#someone teach me how to render light good pls

[mayamint]

Bregan D'aerthe (pre-Servant of the Shard)

If enough people like this I might do Artemis

[aftqrglow]

A Blessing, Beautiful And True

pairing: bucky x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns; swearing if you squint; mentions of death; mentions of food

a/n: this is a rewrite of one of my old fics that i absolutely hated with my entire being. i hate this a little bit less djaksjsjs also pls ignore how i literally cannot write a good ending to save my life.

dedicated to @xsamsharons for lending me her name. i hope i did it justice mi amor ily <3

Bucky learnt to value things.

Not the great, terribly material things people around him seemed to rush after. Not money, not even when he was barely getting by.

No, for Bucky, it was the small, seemingly insignificant things.

The tiny toy WWII soldier figurine he found at a yard sale one Tuesday afternoon, the one with the missing arm. The near-exact model of the car his father used to drive—rusted around the tiny steel axel, the rubber wheels worn from use. That yellow screwdriver set that sat at the very back of the tool cabinet in the garage, unusable because of the cracked plastic handles and rusted steel, that looked exactly like the kit he had once used to fix up the plumbing in his first apartment.

Bucky was used to valuing the broken little things.

He never truly understood what loving something whole, something complete felt like—not until he met you.

You, in your white sweater and blue jeans, hair tossed up in a braid. You, your eyes that dancing with unbroken light, like the rays of the sun on the ocean on a bright summer’s day. You, with the sort of kindness he never truly thought he would ever be worthy of, not until you showed him that he was.

You, the girl he fell in love with before he could ever truly know what love was.

Steve might’ve been the first to notice. He was with him that day, the day he first saw you. They had been hunting for a Christmas present for Tony, and even though Bucky wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to attend, he wasn’t about to show up empty handed.  

Steve didn’t even realize that the sly-footed assassin wasn’t by his side until he had walked the two blocks from the mall to his car. Hands ghosting over the gun tucked into the holster hooked into his waistband, Steve retraced his steps, his heart thundering in his throat.

Until he heard Bucky’s laugh.

Not the obviously fake chuckles he used to placate those around him. No, this was the laugh he remembered, the laugh he thought Bucky had lost.

This was Bucky’s laugh—his Bucky’s laugh, before the world stole him away. Pure and innocent.

Happy—so undeniably, inexplicably happy.

The tension eased from his shoulders when he saw you. Steve knew who you were, of course. Everyone did—or at least, everyone who had been around after the Battle of New York. Everyone who had seen you walk among the rubble, bleeding through your jeans, helping dig survivors out of the rubble, guiding them to shelters. Everyone who had seen you do everything you could help those who needed it more than you did, until your legs finally gave way and the only reason you didn’t collapse to the floor was because Steve caught you.

But Steve also happened to know why you’d done it. Because you were kind. Because you were selfless. Because you knew what it was like to lose everyone you loved, and to garner the strength to build yourself up anyway.

You’d lost people too—everyone you loved, killed during the Battle. Your family. Your friends. It might’ve seemed cruel to be spared. Might’ve seemed like a cold, dark twist of fate—and for a time, it did.

Steve had never known anyone to be resilient the way you were.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought to himself, as he watched his friend from through the glass, maybe you would teach him to hold on to the tiniest sliver of hope too.

—

Bucky didn’t even like books.

The only book he’d read—aside from the coursework assigned to him in his school days—was The Hobbit. And even that had taken him an ungodly amount of time to finish.

So yeah, Bucky didn’t exactly like books.

But he still visited the tiny bookstore on the corner every day.

He didn’t even buy anything. He just looked around, running his fingertips over the spines of the books that jutted out of the wooden shelves, the sunlight turning his eyes into uncharted waters of the oceans, swimming with undiscovered secrets and untold lies.

You would talk to him. All the time, and with no trace of the usual pity or sympathy that he heard when he spoke to people. You talked to him in a way that made him feel like himself, in a way that made him feel like he just might rediscover the man he used to be.

That first time he’d seen you was burned into the back of his brain, the image of you standing there with a hip braced against a bookshelf, dressed in a white sweater and jeans, your hair pulled into a braid over your shoulder. He had watched as a strand escaped, falling into your face.

And him—he'd stood there, watching you talk to another woman he couldn't recall because really, how could he look at anything else but you? Bucky was certain he looked like a gaping idiot, both wanting your attention to turn to him, and dreading the fact that he would surely make a fool of himself if you so much as looked at him.

Back in the 40s, things would've been so much easier. He would already have said something witty to make you laugh, he would already have been telling you about the carnival down at the beach and asking if you wanted to go with him.

But when your friend left, and you asked him if there was anything you could help him with, his voice sounded strange to his own ears as he croaked, "Books?"

You had laughed—and he found himself laughing along. A true laugh—for the first time in a long time, the sound didn’t sound fake to his own ears. For the first time in a long time, he felt like himself.

Bucky had taught himself to value that which wasn’t whole—because he wasn’t, either. Love was give and take. Love was equal.

If he was to deserve your love, he would have to be whole again. If he was to deserve your love, he would make himself whole again.

—

There was a sudden shift in the way Bucky viewed the world.

It had been three days since he last saw you, but he walked in through those doors anyway. He had no cause, no reason—he just couldn’t go any longer without seeing you.

You were sitting by the bay window at the very back, reading a book. He took a second just to take you in, to get used to the fact that you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

The second you looked up, your face split into a grin, like you were truly, genuinely happy to see him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had smiled at him that way. “Hey, you’re back! It’s Bucky, right?”

He nodded. He couldn't trust himself to speak, not when he was sure he would stumble over his words, not when he couldn't bring himself to string together a coherent sentence in your presence. 

"What can I help you with today?" you asked, snapping your book shut and placing it on the table. 

"Uh... What're you reading?"

You glanced down at your book before looking up to meet his eyes again. Blue, you thought, supressing a smile. Icy blue, but warm nonetheless—familiar in the way most things aren’t. "Wuthering Heights. You've never read it?"

He shook his head no. "Never been much of a reader, no. Is it any good?"

"It's one of my favourites," was your answer, watching as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The light caught the steel of the chain around his neck—the chain of one of those military-issue dog tags.

