#the brain you're born with is broken or not working for you anymore?

[sincerity--extreme]

Why am I like this?

[simp4konig]

"You drive me crazy."

Obsessed! Nikto x Reader

Word count: 2472

Nikto's POV! Sporadic uses of "Y/N" — otherwise, reader is referred as "You".

To say that Nikto is obsessed with you would be an understatement 😵‍💫...

Nikto's psychological state gradually deteriorates as you read!

Google Translate Russian lmao 💀,, please forgive any errors! 😟

Edit: Realising that this fic is darker than my usual works. Warning my readers for darker content!

Edit 2: Added the appropriate "dark content" tags. <3

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

I've lost my mind long ago. We're losing it as we speak. I've lost myself long ago and I have not known what to do with ourselves.

Of course, not all was lost. I was cleared for service. I can approach situations without hesitation or uncertainty — but most importantly, kill methodically.

All I need are targets. Just give me targets. Nothing else matters. Nobody.

But I found you. I found you. And you found us. Although there was nothing to find, you found us.

How? It's a mystery. An enigma. An unsolvable puzzle.

My name is Igor. Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich.

Игорь. Igor. I—gor. Two syllables. Four letters, in English. A not so common name in Russia, according to the statistics: in 1991 — the year of my birth — approximately 37 baby boys born were named as such. In 2021, only 17 baby boys born were named Igor. I would assume the number declines each year — maybe less than a dozen Igors were christened this year. Or a single digit. Nine. Eight. Seven. Or even less than five.

October 13, 1991 was my exact date of birth. I was born in Novgorod, when Russia was still the Soviet Union. I had parents. A sister…

…Yet that means nothing to me.

Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich? That is foreign. That is not anyone that I know of. I am Nikto. I am no one. Nobody to know, yet somebody that I know of. Not this… Igor. I am nobody. Никто.

When the voices are quiet, that's when I can silently mourn the man that I once was.

Though, can you mourn someone whom you don't know? Can you mourn the faceless person in the casket, whose face is unrecognisable? Can you mourn at a funeral that no one attended, and hadn't taken process?

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to repeat it, yes?

I knew it. We knew it. Everyone else knew it.

But you didn't. You. You.

You… remind me of someone.

They're dead now.

They were just a target. Too bad I can't remember who they were.

But you're not. You're more than a target.

You treated me with kindness when everyone avoided me like the bubonic plague. A Black Death following the death of the former Igor Vasilyevich Yurievich and the black, black blackness lingering — a reminder. But not anything that allows us to remember, or reminds us of who we once were.

I don't remember anything. I don't remember anyone. Photographs of my family before the torture are irrelevant. Documents stamping my existence could just as easily make us inexistent. Nobody exists any more aside from Nikto.

A cacophony of voices has infiltrated my brain. Our brain. We will never be me anymore. We are who we are now.

I am a broken man. I hear the voices of many men, who won't let me sleep, won't leave me be, won't give me peace. I was one of those men. Maybe all of the men are me?

But if all of them are me, and I am all of them, then who are we? What are we?

Then again… who I am is nothing. What I are is everything. What we are — crazy.

The pieces of the puzzle aren't fully there. Surely you must have been aware, my treasure?

You were doing your due diligence to arrange the puzzle pieces, so meticulously and with dedication, devoting hours of your time and wishing for the finished product to be cohesive, but you won't find that within us. How unfortunate.

Some of the pieces are missing. Some of them don't even fit. What you're left with is an incomplete picture — one which will never be completed.

No matter. You can be the missing puzzle piece, yes?

My fellow operatives named me Никто — “Nikto”, meaning “Nobody” or “No-one” in Russian — for… what did they say? My “uncanny ability to replicate other people and hide [my] true identity”? Ironic — seeing as replicating an identity is not the same as claiming your own, and being an individual. Having an actual identity, as opposed to being forced to think that being nobody can suffice.

Funny. I was apparently religious before all of this.

Have you heard of Orthodox Christianity? It's a branch of Christianity most often practised in Eastern Europe, in case you weren't aware. Orthodox Christians believe that Jesus redeemed humanity by sacrificing himself through crucifixion — unlike Catholics, who believe that Jesus sacrificing himself through crucifixion was all in an effort to redeem humanity.

Perhaps I was an altar boy in my childhood. Or wore a cross around my neck. Maybe I was devoted, and prayed in the morning, before a meal for grace, in the night, before a mission for mercy, during a mission out of desperation, and after a mission as gratitude.

Such bullshit.

Obviously, God doesn't exist — not in the ethereal, omniscient sense.

Oh no.

The God is You. You are my God.

Just like with Orthodox Christianity, and the salvation of humanity after the sacrifice of Jesus, your presence, your mere existence, was salvation. You brought redemption unto us.

Of course, following my torture, God became an abstract concept. How could the Holy Father abandon me? How could my prayers after the tortue be so wilfully ignored? Why would he actively play a passive role in my damnation, as I'm burned, as I'm beaten, as I'm bruised, abused, cut, and mutilated?

No one was born a sinner. Not even me, this nobody. So what kind of retribution was this — a disfigured face, ruined body, and voices which infiltrated my psyche, words equivalent to the evil of the Antichrist?

But You? You made it worthwhile. Your kindness. Compassion. Charity. It was all worthwhile. Even to gaze at You from afar.

Well.

For the most part.

We have repented for our sins: stealing Your dirty laundry, Your hairbrush, Your t-shirts, and other trinkets which we deem Holy Relics; using Your lip balm without permission, You none the wiser; committing sinful acts in the comfort of your own bedroom, only for You to return, oblivious. We apologise for that nagging paranoia, demanding You to turn around, to catch a glimpse of the eyes staring at You, but You not noticing us when we were camouflaged in the shadows. For stalking You and learning Your schedule. For hacking into all of Your devices and acquiring every little piece of information available from Your digital footprints.

But, You forgive us, yes?

Don't look so horrified, dushka. We left no trace, yes? No evidence. You said You have forgiven all of our transgressions. Think of this as a confession, nothing more. Besides, we never tampered with You belongings. They're all still with us. Just like you will.

You are our oxygen. Without You, we can't breathe. Our lungs suffocate without Your natural scent to fill them, to keep us alive. Our eyes go blind with time without the sight of Your face, Your body. We can't hear anything other than Your voice — our ears tune out any frequencies and wavelengths that don't leave those pretty little lips, yet wage civil war amongst ourselves, spitting curses that cut like knives and pierce like bullets. And Your lips. And Your eyes. And Your eyebrows, hair, hands, neck, God — everything.

You won't abandon us, yes? You wouldn't abandon us, would you, мое сокровище? You are our treasure. I treasure you — all of us do: your pretty little lips, that speak in the softest of tones to us; those eyes that stare in slight fright, yet crinkle in as genuine of a smile as you can manage; those eyebrows that furrow over your bright eyes in the subtlest of frowns, in sorrow or frustration, maybe vexation — and that's just your face. What about your hair? Your hands? Your neck? Your body? What is there not to treasure?

Боже мой, Bozhe moy, my God. Oh God, it's as if an angel has descended and granted us salvation, a merciful deity absolving us of our sins and cleansing our soul. And both the angel and deity are You — working in perfect sync, so benevolent and forgiving, taking pity on a creature so pitiful, so ruined, so unfixable.

We can't remember what some of those was.

Those puzzle pieces, of course.

Zakhaev’s torture stole some of the pieces to the jigsaw, and the puzzle won't ever be solved. We ourselves interrogate, torture, eliminate, kill. Sometimes we dissociate. Other times I am completely in control. Yet all the time, we are committing sins, sins, sins.

And You forgive them. Forgive us.

Every prayer is us praying for you, to you, about you. And each one concludes with your sacred name, whispered in hushed tones as the syllables are too precious to utter out loud.

Poor, poor thing. You probably didn't even know what you were signing up for, did you? You probably intended to be charitable. Sympathetic. And you were, sweet one.

But you were naive to have assumed that we wouldn't become possessive of you like an unwanted stay mutt of its only bone. So innocent — perhaps stupid — but we like to think that you were misguided in your intentions, yet guided by some God.

An ignorant God? If You're the God to worship, then are You an ignorant one? An innocent, naive, and unconditionally loving one? Yet, one that, despite Their obliviousness, can knowingly soothe with a simple string of words? With a caress?

What an oxymoron. It suits You. I wouldn't have it any other way.

Aw. Are those tears, dushka? Let's wipe them, hmm? Kiss it better, yes? You will like our lips on you.

Don't scream. Don't hurt those vocal cords. We like the sound of your voice. We want you to talk.

There there, little one. You look beautiful when you cry, but you look most beautiful when you're smiling. Smile, hm? Do it for us. Your Nikto.

You don't have to be afraid, you know. Don't be afraid, krasotka. We love you.

Here, put your hand on our chest. Feel how our heart is beating? It beats only for you.

Our abdomen, our stomach. You feel how toned that is, yes? You feel the muscle?

What about our biceps? The strength in our forearms? They're all for you. We're all yours, yours yours yours.

Our blood looks good on you, dushka. The blood really accentuates your nails. But please, stop. Stop.

You don't have to scratch us, or scream. You know that none of that will change anything. You know that we will love you, even if you tell us you hate us. It's too late.

Get used to touching us, yes? What's left of us, anyways. Yes, our body won't be the most appealing, or the handsomest, but it's all for you. Every inch. All for you — just like how you are all ours.

You're ours, just as much as we belong to you. You could stab us with a knife and we'd smile. You could shoot us with a gun point-blank in the head and we'd thank you. What an honour it would be to live with you by your side, or die by your side. We're a dead man either way. Your dead man. Your Nikto.

You underestimated my capacity for violence. Or were perhaps too naive to understand it.

That's okay. Put your hand on my face. Just like that. See? Nothing to fear. It's just us. Your Nikto.

I can feel it shaking. Why do you shake so much, hm? Don't be afraid. There's nothing to be afraid of. You should know there's nothing to be afraid of. After all, you were fearless when it came to speaking to me, and weren't afraid to reach out to us. Surely you don't want to abandon us now?

That's too bad. You won't abandon us. We won't let you.

I'm crazy: I don't think I need to repeat it, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy.

I am already crazy yes but it is You who drives me to insanity do You know that? Why do You deny? Do not deny us this yes? Yes You do know that it is You who makes me mad beyond return of course You do You've always known it and You know it now little one You're just pretending feigning ignorance with surprise in Your eyes. Why pretend that it was all a pretense? Your kindness? Your sympathy? Your company? It was not pretense to us no it was everything. Everything we could have hoped for prayed for and lived for.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

You drive me crazy.

So crazy.

So, so crazy, baby.

Craaazyyy. Crazy crazy crazy!

You have made us the craziest we have ever been from the moment we met Your eyes and will be forever driven crazier with Your around from the day You die. And that won't be anytime now, my treasure. We will treasure You, take care of You, keep You safe. You will want for nothing, we can assure You — nothing, nobody, no one. Only Nikto. Nobody will ever look at You, as their eyeballs will be gouged out for having the audacity to spare a glance at the pinnacle of perfection. And nobody will ever want You, nobody will taint that precious skin with unworthy fingers, as anyone who tries will have them broken have their bones crushed to dust their skin muscles and tendons ripped to ribbons until there is no body left.

Nobody will ever look at You. Only Nikto. Us. Forever, and ever, and ever and ever and ever we will have our eyes on You until our retinas dissolve and our pupils can no longer absorb light and we become blind and crippled, crying, crying crying crying for You, crying only for You. You crying out for us until Your voice is hoarse from moaning, until our name becomes a prayer just as much as Yours is to us.

We love You. Think of nobody. Only Nikto. Only of Nikto. Only for and against Nikto. We will live for You. We do already, do you understand? We're yours. Yours. Yours yours yours yours yours yours to have yours to hit yours to scratch with those nails yours to scream at yours yours yours yours yours. Yours. Yours! Yours!

Yours!

Y/N.

I'm crazy: I don't think I needed to say, yes?

I know it. We know it. Everyone else knows it. You should have known it.

And if you didn't know it, then You will know it.

Because You drive me crazy.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

A/Ns

Really really really Really REALLY had doubts about posting this and thought that no one would like it. I felt inspired and happy and proud of myself when I was almost finished but it took me days to conclude the work since I was second-guessing whether or not I should post this after all. Kind of embarrassed, in all honesty, but I decided to post it in the end since I quite like it. :'>

I just wanted to highlight your, @//connorsui, lovely, lovely words when you reblogged my last Nikto post 😭😭😭💘💘💘. To receive not only some compliments, but your thoughts on my headcanons AND analysis *AND* your evaluation of my post was so, SO heartwarming to wake up to in the morning 🥹🥹🥹💓💓💓, especially when it was so long!!! Like, what?!! 😢😢😢😢😢😿😿😿😿😿😭😭😭😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💓💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💖💖💖💖💖✨✨✨✨✨

Thank you so so so SO much for your positive feedback !!! I've read it over four times by now. O really appreciated and still appreciate it. ☺️💞🫶💖✨✨💕💕

(I also want to kiss Nikto's scarred face ☹️☹️☹️ just wordless acts of intimacy where words aren't necessary and just to show the man some affection, regardless of how he looks 😟💝 need that ugly traumatised Russian man SO BAD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 😭😭😭😭😭😭)

Inspiration for this gained from:

thisvvv song!!! and Chapter 7 in Metro 2035 lol,, when Artyom was drunk and disorientated I thought it was written really REALLY well and I wanted to incorporate his meaningless drivel into this.

Nikto's voicelines and his various voices/sporadic changes in character

the Fandom Wiki

my own headcanons lol 😋

From fluff this whatever the fuck this is!!!!!!!!!! Hope you enjoyed 💗💗

[glisten-inthedark]

The way Mike says “I say it,” during his argument with El about how he doesn’t say ily is very intriguing to me. He says it with so much….gravity? Solemness? Almost….somberness?? It’s so hard to pinpoint but there’s no warmth in his eyes and it almost feels like a mantra, and he does this little nod at the end of it like he’s telling himself, “Yep, that’s right, I do say it.” He says it like saying it will end the conversation. But it doesn’t.

