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fyorina · 29 days

Text

ᡣ𐭩 I, CARRION

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: the day of the event has arrived and dazai is second guessing everything, but it's too late for him to back out now.{wordcount: 12k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART FOUR wow guys we're really getting into the meat of the fic now. HAHAH this is the chapter i had to split into two parts, initially it was going to be one big one but then it would've been a whopping 23k words and that's a bit much even for me. i didn't want to cross the 20k realm HAHAHH. anyway, this chapter really was a pleasure to write, the second scene was my favorite but the ending was SOOOO close to usurping it

GENERAL WARNINGS: again, i'll just leave this warning on every chapter - dazai struggles a lot with disassociation/derealization & losing himself in the pages of the book. as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

“Gin-chan, I’m so nervous.”

You pace around Dazai’s penthouse anxiously, twisting your fingers in front of your body. The event is taking place tomorrow night. You still don’t have an outfit for it—Dazai told you not to worry about it, you’re still worrying about it because what does that even mean? You don’t know what to expect from the event, and Gin is evasive when you ask her about what will happen, just keeps telling you that it’ll be fine as long as you stay with Dazai.

“There’s no reason to be nervous,” Gin says, as she always does, still tapping away at her laptop. Glasses hang off the bridge of her nose and there are dark circles beneath her eyes. You feel a bit ashamed about constantly going on about your nerves when you know damn well she, Dazai and all of the other executives of his company have been working nonstop the past few days trying to finish preparations. “Dazai-san will be with you the whole time, and if he has to talk business, someone will sit with you until he can get back so you’re not feeling awkward.”

Somehow, you think that might be even more awkward because you doubt a random person is going to want to babysit you while Dazai is busy, but you don’t voice your thoughts, instead just withering as you circle the large room for the sixth time in the past five minutes.

You’ve hardly seen Dazai all week. You don’t really mind, you know he’s swamped with work and you’ve been keeping yourself busy going out cafe hopping and shopping. Gin comes with you when she can, but it’s usually Nakajima Atsushi or Tachihara Michizo that joins you—Gin had introduced you to the two security guards a week ago when she’d been too busy to come with you to a cafe downtown. You don’t mind the company but you can’t help but wonder why Dazai is so insistent that someone comes with you.

Well. You can’t help but wonder about a lot of things, really. You’re pretty certain that Dazai is still hiding something major from you. You don’t know a lot about business, and you especially don’t know anything about his business, but something isn’t right. You’re not stupid and everyone is not as slick as they think themselves to be, you see how tense and anxious people get when you mention him to them, more so than the average worker would be at the mere mention of their boss, and everyone in the entire damn building is armed, even though they clearly try to hide it whenever you’re in the area.

You and your friends have joked about the uber wealthy before, and how no one above a certain tax bracket obtains their wealth without some sort of blood money; you’re about 99% sure that’s what’s taking place here too, and it would certainly explain all of the secrecy. More so than trade secrets at least, you feel a bit dumb for that to have even been an explanation in your mind. You just don’t know the specifics. You don’t know if you want to know the specifics, you think you’d prefer to remain ignorant because 1) you definitely don’t want to have any sort of culpability, not when you’re on path to graduate school and hopefully a very prestigious job with the government, and 2) … you don’t want to face the reality of what that would mean.

You like Dazai. More than like him. You’ve been slowly coming to terms with the fact that you really, truly care for him, and if you end up learning the… specifics of his job, then you’re going to be forced into making a decision you don’t want to make: preserving your future and morals or risking them for him. And you’re not going to sit around and claim to be some upstanding, virtuous person. You’re not. But you are ambitious, and you’ve had your mind set on your future since you learned how to pick up a pen and write. You’ve worked your entire life to get where you are now, slaved your way through a prestigious undergraduate school in Japan and spent months preparing for the entrance exams for graduate school, only to what? Throw it all away for some man?

God, you almost feel sick. Distantly, you wonder how awful of a person you must be for the threat to your future success to be the main reason why you’re questioning yourself, and not the fact that it’s very likely that Dazai and his conglomerate have some sort of business with Japan’s underground, maybe even direct dealings with the mafia itself.

You pause from where you’re pacing around the room, eyes widening a bit as another realization hits you. You had thought it was odd that Dazai and Gin and all of the executives of the conglomerate have been so stressed and anxious over an event that they’re not even hosting, but what if… Your throat spasms a bit as you swallow, wondering if Dazai is about to bring you not to an event hosted by their rival, but to an event hosted by the mafia. You don’t think he would put you in danger like that, you don’t want to think he would put you in danger like that and you wonder if you’re just sending yourself down a spiral of unnecessary paranoia.

But it doesn’t make sense. Dazai is enamored by you, and you don’t think you’re being conceited by saying that because he has made it abundantly clear. There’s no way he would ever put you in danger like that. Not unless… you feel a bit green remembering his reaction to you saying that you’d go out on your own and stay with your friend the weekend of the event. You could feel the anxiety radiating off of him for a split second before he asked you to come with him. You also remember how he always makes sure someone is with you when you go out, and god, you swear you’re not a conspiracy theorist but nothing is making sense when you look at it through your rose-tinted lenses but looking at it through these lenses. The lenses of a man who is obviously smitten with you, and who might have dealings with the mafia—of course he wouldn’t want you to go out on your own because he’d be scared that you might be targeted as a means to get to him.

Oh, you feel dizzy. What have you gotten yourself into?

“Are you okay?” Gin is looking up at you, brows furrowed in concern. “You look a little sick.”

“I’m fine,” you say, but the words sound pathetic even to your own ears and you know Gin doesn’t believe you from the way she tilts her head to the side to study you.

Luckily, you’re saved by the bell. Literally.

Your head snaps to the side as the elevator dings, and ordinarily, you would be ecstatic because who else would be coming up to the penthouse besides Dazai and while you’ve certainly missed him over the past week with how busy he’s been, you’re not sure if you’re ready to see him right now with the way your thoughts have just spiraled, because you think you might blurt something out that you can’t take back.

But, for better or for worse, it is not Dazai that enters the penthouse.

“Good morning, ladies,” a familiar voice croons as the elevator doors slide open. Your eyes light up as you whip around, eyes falling upon a face you haven’t seen in almost two weeks. “I come bearing gifts.”

“Albatross!” you say, excited, a smile splitting your face, because yes, even knowing about the possible affiliation with the mafia, you’re still excited to see the blonde—he’s never been anything but sweet to you, and he’s really the only one besides Gin and Chuuya who doesn’t treat you weirdly because of your relationship with Dazai.

“D’aw, look at it, Lippmann, told you the doll would still remember me,” Albatross grins, dark glasses hanging on the bridge of his nose as he tosses you a wink and then looks back toward the elevator.

Your gaze follows his, and your eyes fall upon a vaguely familiar person stepping out of the elevator and into the penthouse, carrying a few boxes. Pale hair cut into a bob, a pretty, androgynous face, dressed to the nines in a light purple waistcoat and matching pants—where have you seen him before? Wait-

“You’re-!” you begin, eyes wide and lips parting in shock.

“Walter Lippmann,” the man greets you with a kind smile and soft eyes, you feel a bit flustered, you can hardly meet his gaze. “Everybody just calls me Lippmann though.”

You try to speak, but you’re a bit starstruck—the last thing you’d expected was for a movie star to step into the penthouse. You’re looking between Albatross and Gin and then hesitantly back at Lippmann as you try to figure out what’s going on.

Albatross cackles. “Looks like she’s gotta crush, Lippmann. Better not let the boss find out, he’ll get jealous.”

“Albatross,” you complain, hands flying to cover your hot face. “Not true, I’m just surprised. Am I allowed to be surprised?”

“Yeah, sure, doll, that’s it,” Albatross says, clearly not believing you at all as he throws himself onto the couch next to Gin, looking up at you. “The boss asked us to pick up a dress for you. Go try it on, I’m going to raid his liquor cabinet while you do—if he asks, you better take the blame.”

You see Gin roll her eyes. “You will not raid his liquor cabinet, Albatross,” she says firmly, but the man only winks at her.

You turn your attention back to Lippmann, who’s carrying the dress in a garment bag, a shoe box tucked under his other arm. He gives you a small smile and then motions for you to follow him; you’re still starstruck as you follow him into Dazai’s bedroom, pointedly ignoring the way Albatross snickers.

You watch as Lippmann hangs the garment bag up on the closet, placing the shoebox down on the bed. He turns toward you after and says, “Try it on and make sure it fits properly. And make sure you like it.”

You nod, lips parting to speak but no words leave your lips. You look up at the garment bag, down to the shoes, and back to Lippmann and then you ask, “How do you… how do you know Dazai?”

Lippmann gives you another gentle smile, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. You notice, a bit curiously, that he seems to take a moment before he speaks, as if choosing his words carefully.

“I knew Dazai’s father,” he says after a few seconds. “I work with the Mori Corporation sometimes regarding press and political matters. Like a spokesperson when Dazai is unable to.”