And maybe that was how it started—on that dreary cold Wednesday, when you'd stood next to the bookshelf by the window, telling him about your favourite book, but really all he could focus on was the late afternoon sun rendering the hue of your eyes several shades lighter, the soft slope of your nose, the fullness of your mouth. Every little detail about you was etched permanently into his mind—and he wanted to learn more.

He wanted to know everything there was to know about you. 

It was about closing time when he decided he had to go. Not because he wanted to, but because he had promised he would have dinner with Sam and Steve. And as much as Bucky wanted to stay, he was a man of his word.

Which is why when he promised you he would come see you as soon as he finished reading the book, you knew he meant it.

—

And you were right.

Two days later, he was back. 

It was raining that day, early in the morning when you were just about to open up. And there, standing under the awning in the freezing rain, was Bucky, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind, drenched to the bone.

"What're you doing here?" you asked, eyes wide.

"I just... I don't know," he said. Because he didn't. Bucky didn't even like books—but he did like being around you. There was a strange sort of calm about you, a sense of peace he'd only known in Wakanda. Around you, he was just Bucky—not Sargent Barnes, not the Winter Soldier—just Bucky. 

He liked being just Bucky.

You shook your head, but he could've sworn he saw the corner of your mouth tilt upwards as you fished your keys out of your pocket and unlocked the door. "Well, come on inside. I'll turn up the heat and get you something warm to drink. Christ, Buck, you could get pneumonia or something.”

He only nodded once. It didn't matter that he wouldn't get sick—not when the serum in his veins healed his body faster than normal. It didn’t matter that even if he could sick, he wouldn’t have cared, not when you were looking at him like that, with concern in your eyes for something other than your own safety.

You had a coffee machine in the back room, you told him. He followed you, lingering in the doorway as you bustled about, humming a tune under your breath. He recognized it as a song from that one Marvin Gaye album Sam couldn’t stop talking about. He recognized it as a song he wanted to listen to for the rest of his life, if only you were the one singing it.

He recognized that, for better or for worse, you would be his undoing.

—

After that, he came to see you every day.

When the weather got colder still, he brought you steaming cups of hot chocolate from your friend Bella’s café down the street. And on the days when he didn’t, he would head into the back room and make you coffee. You’d never had to tell him how you took it—after that in the rain, he’d somehow remembered what you liked.

You weren’t about to tell him, but you remembered what he liked too.

It started out simple—plum cider that you found on your weekly trip to the farmer’s market. An old vintage copy of The Hobbit from the forties. Rubber silencers for his dog tags that he never used but carried around in his pocket anyway—until eventually, you had something new for him every week, some insignificant thing that he looked at with the kind of childlike awe that made your heart twist into knots in your chest.

He walked you home too. Every evening, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, slowing his stride so that he could walk alongside you. He would stand outside, across the street, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to walk into the apartment you shared with Bella. Only leaving when the lights came on and he knew you were safe.

Bucky wasn’t much of a talker—you learnt that about him. He would spend all day sitting quietly in a corner of your store, reading one of the books he found on the shelf of used copies you kept in the back of the room.

He seemed to love those used books more than the new ones—books someone had already read, books that had already been loved.

He felt a little that way sometimes, too. A little too used for love, not loved enough for use.

But never when he was with you.

And you—you were falling for Bucky Barnes. A little by little, day by day, without even realizing it—not until it all came rushing to you one afternoon, like a dam breaking, like the ocean of his eyes pulling you under, especially when you felt his gaze on you from time to time, watching you as you worked.

That afternoon, a new shipment of books came in. You didn’t even have to ask him for help—he was already on his feet, snapping his copy of Anna Karenina shut, mumbling a soft, “I’ve got it,” as you signed for the order. Hefted the two cartons of books like they weighed nothing at all, and carried them inside.

There was a strange tightness in your stomach as you watched him, standing in the middle of your store—the only thing the Battle of New York hadn’t taken away from you—and you wondered just how it took so damn long to realize that the feeling of familiarity didn’t lie among these books, but rather, in Bucky himself.

—

It was a slow day, so the two of you spent the rest of the afternoon restocking the shelves. He asked you about each of the books, watching your eyes light up as you talked about your favourite ones, until conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, the two of you basking in each other’s company as you worked.

You didn't even realize how much time had passed until you heard the door open and your friend Bella breezed in. She'd been here the first day Bucky had walked in, had noticed the way your eyes shifted to him mid-conversation like you couldn’t focus on much else when he was around. “Ready for lunch, y/n?”

You looked at Bucky, opening your mouth to ask if he wanted to come along. Not because you didn’t trust him to be alone at the store, but because you wanted his company. Because being around him felt like coming home.

He only waved you off. "Go ahead. I've got plans with Stevie. I'll be here when you're back though."

You believed him. You believed that he would always be around, for as long as you wanted. And you wanted forever.

"Was that the guy from before?" Bella asked, looping an arm through yours as you left the store, walking down the street. She brushed her fiery hair out of her eyes, turning her head slightly to look at you, yellow-green eyes filled with curiosity. “What’s his name?”

"Bucky. He... He's a friend," you said. 

"Well," Bella said. "He sure doesn't feel the same way."

"What do you mean?" you asked, confused.

"Y/n, he looks at you like you put the stars in his sky. Are you sure he's just a friend?"

"I... I don't know, Bella."

Because you didn't know what else to call him. Because you and him weren't friends in the way people usually are—you had always been more.

Bucky was always more.

—

"I've barely seen you," Steve said, picking up his can of Diet Pepsi and taking a sip. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Bucky mumbled. Because how could he explain why he was spending so much time at the bookstore with someone he'd only just met? How could he explain the magnetic pull he felt toward you, the inexplicable desire to just be around you?

How could he explain the way you made him feel like himself again?

But Steve knew. Steve always knew. He saw the growing stack of novels on his friend's bedside table, saw him reading at the kitchen table, book propped up against the jug of milk.

He also knew that all this was because of y/n. Because Bucky mumbled that name when he was too exhausted to even know what he was saying. Because Bucky talked in his sleep—and Steve could hear him calling that name through the thin walls that separated their rooms. "You've been at the bookstore?"

Bucky set his drink down. There was so use denying it—his friend would see right through him. Steve had known him for too damn long to believe in his lies. "She's so... I can't even put it into words. She makes me believe that there's good in this world. That all the things I did wrong don't even matter—not when I'm with her. It’s the way she looks at things, the way she’s capable of finding a little bit of good in everything. Like she found something good in me, Steve."