I agree with other analyses that say he’s trying to gaslight himself in this scene too because what an odd delivery.

Also, have we ever really broken down why this entire scene proves that him not saying I love you isn’t born out of insecurity or, like he later claims, saying it would make El realize he’s just a loser soon? Because for one thing, it’s not like this is something that is disappointing El but she’s keeping it to herself and only confiding it in others. She makes it so damn clear that she wants Mike to say it, that it’s reached the point where she doesn’t think he loves her romantically anymore—if he loves her romantically but is insecure, then El confronting him on not saying it to her should actually make him feel more secure because it’s confirmation that she wants me to love her romantically. And it’s also showing him that he’d actually lose her faster by not saying it than by saying it so what the hell does he have to lose?

But more importantly, Mike insists that he does tell her he loves her.

So how the fuck would that work, Wheeler?? You’re afraid of saying the words I love you to her because you think you’ll lose her faster if you do but also you insist that you do say it?? So if you want El to believe that you do tell her you love her even though apparently her being told by you that you love her would facilitate you losing her??????

Bullshit, Michael Wheeler!

And I think you were the one who pointed out that Mike doesn’t say, “You know how I feel about you,” but rather, “You know what I think of you.” which is like, such a huge Freudian slip imo, especially because he then goes on to say only 2 things about her: she’s the most incredible person in the world, and she’s a superhero.

Nothing about how he feels about her. Just what he thinks of her as. And guess who also calls El a superhero? Her other friends. Mike says two things about El in this scene that literally anyone else in their party would. Compared to Will’s van confession where he talks about how Mike makes him feel—like he’s better for being different, like he’s not a mistake, and gives him the courage to keep going. That’s fucking romantic love right there.

Lastly I want to praise Finn Wolfhard for his microexpressions during that entire argument because I rewatched it over and over for this comment to try and find words to describe how he delivers that one line, but damn after El says, “You can’t even write it,” he has the most fleeting microexpression of panic that is honestly so impressive—it’s this eye twitch/muscle flex by his right eye and this tiny little flinch forward, it almost looks like the right side of his face minutely trembles, A+ acting right there👏👏👏

Hello!

First of all I'm hella sick and I just took some medicine so if I don't make any sense you can blame it on that lmao.

First of all, I just rewatched the scene to see if I could pick it up and my diseased riddled brain did notice what you're talking about. Firstly, he says with such certainty that you'd almost believe it if it weren't for the fact we saw how he signed his letters to El.

And secondly, is almost as if he's trying to convince himself and her that he does say it, probably because as you said, he expected this to end the conversation.

And see, it bothers me so much that people (the GA) don't notice the inconsistency in Mike's behavior because had not one, but two moments that should tell him exactly what he claims he needs to hear. The first is when El tells him point blank that she loves him too, and the second is this one.

Like, what sense does it make that he says he doesn't say the one thing he knows she wants him to say because he's afraid that it'll hurt if he loses her, but him not saying is clearly what's hurting her therefore might be the thing that can make him lose her, so WHY DON'T YOU SAY IT, MICHAEL?

And it's like you said, he says be does say it like he believes it, like he thinks he does which opens another Pandora box, because is like you said, he's telling El he says he loved and then turns around and says he didn't say it because he's afraid to lose her so WHICH IS IT? Can't be fucking both.

And yup, I'm the one who said that about him saying what he thinks of her and not what he feels.

He never says he likes her or anything remotely singular to her personality, is just about the things he thinks she can do which I still insist connects to her he associates El with physical and emotional security that he lacks.

But yes, he never said what she really needed to her, he said the opposite as a matter of fact.

I hope this made sense lmao

[aseplant]

what does pain even mean, if you're the only one who remembers?

sayeon & min because the new chapter is fucking pickling my brain alive, but mostly a sayeon character study. chapter 68 spoilers.

✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✁✃✁✃✁✃✁✃✁

The gym is dark when Sayeon enters. She’s used to this part by now; they’ve established a routine, for these nights they spend training, and turning on the lights is not a part of them. No sense attracting unnecessary attention, after all.

Inside, Min is already stretching, a deep lunge with flexibility that would be the envy of any dancer. He could have been a lot of things if he hadn’t had the misfortune of being born an aberrant. She could’ve been, too.

But there’s no use crying over the things she can’t change.

The door clicks shut behind her. She joins him, quietly. Arm circles, hamstring stretches, a few jumping jacks; she knows the drill by now. Sayeon excels at routines. She has always thrived in environments that pay for hard work.

Today’s focus is sparring again. It has been the entirety of this week; Sayeon supposes her performance against Juni must be embarrassing enough that Min took note. He’s been correcting her on it after the fact, footwork and weight distribution noted and realigned in ways that Juni doesn’t usually pay enough attention to to fix herself. It helps, a lot, but she’s still a long way off from even Iseul, never mind Ryujin. Never mind Min. Beating him in a pure spar is still embarrassingly unthinkable.

Point in case: three broken ribs and a fractured ankle later, Sayeon slumps against the wall, exhausted, as Min calls it for the night. He hasn’t even broken a sweat.

She sighs, taking a long swig of water. She can’t tell how much she’s improved when her only measuring stick is as immovable as a boulder. Not that it matters that much anyway, though. If it’s not results, it’s not worth a damn thing. She should—

“Are you afraid of hurting me?” Min asks, rather abruptly for someone who’s scarcely said a word all evening, except to correct her form about kicking someone’s head in.

“Huh?” Sayeon stares at him dumbly. “Um—not really? I don’t think I could seriously hurt you even if I tried.”

His little punching trial was one thing. In an actual fight, with nothing holding him back? There’s no way it’d end any better than it did with Ryujin. Plus, Min’s probably working for Samin. He must not be afraid to kill.

Speaking of Min. His face is as unreadable as ever, gaze unwavering. She meets his eyes questioningly.

But all he says is, “You pull your punches sometimes. When it matters most.”

No she doesn’t. She… she knows better than to do something like that, doesn’t she?

“It’s not unusual,” he says, essence gathering toward his left arm. “You don’t understand it yet”—(yet? She doesn’t want to understand)—a blade forms—“just how much damage”—against his arm—

(Something coils in the pit of her stomach. Her heartbeat is too loud. She doesn’t want to know she doesn’t want to know she doesn’t want to know)—

—an aberrant can take.

His arm hits the ground. It lands wetly, blood already beginning to pool.

Holy—

“Min!” she shouts. “Oh my god!”

He ignores her, nonchalantly picking up his own fucking arm. Tells her that she must think of amputated limbs as more serious than they really are—(that’s pretty fucking serious, isn’t it!?)—because of Taeho, but really, he would’ve been fine if he just hadn’t frozen up.

Christ. She’s listening, sort of. But mostly she can’t get the sound of Min’s arm hitting the ground out of her head. “Okay, sure, still—you shouldn’t… do that, Min.”

He doesn’t even look at her. “Why?”

Well, obviously—!

—she.

Doesn’t actually have an answer for that.

Why?

He can heal himself almost instantly. It clearly doesn’t affect him much anymore. Isn’t she the one who’s always saying it—that pain is just something to be conquered? Here’s the epitome of it; something to strive for, just like everything else.

(So why is it so horrifying to watch?)

But what does pain even mean, if you’re the only one who remembers?

Min’s arm is healed. Ryujin’s death was erased. One of them might as well have never happened, and one of them genuinely never happened; the unease lingers in her mind only, so what is she still dwelling on it for? Being stabbed, being amputated, being killed—what does any of it matter, if the consequences don’t last? And…

Once, a lifetime ago, when she had still thought it was possible to outrun her own blood, she’d traded years of misery and migraines, literal blood and sweat and tears, for a chance at a future that will never be hers. So once she inevitably forgets, that, too, may as well have never happened, is that right?

Ha. Haha, haaaaaaaaaaaaa. All those years really just—

…fuck. She really is still stuck in her old worldview. She wanted all that suffering to have meant something, but of course: if it doesn’t bring about results, it doesn’t mean a damn thing.

She sighs, leaning back against the wall. Min was born into this; if she wants to be truly rational, she needs to take her cues from him. She’s the one who needs to leave behind this emotional nonsense. “Right. You’re right. It’s… nothing.”

It’s all mental. That’s it. This is just one more block that needs to be overcome.

[farfromstrange]

Angel On The Roof | Matt Murdock x f!Reader

Pairing: Matt Murdock x female Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Sometimes (or most of the time) suffering is silent, we don't often see or recognize the signs, and suicide can tear a huge hole into the hearts of the people around the affected person.

TW: SELF-HARM AND SUICIDE

Warnings: ANGST, hurt no comfort, self-harm, suicide, catholic guilt, mental illness

A/n: I intentionally wrote the warning seperately because this is... well, this was born from my brain in a matter of thirty minutes because I suddenly felt so fucking sad, and I had to somehow get these feelings out. I'm sorry. BUT I PROMISE IM OKAY THIS JUST HAPPENS SOMETIMES!!

Word count: 2.5k

DO NOT READ IF SUCH TOPICS COULD EASILY TRIGGER YOU! (And if you ever feel helpless, try talking to someone. You're not alone!)

18+ MINORS DNI

Mental illness speaks in silence. 

Unlike a broken leg, you can’t see a sickness of the mind. There is no physical proof for the scary truth that something is going not quite right inside of your brain. And because people can’t see it, they have a hard time believing the truth. They have a hard time believing that being sick in the head could even affect you this much, so they try to sell your pain as worth less than it is. How could thoughts possibly turn paralyzing? How could someone’s mind make them feel worthless to the point the affected person sees no other way out but to inflict pain onto themselves? Attention whores, it’s what those people like to call the struggling ones. Lazy, weak, selfish… every mentally ill person has heard one of those words being used to describe them at least once.

Mental illness speaks in silence because if we spoke louder, people would only sneer and turn their backs on us. Mental illness speaks in silence because suffering alone seems better than burdening someone else. And mental illness speaks in silence because those who are mentally ill live in a different world. Their heads work differently.

Mental illness speaks in silence because pain paralyzes, and silent acts are the only way someone so stuck in the claws of the faceless monster knows how to ask for help. By the time people consider questioning certain behavior though, it is often too late, and the person soon enough feels as if they’re being a burden once more because the judging looks are worse than admitting you need help in the first place. 

The monster that is mental illness is cruel and it has no regard for you or the people around you. It has set out to destroy you, and you feel helpless as it tears a knife through your soul and picks your heart apart piece by piece. And those who say, ‘just ask for help’ or ‘don’t be scared to speak up’ clearly don’t know how hard it can be to break out of such a circle once you’re already in it. 

Self-harm is considered a serious addiction on the roster, but most people see it merely as a symptom of many personality disorders or mood disorders. Those who seemingly know nothing about mental illness even like to call it a call for attention. As if self-mutilation would ever be a conscious choice made by anyone. You try to fight a pain that no one can see and only you can feel, and sometimes, when you feel so much - too much - it gets deafening and you need another pain to balance it out. 

Drugs aren’t the only thing hurting you that can result in addiction. There is a long list of things that harm the mind and body, and that is often used as a coping mechanism for the terrible things most people are forced to feel inside. 

Matt Murdock has stared down the abyss before. He knelt in front of a God he had long lost all of his faith in and begged him to take him back. He stood at the edge of the cliff, ready to end his misery. He wanted to be taken away to recover from the excruciating hole in his chest. He didn’t want this life anymore. He hated his body and his mind, and he lost who he thought himself to be. He lost all of his faith, friends, and trust in the world. He stared down the abyss and the abyss stared back at him, dark and glooming, and it was ready to dig its claws into his skin and drag him down with it. 

Though he pulled away before the darkness could consume him. He escaped death with only a breath on the tip of his tongue. He exorcized most of the demons in his mind after almost succumbing to them completely, and even now he still struggles with what the months of torture in the basement of Clinton Church did to him. The constant self-pity, the shame, the guilt, and the blame. He gave up on God when he needed them most. He found back to the lord because he strongly believed that in his time of need, he would always come back to him. 

He met her on a warm summer’s night on the roof of an apartment complex. He returned to his ways as the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen in the makeshift black get-up inspired by whatever fabric he could find at church, but it had to be long after Wilson Fisk was returned behind bars. 

She assured him, “I don’t want to jump, I just want to feel.” And so he stayed by her side until the sun came back up, shoulder to shoulder sitting on the ledge of the roof and staring down at New York City. He could smell and taste the salt lingering in the air from the tears she shed, but as they sat together, she did not once cry and so he stayed silent, listening to her broken heart as the sun came up. 

It became a regular occasion. He would find her on numerous high buildings, always the same heartbeat, always stained with the salt of her tears and sometimes the tangy scent of blood on her sleeves. He never asked, he simply sat down next to her and waited until the sun came back up, and then he walked her home to make sure she would be okay. In the moment, she usually was. She smiled and thanked him, and he told her, “If you ever need to talk, well… you know I’ll find you if you call for me.”

He remembers asking her one day after he walked her home in the rain and she offered to let him in, still covered by the black mask but more than willing to learn more about the mystery woman that occupied his every thought, but he didn’t even know the name of. “Who hurt you?” he asked her. 

She placed a coffee mug before him, her shoulders shrugging weakly. He could smell a mixture between copper and metal in the bathroom, and her pulse beat heavier than usual under the long sleeves of her shirt - it was summer, no need for a sweater, but she always wore one. He didn’t like to prod. The darkness swallowed him once too, and the last thing he had wanted back then was to talk to anyone. He wouldn’t have known where to start anyway, and she was struggling with something he had no right to judge. Still, the more time they spent together, the more he began to care. 

“I hurt myself,” she had given him the simple answer. 

His hand caught her wrist accidentally one of those nights and she flinched away, eyes seemingly wide with shock and frustration. 

“Why?” he asked. 

“Because I need to feel something other than this pain that is numbing me to the point I feel like I’m being burned alive.”

“Have you ever asked someone for help?”

“Why would I?” 

“Because there are people who can help when you’re hurting. People who have been trained for this. People who aren’t… people who can do much more than to just walk you home safe at night.”