Hm, you think to yourself before nodding, a movie star as a spokesperson for a corporation, that’s a bit odd, isn’t it?

Your brows furrow slightly as you try to fit the new knowledge in with all of the rest you’ve put together over the past few weeks but it’s just another jagged puzzle piece that’s not fitting in anywhere.

“I’m a huge fan of your movies,” you finally tell him, rubbing the back of your neck as you toss him a sheepish smile. “Like, no joke, almost cried when you had your discussion panel for The Good Society three months ago because it was two days before my entrance exam to grad school so I couldn’t go.”

Lippman laughs, pale cheeks flushing as he looks down at the ground before back up at you. “Honestly, you didn’t miss out. The whole panel was a mess, and the AC broke twenty minutes before, so it was ridiculously hot.”

You don’t really know what to say to that, cursing the fact that you are 1) still half dazed on top of 2) already being naturally awkward, but Walter Lippmann is Walter Lippmann, so of course he knows just what to say and do.

He nods to the dress that he hung up on the closet. “Try it on and then give us a show,” he says, winking at you before he makes his way out of Dazai’s bedroom back into the other room with Albatross and Gin.

You sigh when you’re alone again, tilting your head up to look at the ceiling for a moment, wondering what your life has become before you make your way over to the dress. You unzip the garment bag, curious to see what Dazai had picked for you, and your eyes shoot open when you see the red gown within the bag. Smooth and silky, off-the-shoulder, it’s probably the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon; you feel like you shouldn’t even touch it, much less put it on.

But Lippmann and Albatross and Gin are out there waiting, you can hear them talking through the door, so you force yourself to gingerly pull it off of the hanger, careful to not be too rough with the material. It doesn’t take you too long to get your clothes off and the dress on, but when you do, you can hardly bring yourself to move away from the mirror.

You look beautiful. You do. The dress is a perfect fit, it compliments your skin, it compliments your hair. You look beautiful, but you feel like a fraud, like a clown in a ball gown, hoping that the beauty of the dress would draw attention from the fact that it’s not meant for someone like you.

You don’t know how long you stand there, staring at your reflection. Too long, evidently, because you hear a sharp knock at the door and Lippman’s concerned voice asking if you’ve gotten the dress on.

“Yeah,” you say quietly. “I’m dressed.”

You hear the door to Dazai’s bedroom creak open but you don’t turn to look.

“I think this costs more than my student loans,” you breathe out, staring at yourself in the mirror. You smooth your hands over the silky material, eyes catching the way it clings to you perfectly. “God, where the hell did he get something like this? It’s like it was made for me.”

“Probably was,” Lippmann says from where he’s leaning against the doorframe, lips quirked up into a half smile as he tosses you another wink. “Perks of dating one of the richest men in Japan.”

You let out a noise caught between a whimper and a laugh, suddenly feeling very, very out of place.

Lippmann clearly catches your sudden change in attitude and his brows furrow. “Do you not like it?” he asks curiously. “There’s plenty of time for him to send for something else.”

“No, no,” you hurry to say, voice catching. Although you’re unsure how twenty-hour hours constitutes ‘plenty of time’, but you digress. “It’s perfect. It is.”

“What’s the issue then?”

“I just…” you trail off, eyes lingering in the mirror. “I feel silly, I guess. How obvious is it that I’ve never worn anything like this before?”

“Silly?” Lippmann asks, amused, peeling off the doorframe to make his way over to you. You swallow thickly as he straightens your posture and then uses two fingers to make you raise your chin. “You look stunning. Like a woman who belongs on the arm of the most influential man in Japan… Like a woman who doesn’t need to be on the arm of any man.”

Your face feels a bit hot as you let out a puff of laughter. “Now you’re exaggerating.”

“I certainly am not,” Lippmann says firmly, taking a step back. “You’re only getting in your head. From what Chuuya has told me about you, you’re more than suited to outwit and outclass anyone in attendance at that event.”

Your face feels hotter now, smiling as you roll your eyes. “Flatterer,” you say, but you feel a bit better, chest lighter as your gaze turns back to look at the mirror. “... Do you-”

A sharp whistle from the door draws your attention from Lippmann; there’s a lecherous smile on Albatross’s face as he leans against the frame and looks at you, glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose. “Damn, if you weren’t the boss’s girl…”

Gin slaps him hard on the back of his head, glaring at him before turning a small smile to you. “You look beautiful,” she says softly. “He’ll be speechless when he sees you tomorrow.”

Your throat feels tight as your lashes flutter, a smile on your lips as you look down at the ground. Even though the concerns of your realizations from before still weigh heavily in the back of your mind, you can’t help but feel a bit giddy at the thought of seeing Dazai tomorrow.

The giddiness is long gone.

You still haven’t gotten dressed.

You’re sitting at the edge of Dazai’s bed in your bra and panties, staring at the wall with your knees pulled to your chest. Your dress is hanging on the closet on the far side of the room, heels sitting on the floor beneath it. You’ve done your makeup and you put your earrings on already—pretty, dangly diamonds that are the most expensive thing you own, the last thing your brother gifted you before he cut you off entirely. You need to be getting dressed, Dazai will be up here any second to pick you up to leave for the event, but you just can’t bring yourself to put the dress on, anxiety eating away at you.

It’s not even because of the realization you’d come to yesterday, it’s because you think you’re about to make a fool out of yourself. Even if you’re wrong about the theory that you might be heading into an event hosted by the mafia and their associates, you’re still heading into an event that’s going to be attended by people who are much wealthier than you, and you already feel out of place and you’re not even there.

The dress is beautiful, but you think you’ll look like a clown in it, everyone will know that you’re not from the same sector of life as them with a single glance. Lippmann’s words from yesterday are in one ear out the other now that you’re closer to the actual time of the event.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you don’t even hear the bing of the elevator arriving at the penthouse, and you don’t notice Dazai until he pushes open the cracked door to step into the bedroom. And you feel like you should be embarrassed sitting half naked on his bed, rather than being dressed and waiting for him, but you can’t muster it, eyes dragging up from the wall to land on his concerned expression.

And he’s a sight, you think. He’s so handsome. Absently, you think he might be more handsome than the last time you saw him but you think that’s a bit ridiculous because he hasn’t changed at all. He’s wearing the same long black coat and burgundy scarf, but the sleek, dark suit he wears beneath it is different, more expensive than all of the others that he’s donned the past few months you’ve known him.

His lips are turned downward as he approaches you, placing a blue box down on his dresser, dark eye soft with concern, and you also can’t help but notice that he still wears the bandages around the upper left side of his face, covering his eye. You want to know what’s beneath them desperately, but you can’t bring yourself to ask, hoping that he’ll show you on his own terms.

He stands in front of you, and you rest your chin on your knees as you stare forward, staring at his abdomen instead of looking up at his face. But he doesn’t let your gaze linger there, bringing his right hand to cup your cheek so he can gently lift your face upward, forcing you to meet his eyes. You can feel the rough edges of his bandages scraping against your skin, and you instinctively lean into his touch. You try to remind yourself of all of the realizations you’d come to yesterday, tell yourself to not be as at ease with him, at least have some semblance of your guard up, but you fail.

“What’s wrong?” he asks you softly, letting you lean into his touch as he brings his other hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Are you okay?”

And you feel selfish, you realize, as you try to figure out what to tell him. You can’t even fathom the amount of money he spent on your dress and the shoes, and here you are being a baby because you’re self conscious. You don’t even want to reply to him, so you try to turn your face away but he doesn’t let you.

“Tell me,” he says quietly. “I’ll fix it, whatever it is.”

“It’s silly,” you finally breathe out, averting your gaze to the ground as you let your eyes flutter shut, turning your face in his hand to kiss his palm before leaning back into it. “I’m being a baby, I’m sorry.”

“It’s not silly if it has you upset,” Dazai tells you, and he kneels down in front of you to catch your gaze again and briefly, you think it’s absurd that you have such a powerful man at your whims like this, kneeling before you, willing to do anything to make sure that you’re content and happy. It makes your throat swell a bit, those inferior feelings rising back to your chest with a vengeance, because what the hell did you do to deserve this? There’s nothing special about you. “Tell me what’s wrong, let me help.”

“I just don’t understand.”

Oh my god, your voice cracks, you can feel your eyes go a bit misty, and instantly, Dazai’s concerned gaze is narrowing, as if trying to calculate what exactly is the source of your distress so he can remove it, and it only makes you want to cry more because what did you do to deserve all of this?

If you’re right about all of the assumptions you made the other day, and Dazai is bringing you to this event even though by all means he should not because there’s likely going to be a lot of shady business occurring that could incriminate him and all of the other people at this event, then why? Why would he risk that just for a girl he met a few months ago? You can’t fathom it.

God, you know better than anyone the effects imposter syndrome can have on a person in school, but the last thing you expected was to be dealing with it in love too.

Love, the word makes your stomach churn because you do love him, you realize, as he stares up at you desperately trying to figure out what’s wrong so he can fix it. And how scary is that, considering only twenty-four hours ago you came to the realization that he’s very likely involved in the underground, in some way or another, and you had to come to terms with the fact that you’d have to choose between your future and a man. But he’s not just a man, he’s a man that you love in spite of everything you’ve put together.