Steve knew it was true. Because he hadn’t seen Bucky this way for a very long time. Because he hadn’t seen that light in his friend’s eyes in a very long time, and ever since he met you, it hadn’t gone away.

—

Bucky had to leave for a couple of days.

He didn't tell you why—just that it was a work thing. How long would he be gone? He didn't know.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "I promise."

And he was. Five days later.

But Bucky was quiet—quieter than usual. 

It was a Sunday, and you’d somehow managed to drag him along to the farmer’s market with you. He walked alongside you, hands in his pockets, like he was aching to reach out and touch you but desperately holding himself back.

He’d almost gotten himself killed on that mission.

You took up too many thoughts in his head, too much space in his heart. And when the bullet narrowly missed him, grazing his ribs, his only thought was whether or not you’d miss him if he was gone.

You deserved better than someone who’s life was tied to the death of others. Someone who didn’t have so much blood on his hands.

A few paces ahead of you, Bella walked hand-in-hand with Bucky’s friend Sam. You were glad that Bucky had introduced them, glad that Sam made Bella happy in ways you’d never really known or understood before.

“Look at them,” you said, watching with a smile on your face as Sam quietly slipped a couple of oranges into Bella’s bag. “They look real happy.”

Then, turning to look at him, you smiled, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Because you might deserve better, but he was selfish and stubborn, and the only thing he had wanted in so goddamn long was you you you.

“Go out with me,” he blurted, every thread of self-control he had so carefully cultivated to keep his head in your presence snapping. He felt like he was taken back to that December evening he saw you for the first time, when the words refused to leave his mouth, when you’d rendered him tongue-tied and helpless. Only this time, he couldn’t stop the words from coming out, not as he said, “One date, y/n. One date, and if you don’t have a good time, we can just forget it ever happened and move on.”

His heart shuttered when he saw the small frown creasing your brow, your voice soft as you asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want to do this for the rest of my life with you, y/n,” he said quietly. “But for now, I’ll take that date.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding slowly. “Okay, Bucky, I’ll go out with you.”

He couldn’t help it. Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you to him, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around until you were both laughing, childlike and breathless, blissfully unconscious of the knowing look on Sam and Bella’s faces.

Because really, how could he see anything but you? You had been it from the first day he saw, and you were it now—a blessing, beautiful and true.

tags:

@goldengoddess @wherearethesantreys @ughlantsov @for-bebbanburg @mriddlemethis @xleiaorgana @xsamsharons

if you would like to be added to or removed from my taglist, just send me a message or an ask off anon!

[nafeary]

“Therapy Session”

⚬ Pairing: No romantic pairing.

⚬ Characters: Dazai, Isaac (mentions of Arthur, MC, Leonardo, and Napoleon)

⚬ Word Count: ca. 2,5k

⚬ Warnings: mentions of anxiety/panic attacks

⚬ Genre: mostly angst, Confused Newt™️, fluffy ending

✧✎ Synopsis: Dazai refuses to open up. Isaac refuses to see people as humans instead of equations. Perhaps, the time was ripe for the residents to pull the strings behind the scene.

✧✎ A/N: @arsnovacadenza HERE IT IS!!! I haven’t written in ages, so after fending of good ‘ol writer’s block, it took a while to finish this. I hope that you will like this, sweets... I’m not usually self-conscious, but I’m just like 😣. ENJOY AND DRINK WATER!!! (I might change the mood board into a banner... I dunno man.) ALSO, pls tell me if the read more link isnt working... y’all know how bitchy tumblr is.

Dazai couldn’t remember much of his mundane life; nay, he preferred not to.

Most of this mortal coil had been spent in debauch; whoring around, neglecting his studies, committing attempt over attempt at ending his breath. He wrote it off as a tragedy, preferring to build the plots of his own stories rather that the one of his being.

Life is fleeting. For some it is akin to the joy of chasing butterflies, flower fields embedded in their sundry wings, fluttering away with no worries plaguing their minds.

For most, however, these nonchalant butterflies aren’t an omen of euphoria and felicity. They are the begetter of anguish as it sails beneath the wrong colours, maelstrom’s created by the fortune of others. Destructive. Noxious. A storm ready to destroy one’s entire motivation and spirit. Whether it be in form of capitalism or a simple shtick.

Life is unkind.

Thus, the author didn’t see the point to relieve any of his memories... but one particular scene kept his mind awake. It was fuzzy, fuming paper assaying to its destruction.

But what he could remember was a certain tale relayed to him as the moon reigned mighty, futon feather-like below his boyish body, and a tranquil voice would envelope his senses until all he could see was the palette surrounding him sponged into shadows.

He remembered the fable of a celestial guardian, a dragon so gentle it prefers flying as to not bring harm to a single organism of life. The birth of a human signified the birth of such dragon, a Kirin. It acts in protection of benignant households, as the unseen force guiding them back to morality. He was told his cousin’s birth foretold the creation of their guardian.

As a mere child, he believed these words. He believed that someone would shield him, serve as a warning sign for impending danger.

He believed someone would come to open the cage he had locked himself in. He believed someone would burn its cover, guiding him to long-lost light. He believed someone would teach him to take flight again.

He believed.

“Unlock the godforsaken door, you insolent fools!”

Sir Isaac Newton was annoyed. Horribly aggravated. Excruciatingly narked. And more so than usual. His ire had multiple fountains, one of these being these insolent fools that had chosen to bolt the room, muttering something akin to “therapy session”.

If he had to be plain, he expected such action from the frivolous author and his partner in crime (a young woman who had arrived a few months prior, the second humane addition to their otherwise monstrous community).

However, the physicist hadn’t expected Leonardo and Napoleon to agree to the couple’s notion.

Another cause fueling his irritation, like a mosquito buzzing to and fro and disregarding any clemency, was their reason for imprisoning him.

“You heard our condition, ‘ol boy,” the voice of the reformed Casanova reverberated. “Neither of you are leaving that room until you’ve talked. Thoroughly.”

That’s right. He wasn’t the only one.

His attention redirected to the owner of the lair they were currently stuck in, simpering away in his wonted manner. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that their predicament was the Japanese man’s fault.