She reacted rather hostile when he said it, and he couldn’t blame her, he still can’t. They were merely acquaintances. He came around when she felt alone and she enjoyed his company, but other than that they knew nothing.

“Perhaps you should go,” he remembers her saying, and then she pushed him away. 

Two nights went by without her. He didn’t find her on any rooftops or in dark alleyways looking for ways to get the edge off. When the third day rolled around and he didn’t find her again, not even her heartbeat in the masses of Hell’s Kitchen, he gave into the voice in his head and took the road he memorized to the apartment he often walked her to after a particularly draining night. 

He told himself not to cross that border because well, whatever they had, it meant nothing. But she was just human too, after all, and she was left alone hurting with demons in her head ready to tear her down. She was like him while at the same time, she was inherently different. He just knew she was drowning and if it was the catholic in him or just Matt Murdock who felt the need, but he had to protect her, even if it was just from herself.

Sometimes your head can become you worst enemy.

He entered the apartment over the fire escape. She kept her window unlocked, which wasn’t very safe. When he heard the sobs coming from the direction of the suspected bathroom though, he didn’t question why her window was open. Perhaps part of her took his offer to heart and she was searching for help, subconsciously at least. But he wasn’t the help she needed. He couldn’t do much but sit by her side and walk her home. Matt didn’t have much to give to her but even more pain in the form of his friendship. It never ended well for him.

He broke the door down at the scent of blood, and he was glad he did. He didn’t need sight to know that her arms were covered in cuts and the floor dark red with the essence of her heart. Her heartbeat sounded erratic in the small bathroom. 

He didn’t panic though. He grabbed a few towels and wrapped them around her wrists, and as soon as she felt his touch, she fell into his arms and cried. He held her as she did, the blood soaking through his clothes, but he didn’t care. He held her until she was too weak to fight back, and then he did the most conscious thing, took her to bed and stitched her up. 

She was quiet throughout, and even after. He couldn’t tell where her mind was at. Together, they lay on her soft mattress. He listened to her heartbeat and the tiny sobs passing her lips, all the while he still wore the goddamn black mask he once swore he would never pick up again. 

“Why do you keep doing it?” he asked her eventually. His finger ran over the bandage he had applied earlier. “Why do you keep hurting yourself?”

She shivered. “It wouldn’t make sense even if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“No, you wouldn’t understand. You barely even know me and I don’t know you. Why do you keep doing this, D?”

“Matthew,” he told her. “That is my name. And I do understand because I’ve been where you are. Not- not this severe, but I can try to understand.”

“I just can’t help it,” she admitted. “I don’t know why, and I don’t want to talk about it. But I’m glad you’re here, and I promise I will try not to do it again.”

He caved because her heartbeat told the truth. “Okay.”

She didn’t lie because she believed it to be true.

And she never told him her name.

But that night she took his hand in hers and asked him to stay until she fell asleep, and against his better judgment, he did. He stayed until her breathing evened out and the sun came up. Only then did he slip out through the window and back into his everyday role.

She found a note on her table, poorly scribbled but she could decipher what he had meant to bring across. 

It’s because I care about you that I do this, Angel.

That night, he found you waiting on a rooftop for him again. He heard the smile in her voice, and for a second he believed she was okay again. 

They shared one kiss. It was a Tuesday night. The rain outside pattered against the window, but inside it was warm. He walked her home again, and she asked him if he wanted tea. He accepted her offer.

“Will I ever see your face?” she wondered out loud.

He chuckled. “It wouldn’t be such a good idea.” The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen knowingly never does home visits. 

“Can you see mine?”

“No.” He didn’t tell her he was blind. Maybe he should have. Maybe telling her more about himself could have steered off the inevitable. If he had only allowed himself to hold on tighter without letting the fear take over, maybe she would still be there.

That night, she leaned in to kiss the revealed lower have of his face, and he had never felt so much dread yet happiness during a kiss before.

It was short and sweet, an act of kindness, and then she did the one thing she had never done before.

She thanked him. “Thank you,” she told him. “For everything.”

It was the first warning sign, but he missed it. He missed them all.

She kissed him, then thanked him, and then when he turned to leave, she said, “Goodbye, Matthew.”

If he had only known back then that this would be the last time he would get to feel her presence again, he would have stayed even long after the sun had risen. 

Three days later, a kiss, the sound of her heartbeat, and a distinctive smell in his clothes and nose are all he has left of her. He held her when she needed it, but even when she tried subtly telling him that something wasn’t right, he didn’t realize what she was trying to tell him. 

Mental illness is silent until it isn’t, and now Matt Murdock is standing in the summer rain over the grave of a woman he had only briefly met, her name scribbled on the stone by the only family she had left, and even they had already left by the time he joined her.

He finds himself standing at the grave of a woman so broken, she knew no other way out than this. 

“Did you know her well?” His mother stands beside him, hands crossed in front of her body. 

He scoffs, the honesty seeping off his lips like acidic honey. “I didn’t even know her name.”

“Then how did you…” the question got lost along the way. She nods, realizing, then paints the crucifix over her chest and heart, kissing the cross necklace he wears the same. “If it’s any consolation,” she says, “I do not believe that people who commit suicide go to hell. I think God has her now. I think he is taking care of her as we speak.”

“How did I not realize?” he whispers. His voice cracks, but he holds on. He knows she wouldn’t have wanted to see him cry. The rain hits his glasses and soaks his clothes, but even after more than one plea from his mother, he doesn’t move an inch. 

Mental illness is silent until it isn’t.

“I’m sorry.” The gravestone doesn’t answer. “I wish I could have gotten to know you better. I wish I could have realized… could have seen… I was a coward. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Please, forgive me for this. For all of it.”

He doesn’t want to cry, but it’s getting harder with each passing second of realization. The service was lovely, but without her, reality seems more like a bad dream than something actively happening to him.

He never really knew her, but he realized something crucial as he stands before the filled, wet hole in the ground, and it knocks all the leftover air from his frozen lungs. 

He loved her. He does.

But she took her own life to end a suffering no one but him was willing to listen to, and it would make him bitter until the day he, too, would move to the mansion of rest in the lord’s paradise — and he would pray until then that he would be able to meet her again and tell her the truth he realized too late. The stranger, the broken woman, his lost Angel on the roof. 

[do-you-ever-consider-death]

i've loved people and

i've lost people and

i've lived and

i've learned and

life hasn't always been kind

relationships begin and

they're beautiful but then they end and

more often than not they're messy and

what am i supposed to do?

how were humans meant to love so deeply

when no matter how hard we try

a relationship is doomed?

what am i even saying?

this isn't like me and

i'm sorry if it's stressing you out but

i've been thinking a lot about the inevitability of death recently

but if i'm being honest

(which i am because you're only paper - i can't hurt you)

death is the least tragic way for a relationship to end

(you're a dead tree but now you're here with me - do you understand?)

how can you meet someone and

love them so much and

laugh at their jokes and

get drunk together and

cry about how unfair life is and

take aesthetic photos together and

plan a future together and

go out to dinner and

swap stupid stories and

create inside jokes and

speak in vine references and

create a life together and

grow together and

make memories and

love love love only

for them to decide one day on a horrible truth: “you aren't enough for me anymore”

:(

people change

i understand that but

is it always so sudden?

i learned from my books that

it's a gradual decline

a slow erosion

sad but beautiful

a mutual split with so much love left behind

not... this

it isn't supposed to be this

why couldn't it be like the books?

like it was with my childhood friends?

maybe it's that

I didn't love them as much as you?

or maybe we were never meant to be?

our paths crossed but our souls weren't meant to meet

i wish we'd never met but

that's not really true

now is it?

i just wish it went differently, i guess...

why a thunderstorm

instead of a gentle rain?

was it the same for you

as it was for me?

the people who love me don't like you anymore

i say i understand and

i believe a part of me does but

i don't understand it

i don't understand how

i'm supposed to sit

in a shattered reality and

pretend i saw this coming

my world is shattered and

yet i love you and

how is that fair?

my world is in pieces yet i love

they all say i'm better off and

i think they're right and

time is a great healer but

i wish i could stop defending you

maybe it's true i hurt you but you never told me that and

you hurt me too and

i really wish i could hate you for that and

just move on

but here i sit

books torn apart

glass shatterd

completely displaced

still i defend you, or

at least i defend what we had as

the red alert blares -

all the things i couldn't see before but

i pick up the pieces you left me with

i put on my glasses and i look back and

i still love you despite all this

after all, broken rose colored lenses are still rose colored

and i still love you.

——————

So I wrote this today while I was at work because my brain has been super active and I dropped a hard line while I was writing in my head - after that, this piece was born.

I found out a few days ago that my uncle is going into hospice and I’ve just been …really sad? This is obviously not about that and it isn’t about anyone specific either.

I’ve just been thinking a lot the nature of human relationships and longing. About how funny we really are. About all the people I have loved that I still do but I don’t talk to them anymore, I don’t even remember where they are.

And I’ll admit,it felt really good to write.

I wrote this by hand on some loose leaf I have at my desk.

There is something so beautiful about us, about how temporary we are, about the process of art.

I just love humans. I love our nature and our desire to love despite it all. And I am so grateful I have allowed myself to love despite the possibility of pain or betrayal. Because the people that still love me are so special to me and I love them with all of my heart and I am eternally grateful I exist at the same time as they do.

[brenninthetaylorverse]

I know most of you probably forgot about it but I haven't and I want to keep my promises so guess what! I'm bearing my soul to you people and today I'll finally be giving all the details of my album, melodramatic.

@dandelions-fly-in-summer-skies I'm gonna @ you in some more of my music like new songs because this is not my best work lol

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

album cover:

*the original image isn't mine, I literally got it off the internet and I never plan on releasing this, making an album cover and all of this is for fun*

tracklist:

1. the movement

2. crying in my bed at 3 am on a rainy tuesday

3. gospel

4. places i’ve seen before

5. people lie.

6. take another breath

7. long pause

8. my dreams aren’t real but my demons are

9. honey take your meds

10. is my family ashamed of me?

11. drama queen

the three songs (I had a few that has the same number so I get to choose on those lol PLEASE DO NOT JUDGE MY WRITING)

1. my dreams aren't real but my demons are

Sitting in my room on a regular day, wasting my life away. I think blue light is seeping into my brain. I don’t do anything anymore. I don’t even see my friends. And my room is dirty, I wish my Mom was here to bug me to clean it. And he said “You’ll be fine on your own.” Oh, but he was so wrong. 

My dreams aren’t real. Sitting here wishing I had some kinda physical appeal, even looking in the mirror hurts. What can you do when you're stuck in a body that doesn’t even love you? How did the brain name itself and why is the brain so mean? And why is there a man dressed in all black outside my window, but only on Thursday nights? Because my dreams aren’t real, but my demons are. Getting into college, becoming famous, that’ll never happen but I can count on my sleep paralysis demon to be there when I need him. And it’s so sad because I’ve never hated myself more than I do now and they don’t care.

I can’t help but mope around, waiting for some big circus to roll into town. Maybe then I wouldn’t be the only clown. I get up on big stages, hoping every time will be different, but instead I get booed off. I’m not proud of my past and I hope this version of me doesn’t last. They say all I do is sing about the negative but what do they want me to do? Sing about rainbows and unicorns? I never will because I sing about what I feel.

Cause man, my dreams aren’t real. I can wish all I want for a big fancy house but come on, that’ll never happen. Cleverly hidden lyrics on the back of a cereal box. Whenever I’m at the doctor's office for the 7th time this month, all I do is stare at the clocks. I take 20 medicines a day and nothing can keep my demons away.

2. is my family ashamed of me (I am not suicidal I just want to preface)

They used to call me the good kid. They said to make sure I remember them when I get famous. They wanted some of my success. They wanted me to be somebody. And I can’t imagine dying without being famous. I want people other than my hometown to know my name. I want to be someone. Make a name. Get out of this town. And yet I’d be leaving behind everything I’ve ever known, till eventually I drown. In other words, in the fight for the crown. I’d come back and leave, do it all again and still not know where I want to be. 36, a crazy woman with a broken dream. Do I want that to describe me? 

What happens when you give all the time and never get anything back? Do you run out of gifts? Of things to give? All the birthdays, all the christmases. All the lost time yet I was there. Do they hear the whispers about me? The grocery store, the gas station, in the eyes of the people who saw me grow up. I was gonna do great things but sitting here, I got one question. Is my family ashamed of me?

Would all the problems be fixed if I wasn’t born. If I never existed. Would they be happier, nicer, richer? What would it be? Give me a genie and I’ll waste my wishes and give me all the money in the world and I’ll be gone. Is my family ashamed of me? And it’s not my fault, I’ve been thinking ‘bout death. Can’t help but question this whole big thing, said no when you proposed with your dollar tree ring. I can never ask for help, I’m embarrassed when I see someone I know in public. And I hate driving slow, but I love having somewhere to go.

3. drama queen (this song has a few taylor references, whoever can point them all out gets a cookie)

I wish that you could go and unsay all those things you said that day. I wish I could undo all my actions and the reckless driving I did on the way. I know I’m partly to blame, I know that you always curse when you say my name. I think I know everything, but I’m just a dumb teenage girl trying to make her way. Do you think when I showed up to your party that was when I ruined everything? Do you think that my Mom is too pushy and she needs to stay in her lane? And why did you run away when I said those three words? All you had to do was stay. 

I know you say I’m a drama queen. I know you say I think I know everything. But I thought you cared. I thought you liked it when I did that dare. I thought you were gonna comfort me when I cried, but you left me. If I died, would you attend my wake? Would you care if I threw it all away for the sake of our relationship? What if your future was in the bend, would you leave me then? Are you waiting for the moment to strike when it hurts the worst then leave my life speeding, while I’m forced to slowly follow the hearse? 

I convinced myself that you were a brick wall and I was the sledgehammer. Breaking you down and fixing you back up but like usual, I was wrong. You are my David, I am Michelangelo. You wanted the world and I wanted you, we are not equal. I wanted you so bad that suddenly, I didn’t want you at all. What happens when you’ve been fighting for years but suddenly you lose sight of what you’re fighting for? 