A tear spills over your cheek and Dazai’s gaze becomes alarmed as he instantly wipes it away with his thumb before caressing your cheek gently.

“What don’t you understand?” he presses quietly. “Talk to me.”

Where do you fucking start?

You want to cry even more but you force yourself not to, you can’t afford to let your makeup get anymore messed up than it already is. Instead you sniffle a bit and try to blink away the tears.

“This,” you finally say, and your voice cracks again, you take a wet breath. Dazai’s lips part a bit, as if he wants to speak but he’s not sure what to say, brows furrowing. “There’s nothing special about me, Dazai, and I don’t understand why you’ve gone to the lengths that you have for me. Meeting me at that club every Friday as if you’re not always swamped with work, indulging me whenever I want to do things. You gave me a place to stay after only knowing me for a few weeks, gave up your own room, your own bed, so I could be comfortable while you slept at your desk. You’ve made sure people are always with me so I never get bored or lonely. You’ve given me literally everything I could possibly ask for and I’ve just been freeloading off of you for two and a half weeks now. Now, I’m going to go with you to this event and end up embarrassing you because I’m going to stick out like a sore thumb compared to everyone else there. They’ll know I don’t belong there and I just-”

You cut yourself off, and you want to avert your gaze from Dazai’s but you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you watch as something akin to amusement flashes through his eye. He takes one of your hands into his and brings it up to his lips, eye sliding shut for a moment as he kisses your knuckles. You let out a shaky puff of air as his lips linger for a moment before he looks up at you again through his lashes.

“Let me help you get dressed,” he murmurs, and you look down at the ground now as you nod, letting him help you to your feet and lead you over to where the dress is hanging up on the closet door.

He pulls it off the hanger and guides you into it, pulling it up and adjusting it so that it covers you properly. He steps behind you, and you realize that he also has you standing in front of the floor length mirror set up on his closet door. You sniffle a bit again as you look at yourself in the mirror.

Your makeup looks a bit smudged beneath your eye from the tears gathering at your lash line, but somehow, you still look beautiful. You think it’s only because of the dress, the way it clings to your body so nicely and brightens all of your features. You take in another shuddered gulp of air when you feel Dazai begin to zip up the back of your dress slowly, each brush of his fingers against your skin lights your nerves on fire, and once he finally has it zipped to the top, he kisses the nape of your neck, hands falling to your hips to caress them gently. Your eyes flutter shut as you lean back against him, his comforting hold settling your turbulent emotions.

“I met you at the club every Friday because you were the only relief I had from reality,” he finally says, resting his forehead on your shoulder as he holds you. “I indulged your requests because I was indulging in you myself. Every moment I spent with you, I allowed myself to be Dazai Osamu, the person, and not the… Not what I’ve had to become to keep this organization running.”

Your breath catches, lips parting at his words but no sound escapes them. He kisses the nape of your neck one last time before he moves to stand in front of you, kneeling down again as he grabs one of your heels and undos the buckle. You watch with bated breath as he lifts your left foot from the ground to kiss your ankle before sliding the heel on, deft fingers fasting the clasp.

“I gave you a place to stay because I was selfish and I wanted you around more,” he sighs, resting his forehead against your knee now as he lingers there for a moment before moving on to repeat the process with your other foot, kissing your ankle and slipping the heel on. He continues, “Likewise, I have kept you surrounded by people because I have been desperately afraid that you’re going to get bored and want to leave because work leaves me little time to be around. Unfortunately, I’m not the generous person you’re making me out to be, I’m horribly self-serving and greedy, especially when it comes to you.”

He looks up at you now from where he’s kneeling in front of you, gaze searching your face. You want to reach out and cup his cheek, so you do, and immediately, he’s turning his face to kiss your palm just as you’d done to him before letting his eye slide shut as he leans into your touch, as if basking in it.

“I would give you anything you want,” he admits softly, keeping his gaze shut as he holds your palm against his face. “Anything. And if it was something outside of my reach, I would make it in my reach. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, no lengths I wouldn’t go to and no lines I wouldn’t cross.”

You think your lungs might be burning, you don’t think you can breathe as you stare down at him, heart thudding in your swelling chest, tears building in your eyes again but this time not out of insecurity. Dazai finally rises to his feet after placing one last kiss upon your knuckles, and he doesn’t say anything as he makes his way over to the dresser where he’d placed the blue box.

You don’t move, watching as he opens it and pulls something out before making his way back over to you, standing behind you. He looks at you through the mirror as he lifts his hands to place a glittering diamond necklace upon your collarbone. You can’t breathe again, you realize, it’s cool against your skin and you think it might be the most expensive thing you’ve ever laid your eyes upon, dozens upon dozens of white diamonds shimmering in the mirror in front of you. Your skin feels like it’s on fire as his fingers brush the nape of your neck as he clasps it onto you.

“You are beautiful,” he says, voice so raw that you almost shiver at the intensity of it. His fingers brush your hips as if he’s afraid to touch you. “You are beautiful, and intelligent, and everything I have ever wanted. You deserve so much more than me, more than you’ll ever be able to understand, and I’m sorry that I’m not a good enough man to do what’s right and let you go. The last thing you should ever be doubting is this.”

His eye slides shut again as he lets out a soft puff of air, the warmth fans across the back of your neck and you think you could spend forever in this moment with him, wishing that you could freeze time.

“You said that you thought it was fate that brought us together,” he finally finishes, voice quiet as he references what you told him the first time you met. “Don’t ever doubt your place with me. Wherever I am, you belong, whether it’s a club, or an apartment, or an event.”

“I thought you hate the idea of fate,” you say, voice a bit choked as you try to force the tears back again.

“I do,” he affirms, “but if fate brought us together, then far be it from me to deny the one thing in this world that has ever made me happy.”

You love him.

You feel sick to your stomach—be it from butterflies or the implications of the realization. The words threaten to burst from your lips but you swallow them, instead, another tear trails down your face and he sees it through the mirror, lifting his hand to wipe it away before leaning a bit over your shoulder to press his lips to your jaw.

“I’m ruining my makeup,” you rasp, letting out another shaky breath.

He smiles against your skin.

“You’ll be beautiful still,” he murmurs before pulling back, admiring you for a moment before he asks: “Are you ready to go?”

You nod. “Yeah,” you say, a bit breathless. “I’m ready.”

“Everyone is staring at us.”

You’re not wrong, exactly. As soon as the two of you had entered the room, all attention was sent your way, and though the music was loud enough to drown out most chatter (intentional, of course, so unsavory ears can’t overhear even more unsavory dealings), Dazai couldn’t help but notice the hush that spread through the room at the sight of you. The boss of the Port Mafia with a date on his arm was certainly a sight to behold to all of the rest of the occupants of the event hall,.

“Can you blame them? You look beautiful,” he says, voice laced with a teasing edge that is certainly not matched in his expression. Dazai knew people would be looking at you if he brought you here. Still, he wants to gouge their eyes out.

His arm tightens around you as he tucks you into his side, cold gaze sweeping across the massive event hall. At least two hundred people are attending Nabokov’s event—an even mixture of pharmaceutical tycoons, technology barons, politicians and mafiosos.

At first glance, he recognizes four different mafias in attendance.

Mishima Yukio of the Sun and Steel stands by one of his associates, the president of Mitsubishi Chemical Group; the man’s dark eyes card over Dazai with lazy interest, before his head tilts to the side as he studies you.

Dazai thinks that the Sun and Steel might be the Port Mafia’s only allies in attendance, and even then, allies might be taking it too far. The extent of Dazai’s dealing with Mishima was a general agreement to not encroach the Sun and Steel’s monopoly over the narcotics industry—which Dazai never intended on doing anyway because the industry is far more trouble than it's worth—and an unspoken promise to protect Japan’s underground from foreign mafias.

Dazai wonders if that unspoken promise still holds or if the Russians have cut a deal with him.

Nabokov’s Pale Flame, obviously, is in attendance, along with the remnants of Leo Tolstoy’s Three Deaths. Tolstoy himself is sitting at the bar, a glass of whiskey in hand as he leans back on the stool, gaze focused on you. Nabokov is off to the left, making his way across the room to greet Dazai, a curious expression on his face. Dazai recognizes Cao Xueqin of the Red Chamber sitting near Kitazawa Michihiro of Fuji Electric, one of the Port Mafia’s closest associates; and Dazai thinks that might be a bit foreboding, both because of the presence of the Chinese and the company he’s keeping.

Dostoevsky’s House of the Dead is nowhere to be seen, but Dazai knows that they’re here. Somewhere. He just has to find him—and he will.

More eyes are on you than him, and although that was to be expected, Dazai can’t fight the doubt that suddenly swirls in his chest, wondering if he’d made the right decision. If you hadn’t been on people’s radar already, you definitely are now, and the thought makes him a bit sick to his stomach. He tries to console himself with the fact that this was the lesser of two evils—the mere chance of you being on the radar of any of the mafias in this room, no matter how slim it might be, was not something he could gamble with. There was no way he could let you go out alone and unprotected. People like them, people like him, would jump on the chance to take advantage of the weakness and he couldn’t let that happen.