Dazai Osamu was a pest. The neighborhood rascal ringing every door’s bell, pestering everyone’s existence with the sole motivation of garnering the final laugh. As of right now, he seemed to have succeeded in his mission.

“Are you satisfied now?” He couldn’t help the prominent sneer from forming. “If it wasn’t for your countless jests, we wouldn’t be here!”

Dazai spared him another nonchalant smile, moving to take a seat at the dark mahogany desk. “Do not fret, Ai-chan. They’ll open the door... eventually.”

A few hours had passed, and the warmth in Isaac’s chest, welted into disdain and anger, had mellowed his mind. Enough so as to admit that he might have been one of the causes of their situation, too. Frankly, it was due to the atmosphere Dazai’s room granted.

Soft and gossamer strands of alabaster light enlightened the room in a serene glow, aiding to the eminent scent of books. The smell was slightly musky, akin to aged paper, but a comfortingly nostalgic vellichor. Outside, a symphony created by Mother Nature herself resonated; tree branches rocked against each other urged by the gentle breeze as insouciant hummingbirds frolicked their sweet tunes.

It wasn’t his first time to share the author’s company in his room; on the contrary, the well of his silent animosity sprang forth from their last meeting (which had rendered him drunk on accident). Seldom at most, Isaac would traipse across a formula he just couldn’t solve, but Dazai was without compare.

He had barely asked for a sliver of information, the wish to befriend Dazai more genuine than ever. Alas, aiming to divert the topic, he had been fooled into a lull of folklore.

Hurt. It pained him to admit it, but Isaac was hurting.

With nothing else to occupy his mind, his eyes wandered to the fibster whose orbs told fables of the sun. Clad in purple, his hand was infallibly hidden beneath the fabric of his traditional (and knowing him, probably slovenly worn) garment, choosing to hide his cards just like everything else.

The empyrean galaxy of spotted crystals did not appear unlike the author; thus Isaac always found himself discovering their contrasts. He didn’t like the man, but he was a sight to behold, just like his beloved sky.

Dazai was ethereal, be it his fluid manner of dipping his feather into the abyssal ink pot, his elegant smile adorning his cheeks, or his voice carrying the voice of chiliad angels, or—

“If you continue staring at me, you’ll make me blush~”

Having been caught red-handed, the exclamation sparked an oppugnant reactions, leaving his cheeks at the mercy of scarlet apples and making him want to bury himself beneath mounds of bedsheets.

Declining the teasing and averting his head to the side , Isaac said “I suggest we pretend to have discussed our... quarrel. You know they tend to worry endlessly.”

There was a subtle shift in the nuance of Dazai’s posture, almost resembling a covered bird’s cage, waiting for its turmoil to be revealed.

“Don’t delude yourself.”

It was barely a transient whisper, lightsome yet so immensely heartsore Isaac had to halt, processing if he’d heard correctly; the uncharacteristically deafening scratching of a pen sliding across paper deepened his shock.

...this was what Arthur had meant when discussing the possibility of Dazai’s mayhem. That void in his eyes.

Quite possibly, were the physicist to reflect upon his following thoughts and actions, cruelty and manipulation reigned the battlefield in his view. Oblivious as he was, he never realized his actions to have a much purer and innocent fount, rather than for the single desire of gaining knowledge.

After all, love was more than just a unique concept to him; whether it be platonic or intimate, it had always seemed so... afar. Unreachable even. An unfamiliar ground, ruled by sweet chaos.

...it was utterly absurd! He sank his brow into the the palm of his hand. Why was he so worried for the fellow vampire? They all had issues, didn’t they? They all carried baggage from their previous life... so why did he care so much about the author’s troubles?

Isaac couldn’t possibly still want to befriend him?

...Nay, it was his insatiable thirst to solve every equation, surely. And he was a scholar with the sole purpose to solve the equation of this world, and its variables finally seemed to arrange in his favour.

Said variable being Dazai’s unforeseen display of trauma.

“You cannot possibly believe that they’d ignore your vacant spot at dinner,” Isaac started, alert in his tone. “Especially Arthur’s... whatever-she-is-to-him will succumb to her usual tendencies.”

The other vampire wasn’t smiling at him, no, his facade was an eerily empty one, unlike any of his expressions he’d laid his eyes on. Not only his smile was void, his eyes had lost their habitual mirth as well. Black holes mirrored in the pupils of his eyes.

“Besides, it’s not like you don’t enjoy our company...”

By then, the black hole kept growing, threatening to swallow him. Its intense stare prompted goosebumps to litter his skin, vulnerable. He’d never seen this sorrow portrayed by the charlatan.

To hell with it. He wanted to leave the discomfort.

“Listen, I’ll let you jest me without complain— for today. So can we please just agree to have talked?” he asked. “Or we could talk... whatever makes you happy, I suppose.” He tilted his head, closing his eyes in thought, peeking one opened as he waited for Dazai to reply.

“Go ahead without me. I’ll stay here, Ai-chan,” he declared, glee pulling at his lips as if he wouldn’t have just waddled in some unknown swamp.

“They’ll ask me questions about it, you know?”

“Very well.” Isaac’s eyebrows shot up his forehead. That was all it took for him to open up? “Dazai Osamu isn’t my real name.”

He was about to snap, irritation bubbling in his voice at the useless information he used to dodge the topic once again, but was able to stop himself. Epiphany chasing away the storm clouding his mind, he realized an important piece to solving this equation.

It was something Arthur had droned on about, one of Dazai’s works, No Longer Human. The protagonist wore a facade of hollow jocularity as he was unable to present his true self. Additionally, a piece of yourself slithers it’s way into every piece of art you create... according to Leonardo, at least.

A facade of hollow jocularity... observing the male opposing him, that phrase seemed gruesomely familiar.

“You still haven’t answered me,” he told the Author.

“Pardon?”

“I asked whether you’d be happier wit—“

“My happiness mustn’t be your concern.”

Muscles tensed as these eerie words coursed through his mind, nature’s symphony from earlier drowned out by it’s unforgiving echo. Albeit, as much as he desired to crawl someplace secluded, apart from dealing with human emotion, his mind dictated his stay.

Mustering up the courage from the depths of his heart, he spoke, “But you aren’t weak, Dazai.”