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

so that's that. also I put most of my lyrics in paragraphs so if you don't read it all, I don't mind lol. enjoy my friends.

[alaydabug2]

@sparklenarniawizard

Broken heart/Broken mind

Not a chapter

(Human AU)

Sophie and Keefe met in the children's hospital when they were little. Because of how long they were confined to the four walls of the hospital, they became very close during their stay.

As the years pass, they wind up being in the same classroom together due to their physical conditions. This makes their bond deepen.

But are they able to handle when life gets tough, throwing problems and complications their way?

Hey, I just thought I'd come on here to explain a funny coincidence. So as I've explained, I've based the conditions Sophie and Keefe have in the story are ones I actually have/used to have.

Well, when I created this story, I didn't know it yet, but my yearly cardiology appointment ended up getting pushed forward due to my cardiologist retiring. (I've had him since I was a baby. How dare he. He couldn't have waited 4 more years for me to turn 18? 😭)

But anywho. That was today. I thought I'd say what goes down during these appointments. (Although, I'll probably just make a chapter with this anyhow.)

So first I get my EKG. You get these stickers placed on your chest, arms, and legs. Then they get to see the heart rhythm visually.

Then I get my echocardiogram. You take your shirt off and they do a sonogram on the chest. (It's a bit awkward cause I'm a girl, but whatever it's fine 😅.) They can see your heart and hear the heart beating. (Bonus points if you have a murmur like me and you can hear the whooshing sound!)

Then they ask if anything is different than normal. Ex: chest pain, light headedness, shortness of breath, etc.

I guess I could also explain the conditions as well while I'm at it.

Sophie has seizures. It's pretty much self explanatory on what happens based on the story. But it is a neurological issue. Has to do with the brain. There are many reasons they could happen. For mine personally, we never had an exact reason identified, but we believe it had something to do with scar tissue on my brain from when I had my second heart surgery at 10 months. We think it was from either a heart attack, stroke, or just general lack of oxygen to the brain. (I died 6 times for reference. 😃)

I thankfully don't have them anymore. Although I did have them from ages 5 to 10. (Unfortunately, not everyone grows out of them.) I also explained Sophie's seizures the same way they felt for me. Both during and how she felt afterwards. (I do plan on giving her ones in the places I was most scared to have one. Be prepared for that. 😈)

Now I don't think I actually explained what Keefe has exactly. (Although it is in the tags.) All I ever said was it's about his heart. Well he has tetrology of fallot. This is a congenitive life long disease. (Which means you are born with it.) It is actually four defects that create this condition. Essentially you have a hole between 2 chambers of your heart. This causes the oxygenated and unoxygenated blood to mix, leading to an overall lack of oxygen getting through the body. As well as your pulmonary valve doesn't work correctly.

This gets corrected by open heart surgery. I've had three. One at 8 days, 10 months, and five years. (I can vaguely remember the 3rd one. You're not supposed to remember what happens before anesthesia. But I remember all the way to the operating room and the doctor put the mask on my face and count down from 10, while I was crying. I remember to 5. Fun stuff 🥲👍) In the story so far Keefe has had 2. One at a few months old and the one that was mentioned. So far. (I'm planning some fun stuff for him that I haven't had happen to me. Worst case scenario type stuff. Enjoy it. ☺️)

But all this means essentially you have to be extremely careful. You have certain restrictions about what you can do. You can also get out of breath easily. You can't do contact sports, like football, either. Also a random thing I've had to be careful about are those little tense machines. The ones that help sore muscles. Apparently the electrical pulses have a chance to do something to your heart if you have heart issues. Idk. 😭

But I hope that this has been interesting to you. And that the background information about both the conditions and how they relate to Sophie and Keefe help for throughout the story as it goes on. Keep in mind, that while I do know quite a bit about these conditions, I am not a doctor. Stuff will bound to be inaccurate. Also several things will be exaggerated at times for the plot.

Hope you've been enjoying! 😄

[thewarriorspecial]

Raw With Love - A Guy/Tora Playlist

"If I never see you again/ I will always carry you/inside/outside/on my fingertips/and at brain edges/and in centers/centers/of what I am of/what remains." - Charles Bukowski

1 Animal - Neon Trees

"I kinda wanna be more than friends/So take it easy on me/ I'm afraid you're never satisfied"

2 Electric Love - BORNS

"Every night my mind's running around her/Thunder's getting louder and louder/Baby, you're like lighting in a bottle/I can't let you go now that I got it"

3 The Heart Wants What It Wants - Selena Gomez

"The bed's getting cold and you're not here/The furture that we hold is so unclear/But I'm not alive until you call/And I'll bet the odds against it all"

"There's a millions reasons why I should give you up/But the heart wants what it wants"

4 Harleys In Hawaii - Katy Perry

"Let me run my fingers through your salty hair/Go ahead, explore the island/Vibes so real that you can feel it in the air/I'm revvin' up your engine"

5 Hardest Of Hearts - Florence + The Machine

"There is love in our bodies and it holds us together/But pulls us apart when we're holding each other/We all want something to hold in the night/We don't care if it hurts when we're holding too tight"

6 i don't think i love you anymore - Alaina Castillo

"I don't think I love you anymore/Don't believe it when I say 'I feel like I'm yours'/And I know you only say that you love me so I'll stay"

7 How It All Works Out (Stripped) - Faouzia

"Goodbye always starts with hello"

"I can't see the end, so I pretend it's sweet/Until it crashes down, I know it's gonna crash down/Yeah but not right now/It's kinda funny how it all works out"

8 Starting Over - Niykee Heaton

"Why do you call me only/Just cause you can't be lonely/Stop begging me, can't you see/I finally got back on me feet"

9 Someone You Loved - Lewis Capaldi

"Now the day bleeds into nightfall/And you're not here to get me through it all/I let my guard down, and then you pulled the rug/I was getting kinda used to being someone you loved"

10 One Thing - Finger Eleven

"It's nothing I planned/And not that I can/But you should be mine/Across that line/If I traded it all/If I gave it all away/For one thing"

11 Right Here - Staind

"I've got some imperfections/But how can you collect them all and throw them in my face?/But you always find a way/To keep me right here waiting"

"But you're so independent/You just refuse to bend so I keep bending till I break"

"I've made a commitment/I'm willing to bleed for you/I needed fulfillment/I found what I need in you/Why can't you just forgive me?/I don't want to relive all the mistakes I've made along the way"

12 Broken - Seether, Amy Lee

"'Cause I'm broken when I'm open/And I don't feel like I am strong enough/'Cause I am broken when I'm lonesome/And I don't feel right when you're gone away"

[sapphicwizards]

Yay! Ok @drchenquill @dyrewrites @smol-feralgremlin @mk-writes-stuff

How to Rebuild a Man

Awakening

There's this idea that the brain is a delicate organ with permanent states that can never be healed once damaged. Thankfully that isn't even a little bit true! We'd just been approaching the problem wrong this whole time. Take a concussion for example. Hit your head or move too quickly before stopping and it can damage some of the connections in there. For a long time we thought that the best way to recover from one was to rest and not do anything too strenuous, like math or music. But that is not how the brain is healed.

The brain is not like a bone or a muscle. The brain is like a city. You don't rebuild a city by telling everyone to stop moving and wait for the buildings to grow back, you put them to work! A brain has pathways like roads and subway tracks. It has signals, like little people, who need to get places. To heal the brain, those connections must be reestablished, and that's not something you can do by resting. You have to walk those paths again and again until they are smooth and effortless.

Even if you can't erase all evidence of the damage, you can heal. Scarred is not the same as broken.

Recovering from a brain injury does suck. It's constant frustratingly hard work. When I first woke up I couldn't remember what language was, but I did remember being able to communicate. Imagine! You know it's possible to express yourself, but being able to actually do it is about as hard as composing a symphony.

I learned how to talk again at 38 years of age. They taught me their own language, but a few years later I started remembering fragments of my native language. Now I speak both fluently again, plus a few more languages like English.

What happened to me was nothing like a concussion though. I was so broken that I wasn't even me anymore. The doctors had to put me back together, sometimes guessing at which pieces went where.

The man I was died thousands of years ago. I am not him. When they rebuilt me, the parts they revived first shaped how the whole turned out. Once I was conscious enough I was forced to take a more active role in my own reconstruction. I think that's the reason you don't remember being born. You're not meant to because being born is hell.

Lucky for me, the future is a nice place to wake up. We can cure just about anything now. Everyone on my ship was frozen for thousands of years in what the doctors called “primitive cryostasis”. They managed to bring all of us back to life, and within 10 years we were all healthy functional people.

Most of the ships that left earth were generation ships: giant interstellar cities where the people who leave hope their descendants make it to the destination. There might have been some cryo ships that made it to their destination, but we don't know of any. Our ship missed its mark by lightyears and drifted for hundreds more years than we were supposed to.

There was much debate about whether it was ethical to bring us back to life.

On one hand, you obviously wouldn't do this to someone you found frozen in the snow, but on the other hand, we went into cryostasis thinking we would be revived. Reanimating our corpses would give us another chance. Didn't we deserve another chance?

Historians badly wanted to talk to us and doctors badly wanted to find out if they could do it. Those early days of relearning how to be a person were torture. I wasn't sentient enough at the time but in those early days the public opinion was pretty overwhelmingly against our renewed existence. It was folly and hubris to do it. It was evil.

It's oddly unintuitive to the average person, but when given the opportunity to live, people will usually take it. We did, and many of us managed to integrate into the strange new world we were reborn into. My shipmates largely lived out happy lives in the new world. I'm glad to be alive and that I get to live out my life in this era. Maybe I'm a zombie, or a homunculus, or whatever you want to call me. Maybe I'm nothing like the man who lived in my body before. But in the end it doesn't matter because I'm someone. I'm a person who gets to live.

So maybe what the Xultans did was evil, but no one cares about that anymore.

Xultan

I'd have loved to discover Xultan as a tourist, but circumstances meant that it's more like a grew up there. I'm lucky to have been able to discover other worlds though. From icy Caerulis to beautiful Lazumdar, even the terrifying world of Aria was a worthy adventure.

The first thing I would have noticed about Xultan as an earthling tourist, is probably the sun. The light that hits the ground is a different color. The shadows are less blue and the light is a bit redder. The next thing I would have noticed about the sun is that it doesn't move. Xultan 4, so far the only inhabited planet in the system, is tidally locked. That means the planet always has one side facing the sun. On earth, our moon was tidally locked to the planet, which is why we only ever saw one side of it.

Living on a tidally locked planet is tricky. It's hard to find a good place to live. One side is getting fried to a crisp, while the other side is always in the cold darkness. You might think that the edges of the sunlight are the answer but that region is wracked with unending hurricane force wind.

When the early Xultan settlers arrived, they hadn't known the planet was going to be like this, but they made it work. They built their city at the solar center where it is always mid-day, and named it Noon. They lived underground for many generations as they worked to build a livable human habitat above ground. Hundreds of years later their descendants get to enjoy a beautiful city in the open air.

When I arrived, the Xultans only knew about one other inhabited world: Lazumdar. A solar system home to a very strange and brilliant people.

It was impossible to know how many other ships full of settlers had made it to the stars. We didn't even know what was going on on earth. In fact, the sun was no longer where it had been before. Maybe earth had mysteriously disappeared, or maybe we misremembered where we left it. One day soon we would have the technology to find out.

You don't leave earth for just any reason. Those reasons shaped the cultures that would become the future of the human race. My ship left during a dark time in history. Our country wanted to be the first to do something, and there just weren't many things left. Sending humans out into the stars was technological folly at the time. The engineers and scientists knew we were being sent to our deaths, but the politicians wouldn't listen. We were just more children sacrificed to the engines of war.

Most of the ships that left were cults or extremist groups. The Xultan ancestors are one of the only exceptions. Of the 9 known worlds, they had been the last to leave. Their expedition was born out of ambition and love for humanity, rather than superstition and fear. They're the product of a better world than the war torn planet I was born on.

Many ships left but so far we only know of nine who made it. There are certainly others. More could still be floating dead in space like we were. Some might be living civilizations who choose to stay quiet. Yet more might just be too far away. After all, we don't know what happened on earth after the Xultans left.

There's a lot we still don't know.

One thing the Xultans did know is that no one had invented faster than light travel yet. Maybe it wasn't even possible.

Then one day it was. A ship was built that could connect the worlds who had been isolated for so long.

It was built on Lazumdar with the help of Xultan scientists and named Narowal. With Narowal, we could finally begin to rebuild humanity from the pieces. It was time to get to work. We could remake the connections and be whole again.

Do you guys want to read a scrapped chapter from my sci-fi WIP? I decided to go a different direction with it but I think the intro is interesting and it's a decent introduction to the worldbuilding.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

decalcomania | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: You're well aware you write too many songs about him, but they just sit in your drafts folder and never see the world. Until Min Yoongi double-clicks on the folder and starts listening to them, that is.

warnings: idol!AU - producer!reader; angst that has no resolution

--

“you'll get used to it not seeing them, not being there” but I never will because you'll always be everywhere

❖

"What's this?"

"My drafts folder. It's just full of shit I'm never gonna release."

"Ho."

You racked your brain and tapped your pen against the edge of the table, searching for the words. That was always what you focused most on when it came to song creation – lyrics. Every song had a feel to it, and you selected words based on that feel, sometimes pretty words, sometimes clever, sometimes simple, sometimes complicated, but, most importantly, it had to be the right word for the right moment. That kind of thing you wouldn’t know it was perfect until you found it. You weren’t worried though. It would come to you. It always did.

You trusted your intuition.

"Hm."

At least in songwriting.

"They're all about him."

Your pen stilled.

"You said you don’t write love songs anymore."

You didn't look up from your pad of paper. Staring at your scribbles.

"I don't."

You raised your head, not quite looking at your fellow producer.

"I can't. They always end up being about him."

Your eyes shifted and you saw your fellow producer lower the headset, shaking out his now blond hair. It was a little frizzy, too over-processed despite the expensive hair products. Sometimes he complained that he was going to go bald from the stress, the work, and the constant hair treatments.