But is this really any better?

He’s thrown you into a pit of snakes, and you’re ignorant to all of the threats around you. His gaze drifts back down to you, catching the way your brows are knit together slightly, the way your lips are pressed in a thin line. There’s an indecipherable look in your eyes as your gaze shifts over the room, and Dazai wonders if you know more than you’re letting on. That’s another scary thought, but he can at least find comfort in it for now because it’ll have you keeping your guard up around these people. He’ll just have to deal with the consequences later.

He dips his head down to your ear, speaking quietly before Nabokov finally reaches him: “Just follow my lead, you’ll be fine.”

The look you shoot at him is nothing short of withering, and Dazai can’t help the smile that curves at the corners of his lips as he lifts his head back up to subtly brush his lips against your temple. He catches sight of movement from the corner of his eye and any softness that might’ve been visible in his expression washes away instantly.

“Dazai,” Nabokov greets, beady eyes flickering between you and Dazai, partially curious about you and partially nervous about Dazai. Dazai tilts his head to the side, becoming increasingly more unamused the longer Nabokov’s gaze lingers on you. “I’m glad you came. I wanted to apologize for not being able to attend our planned meeting a few months ago.”

“So I heard.” Dazai’s voice is short and distant, more focused on the feeling of you tucked into his side than the conversation at hand. He has to force himself to keep his gaze steady on Nabokov, wanting to look down at you, but he contents himself with letting his hand slide down to your hip, rubbing absent circles against the silky material of your dress.

Nabokov fumbles over Dazai’s clipped response, a bead of sweat gathering at the corner of his forehead. He wishes he could peer into your head and see what you’re thinking, about him, about this, about everything. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get through the night without you realizing who he is, what he is, and that thought scares him because he thinks that maybe he should have been the one to explain it to you, so he could at least try to paint himself in a better light. Although, he’s not sure what sort of light would make anything about him look better.

“Who is this?” Nabokov finally asks, turning his attention toward you. Dazai doesn’t like the way he looks at you, eyes raking over you like you’re a piece of meat.

“My partner.” To Dazai’s credit, his voice is much smoother than the turbulent emotions in his chest would suggest. “Where is your wife, Nabokov?”

Nabokov doesn’t even respond to the question, laughing loudly. “Never thought I’d see the day you found yourself a lover, Dazai,” he chuckles and then holds his hand out to you. “Vladimir Nabokov.”

You shift a bit to take his hand, but Dazai is faster, lithe fingers wrapping around Nabokov’s wrist in an agonizingly tight grip. Nabokov winces, Dazai’s face is cold as he stares down at the man.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” he warns, keeping his voice low.

Vladimir Nabokov. Invitation to a Beheading. An ability that grants its user to draw a target into an interdimensional space through physical touch—Dazai isn’t sure what the space entails because no one has ever left it alive.

Nabokov tries to laugh it off, weaker this time as he takes his hand back and shakes out his wrist. “My, Dazai, possessive, aren’t you?”

“Very,” Dazai agrees idly. “Be sure to remember that.”

Nabokov gives him another wavering smile, and Dazai can’t help but wonder how Dostoevsky could have possibly thought anyone would believe the man could head the tripartite alliance of the Pale Flame, Three Deaths, and the House of the Dead. Anyone with half of a brain would know that Dostoevsky is behind their union. Maybe that’s what he wanted, Dazai notes absently as he watches Nabokov’s gaze flicker to the upper left corner of the room. Dazai follows it to where a camera is positioned, encompassing most of the event hall.

The smile on his lips is nearly as chilly as the air-conditioned room around him.

There you are.

Dazai’s gaze cuts back to Kouyou, who’s standing a few feet behind you and Dazai with Chuuya, Ace and Piano Man. The woman inclines her head in recognition of his silent order as she fans her face lightly, taking a step away to make a call to Hirotsu, who should be stationed around the building with the rest of the Black Lizards by now, prepared to move in at the first sign of danger.

Nabokov looks as if he’s going to speak again, which inclines Dazai to believe that he’s seeking something out in particular for Dostoevsky, and from the way he keeps glancing at you, Dazai assumes it has to do with you. So as the man's lips waver, eyes darting as he tries to formulate another conversation opener, Dazai speaks before he can get the words out.

“If you don’t mind,” he says, voice cold and clipped as he all but dismisses Nabokov, who flushes a bit, nodding and apologizing before stepping away.

Dazai realizes that he probably has not prepped you enough for this event, but in his defense, he’s been swamped with his own preparations and how is he supposed to prepare you when he can’t even fully explain all of the dangers? But now, it’s making him anxious, because at some point tonight he’s going to have to step away from you to meet with Nabokov in one of the backrooms, likely with Tolstoy, Cao, and Mishima. Dazai’s executives will have to be there with him, and Tachihara is supposed to slip from the shadows to join you while you wait for his return, but there’s likely going to be at least a good two to three minutes where you’ll be alone until Tachihara can get to you. That’s assuming he doesn’t get caught up on the way over.

He needs to talk to you, at least warn you about the ability users attending the event so you don’t accidentally stumble into a potentially lethal situation without him around.

If he goes to the bar, Tolstoy will take advantage to try to sweep you into a conversation, picking up right where Nabokov left off. If he goes off to the left side of the room, Cao will make his way over to interrupt. If he goes off to the right side of the room, Mishima is there. The only place… Dazai inhales as his gaze focuses on the massive dance floor of the event hall, dozens of couples are spinning around already, and it will be loud enough there for the music to drown out his conversation with you from unwelcome listeners.

He turns his attention to you, holding his palm up and tucking one arm behind his back as he asks lightly, “May I have this dance?”

Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, seemingly hyper aware of all of the hungry, curious glances of the other attendants directed your way, but he’s only focused on you, and the way your eyes glitter beneath the chandelier’s lights, and the way your dress clings to your body, and the way a soft smile tugs at your lips. He thinks that even if you hadn’t entered the event on his arm, all of the room’s attention would be on you still, because you’re beautiful, and captivating, and Dazai doesn’t think he’ll ever understand how he managed to pull you in one lifetime, much less all of them.

You place your hand in his and Dazai guides you across the floor, intent on finding the perfect space. It’s hardly obvious the way that the other people on the dance floor would inch away as the two of you passed by, intent on staying out of Dazai’s way and letting him have whatever space he wants, but you pick up on it, he thinks, seeing the curious look in your eyes as your gaze sweeps around the people around you. He bites back a sigh, because he’s sure that you’re tallying everything up in your head trying to put it all together, and once you get that final puzzle piece, everything will be over.

His chest sinks at the thought of losing you, but he forces it away. He has to focus on the situation at hand because even a single slip up could be fatal—not only for him, but for you too. As soon as he reaches a suitable spot on the dance floor, he tugs you a bit closer to him, hands sliding down to your waist. Your own arms instantly come up to loop around his neck as you look up at him through your lashes and Dazai suddenly feels breathless, vision tunneling and heartbeat stuttering at the way you look at him.

God, how is he supposed to focus with you around? He can hardly concentrate on anything but you. He’s flying too close to the sun. Has been since the moment he met you. Drawing you into his life and keeping you there, now bringing you here, so many gambles, too many gambles… the heat is scorching, and it’s only a matter of time before his wings burn. If he was smart, he’d let you go so that you don’t burn with him, but his fingers only bite deeper into your waist at the thought.

The music is slow, and the two of you sway in tune to it. The other couples give a wide berth, some casting wary looks at Dazai, ones that he’s sure you’re catching. He doesn’t know where to start, or how to start; what does he tell you that doesn’t condemn him? Luckily, he doesn’t have to start the conversation because you do, for better or for worse.

“Was that man the rival that Gin mentioned?” you ask curiously, and Dazai can’t help but notice there’s a strange look in your eyes as you ask it, one that he can’t place.

He hesitates, but then says, “No. He wasn’t. I haven’t seen him yet.”

You hum lightly, fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck in a way that makes him shiver. But his eyes narrow when he realizes that you don’t look the slightest bit surprised by his answer.

“You knew that already,” he accuses lightly, and he forces himself to swallow the lump that suddenly forms in his throat because if you figured that out on your own already, what else have you figured out? God, he knew this was risky, you’ve always been ridiculously perceptive—he just needs to get through tonight without you putting everything together, then he’ll be fine.

“I suspected it,” you finally affirm his accusation, gaze searching his face. “He was nervous talking to you. If he was your rival, I’d expect him to be a bit more… assured. And he kept looking up toward a camera, like he knew someone was watching that he’d have to answer to.”

Oh, you did pick up on a lot more than he expected. He doesn’t think that the smile he gives you quite meets his eyes, if the way your brows furrow have anything to say about it, but he distracts you by bringing his hand up from your waist to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he murmurs, “That’s my girl, always so smart.”