The man visibly startled, arm jerking violently into the desk, garnering a quiet foreign-sounding curse. Isaac took the opportunity to join Dazai’s side, blasé to the anxious trembling of his own lip.

“Arthur is quite familiar with your works, and I kept one particular quote in remembrance.”

The Japanese almost seemed to cower in his seat, shoulders hunched as he held his throbbing elbow.

“The weak fear happiness itself,” he recited to the best of his abilities. “As far as I’m concerned, weak doesn’t exactly describe you.”

As if he’d burned a bird cage’s linen, breaking its lock open only for the bird to panic in distrust, Dazai flew up into a stand. Eyebrows scrunching as his mouth spit bigger poems.

“How could you know? How could you possibly know of all my fears?”

Isaac’s feeling of helplessness commenced its intensity, pushing his shoulders to earth’s core. But he couldn’t stay his efforts then.

“I don’t need to. Seeing you standing before me gives me enough reason to believe so.”

“I ended my own life.”

He had to control every fiber of his being to rule his body into submission. The waltzing hairs couldn’t be precluded from showing their discomfort, however.

“Do you realize what this makes me? I’m a coward— a coward who only stands before you to— to—“

Had he finished his sentence, it would have been incoherent at best. Isaac could only watch as the author’s shoulders sacked into themselves, chest jumping in no particular pattern. His fingers snaked around the pristine fabric, just above his heart, as though he tried to confine the bird once again.

He was having a panic attack, a foe not uncommon to the physicist himself. But how could he possibly act as a cure when he was the disease?

Barely conscious of the act, his hands curled around the man’s iron grip; they struggled to enshroud the pain of his throat constricting, mutating the simple feat of breathing into a conquest of charging air puffs.

This wasn’t his domain. He’d never had to be along side a troubled person, inclined to walk the earth alone. There was no need for a circle of brethren when he had his formulas that constructed his life.

Humans were no formulas. And Dazai was no equation. His feelings were no variables. Isaac battled to come to terms with the fact that he couldn’t continue striving in solitude.

He realised that that must have been their reason for locking him inside the vicinity. The constellation of empathy coming undone before him. They’d wanted him to accept the fact that he couldn’t live like the everything could be solved in the same manner as his mathematics.

He’d show them. He’d create a formula solely for him, just as he had created multiple ones for every other problem he had encountered.

“There is a phenomenon, a mirage at the end of a horizon—“

“A-Ai-chan—,”

“Just keep quiet for one minute,” he snapped, “I know that is strenuous for someone as verbose as you, but right now, allow me to talk.”

If it was possible to solve an equation by keeping to a formula, surely it was the same for humans? But life was unique, every being disparate, an especial star.

“It distorts the objects, rendering it unrecognizable,” he elaborated. “Such phenomenon is referred to as Fata Morgana.”

He’d commit perjury were he to claim that he was calm. Forces of all kinds threatened him to collapse onto all fours, leaving him at the mercy of his lungs to commence his breathing. Yet, he kept his facade of cool determination, the fear of the man further breaking stronger than his own.

“I don’t know of all the horror you might have gone through,” he said. “But perhaps, it is distorting you to think that you are undeserving of happiness.”

“I—“

“Perhaps, you simply don’t realise that you standing here doesn’t mean you are a coward, but that you are strong.”

Before he even realised his body’s efforts, he already felt silken fabric caressing his cheek as his arms pulled him toward the other man. Choosing to ignore the charlatan’s droplets of anguish falling onto his shoulder, he shuffled his feet as he didn’t know how he should position himself.

“As such, I believe that your happiness is indeed my concern.”

He made a mental reminder to thank Leonardo for his philosophy books later, grateful for the lessons he could convey.

A rough, yet mellifluent laughter enveloped his ears, the urge to scratch where bouts of air were tickling his ear were stilled by the comforting notes.

“Who knew you were such a charmer, Ai-chan?”

His blood running a marathon across the veins of his cheeks, he drew his face nigh into the men’s chest in an effort to mask his crimson shade.

“Shut up.”

Dazai truly did believe in his guardian hitherto. Especially as the man brushed with the faintest of cherry blossom petals embosomed in his arms.

And Isaac might have been unable to teach the bird to take flight again, unqualified of the task himself, but perchance, they could aid one another to learn the art of raising yourself to face the winds, leaving them no choice but to carry you.

[baelllamyblake]

The First Female Reaper ( Bellamy Blake x reader AU )

Summary : You’re a female grounder who’s been kidnapped by the reapers of the mountain men. Dr. Tsing has cleared you for the Cerberus Project and Bellamy has been going to the ends of Earth to get you back from the evil intentions of Mount Weather.

Pairing : Bellamy Blake x fem reader

Warnings : Lil’ bit of gore, couple curse words, not too bad. 

Word count : 1,716 words. wowee i have a problem i don’t think i know how long one shots are supposed to be

A/N : yep, another long one. my inso for this one shot is just i never really saw a female reaper so i was like hey never been done before lets do this shit and i just took out Lincoln and replaced him with Y/N. i think it’s long but i think it’s still pretty good ( i hope )

FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED SO PLS FUCK ME UP WID IT <3 

The world felt like it was moving in slow motion and the light was blinding. The noise of heavy boots and crunchy leaves echoed throughout your muddied brain, lighting off pain receptors like a million flares all at once. Your vision was blurry and your right eyelid left sticky from the drying blood on your face. You moaned in pain while trying to stretch your limbs. Strong arms and hands held your torso and legs in place. Your hands were bound tightly together. Someone was hauling you away on their shoulder but you couldn’t figure out who. It definitely wasn’t your boyfriend, Bellamy. He would’ve been kissing your face all over, begging you to stay awake for a few more moments. It didn’t matter anyway, you passed out after fading in and out of consciousness for so long.

Bellamy was worried, what if you were dead? He couldn’t stop pacing back and forth in the bunker while Finn was busy interrogating the one-eyed grounder about a damn watch. He was desperate to find you as Finn was desperate to find Clarke. He frantically wished you were by his side, holding his hand and keeping him grounded. Bellamy missed your beautiful smile and the way you talked when teaching him about Earth. He yearned to find you and bring you back home.