It was hard to tell if he was joking or not.

All jokes had some truth to them though.

"Is that why you started distancing yourself from writing for pop groups?" Min Yoongi asked, sitting back in your comfy computer chair.

You didn't answer.

You just exhaled slowly and shrugged.

Yoongi mused, placing his elbow on the desk and humming, looking back to your multiple monitors. "Did you hear his newest cover of the Harry Styles song?"

You leaned your head back against the sofa.

"I heard it."

Silence except the computers and other electronics. You were a fiend for RBG lighting and spent far too much time installing an obscene plethora of them in your music studio, making sure they all connected, of course, so you could work by shimmering rainbows rather than the harsh overhead recessed lights. At least you managed to convince your boss that cool white light was superior to those heinous warm bulbs. Yoongi's face was shrouded in blue and purple light when he spoke again.

"You think he has a folder too, full of songs he writes about you?"

You tapped your pen on the paper.

"I doubt it. He's too busy for that."

"Part of our job is to write songs, so he’s not too busy to write songs."

You tucked your tongue into your cheek. "You don't have to console me. It's time I act my age. You are always telling your hyung that."

Yoongi chuckled. "He was born in the wrong generation. Too early."

"And you were born too late, grandpa."

He clicked his tongue, disapproving of your comment.

Silence.

You didn't think about your drafts folder much. You made them, knew you weren't going to use them, and dumped them in that folder.

Maybe.

Maybe, someday, you could dig them up again and complete them.

Someday, when you could walk down that mental path with confidence, but, for right now, it was a path full of broken glass and you didn't have any shoes, so you could only stumble down there when you were too drunk and too numb to feel.

"They're good, you know."

"Hm."

"He would like them if he listened to them."

"He likes that stuff from what I gather."

"Maybe he's waiting for you to release one."

"That's highly unlikely considering I have no vocal training and my singing voice is hot garbage," you muttered, giving up on the pad of paper, flipping the pages back. "You can sing better than I can."

There was another thing too.

You couldn't sing those songs without feeling.

And you were trying so very hard not to feel.

"I should leave you to the lyrics."

Yoongi stood up, rubbing the back of his head.

"You're always good when it's the exciting songs," he said with a smile. "I'm sure you'll come up with something good."

You smiled back. "Hm, probably. Just give me a bit."

He shuffled for a few steps. You turned back to the paper pad, opening it with a sigh.

"We're always better at writing songs that reflect our inner selves."

You picked up your pen, pausing at Yoongi's words.

"They are like moments in time, preserving the you of that moment."

You looked up and Yoongi was at the entrance of your music studio, picking up his coat and beanie. He turned around and pulled up his white face mask. Those dark, cat-like eyes peeked out from below the beanie as he adjusted it.

You didn't say anything.

You couldn't see your face, but Yoongi could.

"I can’t get used to him not being around, because he’s always around," you whispered quietly, not sure if you were telling him or yourself, but too afraid to be loud because then it would be real. You could only see his eyes.

His gaze softened.

"Yeah, I know."

He opened the door and left.

You knew he saw.

You knew he saw that the first was created a little over a year ago.

You knew he saw the one dated October 29, 2021.

The draft folder Yoongi was talking about had song files named by the dates they were created and therefore they were in order of oldest at the top to newest at the very end. Only a few people hearing those drafts would know who those songs were about, because almost no one knew what happened. For work reasons, for privacy reasons, and for reasons like this.

When lovers became strangers again.

You used to daydream and hope that he did write songs about you after everything, but now you wished he didn't. Maybe if he pretended it never happened, it didn’t, and then you could forget about it and write cheesy love songs again instead of love songs that meant too much and cut too deep.

Maybe.

Your fingers touched the paper pad and slowly flicked through the pages. It was full of scribbles and pieces of lyrics. Some of them had made it into songs, some didn't. Some got crossed out immediately and some made it into recording, only for those to be shelved away in a folder, tucked into your external hard drives.

You kept everything.

Maybe to your detriment. You couldn't help it though. Sentimental, hoarder, something like that. A tendency to hold onto things for too long. Probably manifested in the habit of writing too many songs about the same damn topic for too damn long. Yoongi must have seen the one dated recently, must have listened to it. He saw how you felt, back then with his eyes and, now, with his ears.

The sound of turning pages abruptly stopped.

You sighed and placed your pen over the words, not wanting to look at them, but, as you closed your eyes, you could remember the night that you wrote those words clearly, even the small details like the thick, hazy dread filling your soul and the tightness of your chest, the three-in-the-morning world smelling like alcohol, whiskey glass shoved aside, bottle open beside you, fiddling with the pop filter and the microphone in front of your lips, headphones suffocating your head that felt like it was going to burst.

Thinking about that song snippet his fans always ask him about, curious on where the complete song is, the nonchalant reply you replayed in your head, over and over, "Oh, I can just re-record it."

You knew he knew where the file was.

❖

you said you deleted it, lost it, haven't seen it in a while but here it is, in this studio with your audiophile.

-

references to falling cover by JK and decalcomania by JK

the italics are not actual lyrics, I made them up for story purposes XD I can't make music to save my life, so don't roast me ㅠㅠ

--

drabbles masterpost | masterpost

[inlovewithhisblueeyes]

Borrowed

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Reader

Word Count: ~1.4k

Warnings: Talks about Suicide, Survivor’s Guilt, Depression, Parental Abuse, Panic Attacks, Use of Platonic Pet Names

A/N: Today is my 22nd birthday. I have always had issues regarding my birthday and getting older. I spent 12 years of my life actively wishing I was dead and never expecting to make it to 18. It’s hard for me to understand that I’m still here 4 years after my believed expiry date. I’m getting better each year at dealing with all the feelings that come with my birthday. I’m okay and this piece helped me get out what I struggle with telling others. The nice thing at least is this year I’m not spending this day alone.

You let out a shaky breath as you laid out in the grass. The stars were just barely shining through the cloudy sky above you. The night breeze was still warm enough that you didn’t need a jacket. It would have been a pleasant night if the voices lurking in the back of your mind had taken some time off for once.

Tonight they were screaming at you, louder than ever before. Their voices bounced off the walls your mind, echoing endlessly. The pain in your chest was too much to bare. It was a crushing weight that threatened to flatten you to utter nothingness. No matter what you did to cope it just wasn’t working like it normally would.

Tonight they were screaming at you, louder than ever before. Their voices bounced off the walls your mind, echoing endlessly. The pain in your chest was too much to bare. It was a crushing weight that threatened to flatten you to utter nothingness. No matter what you did to cope it just wasn’t working like it normally would.

You had to swallow down the bile that was trying to creep up your throat. There was an ever present fear seeping from every single pore as you did the one card you had left to play. You didn’t want to do this on tonight of all nights. Hands shaking you type out the words that could save or damn you.

10:28 PM Midnight Picnic. Delivered …. Read ✓

The swell of anxiety becomes too much as you wait for those little dots to appear. You toss your phone next to you as you struggle to hold back tears. The voices seem grow into a roar as the minutes slip away. Everything he ever said to you is stuck on repeat in your head

Burden….

You held him back…

It was your fault…

You ruined his life…

If only you hadn’t been born…

You didn’t deserve to be alive…

They all loved him better than you…

Useless…

Replaceable…

Selfish…

You hadn’t even realized that the tears had burst out, painting your cheeks, your neck, your shirt and most likely staining the ground under you. It’s not until you feel something pressing down on you and warmness chasing the tears off your face that you realize you had been hyperventilating. A soft clicking comes from somewhere behind you as you finally open your tear-blinded eyes. There, resting on top of your shaking form, was a fuzzy face you knew too well.

“Kal, up,” the figure behind you utters,” You gotta let her up, boy.”

The bear of a dog gave a disappointed huff before doing as his master commanded. You felt warm hands gently help you sit up and soon after you feel a solid mass against your back and two long legs incase yours. If anything, the close contact caused your panicking to cease only for a moment. Henry’s arm wrap around your shoulders and he settles you against him. Kal lays himself down by the two of you.

“I’m here for you, Bunny. I know how you might be a little trapped right now, but I want you to try and listen to me alright,” he whispers and waits for the nod that comes between your gasping breaths,” See you’re doing so well already. Remember that exercise your gram does with you. I know you do. Can I help you with it?”

You nod again as you try to unscramble the wires in your brain. You feel his breath tickle the top of your head as he continues to hold you tightly.

“Good bunny. I want you to try and tell me 5 things you can see. Take all the time you need okay?”

“St-t-tars…” You start between gulps, “Grass…..Kal…..uhmmm”

“You can do it, sweetheart,” Henry says as he reaches down and gives your shaking hands a squeeze.

“Your Flops… Trees..”

“Now 4 you can feel.”

“Your Hand…the ground…the breeze…my shirt,” You respond with your voice a bit stronger than before.

“You’re doing great. 3 things you can hear,” Henry adds giving your hands another squeeze.

“You..me..the bugs.”

“We’re almost there. Tell me 2 things you can smell.”

“My lotion and detergent,” You voice, feeling yourself come back even more.

“Last thing. What can you taste?” The Brit asks.

“My tea from earlier,” You sigh slumping into him more.

The two of you remain there, listening to the night’s music. You continue to come down from your attack and your breathing gets softer and softer as he holds you. A few more moments pass before he loosens his hold on you because he knows that you’re back in control. You stay against him as you try to find a thought you can easily share. You wiggle away from him slightly and then turn yourself sideways so you can rest your head above his heartbeat.

“I’m so sorry.” You murmur into his warm chest,” I couldn’t be in my place anymore.”

“It’s alright, Bunny,” He mumbles, the nickname causing your nose to scrunch up slightly,” You’re the one who keeps wiggling that nose of yours like that.”

You chuckle softly before taking some deep breaths.

“I can’t stop thinking about it you know. How I never planned to be here this long and here I am still here. It feels like I stole someone else’s time. Someone more deserving,” You express, desperately trying to keep yourself from getting worked up again.

Henry wraps his arms around you again, giving a squeeze to tell you to continue.

“I know Megan says that it’s okay to not have a plan, but I don’t like that. I don’t like feeling like I have no control. I always thought I wouldn’t make it to 18 and every year that passes hurts more because I feel like I’m on borrowed time. That maybe this is all some sort of dream or something and I’ll wake up and I’ll be back in that house with him,” You blubber.

He keeps holding you tight and slightly rocks you in his arms. Kal even moves to rest his head on your leg.

“I still hear him in my head. He keeps telling me how I ruined his life, that he can’t see his girlfriend as much because of me, that I’m causing him all these problems-“

“Bunny,” Henry cuts you off,” Your father was wrong. He had his problems just like you, but he shouldn’t have taken it out on you. You’re not the reason why any of his life turned out the way it did…”

“But I killed him didn’t I? Speed up his desire to do what he did. The thing that I was supposed to do,” You cry into his chest.

“Y/N, you didn’t kill him. He should never have made you feel like killing yourself was the only way to help him. You are not on borrowed or stolen time. You were meant to be here. You deserve to be here. Your life matters to me and Kal and so many others. I know this time of the year is rough, but you did something you never did before. You reached out to someone instead of handling this alone and I am so damn proud of you,” Henry uttered and he held you tighter, blinking away the own tears in his eyes.

You sob harder at that, letting it all out. He lets you sob for as long as you need to. Occasionally rubbing your back and whispering how proud he is of you over and over until it sticks. The tears eventually run dry and you breathing evens out once more. You listen to each breath he takes, the praise he gives you. The silence only broken by a small dinging from nearby. Henry adjusts to slightly to see his watch alert midnight.

“I’m only going to say this once so don’t get too annoyed. Happy Birthday Bunny,” The man whispers to you,” Now I know we can’t do anything to crazy to distract you but I may have brought part of the festivities early. Theres two cupcakes in the car with your name on it. How about I grab those, we go inside, curl up on your couch, and watch The Little Mermaid? Maybe I can start calling you fishy instead huh? Kal thinks its a good idea right bud.”

Kal huffs loudly in approval before getting up to stretch and do his business. You laugh at that as you pull away from him slightly. “Thank you Hen. I really needed that.”

“That’s what friends are for. Now let’s go before my cheat day passes by.”

A/N 2: If you've read this far, I want you to know you're not alone. Trust me I know it feels like that sometimes, but there are people who are there for you. I'm one of those people if you need it. You deserve to be here in this life just as much as I do. ❤️

[bunchofstraydogs]

Dazai Osamu character breakdown as I understand him

Meaning that this might be inaccurate and your opinion and visage of him might differ from mine, which is just fine. We perceive the world and the people around us through our experiences and expectations. I'm curious to know how you guys see a complex character like Dazai, just please respect everyone's opinions.

Warning: Manga plot mentions, s2 spoilers, BEAST light novel spoilers, Dazai Osamu

Dazai Osamu was introduced into the scene of Bungou Stray Dogs at 14 when Mori found him.

Even at that young age, Dazai had suicidal tendencies and had been wrapped in bandages similarly as he is in the present. Already dealing with too much trauma for a child his age, the fire is fuelled as he was forced to bear witness to the death of the Port Mafia boss at the hands of Mori, the person that took him under his wing. To use him; which was becoming very apparent to Osamu if he hadn't been aware since the start. Now, I'm not saying that death of the previous boss left a particular scar on Samu, he even agrees with it and is something he himself would have done. But that that is the scene that bore fruit of the following quotes:

"Or could it be that you're afraid, Mori-san? That one day i will slit your throat and take over as the boss?"

followed by

"Everyone seems suspicious to those who have an axe to grind."

This tells us right away that he can tell what type of person you are just from the way you perceive your surroundings, which is logical, but not something many think too deep into.