Your lashes flutter as you avert your gaze, a tell tale sign of you being flustered. His lips quirk up into a more genuine smile, hand dropping back down to your waist. He can do this, he tells himself, he just has to be careful, tell you enough to make sure your guard is up and you know to at least some extent that the people in this room aren’t to be trusted.

“There are a lot of ability users in here,” he finally warns, careful to keep his voice low even with the music covering his words. “Do your best to keep your distance from people. I’ll stay with you as much as I can, but I’m going to get pulled away sooner or later. Chuuya or Piano Man will stay with you when they can, and if they’re pulled away, Tachihara is going to come down to stay with you.”

“... That’s why you didn’t let him shake my hand,” you say, realization flashing through your eyes, another puzzle piece fitting behind your eyes and Dazai has to be careful because it’s only a matter of time before you’re given that final piece and everything comes together. “What’s his ability?”

“... Nothing good,” he answers after a few moments of silence, but you’re not content with that, brows furrowing. He sighs. “No confirmation on it, we only know it’s lethal. Many are in here.”

Your eyes widen and then you look a bit skeptical. “And you think they would use it here? In public?” you ask slowly.

To Dazai’s horror, it is not skepticism tainting your tone, but rather, you’re fishing for information, trying to put more pieces together, and he doesn’t have much choice but to give you answers because he can’t risk you setting your guard down even for a second.

He chooses his words carefully. “... There is little they wouldn’t do to get ahead in our business.”

“Hm,” is all you say in response, something akin to understanding flashing through your eyes and Dazai dreads to know what his answer has just told you. He feels distinctly like he’s playing chess against an opponent he did not anticipate and he’s at a disadvantage because the opponent is you. He can feel your shoulders slump suddenly, an unfamiliar expression crossing over your face; you look tired, as if you’d aged twenty years in a matter of seconds. “What did you get me involved with, Dazai?”

You say it so softly that Dazai barely hears it himself, and he knows. He knows that you’ve figured something out, he doesn’t know what and he doesn’t want to know what. He wants to evade it as long as possible, because the moment he has to have this conversation with you, he knows he’ll lose you. He can’t think about that now, it’ll throw him off and this is the last place he can allow himself to be thrown off.

Instead, his grip on your waist tightens again, gaze averting down toward the ground.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. The words weigh heavy on his tongue, not just an apology for tonight but an apology for accepting your offer for a drink two months ago, knowing he wouldn’t be strong enough to let it be a single night of indulgence; an apology for seeking you out again afterward, knowing that he would be sentencing you to death.

He feels sick.

What is he doing?

Why are you here?

What has he done?

“Dazai.”

You say his name but Dazai hardly hears you. God, he can feel it happening, where his fingers are pressed against your body, the skin suddenly goes cold and stiff, his surroundings are blurring, the people fading into the background. This isn’t the place. Nabokov. Tolstoy. Mishima. Cao. He can’t lose himself, not now, but his grip on reality is starting to waver, the pages pile around him.

“Dazai.”

What has he done?

Everything he’s planned for, seven years of careful calculations and planning gone down the drain. How does he even fix this? Can he fix this? His mind races, but he’s not even sure he’s thinking coherent thoughts, trying to ground himself to the present because he needs to stay here, he can figure out how to fix it later, when you’re not in danger but-

His vision swims. Not now. He can see it—he can see you. Still on the ground. Sometimes there’s blood, so much that he can hardly recognize you (but he can, of course, he can always recognize you, even when your body is littered with more gaping wounds than not). Sometimes it looks like you’re sleeping, so much so that Dazai kneels next to you, begging you to wake up (he knows in his heart that it’s futile. he can’t stop himself from trying). His head spins, he loses track of where he is and then-

“Osamu.”

His breath catches, gaze zeroing in on you. You. Alive. Your brows are furrowed in concern, searching his face to try to draw him back to reality. He thinks his grip on your waist must be painful but he can’t bring himself to loosen it at all. He stares at you, still desperately trying to keep himself grounded because although you’ve brought him back mostly, the corners of the pages still linger in the edge of his vision, threatening to consume him again.

“You can’t leave me,” you tell him quietly. “You brought me here. I need you here with me. Don’t go off somewhere I can’t follow.”

Oh.

He lets out a breath, slow and maybe a bit more shaky than he would’ve liked, but he tries to focus on the situation at hand. He loosens his grip on your waist, rubbing a gentle circle over your hip in an apology.

His gaze drifts around the room, Nabokov is in deep conversation with Cao, hardly paying attention to anything going on, but Cao’s sharp, dark eyes are pointed over Nabokov’s shoulder, scanning the dance floor. He’s looking for someone—not Dazai, which is a bit worrying, and he becomes all the more attentive to everyone in the vicinity, trying to make sure none of the Red Chamber’s assassins made it through the security. If any organization would be able to pull it off, it would be them.

Once he’s decided the coast is clear, he turns his gaze back to the bar. Tolstoy is looking at him—blue eyes sharp, blonde hair hanging in them, a curious expression on his face as he sips at his drink and watches as Dazai dances with you. As soon as Tolstoy notices Dazai has caught him, his lips curl up into a smirk and he raises his drink. Dazai’s expression is cold as he looks away, seeking out Mishima only to find the man nowhere to be found.

Hm.

Chuuya and Kouyou are entertaining idle conversation with two executives of the Sun and Steel, both keeping a sharp eye on where you and Dazai sway on the dance floor. Piano Man is entertaining several politicians, doing a good job at ensuring that none of the other foreign executives get any chance to get their ears. Ace, Dazai notes, is in deep conversation in the shadows with one of the executives of the Three Deaths.

Interesting.

He finally draws his attention back to you, a small smile on his lips as he recalls what you’d said to drag him from his spiral.

Osamu,

“You called me Osamu,” he murmurs, a warm feeling spreading through his chest as he focuses on that instead, trying to ease himself back into reality. Technically, he’s heard you say his given name before. Well. Not technically. It was never you and it was never him, rather it was vague memories of other yous and other hims, but it was nothing in comparison to hearing you actually say it.

You look embarrassed, averting your gaze. “I didn’t know how to get your attention, I’m s-”

“Say it again,” he whispers, lifting his hand back up to your chin to tilt your face back up, forcing you to look at him. His eyes search yours, watching the way you can hardly hold his gaze. You look hesitant, so he continues with, “Please.”

“... Osamu,” you say again, breathless, and god, Dazai wishes the two of you were anywhere but here. He wants to press you back against his bed, run his lips up and down your body, map out all of your curves with his hand. He wants to watch you come undone on his tongue and on his fingers—he wants you, he wants you more than anything else in the world. Every time he’s tried to take the next step with you the past few weeks, he either got interrupted by work or he ended up getting cold feet, nervous about making a mistake.

Before his thoughts can spiral even more, the music picks up to a faster paced waltz. Your eyes widen, watching as all of the other couples shift into the respective dance. You look up at him, a bit panicked, clearly not sure what to do, and his lips curl up in amusement, beckoning you to lace your fingers with his to take the stance the other couples were taking.

“I don’t know this da-” you begin, voice hushed.

“Just follow my lead,” he repeats the same words he spoke to you when they entered the hall. “You’ll be fine. Trust me.”

You exhale, studying his face for a moment before sighing and mimicking the stance the other women took with their partners. He can feel your fingers wavering against his as he interlocks your fingers and he rubs his thumb over the back of your hand soothingly.

“Keep your eyes on me,” he tells you, just as the music finally picks up for the dance to start.

He thinks you’re worried for nothing. You moved smoothly in line with him and in tune with the music, gliding across the dance floor as if you’ve danced with him hundreds of times before, your body so in sync with his that the two of you put all of the other couples to shame. Not that any of them matter, of course, you’re all that Dazai can focus on. Your eyes never leave his, not even for the sparest of moments, and Dazai feels like he’s caught in a trance, lost in your eyes and the feeling of your body so close to his, hyper aware of the way your your hand rests on his shoulder and the way your fingers are wrapped tight around his.

God, there’s something so otherworldly about you. Doesn’t know if it’s heavenly or supernatural, if you’re his angel sent to lead him to salvation or his very own siren singing a sweet melody to lead him to ruin. Doesn’t think he cares either way—salvation, damnation, none of it matters as long as he has you.

“Not so bad, hm?” he murmurs, sweeping you out into a spin before pulling you back to him, closer this time. He can feel your chest brush his and he prays you can’t feel the way he’s lost control of his heart, painfully cognizant of the erratic thumping. His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, holding you close to him. He could stay in this moment forever, surroundings drowning out; all he can see is you, all that matters is you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “Not so bad.”

His lips part to respond but he’s interrupted when he sees movement from the corner of his eye, freezing.

“Dazai.”

Dazai stiffens as a familiar voice speaks from behind him, shifting to stand partially in front of you as his gaze cuts to the side to see Mishima’s familiar figure standing a few feet away. Turning to face him, he asks, “Do you need something?”

“I’d like to speak to you before we meet with Tolstoy, Nabokov and Cao.”