A bag was snatched off your head and revealed your surroundings. It was a dimly lit tunnel in Mount Weather. The memories came flooding back painfully as you kept glancing around at your surroundings. Octavia successfully bargained for you but Reapers attacked and kidnapped you. You wondered if Octavia and Bellamy were out there looking for you. Your daze was broken when the door at the end of the tunnel opened and a bunch of people in rubber suits walked into the low light.

“ Harvest, harvest, harvest… ” A woman with a clipboard looked to the fellow grounders before marking them down. Another man in a rubber suit began to inject the reapers with a crimson elixir. You narrowed your eyebrows in confusion after watching the reapers groan in relief and lay still in ecstasy. You brought your attention to the woman who kept marking grounders off. She stood before you and the helmet lights illuminated her features. You grimaced at the tan woman in anger. You didn’t deserve to be here.

“ Mark this one for the Cerberus program. ” The woman said, ticking another mark on her clipboard before observing you one last time. The mountain men grasped you by the biceps and you were too weak to rebel against their grip. The men dragged you to a dark, humid room before shoving you roughly into the centre. You turned around and was met with a torrent of boiling, hot water.

You woke up, fighting for air but was hitched to a chair by a numerous amount of straps. You wailed into your gag, jerking at the ropes, trying desperately to rip them off. The door opened and you lifted your head as much as you could to see who came in.

“ Hello, I’m Cage Wallace. ” the slimeball of a man said, running a finger along your jawline. His cologne burned your nose. All you could do was whimper in fear. He motioned over a guard with the same gun you saw the rubber suit man inject the reapers with.  Your eyes grew glossy with tears.

“ The first dose is always the worst, honey. ” Wallace said smiling, not a single shred of sympathy could be found in it. The needle pierced your skin and you felt the drug be absorbed into your bloodstream instantly. You felt a high so unrelenting, you bit the gag in agonizing ecstasy. The convulsions were intense and your body went limp yet you were still clinging to life.

“ We’ve got a pureblood on our hands, boys. ” Wallace happily said, clapping his hands together while you inhaled and exhaled heavily, tears streaming down your eyes. Days and weeks passed but you didn’t know that, you just knew when the Mountain men were coming to torture you and give you your next vial. The torture grew in intensity: longer and more frequent shock treatments and higher dosages. They were conditioning you to become absolutely terrified of the high-pitched shriek a tiny machine emitted. The withdrawals were debilitating your ability to think of anything else but the red drug you craved so badly for.

Cage even had you kill a man for it. You were transformed to a hollow shell of yourself: enraged, hungry, and addicted. Wallace finally let you loose and you killed whatever you could before having to retreat to Mount Weather for that lovely red liquid.

Bellamy and Octavia were teaming together to find you and a way into Mount Weather without getting killed. Unfortunately, they were cornered into a dark and musty car garage by the enshrouding acid fog. Two guards accompanied them before splitting off. You killed the both of them in an rabid frenzy to satisfy the unyielding hunger for blood. Bellamy and Octavia stopped cold in their tracks at the sight they encountered. It was you with white paint splayed across your face, contrasting against the blood running down your chin and neck. You were hunched over Sgt. Scott’s dead body, devouring the meat and skin off his bones like a wolf.

“ Oh my god, Y/N.. What the fuck have they done to you? ” Bellamy’s voice broke as tears pricked at his eyes. You rose at the sound of his voice and immediately stormed the siblings in another blind fury. You tackled Octavia onto the ground and started strangling her. She latched onto your hands, trying to pry them off. Bellamy raised his gun and forced himself to pull the trigger. The bullet hit its mark, piercing your shoulder. You jerked off Octavia in pain, fleeing away from the two into the shadows of the garage. Octavia jerked up, almost hacking up a lung. The siblings quickly hid in a nearby car, hoping that you wouldn’t find them.

“ What are we going to do, Bellamy? Y/N’s a fucking reaper. ” Octavia choked out, her throat felt like it was on fire. You lurked around the car garage, on the prowl for the Blakes. The two hatched up a plan to get you out of Mount Weather and somewhere safe. Bellamy called out, grabbing your attention. You charged at your boyfriend, Octavia coming from the side to shock you in the ribs, knocking you out cold.

You slowly woke up, unfamiliar of where you were.  You started screaming, foaming at the mouth and thrashing around in your chains. Bellamy kept watch over you from a distance, he felt guilty having to tie you down like a wild animal. Clarke and Octavia observed you from a close yet safe distance. You tried to strike one of the girls, the effort rendered futile.

“ I knew Mount Weather controlled the Reapers. I had no idea they were creating them. ” Clarke said astonishedly after noticing the purple needle marks in your neck. Bellamy scanned your angry face, nothing of you was there. It was completely replaced by severe addiction and violence. “ If they can do that to Y/N, what are they doing to our friends? ” Bellamy asked Clarke while examining your furious features, longing to embrace you in his arms.

Bellamy just stood in front of you, arms crossed over his chest. You pulled against the ropes as hard as you could. Your wrists started bleeding from the friction of the chains . You continued to thrash around before the chain attached to your wrist severed from the wall and you socked Bellamy square in the face. He staggered backwards, tripping over boxes while holding his cheek in pain. You yanked an ankle restraint out of the floor while Bellamy was disarmed. Clarke immediately scrambled over to constrain you. Your leg jolted out into her stomach, sending her flying onto the ground, dry-heaving. A steel pipe, wielded by Octavia, collided with your skull, sending you to the floor with a dull thud.

Clarke began operating on your shoulder, successfully getting the bullet out. Bellamy sat by your side, regardless of how dangerous it was. You finally looked peaceful despite having to be knocked out. Bellamy moved the hair out of your face and stroked your forehead gently. He needed you more than ever before.

The shit really hit the fan when Octavia barged in with Nyko, screaming that the commander is drawing near with a grounder army to massacre Skaikru. You seized multiple times, Clarke was able to revive you with chest compression but she didn’t know how long the compressions would work. Bellamy wasn’t going to give up on you though, he stuck by your side through every seizure and every coughing fit. He loved you far too much to lose you to addiction.

You seized once again, Abby darting to your side and commencing the chest compression. Bellamy squeezed your hand tightly, eyes growing wide when Abby slowed down then stopped completely.