Even less who have their evaluations of others on point like he does. And he has to, since Dazai's plan is always to understand his allies, his enemies, possible allies and possible enemies. He also takes into account important neutral parties that can still, in one way or another, affect the outcome of his plans or decide to align with one side out of common interest. After comes realising the main goals, along with side achievements (just in case some of those maim his allies or ruin the future plans he made) of every party. Taking in their morals and motivation, and being familiar with the ground the confrontation will happen on, he now has the view of the whole chess board and it's pieces in his head. He moves his allies in the right places, knowing how they'll react in the situation to come, and awaits the enemies with open fire arms. He was tought to think like that. At all times. Mori made sure of it. You know how specialists never really stop thinking in their areas of expertise, like doctors, for example, will naturally notice people's posture and look for scoliosis or whatever? How your foot hits the floor, if you're walking straight, your knees and shoulders, etc. Same for Dazai. His brain maps out person's expressions, reactions, choices, personality, etc. in great detail. I'm pretty sure he has eidetic memory, if his conversations in manga with Fyodor are anything to go by.

Another thing his brain does is think of worst possible outcomes.

Not in a fear of what if things go wrong, but as a possible route. He uses it to determine how big of a threat the opposing force is and what steps they'll have to take to achieve that. Knowing that, he'll know how to intercept them. Also, like everything else, it's not something he can control since we're talking about thought process here and that's just how his brain works. Can't magically turn that off. It's especially annoying to him when he's genuinely enjoying himself with, let's say, ADA members and then his brain goes brrr.

•"A lot happened recently and we're a torn in many people's eyes." *Tanizaki and Atsushi drinking punch* "There's a possibility, while a small one, about 8% at this very moment, but as time goes on will increase, that an organisation outside of Yokohama decided we're an unavoidable threat and poisoned the drinks. Don't drink that. Nothing will happen, they'll wake up tomorrow in pristine condition don't drink th-"

Yeah, i feel bad for him too.

He has PTSD and insomnia, besides the hectic brain,

so he's not getting proper amount of rest. Actually, he drinks almost every night by himself at home. Pretty sure it's canon as well, because if you search for a picture of him in his room, you'll see him surrounded by multiple bottles. Two of the PTSD symptoms are hallucinations and night terrors (no, that is not the same as a nightmare). What people usually do is use opium to cause hallucinations in a safe environment so that there's little chance of them happening uncontrolled. He's probably using alcohol to numb himself while he's reminiscing, since if he does still have hallucinations after years having passed by (which isn't impossible), they're probably few and far between. Not saying there's no chance he isn't using opium. He would know where to get what he needs, after all.

Osamu's haunted by his own actions as well, not just by trauma caused to him.

At an uncountable amount of occasions, he found himself looking into a mirror and not really comprehending his image. It was like dissociation. Looking through a fog at what's supposed to be your carbon copy, but not knowing all of your features perfectly, so whatever you're seeing could only be an impostor, yet you're not sure because that would take comprehending physical proof of your life to the fullest and how it works and he just... can't. He can but he doesn't want to. He already knows he's despicable and broken, doesn't really feel the need to see just how much. He can't, for all his perfect memory, remember the faces of the people he has killed. He hadn't even seen all of them, but he was responsible for their demise. Causing havoc and misfortune in general through other crimes besides murder as well. We've seen his expression when he listened in on Atsushi talking to Kyouka over the earpiece how the 35 deaths don't matter anymore. He knows they do and he knows that the change of heart won't justify what he's they've done. Ango thought him to value each life. But he also knows that even murderers can change and become good. Oda did that. It's also what's keeping him in the agency.

When Oda died, his last words mentioned that Dazai doesn't care about good or bad and that was correct for Dazai Osamu back then. I genuinely think that his present self does mind the difference.

He believes in necessary evil and will do dark shit to get the good outcome he's envisioned.

He doesn't separate outlaws and lawful people, however.

He knows that generally speaking, the line is thin and easy to cross and that many were born or forced into the situations they are. Those that fight the life thrown at them are an exception, not a rule. That's also why he likes Atsushi, probably the main reason. The boy has every right to hate the world and yet. Dazai is envious, he doesn't really have the same capacity.

I want now to talk about why does Dazai Osamu do what Dazai Osamu does.

The reason he attempts suicide, joined the mafia, made friends at all, is because for all his intelligence and observations, ability to understand others, he doesn't really understand himself.

He doesn't understand his worth. He doesn't understand his purpose. In all of that confusion, he finds no reason to live. He laughs but can't get the high, he bruises but can't fully heal. In all of the things people find happiness in he can't feel joy from. He is emotionally stunted. He thinks too logically. He doesn't understand actions out of emotions because to him, it doesn't make sense. Emotions cloud your mind and when you're not thinking straight, you make mistakes. Plain and simple. He just accepts it, that most people simply cannot control themselves and prefer lashing out instead of methodical approach. All the better for him, he has leverage. Even when he does act on impulse, which is incredibly rare and not as explosive and dramatic, his brain rationalises it as to why his actions were a good way to go. And if his reaction was one that bore fruit, than it was a tactical one.

"If you place yourself somewhere close to raw emotions, where you're exposed to raw violence and death, instinct and desire, you can brush against man's true nature. I though that way i could find a reason to live somehow."

From this, i can tell that he was hoping that, in a situation where he's pushed far enough, he'd realise what's important to him, what he wants to protect or destroy, what's one thing he wouldn't want to leave unsettled before dying. What is that one thing he'd regret dying before achieving? What should he fight death for. What is worth living on for? To him, it doesn't matter if that something is good or evil as long as he gets to keep it in his life.

It seems he hadn't found it exactly, but is satisfied with what he has for now, in the agency, to just keep going. But he still tries to commit suicide, hoping that one day, when the clear picture of the world around him is fading away, when he's becoming light headed from the lack of oxygen, when he's loosing control over his body and thoughts don't seem to flow well, there will be one thing, anyone, screaming at him to fight it. New day new chances. It didn't happen today, better luck tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow and tomo-.

Now, like Mori, Dazai feels the need to, at all times, be in control of the situation. Including people.

That means no one, but perhaps Ranpo due to his own abnormal intellect, is aware of their own role. They know their mission, but they're not expecting to be given that particular one because they'll come across an obstacle they would react to in a way that would satisfy Osamu's plans.

Dazai Osamu is more of a chemist, than a chess player, if you ask me.

Throwing different people into the mix, under different conditions at different times and is noting down their reactions in safe surrounding if possible, so that when the time calls for it, he'll be able to make a perfect concoction for the predicament. A chemist and his substances; A chess player and his pawns; A puppeteer and his puppets. Now, Dazai is meticulous and never rash, but like everyone else (except effin Lovecraft what is he even) he's only human and he bleeds when he falls down and humans aren't perfect. He isn't always right. That means he makes mistakes. The issue with big shot players that control the board is that, when they fall down, everyone on their side crashes and burns as well. So the day Dazai fucks up everyone else will follow because of lack of insight on their part that's completely out of their control. All it takes is for him to underestimate or overestimate one person and chaos ensues. There is no such thing as happy little accidents small mistakes for someone like him. I have crippling anxiety and a sole thought that one hiccup could blow up in everyone's face... damn. I would try committing suicide myself. But it's his fault, he brought upon himself an obligation and pressure like that. To be fair, it was Mori that drilled that type of thinking where no one should know what you plan because they can't ruin what they don't know If they turn against you, they can't stop you.

For his own sake, and everyone else's, Dazai needs to learn how to show his cards and share the burden.

Again, going back to the emotionally stunted guy that has commitment issues (where he either can't commit or can't let go) trope.

He never outright does something good for someone where people would acknowledge it, he uses his underhanded tactics here as well.

He casually makes himself look like a bad guy, an asshole, to conveniently move attention from the inner turmoil a person is struggling with to a present problem at hand that they can fix and let their frustrations out on. But he hopes that, one day, someone just might notice his intentions for what they are and do the unspeakable- see through him.

"I'm a very private person. You don't ask, i don't tell."

Yes, and your whole existence is just a huge cry for help. He wants to be asked. He's begging for attention. A specific type of attention. One that will see him without making him feel imposed on. One that will understand his sins without making a big deal out of it. Accept him as a person he is, makes him feel like one as well. Makes him feel alive. Makes him feel... period.

The day he finds that thing is the day he completely turns his life around and fully dedicates to it. It's where the part of not being able to let go commitment issue ensues.

Since Oda's death he's been secretly keeping an eye out on possible ways to bring him back. If you've read Beast AU you know that when Dazai gets his hands on the book, he'll create a universe where Oda doesn't die. Should he find an ability user that can bring back the dead, just tell him what it will take, he's ready to destroy his own soul for it and if that isn't enough, well, he'll have no hesitation ruining theirs. After all, BEAST!Dazai Osamu never actually met Odasaku, he just had the memories he'd gotten from his canon self and that was enough for him to do everything he did.

He's incredibly selfish and has a weird come in but the door is a wall dynamic he rolls with in his self imposed solitude.

It's like the walls of the space in my brain are ugly and terrifying, so i closed off the entrance to keep myself in. I'm doing you a favour but please break the wall down and tell me it's okay to come out i don't want to be here-

Happy little thoughts woah woah yeah~

That's what i got from what I've seen of him. I may have missed some things, some things might prove to be wrong as the series progress further, but yeah.

There is, however, one more thing i want to put out here. Since Dazai was already like this before Mori found him, that begs to question as to why? What happened to him?

Now, since the characters are based on real people, is it crazy to say that Dazai Osamu has had a horrible childhood because of his father? Real life Dazai was terrified of his dad and was very intimidated by him. He always tried to stay in his good graces out of fear of punishment. Neither of his parents felt like a parent to him, actually. His father didn't care and his mother was often ill, but did care for him when she could. Both of them died eventually.

This could be the plot Kafka based Dazai's background on, but we'll have to wait and see.

[noona96n]

Hi ! Hope this ask finds you well. After watching the latest episode i got once again confused about the timeline of the series ....do you happen to have a post that explains it better?!?

Also....in the preview shu yi seems a little numb.....do you think he'll go further with the revenge plan?!?

Last but not least: thank you for the effort you put in your posts. You're like the wbl guru here on tumbl

im also confused lol and i actually planned to make a post about the timeline so thx for encouraging me to do it faster!

so, i mentioned here that Shu Yi & Shi De's probably only been dating for a few months when Shi De leaves for America... Shi De basically left during the honeymoon stage of their relationship!

recap on the timeline: Shi De confessed in mid april, Shu Yi confessed in late april, they start dating in the beginning of may, and Shi De left around mid/late july and he promised Shu Yi that it’d probably only a few months (im thinking mb 3 months)

im gonna ignore this ‘101 days in love’ + ‘after we’ve been separated for 76692 hours’ bcs that shit hurt my brain... like, 76692hrs makes 8yrs idk anymore

anyway...

in S2EP3, dad said ‘Shu Yi didn’t hear from Shi De for 6 months’ + ‘after Shu Yi finish the substitute (alternative) military service, he went to America to look for Shi De before he enter the company’

in Taiwan, the alternative military service for people born after 1994 (which I assume Shu Yi & Shi De are) are only six months. and, for the alternative military service, they don’t actually have to train in the military... they can just work in government office, teach in rural area, community service workers, etc. 

According to the NCA, male citizens born after January 1st, 1994 will only have to serve 4 months in Enlisted Military Service or 6 months in Alternative Service. The 4 months of Enlisted Military Service could be further broken down into two sessions of 2 months boot camps. 

so >>> Shu Yi & Shi De’s been apart for more or less 1 year when Shu Yi went to america. which i think make sense as to why Shu Yi was so ready accept that Shi De might be cheating on him asfghjkldi 

Shu Yi went back to Taiwan, broke his phone, gave it to his dad and Shi De continued to text him until he had to go back to Taiwan (2 years after they’ve been apart)... when he met dad.

so Shi De meeting dad is after 2 years of them being apart (and it’s been 1 year since Shu Yi think that Shi De cheated on him)

and Shu Yi’s dad & Shi De made a deal will last for 5 years. 

so, this probably means that Shu Yi & Shi De meet again after 5 years (5 years since Shi De & Shu Yi see each other in Taiwan & 4 years since Shu Yi saw Shi De being happy w/ a blonde lady & a baby in America). and this could also mean that it’s only been 3 years since Shi De made the deal w/ Shu Yi’s dad. Shi De still has 2 years left to go in that promise, which might be the reason why Shu Yi’s dad flipped out and mentioned the promise... why is Shi De meeting Shu Yi before the time is up?

in conclusion: the timeline is fck all and im confused lmao rip, im so sorry i made no sense haha

also, @soundsaboutrighttumblr briefly talk about the timeline here as well! check it out for their insights!

as for the revenge plan, i think it escaped them both entirely at this point lol and let’s be honest here... Shu Yi was never going to go thru w/ that plan... he’s stupidly in love with Shi De! (im writing a couple of very sappy (and sad) posts about how much Shu Yi loves Shi De & how he chose Shi De over his dad, hope ure looking forward to those haha) 

but yea, i think they’ll be okay by the end of EP4. i desperately need them to be okay by the end of EP4. i still want them to propose to each other on the fckn bridge asfghjkldi

im glad u enjoy the content i create! im changing my blog title to ‘WBL guru’ for the forseeable future AHAHA

[thiswasinevitableid]

Okay well then!!!! I am very glad and excited to share my most recent idea I had while rereading Yeti Hunting again!! And the new Incubus one too!! They're almost exactly the same idea, just different flavors I suppose. Also Joe is trans in both the ideas but that's less to do with the ideas themself and more to do with just me projecting on him sgfjgsjfhsjdh

Okay so it's like a reverse au so Stern is some kind of cryptid, but as far as Barclay knows they're just two good human friends (but maybe they wanna be a little more than friends...). And then one day Joseph goes into heat and tells Barclay he's sick to try to keep him away, but Barclay being the sweetest man alive goes to his house with fresh soup to take care of him and Joe seems really panicked about Bar being there and tries to make him leave but he is CLEARLY unwell and Barclay is very stubborn when it comes to helping people he cares about and so he plants himself down on the couch and says he's not leaving until Joe tells him what's wrong and Stern tries to hold onto his human form but it's taking too much focus and energy and whoops Barclay finds out his friend not human and currently in distress and so horny it hurts and if he can help his friend and fuck him at the same time, well then that's just a win all around (bonus points if at the end Barclay is kinda sad because he thinks Joe just needed somone to fuck him, not nessacarry Barclay, but Joe frantically assures him that he is SUPER into him and if it were anyone else he would have kicked them the hell out and probably skipped town bc he couldn't trust anyone else with a secret like this).