Mishima’s voice leaves no room for argument, dark eyes absent of any emotion as he waits for Dazai to follow him. Dazai’s jaw tightens, eyes drifting back to you as he tries to figure out what to do. He can’t leave you here, not with Cao’s hawk-like gaze trained on the dancefloor and Tolstoy waiting for the opportunity to make a move. But he does need to talk to Mishima, have some idea of where he stands with the Sun and Steel before facing all of the foreigners.

“May I have this dance?”

Dazai hadn’t even heard Chuuya approach, turning to the side to watch as he holds a hand out toward you expectantly, quick to step in to take Dazai’s place so that you’re not alone. You shoot Dazai a concerned glance, brows furrowing a bit, before you place your hand in Chuuya’s.

Chuuya leads you back onto the dance floor, Dazai’s gaze lingers for a few moments, a bitter feeling spreads through his chest because that should be him, and it’s wholly unfair that he has to deal with all of this unsavory business when he should be spending time with you.

He should just kill them all here and be done with it.

The words ring through his head, echoing, tempting. He inhales and forces himself to look away as you loop your arms around Chuuya’s shoulders, swaying in tune to the slow song playing. He turns his attention back to Mishima, voice cool and expression void of emotion:

“Speak.”

Dancing with Nakahara Chuuya is awkward. Awkward is even being generous. It’s not like he’s a bad dancer—in fact, it’s clear that he’s a very good one. He’s smooth on his feet as he spins you around the dance floor, but he’s so stiff. He’s careful to keep space between the two of you, hands never dipping lower than your sides, lips pressed together. He hardly even looks at you, his attention is more on where Dazai had stepped to the side to speak with the dark-haired man who’d interrupted the two of you, but you’re grateful for it, because it’s giving you a chance to gather your thoughts.

You think Dazai might’ve inadvertently confirmed your suspicions from yesterday. You don’t know who these people are, but there’s no way any ordinary business event would be dangerous enough for Dazai to genuinely worry that someone might kill you in a room crowded with two hundred people. A part of you wonders if it’s just different for ability users, that they’re not scared of committing crimes in public because they have an ability that prevents them from getting caught, but you know you’re just trying to make excuses at this point.

Your gaze drifts back over to the older, light-haired man with dark eyes who’d approached you and Dazai when you walked in. He’s off to the side talking with a Chinese man dressed in a red suit—your gaze lingers, trying to piece together the puzzle in your head desperately, but all of the edges are jagged and confusing, you can’t seem to figure out where they each fit with each other.

You’d thought maybe that Dazai and his business was somehow affiliated with the mafia, because no one with the amount of money and success that he has gets it cleanly, but now you can’t help but hesitate, reconsidering your original theory. Vladimir Nabokov had been scared of Dazai. And it’s not like you haven’t noticed the effect that Dazai has on people. Whenever you’re around people with him, they get tense and on edge, but it’s different seeing the effect he has on someone who doesn’t even work for him, a foreigner supposed to be one of Dazai’s associates if you understood what he meant about not showing up to a meeting.

Who are you, Dazai?

You don’t even know if you want to know. You love Dazai. You do. You knew it earlier in the night. You know it now. It’s something you can no longer hide or deny. You remember the concerned look on his face when he saw how upset you were. You can feel the way his lips brushed the nape of your neck as he explained why he kept meeting you at the club, the way he kissed your ankles as he knelt in front of you and told you how he was selfish for keeping you around, how he kissed your palm and leaned into your touch as he promised you anything you want. God, you love him, you don’t think anyone has ever looked at you the way he does; no one has ever spoken to you the way he does.

You love him, and it scares you because you’re realizing you still don’t know anything about him, not really, and you’re also realizing that there’s a high chance he’s been lying to you about what he does. It scares you even more that your first instinct isn’t to run. Because you should run. This should make you run. He brought you to an event with people so dangerous that he’s afraid they might try to hurt you, or worse, but you don’t want to run, because you’d be running from him and you don’t want to run from him.

Could you sacrifice everything for him though?

Fuck your morals—everything you’ve worked for, all of the years slaving away to put yourself on the path to success. You’ve told yourself your entire life that it would be all you would focus on, that it would all be worth it in the end. You convinced yourself that maybe if you proved yourself enough, your brother would return to your life; he’d be proud of you and he’d come back to you. You know he’s still out there somewhere, you get letters with no return address every month—the only thing in the envelope is a check with a dubious amount of money, but it’s in his hand writing, so you know it’s him.

A part of you wants to cry, frustration clawing at your chest: the future you’ve worked so hard for, or love? The question you’ve dreaded since your epiphany yesterday is finally thrown right in front of your face, and you need an answer. The two are mutually exclusive—you will not be able to pursue the career you want with Dazai Osamu, not in the way you want at least. And you don’t want to do all of this work to just end up being another shady politician.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Your gaze snaps up to Chuuya, who’s suddenly looking at you, and you don’t really know how to respond.

I’m pretty sure you guys are part of the fucking Mafia and you’re all hiding it from me, but also I don’t want to know if you are because that’s going to force me to make a decision that I don’t want to make so I’d rather live in ignorance.

“My thoughts are only worth a penny?” You deflect with a grin instead, hoping it meets your eyes.

It doesn’t, evidently, because Chuuya’s eyes narrow a bit, and then he tilts his head to the side and hits you with a more direct: “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just worried,” you finally say, not entirely lying but also not telling the truth.

“About?” Chuuya presses and you sigh, exhaling a bit.

“He mentioned that there were dangerous people here,” you tell him quietly. “I’m just nervous for when you guys go to your meeting… I’m guessing it’s going to be soon.”

Chuuya’s brows furrow and you can see the thoughts racing behind his eyes before he speaks again. “You’ll be fine,” he tells you. “We have people all over the event hall, and Tachihara is going to sit with you until you Dazai can get back. Dazai shouldn’t have worried you with all of this. He shouldn’t have even-”

He cuts himself off, jaw tightening, but you know what he’s going to say: he shouldn’t have even brought you here.

“I don’t know what he’s thinking,” Chuuya says quietly, and you think he might be talking more to himself than anything else now, but you listen anyway. “He’s always been hard to read but this is…”

He stops speaking out loud, as if he’s realized that you’re there again, and instead he shakes his head. “You’ll be fine. Back at the headquarters before you know it.”

You aren’t so sure.

Your gaze drifts to the side as you watch Nabokov and the Chinese man make their way over to Dazai and the man he’s talking to. The blonde at the bar that Dazai kept looking at also stands up, drink in his hand as walks in the same direction.

Chuuya spits out a curse under his breath and gives you an apologetic look. Your heart sinks and your throat feels a bit tight—he doesn’t abandon you right away though, pressing his hand to the middle of your back as he guides you across the dancefloor to the bar, all the while keeping a keen eye on what’s happening on the other side of the room.

He pulls the barstool out for you, eyes still trained on where Dazai is standing with Kouyou, two men that work for him you haven’t met yet, and the four men you assume are business associates of his. Dazai is looking at you, an indecipherable expression on his face. You’re looking at him, suddenly anxious at the thought of being left alone, a bad feeling sweeping over you.

“Tachihara will be over here soon,” Chuuya finally says to you, tearing his gaze from his coworkers to look back down at you. He flags down the bartender to order a drink for you. “You’ll be fine. Knowing Dazai, the meeting won’t last long anyway.”

Your shoulders only slump a bit as you nod, thanking the bartender quietly for your drink as he hurries to bring it back to you, taking a sip of it. Chuuya doesn’t say much else—once you’re settled in your seat and have your drink, he squeezes your shoulder before making his way back over to the intimidating group of people standing on the opposite side of the room.

Your gaze meets Dazai’s conflicted one one last time before he’s forced to turn away and disappears down a side hall deeper into the building. You sigh as you twirl your drink around, the clear liquid sloshing dangerously close to the brim of your glass as your eyes twist around the event hall, seeking out Tachihara, or Atsushi, or anyone that works with Dazai because you’re feeling distinctly vulnerable alone. You find none of them. You can feel eyes on you—most you’re sure are harmless curiosity, wanting to know who exactly came in on the arm of Dazai Osamu, but you know some aren’t nearly as harmless, you can feel the hungry stares of vicious opportunists directed at your back and you don’t feel comfortable sitting alone.

You don’t even get five minutes to yourself.

“Is this seat taken?”

You’re startled by the unfamiliar voice, head snapping to the side. Your gaze focuses on a pretty man with soft features, shoulder-length black hair and gentle purple eyes. Your lips part to speak, but no words leave them, caught off-guard by his sudden appearance. He looks harmless enough, but there’s something about him that has you on edge—something simmering beneath the surface of his deceptive eyes that you can’t quite place but you know you don’t like.

“I mean no harm,” he says smoothly, lips curving up into an amiable smile. “I’m an old friend of Dazai’s. I only want to talk.”

An old friend. You don’t buy it, but you don’t want to risk antagonizing him, Dazai’s warning about the many lethal ability users prowling the event ringing through your head. You just hope that Tachihara shows up sooner rather than later as you finally shake your head.