“ It’s not working, it’s too late. “ Abby sighed out, looking to Bellamy. In a split second, he initiated the chest compressions. Abby was taken aback by Bellamy’s desire to keep you alive, she wasn’t aware of the relationship you shared. Abby scurried for a shock baton and in a last ditch effort, she shocked you in the chest in substitution of a defibrillator. You weren’t breathing so Abby shocked you once more. Your eyes shot open as you jerked to the side and started hacking. Bellamy sighed out in relief, he squeezed your arm as you coughed harshly.

You looked to Bellamy with tears in your eyes and embraced him tightly. It felt so good to feel something other than craving and emptiness. He wrapped his arms around you, bringing you as close as he could. “ I love you so much, Y/N. I’m sorry you had go through this. Thank you so much for staying alive. “ Bellamy choked out, crying into the crook of your neck. Your heart swelled and you broke down.

“ I owe you my life, I love you so much. “ you strained out, your throat crying in misery. Bellamy just pulled you closer and didn’t let go.

He couldn’t afford to lose the love of his life again.

[ligbi]

Animorphs Liveblog #1

I borrowed Animorphs from some friends and liveblogged my thoughts for them. I thought some tumblr folks may enjoy them as well. Animorph content warning for fucked up shit. For kids!

The Invasion 1996 Jake is a Lizard, and this weird CG render of him in a shoe is actually pretty damn good for the time. I forgot about the flipbook corners. 