Or!! (This is where the incubus part comes in) Joe is an incubus and currently hiding out in his human disguise at the Amnesty lodge and it's going fine for a while, but then he starts talking to and getting to know the really hot chef. And they slowly start growing closer and closer. And maybe in this world, the power an Incubus gets from sex depends just as much on their desires as it does the human's. And this has never been an issue for Stern before, but now he's falling for Barclay and wants him and no one else so he's getting less and less energy from his encounters and Barclay is worried about him because he doesn't seem like himself anymore. Almost as if he's... dulled? When Barclay looks at him the blue of his eyes seem muted and his general aura seems... gray. And it all comes to ahead when Joe finally stops insisting he's fine and after dinner one night he asks if he can speak to Barclay privately, and he comes clean about everything and Barclay, while a little shocked, rolls with it very well and cups Joe's face in his hands and kisses him softly and it like,,, you should have come to me sooner, I'd do anything for you,,, and yeah it's really tender,,,,

Okay that's it I'm sorry it's so long and probably incoherent. I tried to use at least little formatting to make it better but it's a tumblr mobile ask, I'm not sure even the new paragraphs will translate over. The general idea is that they're close friends and Stern is Not Human and Barclay finds out under less than ideal circumstances :3 I know these are far from original or unique but I just wanted to share my ideas with you bc you're the inspiration for a good 70% of my private writings, but if you like them enough and ever feel like doing something with them that'd be cool ;3

Here you go! I went with scenario one. Content Note: some “mating” talk and mild subdrop at the end (which is, of course, taken care of)

The two canvas bags are ready to burst. Barclay peers into them, contemplating the addition of another box of tea, in case Joseph doesn’t like the other two. Mama was cagey when he asked, he doesn’t know what’s ailing the other man, only that he’s sick. 

Joseph manages Amnesty Lodge, where Barclays’ been a cook for the last six months. Barclay was initially wary of him; his cosmopolitan bearing and clean-cut appearance is so out of place in the rustic mountain town of Kepler that the logical explanation is he’s one of those city types who fell on hard times and got stuck here. 

It took less than forty-eight hours for him to prove Barclay wrong. Polite and polished, efficient and stunningly good in a crisis, Joseph handles the day to day chaos of the lodge while Mama, the owner, took care of the big picture stuff. His friendly greetings and consistent compliments about Barclays cooking gradually turned to afternoons spent at a table with his work so they could talk during lulls in business. 

When Joseph leaned against the counter, sleeves rolled up, laughing as he helped Barclay tidy the kitchen, the cook rushed headlong into his crush and never looked back. He regularly dreams of blue eyes and a movie-star face, finds his day doesn’t really start until Joseph pokes his head in to say good morning. 

He’s been without that greeting for two days now. Joseph never misses work, and his sudden absence worried Barclay enough that he checked with Mama to be sure the manager was okay.

“Joe’s fine big fella, just under the weather is all.”

The one time Barclay got sick, Joseph brought him tea and soup himself, checked in on him every hour, and--if Barclay’s fever addled brain is to be trusted--fluffed his pillows. It’s the least Barclay can do to drop off snacks and be sure his friend is okay. 

It’s a short drive to cabin Joseph calls home; he used to live at the Lodge, but as it got more crowded, he moved to his own space so those who needed a cheap, safe place to stay could have one. 

His knock on the door is answered by a brisk, “Who is it?”

“Barclay. I, uh, I brought you a get-well gift.”

Joseph opens the door to the cabin and to an entire new universe of fantasies. His normally slicked-back hair falls, relaxed, across his forehead, his loosely tied blue robe shows a tantalizing V of skin, and the dreamy-sleepy expression makes his face even more kissable. 

“Hi.” Joseph takes a step forward, taking the bags and bringing his face achingly close to Barclays’. Then he freezes, reversing into the house, “I, um, it was very sweet of you to bring all this. But you need to go.” He takes another step back, then doubles over with a groan. 

Barclay hurries across the threshold, setting the bags on the floor and steadying him over to the couch.

“Fuck, do you need me to get you like a heat pack, or a puke bucket?”

“No, no I just need to lay down, and for you to g-” he shudders, curling in on himself and tipping sideways. 

“Joseph, you’re really sick, I’m not gonna just leave you here. I mean, fuck, what if it’s your appendix or something?” He sits down next to the shaking man, rubbing his back comfortingly. 

“It’s not, I promise. Oh lord” he whines, looks at Barclay with frantic eyes, “I hope you can keep a secret.”

“Of course I can. Whatever I can do to help, I want to.” 

“Careful with those promises, big guy.” The nickname comes out in a growl as Joseph stands, undoing his wristwatch. 

“Oh FUCK!” Barclay scrambles back, almost falling over the arm of the couch.

There’s a monster where Joseph just was. Years ago Barclay saw a Maned Wolf in a zoo, and he’d swear that’s what he’s looking at now were it not for several glaring issues. First, it’s standing comfortably on two legs. It’s paws are more like hands, able to hold the watch and adjust the collar of its shirt. And he’s never seen a wolf, maned or otherwise, with spines down its back and a whip-like tail.

The creature runs a clawed hand through the fur at the top of it’s head, the way Joseph does when he’s nervous,  “So. I can’t tell you everything, at least not right now. What I can tell you is that this is the form I was born into, somewhere far away from earth.”

“Okay.” Barclays brain grinds like a broken ice machine as a familiar voice speaks to him from a fanged mouth. 

“I, um, I’m what humans call a Chupacabra. To answer the usual questions: no, I’ve never been to Puerto Rico. No, I don’t eat goats. And no, I’m not going to eat you.”

“Okay.” His heart is still racing, but not from fear, which is the most confusing was this could have gone.

Pointed ears flick, worried, “Are you in shock?”

“Kinda, yeah.” He nods as Joseph sits next to him with a heavy sigh. 

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out this way. I took the next few days off to avoid this exact scenario. I figured I wouldn’t see you, but forgot how thoughtful and caring you are.” Claws gently stroke Barclays hair, “my wonderful Barclay.”

He’s about to bring his hand up, cup those strange fingers to his cheek and whisper “always”, when Joseph pulls away. 

“I, I’m sorry. Again. I always get too handsy when I’m in heat. That’s the second worst side-effect, after the fact that being in my disguise is untenable when I’m in the thick of it. It’s like wearing a wet, wool sweater made of nausea.”

“....Hold on, you had to take time off work because you’re horny?” 

“Almost. Heat doesn’t come that often for me, which means whenever it happens, it’s intense. I have a hard time eating or sleeping, I can’t focus, and I spend most of the week masturbating. Which is not as fun as it sounds; I’m not even at the height of the damn thing and last night I humped a pillow on the kitchen floor while dinner reheated.”

Barclay groans, tries to hide it when the ears swivel his way, “Uh, guess I’m glad I brought you lots of food so you remember to eat. Shoulda, uh, put some lube or something in there as well, huh?” 

Joseph chuckles, “My nose tells me you put molasses cookies in there, so I’ll let it slide.”

“There anything else I can do to help?”

“Well…” he shakes his head, “never mind, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“Do what?”

“My heat is more manageable when I have a partner. Fucking someone relieves things more effectively than masturbation does. But I can’t-”

“I can help with that.” The offer is out before his brain catches up with his mouth. 

“Barclay, my kind have a very, um, involved mode of, um, well, I guess you foreplay. As, as much as I’d love for you to be my mate” he winces, “see, that’s what I mean. I say things like that, most of them not even possible given the fact you and I can’t reproduce.” 

“Uh, does it help if I say hearing you call me that is really hot?”

Blue eyes widen, and a tail traces up Barclays leg, “Only if you mean it.”

“I do.”

A narrow, long tongue flicks into the air, “In that case, big guy, how about we have a little planning session over dinner?”

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

Barclay parks in the driveway, next to Josephs’ sedan. He heads past the house and down a short slope to a creek, the twilight sky casting the forest in eerie grey-blue. There’s a tire swing leftover from a previous resident, and he idly pushes it back and forth as he waits for the game to start. 

“It’s like hide and seek” Joseph wipes his mouth, cleans cookie crumbs from the table, “We start outside, move inside, and you go as long as you can without me catching you. After all, I want a mate who can hold his own.”

He stuffs his hands in his jacket pocket to warm them. A yip bounces out from the trees behind him. When he turns, he quickly spots glinting eyes and bared fangs hidden in the undergrowth. 

Sprinting towards the cabin, he realizes Joseph laid a trap for him from the start; by asking him to begin at the creek, he’s forcing him to run uphill to safety, slowing him down. He lets his lizard-brain, concerned only with the fact that something dangerous is chasing him, take over and drive his legs as fast as they’ll go. The back door is locked, he double-checked that on the way down, so he doesn’t waste his time trying it, races to the front of the cabin and slams the door shut just as something huge rounds the corner after him. 

The nob jiggles, his pursuer testing the lock and discovering the thrown deadbolt. Barclay uses those few seconds to secure the windows on the first floor, throws his jacket down into the cellar as a failsafe, and bolts up to the bedroom. His hammering heart insists that locking that door is not enough, so he crawls into the closet and shuts himself up among the meticulously organized shirts and slacks. It’s not enough space for him to stand, so he tucks his knees to his chest and waits. 

“What happens if I, like, completely outsmart you.”

A toothy smile, “I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.”

Each of the downstairs windows rattle in turn. Then the scratching starts, claws on wood coming closer with each breath. Joseph is climbing the wall up to the bedroom window that Barclay knows for a motherfucking fact he did not secure. 

A shuff as the window slides open, the cryptid landing with remarkable stealth on the bedroom floor. Barclay tracks him by the light coming under the closet door, his mouth covered so his breathing won’t give him away. The shadow pauses, sniffs, and then the bedroom door opens and shuts. Barclay’s not moving until he hears the front door do the same. 

Just as his legs start to protest being smushed up against his chest, the door reopens. Snuffling signals Joseph closing in, and an instant later the only light coming in is from the far ends of the door. Slowly, his last line of defense rolls to the right, revealing the creature crouching on the other side.

“Not a bad effort, big guy. You actually confused me for a minute with the scent trail of your coat downstairs.” Joseph reaches for him and Barclay, remembering that he’s not supposed to give up until he’s pinned, leans away. 

“That’s how my mate wants to play?”

“J-just following your instructions, babe.”

An intrigued purr, “I guess you are. All the more reason you’re the perfect partner for me.”

The words Barclays dreamed of hearing for months distract from the claws closing around his ankles. He lets out an undignified yelp when Joseph pulls his legs straight out and drags him out of the closet. Once he’s free of the forest of clothing, the cryptid picks him up and drops him on the bed. He moans and Joseph snickers, joining him on the bedspread. 

“Fuck, Joseph, no one’s ever been able to do that before and it’s so, so fucking hot.” He arches his back and shifts his limbs to help Joseph undress him.

“It’s because you’re the perfect size; big and strong, large enough to give me a decent cuddle when I’m human, but still small enough to be an easily subdued mate.” He gets the humans’ jeans and boxers off, hesitates, and then tosses them on the floor with a pained expression, “I’ll fold those later.”

“Gonna hold you to that. Also, wanna point out that it wasn’t that easy to subdue me.”

Joseph nuzzles his cheek, claws caressing his thighs, “Barclay, I was jogging while you were sprinting.”

“You coulda caught me right awaAAy ohwhatthefuck.” Tingling heat glides down his throat as Joseph licks a stripe along the skin, “fuck, it, it feels like the time I tried hot wax.”

The cryptid sits up slightly to look at him, “Is that a...good thing?”

“Fuck yeah. I really fucking liked it but it was fucking murder with the chest hair.”

Joseph runs his claws through the hair in question, “I like it.”

“I know, I saw you eyeing me that one time I used the springs at the lodge.”

“You can’t prove anything.” Joseph leans back down, curling his tongue around Barclays left nipple. The sensation makes him buck his hips, which Joseph correctly takes as a signal for more. He moves to the other side, takes his time teasing it and licking down the sensitive center of Barclays chest. Noses his stomach, nips his sides, and slides the alien heat of his tongue into the crease of his thighs. 

“Y’know I, ohfuck, I assumed from all that talk yesterday you’d get right to fucking me.”

Joseph kisses the inside of one thigh, “I, um, I thought about it, almost ripped your jeans to shreds and took you on the floor. But I wanted to be sure you were turned on. You’re not just a warm body, Barclay. You’re my mate. That means your pleasure matters as much as mine.” He licks up Barclays’ cock, hardened from rubbing against the soft fur of his belly, and sighs, “and what a mate.”

“Fuck” he squeezes his eyes closed because if we watches that mouth saying everything he wants to hear in between sucking his dick, he’ll cum in ten seconds flat. 

A final lick to the tip and then Joseph hops off the bed, “Did you prep the way I told you?”

“Uhhuh.” 

“Good.” Joseph returns, sets several items he can’t see by his feet, “that’ll make things easier. First things first” he produces a cock cage, sliding it into place, “these are a few things I smuggled over from my original home. This is enchanted, so it can go on an erect cock but still prevent the wearer from cumming until it’s removed.”

“That’s just cruel, babe.” He sits up on his elbows to kiss Josephs snout, earning him a pleased yip. 

“If you cum too fast, I won’t be able to properly breed you.” He winces again, “sorry, I sound like one of Indrids romance novels.”

“Again, gorgeous, I find it really fucking hot.”

The spines on Joseph’s back ripple, “You think I’m gorgeous? Like this?”

“I do. Also kinda scary, but in a hot way.” Now it’s his turn to cringe, “see? I sound like cheap porn written by an eighth grader when I’m horny. The way you sound is fine.”

Joseph lovebites his ear, then retrieves the other two items from the end of the bed. 

“And how does this look, big guy?”

“Like it’s either going to kill me or make me cum like a dozen times.” He furrows his brow at the strap-on. It’s narrower than the average human dick, with a pointed, slightly up-curved tip. What’s worrying him are the spikes. 