“It’s not taken,” you say quietly, motioning to the stool as you take another generous sip of your drink.

The dark-haired man smiles at you as he takes a seat at the bar next to you, teeth glimmering like knives beneath the lighting of the chandelier. Instantly, you feel like you’ve made a mistake, a chill running down your spine as your eyes meet purple ones that are not quite so gentle anymore. Sharp and shrewd instead. Calculating. Dangerous.

“Fyodor Dostoevsky. A pleasure, truly.”

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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spaceagebachelormann · 7 months

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doing your makeup with phantom of the opera characters !

✧ warnings: none!

✧ characters included: christine daaé, erik destler, raoul de chagny, meg giry, carlotta giudicelli

✧ additional info: these can be read as any versions! however characters like christine and meg are mainly based off the book and musical versions :) can also be read platonically OR romantically

✧ nav. — m.list

*ೃ༄ christine daaé

she does her makeup with you!

i feel like she prefers doing hers with someone in the room so she can a second opinion on how hers looks and she’ll do the same for them

she’d probably ask you to help her put some of it on cause book!christine canonically has bad vision

and she’d ask to do some of urs for funsies :)

despite her bad eyesight i feel like she’s actually very good at it cause she’s gotten used to it

overall a very nice experience cause christine is such a cutie <3

ೃ༄ erik destler

he’s intrigued

i feel like he also knows how to do makeup cause he wanted to cover up his face

anyway!! he’d only know how to use foundation and stuff for ur skin so hes rlly interested in mascara and eyeliner and eyeshadow and that stuff

100% let’s u try lipsticks on his arm

he also gives u his honest opinion on ur makeup when ur finished or almost finished (i hc hes brutually honest)

he also asks like a lot of questions

“what’s this” and he’s holding ur highlighter

probably also wants u to put some on him but is too afraid to ask

ೃ༄ raoul de chagny

he’s kind of like christine

but he’s much more energetic abt it

will suggest u wear the sparkliest eyeshadow he can find 😭

other than that he knows literally nothing about makeup but still wants to try and do it for you

and it’s best to say no because chances are he’ll fuck it up (badly)

he’ll also randomly pick something up and put it on himself for funsies

when he finds ur blush he’ll put them directly on his cheeks in circles like when little kids find their moms makeup

probably takes forever to clean him up too

he’s rlly inquisitive during it and asks nonstop questions but most of them are just to be annoying

ೃ༄ meg giry

almost the same as raoul but she mainly just yaps the whole time

it’s actually a very calming experience with her surprisingly

u just sit there and do ur thing and she’ll mind her own business and talk abt her day and asks abt urs too!

it’s also a gossip session

“i heard that carlotta might get fired and replaced by christine” is probably a common one

another one who’s brutually honest and gives her opinion

is not afraid to tell u if u look like shit but like 99% of the time she tells u look absolutely lovely

ೃ༄ carlotta giudicelli

so as we all know she’s kinda mean.. so she’s also very honest about your makeup

if your friends she’ll most likely just be saying it to make sure u look ur best, even if she is a little rude about it

if she doesn’t like you she just wants to piss you off

but she probably also wouldn’t be there if y’all weren’t friends

i feel like if u were taking too long or just didn’t look good enough (to her standards) she’d just be like “oh my god let me” and start doing it for u

if she’s not doing that she’ll use the time to practice her singing

she enjoys ur company and probably becomes nicer during this time <3

taglist : @faerieroyal (ik ur not on my phantom taglist but i love attention 😭)

#phantom (marlee’s version 🕯️)#mars writing 🧈#phantom of the opera headcanons #phantom of the opera original london cast #phantom of the opera #phantom #poto musical #poto #tpoto #christine daae headcanons #christine daae #erik destler #erik destler headcanons #raoul de chagny #raoul de chagny headcanons #meg giry #meg giry headcanons #carlotta giudicelli #carlotta giudicelli headcanons

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she-posts-nerdy-stuff · 2 months

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Daughter of the Rain and Snow

Concept: Around ten years after the events of Crooked Kingdom, 25-year-old Captain Inej Ghafa frees Maya Olsen from a pleasure house in Ketterdam. Maya is looking for revenge against the man who put her in her position, a man who she knows nothing about except his name: Kaz Brekker.

Tags: @wraith--2 @lunarthecorvus @just2bubbly @real-fragments7 @cartoon-clifford @origami-butterfly @lady-a-stuff @thelibraryofalexandriastillburns @inej-ghafa-deserves-the-world @thatdelusionalnerd

If anyone wants to be added let me know :)

Content Warnings: in more general terms I want to remind people to be aware of the nature of Kaz and Inej's experiences and relationship since even if I'm not directly addressing these things they tend to be implicit in any writing about them, but specifically to this chapter there's ptsd references

AO3 link: Daughter of the Rain and Snow - Chapter 100 - She_posts_nerdy_stuff - Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo [Archive of Our Own]

Chapter 99 - Inej

Inej didn’t know how long she had slept for, leaning on Kaz with the curtains open and the sun still leaking through the window, because she wasn’t sure exactly when she’d fallen asleep, but it was afternoon when she awoke, her head clouded but less painful, the ache in her side dull and distant. Distant enough, anyway. Kaz was still there, still awake, still holding her. It must have been at least three hours, she thought.

“Kept myself busy,” he said, when she asked how he hadn’t lost his mind for boredom, “Started reading this,”

He showed her the book she’d left on the nightstand, the one she'd borrowed from Jesper.

“It’s not bad,” he said, “But there must be another twist coming, because I’d worked out who the father was by chapter three,”

Inej smiled.

“Don’t tell Jesper that,”

She stood and stretched, still stiff but grateful for every ache in her muscles that meant she could still feel them, was still breathing, was still alive.

“What time are we leaving tomorrow?”

“Six bells,”

Inej paused.

“We leave the house at six bells or the boat departs at six bells?”

“We leave the house. Our ferry departs at seven bells, the Wraith should be here by nine. I need to stop at the Slat to pick up the forged travel documents, and to tell Anika and Pim what time to get Rollins to the docks,”

Inej still wasn’t sure she liked this plan very much. She nodded.

“They bring him to Ravka,” she said, “Then when they return they pick up Maya. Fiona will need to be on the boat back to Ravka again, but I’ll need a Corporalnik on the team staying in Ketterdam to finish the Tulip Mill job. Do you think Evan would do it?”

“Possibly,” Kaz mused, “But it might depend how much time he can afford to spare. Or how much time Feliks will give him,”

Inej nodded. Kaz knew something she didn’t, and she wasn’t sure why he wasn’t telling her. Some kind of secret of Evan’s, she supposed. It shouldn’t matter.

“Can we put Maya in a Dregs safehouse until the Wraith returns?” she asked, pulling a clean tunic from the chest of drawers.

“I suppose,” said Kaz, “I can easily spare someone to watch her for a few weeks,”

Inej shook her head.

“It’s not just watching her; even if she’s better than I am she’s going to be ill, she’ll probably hallucinate - and she needs support anyway. Maybe I should ask Fiona to stay…”

Inej thought of Maya collapsing at the shelter, whispering Celina’s name. She did not voice that to Kaz.

Maybe not Fiona, then. But someone.

“I’ll speak to Nina,”

Kaz raised an eyebrow.

“She’s not coming to Ravka?”

Both of them had assumed Nina would follow them on the Wraith. Inej had actually assumed Nina would come on the ferry with them, but at some point it had all been organised and Nina was staying behind.

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come?” Nina had asked, hand closed over Inej’s, not long after Inej had first woken up after her hallucination.

Nina had never actually offered to come, only made the assumption that Inej would expect her to. Are you sure you don’t need me to come? Need. Not want. Inej frowned. Nina had been slightly off all week, but she couldn’t pinpoint what it was she wasn’t telling her. She would not force her to say anything she didn’t want to.

“I need you to help look after the girls for me,” she’d murmured, resting her head on Nina’s shoulder, “And to look after Jesper and Wylan,”

Nina leant her head on Inej’s.

“I’ll write to you every day,”

“You’d better,”

Nina had laughed, softly.

“I promise,” she murmured, “Kaz packed you a bag, but if there’s anything particular you want I can go and get it,”

“Have you seen the scarf Aimee made for me? I think it’s downstairs,”

Nina squeezed Inej’s shoulder, then stood up.

“I’ll go find it,”

Now Inej shook her head, shrugging a little.

“I asked her to help Jesper and Wylan with the girls,” she said, “But maybe she can stay with Maya instead, I don’t… I’ll talk to her,”

It was all too complicated for Inej to keep track of. She sat in the living room and explained what she could to Aimee and Kiada, then spent most of the day’s remainder curled on one of the sofas and talking quietly to whomever wandered in and out. Both Jesper and Wylan sat with her for a while at some point; each at different times and she knew they didn’t want to leave Clemmie alone. She asked them both the same question.

“How is she?”

“Hard to say,” murmured Wylan.

“Terrible,” said Jesper, “But what else are we supposed to expect?”

