grow wildly and taking control of it will be difficult. Neglect is perfect for growing this weed. If you ignore a weed, it will grow and take the plant's nutrition (aka your happiness and health), wouldn't it?

Therefore, don't neglect your health. Pay attention to your needs and take care of yourself, alright? You're worth much more than you think you are. Loving yourself isn't something that can be done forever, but just know that there are people who love and care about you.

Stay safe, okay? Don't forget to hydrate and take care of yourself. If you're having serious problems, please seek help to a professional, as I'm not one of them. All I can do is just tell you that you're worth everything <3

(You can probably tell that I'm highly interested in talking about this. To be fair, I have always been interested in mental health subject and psychology since I was in grade school haha)

See ya guys, gals, and pals.

[nothingineverything]

i’m done

hi, i’m done finding the one. I haven’t found him i just give up, lol. I am partially to be blame for this “undiscovery” because i don’t really go out and i’m kinda scared of new people and i really thought the if i wait long enough he will stumble upon me and we will both sweep each other’s feet. I happen to learn that love in movies doesn’t happen in real life as you want it. Me thinking i’m a main character is complete BS, but being entitled that i can call myself. I have no point in this post i just want to have a reminder someday on when i gave up on finding the one and if ever i find him after i post this then i’ll be gladly accept my mistake lol. why do writers in book and kdramas make men in their story so desirable that expected it for myself that is wrong advertising, sadly, i still choose to be acquainted with this characters than taking an effort to meet and judge real people on how red their flag is. adios mi amigos. see yah

[bar-les-coucougnes]

So how's figuring the game out coming along? Any progress on theories? And bonus, how do you think this will end?

well to start with, the more it goes on, the less i understand, so that's the gist of it 👍

jokes aside, spoilers ahead, probably (i'm half convinced i'm just making shit up so im not sure those spoilers are all accurate, lol):

so i know some of it was told and some of it is kind of implied so i'm just going to go through my understanding of the events:

kinzo was in love with a 1st beatrice, who killed herself. then he "made" (using a surrogate mother, maybe? or, idk, he does employ orphans so maybe he could take one from the orphanage and tell them they're beatrice now) another one, 2nd beatrice, who grew up sheltered and wearing "beatrice"'s clothes from the portrait, who rosa met and helped run away, and died on the cliff because well, those are not practical clothes.

it COULD be that the 1st and 2nd one are actually one and the same, and that along the way someone retelling the event (rosa in one case, and i think beato in the other?), was mistaken about some stuff, since you could imagine that the line between "fell of a cliff while running away" and "killed myself to escape that creep" is a bit blurry.

then there's a 3rd beatrice who should be the same age as battler, and who battler, in some way "commited a sin against". i'm going to assume the whole "you didn't have anything to do with beatrice" red truth is because this beatrice was not called beatrice back then. as for the age, since the last beatrice died 19yrs ago, there's no reason to believe kinzo would've "made" a new one until after the death so she might be under 19? if the "making" of beatrice consists of taking small orphans and brainwashing them, i guess he could do that to toddlers and still getting away with it but after 5 or 6 years old, that might be complicated.

going slightly off topic here but when it was explained that he raised beatrice since she was a child, as a father or grandfather, in the hopes that when she grows up, she returns his affections or something? i think that's called grooming

back to 3rd beato and battler, i'm going to guess that battler somehow encountered her when he was like 12, saw her looking all pitiful and stuff and was like "don't worry, just hang tight and i'll come back and save you!" and then promptly fucked off for the next 6 years (classic move). which would explain why she's really mad at him and why he's acting like that when he remembers (though, so far, he hasn't said anything about what he remembers). i'll admit this part is partially because i saw some posts about "something something white horse" (coming to save her on his white horse? they did mention he has some pretty cringy lines as a kid) which is why i can guess that's his promise and that they're about the same age.

as for why he forgot, trauma? plot-convenient amnesia? someone caught up on what he was doing (i can imagine beatrice was somewhere battler wasn't supposed to go) and gave him the beating of his life and he forgot everything in the aftermath? or remembered it as a dream and forgot? actually that does remind me beatrice mentions that after she appears to people, they tend to forget about meeting her (which is why she burned/marked kanon and was it shannon too? so that they could remember the next day that they really did meet her)

also i'm going to be honest, while scrolling past memes and posts about umineko, i did notice that people call beatrice sayo (and this is where it's going to be embarrassing if i'm mistaken and it's just a name that looks like "sayo" and i remembered wrong lol) which is, incidentally, what shannon says is her real name. honestly that doesn't help me much because i'm not sure how that would fit in, exactly. maybe shannon is the 3rd beatrice? maybe she's the 4th beatrice actually and the 3rd one died and that's the real reason why beatrice said nothing happened between battler and beatrice? my head hurts

baby off the cliff: honestly, considering how kinzo moaned about "beatrice! beatrice!" after the servant and baby were pushed off the cliff, i wonder if the baby was going to be beatrice and he was like "fuck, now i have to make a new one"? (maybe that was his way of having beatrice grow up as successor?) i mean yeah the story says the baby is now a "man" but i'm aware that there are trans characters so someone could assume the baby was a boy and then 19 years later, surprise! this is now a beatrice. then again, the opening sequence has a young man with red hair so maybe that guy is the baby from back then. or maybe the baby just died and lambda was fucking around.

rationalizing the witches and demons:

at least for renove and virgilia: one is basically genji (even says at one point that genji's basically his vessel) and the other kumasawa. you could think that, with a bit of imagination, they could turn into "one hell of a butler" demon and "fairy godmother", basically. gaap is how you rationalize misplacing your stuff all the time (hello shannon).

probably missing a lot of stuff but i'd be here until 4am

oh yeah, how do i think it will end? everybody dies and the ghosts move on. i kind of want a happy ending but i'm not sure that's realistic. so i'd rather expect a sad ending and be pleasantly surprised if it's a happy ending :)