The entire shaft is coated in short protrusions. They don’t end in points, thank god, but if they’re at all stiff this is going to be miserable. 

“Here” Joseph waves him over, “touch it.” He guides his fingers along one side and the spines bend fluidly under his touch, and now all he wants to know is how they feel inside him. Joseph also moans, bucking his hips so the toy slides along Barclays palm.

“It’s, ohlord, also enchanted so that the wearer feels it as an extension of their body and can cum with it. Also, please decide in the next thirty seconds whether you want to be on your back or your stomach.” Amber pre-cum drips down Barclay’s fingers. 

“Stomach is better for meWHOAH, ohfuck, okay we’re doing this.” Now flipped on his belly, he raises his ass. The cryptid kneads it appreciatively before holding it open and sliding his cock in with once, graceful thrust. 

He bottoms out with a groan, which is more articulate than Barclay is managing to be as the spines rub and glide inside him, finding every patch of nerves, every angle to drag against in just the right way. Joseph hauls him onto his knees and then he’s off, growls and yips filling the as he fucks him. Barclay only just registers the bed banging into the wall so forcefully the headboard is cracking when claws sink into his hips and Joseph pulls him all the way onto his cock and pulses into him. 

“Holy fuck that was fast.”

“I, I didn’t jack off once today. Didn’t want to waste it, wanted to save it all for my perfect mate.” He’s thrusting again, not as hard but twice as fast, “shit, you feel so good, big guy, please tell me Mama okayed your time off for tomorrow.”

“Wh-why are we talkingAHnnn, about this now?”

Hot breath tickles his ear, “Because now that I know what’s like to cum in you, I don’t plan on cumming anywhere else for the next day and a half.”

“Ohfuckme” Barclay groans happily into the pillows as Joseph empties into him, cries out when his tail whips across his calf.

“Shit, did that hurt?”

“No, no it felt good, fucking-A babe every fucking part of you is amazing.”

The cryptid whines, pleased, and wiggles his hips, giving Barclay an idea. 

“That’s, uh, that’s why I want you for my mate, because you’re so fucking goo-mmph” his face presses harder into the pillows as Joseph pins his shoulders down and fucks into him, snarling “yes” over and over again. When he finishes this time he hunches over, nipping Barclay’ shoulders and neck. 

“You catch on quick, big guy.”

“Thanks, babe. Uh, are we gonna switch it up at any point or am I staying like this until tomorrow night?”

“No, we can fuck however we want. After” a fuzzy hand rubs circles on Barclay’s abdomen, “I’ve cum in you enough times that I can feel it from out here.”

Barclay moans, tightening around him as his hips snap once more, already imagining being full and fucked out. Maybe it’ll take all night. He’ll be limp if it does, but right now nothing sounds better than melting into the bed while Joseph fucks his ass like it belongs to him. 

After forty-five minutes, his cock is aching, his mind holds only thoughts of how good it feels to do as Joseph tells him, and he’s been cum in so many times that wet, obscene sounds accompany the cryptids thrusts. Said sounds pale in comparison to Josephs’ voice, which is spinning increasingly impossible scenarios the longer they’re in bed. 

“I hope they take after you.” Joseph murmurs. 

Barclay just manages to turn his head, “Who?”

A muzzle playfully nudges his cheek, “Our kids.”

His heart seizes and shakes at the words; they both know that’s not what will happen. Joseph warned him he might say things like this, said he could tell him to knock it off if need be. 

“Maybe they’ll, ahnn, they’ll have big, beautiful brown eyes and bigger hearts, just like you.”

He doesn’t want him to stop. Every thrust hits deeper, every point where their skin meets buzzes brighter when he talks like this.

“H-hope at least one looks like you, blue eyes.”

A guttural whine, tingling heat as Joseph laps tenderly at the back of his neck, “We’ll just have to see, usually we’re born in threes so, soOH, oh I’m close, shitshit” 

“That’s it babe, fill me up, c’mon, c’mon I want it so bad, Joseph, baby, please.” 

There’s a howltrill as cum spurts into him, Joseph panting as he smooths his hand around Barclays side.

“There, that’s done it.”

Barclay whimpers as he pulls out, his mind and body pulled tight, certain that if he doesn’t cum soon he’ll propose marriage instead and that’ll be a fucking disaster. 

Joseph carefully rolls him over and unlocks the cage, “Do you want to cum?”

“More than anything. Oh!” he’s unprepared for Joseph to sink down on his cock, “oh fuck, yeah, wanna cum so bad babe please, I’ll be so good, be such a good mate if you just let me cum in y-fuuuck” A trio of sensations levels him as he climaxes; his vision whites out, his hips jerk more violently than they ever have before, and a line of cum drips down his leg. 

Somewhere far away, Joseph says, “I think we’ve earned a break.”

He nods, body limp as the cryptid climbs off him. Then he’s falling, spinning helplessly down in a pit of realizations. 

Joseph didn’t mean any of those things he said. His friend needed a mate and Barclay, lovesick fool he is, was eager for a chance to play pretend that he didn’t think about what would happen when the game ended. Even if Joseph keeps him here through tomorrow, the next time they meet at the Lodge he’ll act like nothing happened. 

Fuck, Barclay didn’t even get to kiss him during all this, and now he’ll never get the chance, never, nevernever-

“Shit, I should have put a towel or a spare blanket down. Now I’ll have to strip the bed before I can--Barclay? Oh, oh baby, what’s wrong?” A hand pets his face and he turns away from it, refusing to open his eyes. Joseph takes his hand instead, “it’s okay, I’m here, whatever you need I’ll-”

“Don’t. Don’t say that. You can’t give me what I need, it isn’t your fault I, I know I’m not really your partner and I, I…” he sniffles, wipes his palm under his eye. 

“Barclay, look at me please.”

Reluctantly, he opens his eyes just in time to see Joseph dip down and kiss him. It’s awkward, their mouths not made to fit together, but he savors it all the same because it’s Joseph, his Joseph, kissing him like he hoped he would. 

“My heat can make me say some ridiculous things. What it can’t do is make me feel affection where none exists. In fact, the reason I wasn’t able to keep my disguise on yesterday is because being near you meant being near the mate I wanted most in the world. I, um, suspected you might share my feelings, but I didn’t want our first interaction as boyfriend to be me asking if you wanted to spend a day or so with me while I was in a sex haze. But then you offered to help, and I wanted it so badly that I barreled ahead without making sure you understood that this was me declaring my feelings. I’m sorry.”

Barclay climbs into his lap, not caring about the mess he makes in the process. The cryptid laughs, hugs him close.

“I, I shoulda said something sooner too. Not that I regret how we spent our first date.” He kisses Josephs chin.

“Me neither, though I don’t think it quite counts.” He rubs their foreheads together, “can your boyfriend take you out to dinner on Friday?”

Barclay grins, looks into loving, blue eyes, “Yeah, he can.”

[shelby-love]

KELLY SEVERIDE

Good to be back.

Requested: yes

Prompts: none

Warnings: none

Authors note: Sorry for dissappearing! Writers block is an absolute b and it still isn't gone but I guess it's enough to get me back on track. Much love everyone! 💕

"Good luck sis." Your older brother says behind you. The deep breath you tried to hide pushed through and makes you exhale loudly. After turning your body to face him you make your way to hug him once more.

After a decade of being away from the magnificent city of Chicago, the one you were born in, you finally came back.

Firehouse 51 looks intimidating as you stand before it. "Alright. I'll see you at home."

Your brother leaves you be by entering the car and driving away. With your duffle bag thrown over your shoulder you start walking towards the massive house.

You see several vehicles parked in the driveway, one of them being your new ambulance vehicle. Your eyes roam around your surroundings.

"Hey can I help you somehow? I'm Joe." A good looking man comes up to you. His dementor is friendly and he makes you relax instantly.

"Yeah... Um actually I'm here as the new PIC. Ambulance 61?" You state, unsure if you actually came to the right house.

"Y/LN right? Yeah Chief told us. Come let me show you to his office." He starts walking rapidly fast while talking about all the rooms and people at the house. You struggle to keep up with the information so you decide to just watch and memorise the rooms.

"This is Connie. Connie this is our new PIC." He instructes you to the lady that sits at the desk. She looks really intimidating. She just shoots Joe a look and says, "I know. Hello Y/N. Welcome to firehouse 51."

When Joe tries to open the door Connie stops him, "He's busy right now. But he'll be done in a minute and th-"

Her words are cut off by the office door opening. Two men stride out wearing dark blue shirts meaning that they're lieutenants. The man that comes out second makes your heart beat faster instantly. He just seems really fimiliar to you.

When Kelly exited the office, the last thing he thought he would see was you. Literally the last thing.

"Y/N?" His mouth worked faster than his brain. All it took to get your mouth on the floor was him recognizing you after a decade.

He changed. A lot. He wasn't the boy you saw 10 years ago anymore. He grew up, handsomely too.

"Hey Kelly."

"Casey let's go I need to talk to you." He stated monotonous, acting like he didn't even know you anymore. Your name felt bitter in his mouth and you knew it.

As soon as the duo dissappeared Joe didn't try to hide his discomfort, "Well that was...wierd."

Joe wanted to comment more but his words were cut short by the bataillon chief. "Y/LN you can come in. Thank you Joe for showing her the way."

With a small salute Joe took this as his cue to leave. He wondered what was up with Severide, he never acted like that towards anyone new. When he saw him sitting at the squad table he debated whether to press him to get information or just stay put.

"Please Y/N take a seat. Make yourself comfortable." You couldn't really get comfortable until you got the green light from everyone...but after seeing Kelly you knew that wasn't going to be possible.

"I will keep this short. Leslie Shay is going to help you get settled in the ambulance but I'm sure you'll have no problem."

"Ambulance 61, truck 81, squad 3. Truck collision. South Clark 56."

Just great, you thought. Still not fully trusting your orientation in the firehouse you make your way outside with the chief. Once you spot Kelly next to the squad truck you hesitantly smile at him but he breaks contact and jumps inside.

"Hey I'm Shay? You okay if I drive?" A pretty blonde comes up to you. Your eyes are still locked on the squad truck and so the words slip just slip out. "Yeah sure."

"Oh my God! Finally someone with some sense," She rambles on happily while you sit in the passenger seat. "I mean it might take a while for you to get used to this... But take the wheel whenever you want! Or don't. Please don't. But I mean you can. Obviously..."

Fits of laughter overcome the nervousness in the ambo. "I'm Y/N."

Her eyes flash with something unknown to you. It's like she's trying to remember something... Or someone.

"Well nice to meet you partner." She smiles and makes a turn. "A little heads up. Collisions aren't that bad here in Chicago. We just have to squeeze into the vehicle. But don't worry! The guys make sure nothing happens to us."

Aren't that bad, she said.

Her words were proven to be false when you arrived at the scene. It was a terrible sight.

Two big loaded trucks smashed right into each other. The bigger truck now hanged over the cliff with the driver in his seat.

"Squeeze in you said Shay." You repeat her words and exit the ambo.

Where you lived you never had calls that big. You now doubted your abilities. Especially because you don't know anyone to ask for help except for Kelly who gave a honest impression that he doesn't like you anymore.

"Okay squad, truck, let's get them out!" A man who's uniform read Casey announced. You grabbed the jump bag and followed them. The man that didn't hang from a cliff seemed to be lost in his thoughts when you came to him.

"Y/N I got him." Shay suddenly appeared beside you. "They need you there."

Confused about her words you told her, "But I don't know them or how they work."

"You're the PIC though," She held the man's head to protect his neck. "Look I know about you and Kelly and trust me when I say that he'll come back to his senses soon. But you can't let that affect the job. Go!"

You didn't have to be told twice as you detached yourself from the truck and ran towards the huddle. "Where do you guys need me?" You asked. To your suprise Kelly ignored the tension and walked towards you.

"We need you inside with him he's in pretty bad shape." He explained and grabbed the ropes, his rough hands and strong arms connected you to his ropes securely. No matter how much you tried you couldn't ignore the different type of connection that was growing between you.

"I'm sorry I left Kelly." You spoke truthfully.

He glanced up at you before putting his hand behind your back and walking you through the plan. "Just be safe."

***

"Sir stay with me okay?!" You were trying to keep him stable while Kelly connected ropes to him as quickly as he could. He won't be able to make it unless you get him out now. "Kelly we don't have a lot of time!"

"Done! Cruz get him out now!!" Both squad and truck were trying hard to get him out without putting too much weight onto the hanging vehicle. After they get him out the two of you were next and until then you were stuck inside.

"You know I didn't have a choice?" You tell him. You want him to know you didn't just abandon what the two of you had.

"Y/N now is not the time."

Words were forming in you brain but before you could say them the weight of the truck shifted and the two of you sank with it. Before you could grab onto the rope your body shifted backwards and you almost flew through the broken window.

"Hey!" Kelly reached out and grabbed you. The look of fear in his eyes was evident and made you realise that this is the right time.

"You do realise we're only going to say what's on our mind not that we're closer to death than life?" Your words are meant to be a bit sarcastic and you voice is supposed to sound light but it turns out to be none of those things.

"Stop joking," Kelly sighs and helps you settle back in as carefully as possible. "You wanna know why I'm acting the way I am?"

You only nod.

"Because you left me when I wanted to tell how much I love you."

You're so struck by his words that you forget where you are.

"And because you left and made me think that I did something wrong."

He tries to avoid your eyes by looking back at the rest of the firefighters that are getting the patient safely on the ground.

"Kelly..."

"No forget it." He waves his hands but you aren't letting it go. Instead you do what you wanted to do for years and years. You lean in and kiss him.

With that one careful kiss you apologise for everything that happened.

You're scared Kelly will pull away but he only returns the kiss. He pulls away only when the other ropes arrive gives you his famous smile that made you fall for him all of those years ago.

"We're not done yet." He starts connecting more ropes to your body and the tension is higher than it ever was before. "You still have a lot to apologise for."

You wonder how to do it and smile.

Six words: It is good to be back.

MASTERLIST