Everything I tell you is a lie, but you have to believe me The Andalites promised they'd rescue us, and knowing what I know I do not believe that a smidge Marco and Jake already already friends, Tobias is a new, awkward guy, Rachel is Jake's tall cool cousin, and Cassie is black and 'mythical' So begins the heteros Tell me more about Jake's brother Tom and how you two have become distant Cool one sentence into each girl and I love them both already. Fuck the patriarchy! But also being a girl in public is scary Ha. Ax murderers.at the construction site. Ax. They're 13 right? Babies but also I call bullshit on towns with walking distance malls Marco was right Jake the idiot Shit wait which one dies how bad will I regret reading this? I get Tobias man. Looking at that sky. Also Cassie just "ufo" Marco is looking to make a buck off a ufo sighting. Okay Jake is a dweeb so says Marco Oh no baby bird you're clearly the best dude curse eager bird men We all just stood there like fools Hey the ship is burned and some of it has been melted! Also blue lights because all technology has glowing blue lights Jake's family has a minivan (oh god these are small children), and Marco wants to be on Letterman. Letterman Oh god right it's '96 you have to Go Somewhere to Call Someone. Wow 96 was I was 5 I just turned 27 Technology Rachel wants to Solve the spaceship and Cassie points out Star Trek is monolinguistic. As with all series, Girls. Blue deer-taur with no real mouth and extra eyes on stalks with scorpion tail. I've been meaning to re-read Wrinkle in Time, but I think when I first read that at like, 10, I pictured those blind creatures like this Please note, I recall fully reading one (1) of these books ever to completion. Rachel turned into a squid in that one Yes Ax does look like he can kill. I assume he does at some point Jake is almost crying upon seeing Ax, who already feels like a friend. Due to time travel and reincarnation, I am scared to find out why this is Yes I Am Dying. Oh aliens. This is not Ax, is it? Whoops Cassie's family are vets. And she's ready to jump into helping Hey whoever you are, just saying, it sounds like you're implying literally every other alien in the universe wants to kill us. Which is fair but Yeerks. Rat sized gray-green slug parasites ...How does this Andalite (right?) know none of them are controlled by a Yeerk right now? Marco is a bit of a pragmatist Oh jeez lingo uh let's see: Yeerks have Bug Fighters, a Blade Ship, Dracon Beams which destroy things to a molecular level, Andalites have a Dome Ship and Z-Space is a thing Expected Yeerk takeover time: A year or less Yikes Hey Jake fuck you get the box Ugh so straight Got the cube and hey look a hologram of their family WOW MEAN Ok so most (all?) Andlaties have a morph power to Alteans! blend in and hide also we acknowledge they are young Cassie and Tobias for best kids right now Two red streaks for Yeerks Bug fighters these are He looks at Tobias and feels weird like a chill. Normally I'd call Gay but predestination/time-travel/something is up ...How do they know how long two Earth hours are? Oh shit Visser Three. And he can Morph that's uh legit concerning? How'd he get that and what horrible things have he done? Has? Have or has? Also, what WILL he do? Third black ship, and what's his alien touched Tobias' head and did/conveyed Something Oh cool construction equipment just pfffff'd out because a giant battleaxe ship with scimitar wings Was this ship designed by the Hork-Bajir, who have blades on their wrists elbows knees and tails, and t-rex feet and falcon-beaked snake heads with three horns. Who are good people but all (?) controlled Taxxons are Big centipedes with lobster claw hands, jello eyes, and a top mouth that's a pointy circle Again, I demand quick satisfaction as to the positive vibes they get from Andalite1 Ah Visser Three is a controller of an Andaltie. Who was that Andalite? Prince Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul is a mouthful So if he takes over enough places, Visser will become One. Who's the current One? Oh cool we're being targeted because we're over-populated compared to other species Humans behind the Visser? Is it ya'll? Please be ya'll I love me time-travel angst Now V3 is a big Monster and we're blowing up ships and I know this is a construction site but where is anyone else? Aw Jake you wanted to help. That's dumb but aw Death count: 1 Are Taxxons the ever-hungry aliens I've heard about? Or do the Yeerks just think it's fun to eat a dead guy? Oh cool those were Human Controllers and Jake seems to know one. I assume it's big bro? Most people are crying and Macro pukes I HEAR THAT FRIENDS Split up? Jinkies Rachel knows bad words. WHAT ARE THE WORDS K.A.APPLEGATE. TELL ME THE FORBIDDEN LANGUAGE (I assume Son of a Bitch from context but shout out to Rachel if it's Fucker) They can kind of speak English? Ghafrash? Hobo man: maybe dead? Probably dead Jake's strongest real memory is of aliens smiling at him. Get it boy-you're a child get nothing please So you're not close with Tobias, but you know he has a cat named Dude. Also: Cat is named Dude I love it BTW Jake, noticing another dude is Glowing? ;) Oh dang so Tobias doesn't know his Dad, Mom just left him around ten, and we're on a coast, with his aunt living on the other because his uncle is on this one How long does it take to morph? This sounds like a concerning amount of time Multiple minutes. Alright. Nightmareish. Side note: semi-crouching warped human with long butt and stubbed feet stage of morphing in the corner here Watching someone morph into a cat is giggle inducing. I will cherish these times won't I Telepathy is a good, easy answer to lots of questions about weird powers and communication Two year old string in a messy room. Boy Ha naked. Also the cat instincts mean ...oh dear this is gonna cause problems Why does Tobias get to decide Jake is the leader also why Jake? Not why like bleh why him but plot-wise something is the pre-meditated choice Homer the dog. You watch The Simpsons boy? Taking the dna puts the animal in a trance and it doesn't hurt to morph Bones feel like they should hurt yeah that sounds right Scrapping sounds are wonderful Right you're not just A Dog you're The Dog you took from Awww you're not a bad dog Jake. And Tobias is a good kid. And damn it I did not want to right about the brother. Cassie has a farm and big brother Tom is in a club called the Sharing He's obviously a Controller, but also "It's just sports" I'm pro-anti-sports but anti-cult clubs UGH WE HAVE TO RECYCLE Jake pls Wildlife rehabilitation. Convenient to touch wild animals also a cow Plus zoo mom so let's all be giraffes Dang kids with their fireworks, taking over humanity and making cops somehow worse Marco is scared and picky and right poor kid Who also has reasons? Tell me more Mom body was never found, Dad can't be around people. Ouch Cassie is not only cool enough to have clothes, but can control the morph enough to play centaur "We want them real bad" jesus yeerk cop, tone it down will ya? Hey you look like your brother- come to our yeerk cult Help endangered species? You mean like *eyebrow waggle* Is Tobias/Rachel a thing? CD game we were going to play on my computer. Wow Hey not-Tom, why would these kids have read anything in a newspaper? Wow this is shamelessly manipulative and creepy and thanks Applegate for teaching kids to be reasonably creeper out by overly forceful and manipulative folks Jake honey Marco is right please stop living in denial Let's remind Tobias, who is already a hawk, about the time limit Feathers made of wax. This boy is going to fly too long in the sun And then he was naked because boys don't care about that too much I guess?  So as long as the DNA isn't bad for any reason, the state of the animal doesn't matter. What about dead animals? Let Tobias be superman. Poor kid Yeerk pools have Kandrona rays, and Yeerks have to go back into a pool every three days. Yeerk home sun particles Protect this child who can't fight for himself but will fight for the world Time to infiltrate I guess? Gotta sneak into this night volleyball game They live near a beach I suspect this is Cali, like all kid lit about young teens unless it's from the UK Can you grab a morph from a friend if they've changed into a whatever? Kids and Adults? Smidge weird Poor actual Tom trying to protect Jake They Would notice a horse wouldn't they? Tobias hun no please don't make excuses I know being human sucks but come on Oh course the Assistant Principal is a big bad Convert or kill. Yeesh Evil cops also Cassie being Black makes vague threats uhhh worse Let Jake be a dog! Ok but just pet all the animals? Lizard yes but deer? Wolf? Buzzards? Wildcat? I just climbed into my locker all cool like playing it chill because everyone climbs into lockers all the time This is a very small lizard The animal brains being way more in control is fucked up Cool so you just almost was stepped on, lost a body part, and have a still semi-alive spider inside your body after having seen an alien be eaten and knowing your brother is alive but controlled and may be sent to kill you. For kids! And of course the brain slug pool is under the school Do ya'll remember that Nick show about the bully who like, was about to die or was cursed, and he was a dog and only one kid could hear him and no one remembered him and he had to do a bunch of good stuff to be human again? Locking children into animal forms is a special kind of 90's torture I think Rachel/Tobias is a hard thing and good because someone needs to love this kid my word I appreciate Marco though. Hey shit head this is a dumb plan but you're my best friend so I'm in or what fucking ever. Asshole I liked Cassie's little speech about Mother Earth Marco named the band. Marco is a good shit, but what does it even mean that Jake's always been a Lizard? Are you calling him cold-blooded? Flaky? A bug eater? No family guest passes for the zoo? I don't know what Bush Gardens are but is this that? Roller Coasters and Monkeys Big Jim the gentle gorilla. Also bless Jake for riling Marco up Let's drive! hits wall Go right says Jake. Marco goes left You had a chance at a rhino Marco has a dark and tanned face Male siberian tiger. I assume if you turn into THAT animal, you can be a boy turning into a girl hyena or a girl becoming a boy turtle right? He's majestic and doesn't seem like he cares about you as long as you don't run Lol ya'll almost died from a tiger? Sure you did Jake's mom is a writer who is opposed to any TV but her own. Dad is a jokester. Is it Jake's mom who dies? I know a mom dies Dad is a doctor Cassie where are you did you get home from the zoo are you okay? Okay Rachel and Tobias are just a thing already ok. Oh cool the cop has Cassie I fear for her We are Controllers. We are here to... Kandrona, Please give us the girl for... evil? Great plan If you're so advanced, why don't you have elevators- me at Akio So large underground city, small pool, cages 10 people per, aliens, construction equipment Can Tobias communicate with Cassie from where they are? Yeahhhh people volunteering to be controlled by evil alien slugs sounds sadly right. And hey, you get to watch TV Poor Tom. And Rachel is ready to fuck shit up. One alien of each two kinds dead, and a human controller flung somewhere to maybe live? Elephant and Tiger time And Marco is a gorilla Later you would think about this moment WHY WHAT'S ABOUT TO HAPPEN TOM'S FREE AND WE'RE SAVING CASSIE RIGHT? Can horses stairs? V3 thinks they're Andalites. Ouch. Also where's Ax? 8 legs and 8 arms with 3 fingered claws, and 8 heads, tall as a tree. Vriska's aliensona Oh good and it shoots fireballs from its mouth Mouths Jesus Marco just twisted a guy in half and his guts spilled out. Alien guy but still Gotta love half morphed elephant ladies with shriveled trunk faces Something happened to the cop, and Cassie won't say what. Hum Tom is captured again. But you all saves One (1) human woman. It's a fucking start kids. And Tobias done fucked up. Wonderful. End Book #1. 

Oh cool now I can finally start listening to Morph Club, an Animorph pocast by some cool kids