Kaz stayed with her most of the day. He was quiet, most of the time, but spoke softly to Aimee and Kiada - and Inej could probably have kept perfect track of time by counting how many times he’d asked how she was feeling. Every ten minutes, like clockwork.

“I’m thirsty,” she told him, and before she could continue he replied:

“Oh, good. I was starting to wonder if ‘fine’ was the only word in your vocabulary,”

Inej squeezed his hand and made to stand up.

“I’m going to get a cup of tea,”

“No you’re not,”

He pulled gently on her arm and she let him sit her back down, leaning her up to him as he stood and his lips briefly pressed against her forehead. He turned to the girls and offered them a drink - they both declined - and then walked slowly from the room. And so he was not there, when Nina came and said that she thought Maya was dying.

“It’s far worse than we thought,” Nina murmured, “She’s completely delirious. If we don’t-”

Inej lay a hand on Nina’s arm to quiet her, and glanced at Aimee and Kiada. Nina nodded.

“She’s barely conscious,” Nina said in Ravkan, “She’s awake but she’s not… here, I don’t know - it’s like she’s dreaming,”

“Evan said she had eight months,” Inej replied, matching Nina’s language choice. She shook her head, “How-?”

“A Corpoalnik can’t tell what’s happening in her brain,” said Nina, “It’s too complex - that’s why he couldn’t stop the hallucinations. The poison isn’t only affecting her body it’s affecting her memory, her -”

“What are you telling me, Nina?”

“I’m saying she needs to go. Now”

Inej breathed.

“She can’t come with us,” she said, “I can’t put her on the Wraith with Alby. We cannot get her to Ravka for at least another two weeks-”

“If she sets off now she might not survive the journey,” Nina bit her lip, “She needs to get there as soon as possible, can’t the Wraith take her first and come back for Alby?”

Inej pressed her fingers to her eyelids.

It would be taking a risk to leave Alby at the Slat for that long. And would they even be able to help Maya without him? If Kaz was right about needing to know what poison he’d used, probably not. Saints, this felt like a terrible plan.

“The Wraith will have to take them both,” she whispered, opening her eyes, “But I’ll already be gone before they get here, will you be able to get her to the docks? I’ll leave a message for Specht so he knows the new plan,”

Nina nodded.

This felt like a disaster waiting to happen. But it also felt like the only viable option.

The sun was almost dawning when Inej reluctantly let Kaz drag her out of bed.

“I left you to sleep as long as possible,” he whispered, “But we need to go,”

Inej groaned softly; Kaz wass pushing the loose hair off her face and she turned slightly so that he was cupping her cheek as she slowly opened her eyes. He wasn’t wearing his gloves.

“I’m tired,”

He shook his head.

“Of all the times to finally accept that you need to rest,” he told her, taking her arm and pulling her to sit up, “Now is just about the worst one you could have chosen,”

“What time is it?”

“Five bells. Ina Harte’s clothes are on the chair; we’re leaving in an hour,”

He pressed the back of her hand to his lips, and then he was gone. Inej had thought the names were only for the travel documents - why did she have to wear specific clothes? Had she forgotten part of the plan? That felt dangerous. It felt frightening.

She had tried to explain everything to Maya last night, so she would be ready or at least understand what was going on, but she wasn’t sure it had made a difference to anything. Maya spent most of the time looking at her without seeing that she was there, staring straight through her with blank eyes. When she did notice Inej was talking to her, she either panicked or shut down. It took a long conversation to not say very much.

Inej stretched and then collected the clothes Kaz had left for her, and realised why he’d chosen them. She had not forgotten the plan. She had forgotten that the Hartes were middle class - and Kaz was insistent on them looking believable.

At least it was a fairly simple dress, as such things went - this was Kerch, after all. The clothes were not nearly as frivolous as Inej had thought of the higher Ravkan classes. But it was not as comfortable as her trousers and quilted vest, nor did it have nearly as many places to carry her knives. It also wasn’t as subtle. She drew the line at putting a fluffy white feather in her little hat. That was just unnecessary.

The scarf from Aimee did not really match the outfit. Inej didn't care; nothing could have stopped her from wearing it.

Kaz had already collected the forged travel documents and Inej stood by the front door reading hers with a frown; the description said Ina’s hair was shorter than hers, but other than that was accurate enough to pass. Considering that Mikhael and Ina were complete fabrications, Inej wasn’t sure why they couldn’t have descriptions that matched themselves perfectly, but Kaz had shaken his head and pointed to the dates.

“No-one actually looks the exact same as their description,” he said, “That would be more suspicious. And your hair could have easily grown since the last renewal,”

“What about yours?”

“What about it?”

“It doesn’t say you have a scar,” she ran her finger down the faint white line on Kaz’s face, a remnant that had been slowly fading for the last ten years, “Just hoping they wouldn’t notice?”

Kaz smiled, caught her hand in his, pressed it to his heart.

They hadn’t woken the girls - she’d said goodbye to them last night and it was unnecessary to interrupt their sleep, but Inej still felt strange just walking out on them. They would be safe here. She knew that. But it made her nervous. Jesper and Wylan appeared in the hallway at the almost the same time, and before anyone had a chance to begin their goodbyes Jesper burst out laughing.

“What are you wearing?”

“Careful Fahey,” Inej winked, swishing the wide skirt of dress, “The pockets are still big enough to carry my brass knuckles,”

She released Nina’s arm to move into the hug Jesper was offering her, his long arms folding over her back so tightly he might never let go.

“Be safe,”

“I’ll try,”

She drew away slowly, gripping his hand in hers. His eyes were slightly misty as she squeezed his fingers and whispered:

“Thank you,”

“Oh, well, you know,” Jesper winked, “It’s what I do,”

He shuffled a little. Wylan hovered for a moment before Inej took his hand and pulled him close.

“I’ll see you soon,” she murmured, “And if I’m delayed you’d better not have that wedding without me,”

He laughed.

“Never,”

Nina walked them to the docks, listening to Inej repeat the plan for bringing Maya later. Inej was beginning to suspect that Nina was just humouring her, but she didn’t care because she needed to make sure that she’d done everything she could. She walked with her arm hook through Nina’s, leaning on her slightly, watching Kaz’s walking stick strike the cobbles in front of her. He’d exchanged his crow’s head cane for a less conspicuous option, and she wondered if there had been enough space in his trunk to pack his usual one for when they arrived. It looked like it might just be big enough, but it was hard to tell without actually lying them next to each other.

The air grew colder as they approached the water and Inej tugged on her sleeve slightly. She was wondering how much Kaz had spent on these last minute tickets, and what their cabin was going to be like. She was wondering if there would be separate beds, in case he needed it. A week in close quarters was a long time. A week on a boat with nowhere to run to whilst Inej could start collapsing or losing her mind at any moment was going to be infinitely longer. She should have suggested other options. Kaz wouldn’t have taken them.

“Write every day,” Inej said, clutching Nina’s hand, "Just constantly. I want an hour by hour run down of your life,”

Nina smiled.

“Minute by minute,” she pulled Inej close and kissed her on the cheek, “It’s going to be okay. You- it’s all going to be okay,”

Inej nodded. She was trying not to cry.

She pressed her forehead against Nina’s.

“Ne Zalost,” she whispered, laughing softly.

Nina smiled.

“Ne Zalost,”

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lucidiferneedssleep · 6 months

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I just realized I completely forgot to introduce myself ig so HELLO!! This is my introductory page thingy literally everyone has but I'm slow

From the top - Hi, I'm Lucid, or Luc for short.

Proshippers DNI ya'll scare me

(as in anything related to inc3st, p3d0philia, etc. If any of my reblogs have someone problematic as the source publisher, please inform me. I'm unaware 99% of the time and just found something with good art or something interesting/funny to share.)

I'm a minor. My page is sfw with the occasional bit of gore and/or heavy topics, but I'll tag it.

Feel free to send any asks!! I love talking to u ppl

This is lowly becoming a cat blog

Orphic Ask Blog: (Aka Badly Drawn Orphic)

Art requests are open!

Second account:

I will gladly rant about lore if you want me to. If you do, consider reading my spin on a slightly too farfetched fanfic idea that turned into a whole AU, now part of my more ambitious project, the extended DeitiaVerse.

(Plus I/I)

In case you're interested in the –Verse, or my OCs in general, here's Orphic.

I write silly little fanfics in my free time, right on here. They are both my own personal book and an AU thing in the Undertale universe. https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucidifer/pseuds/Lucidifer

(I also use wattpad)

Fun facts for those who want to hear ab me:

Outside of art, reading and writing, I practice Jujitsu and bake + play video games

I am multilingual, and English is not my first language (I know Swedish fluently and have 4 other languages I'm studying!!)

I am a Scorpio (November 4th)

Anyways, have fun with this!! Idk what else to tell you about me. I have no consistent upload schedule.

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notveryshrugemoji · 6 months

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lol, the last 24 hours have been wild and this is exactly the place I want to document it. Love processing my thoughts and feelings here hahaha

Yesterday I was working and started feeling, off. Nothing major, just didn’t feel good. I was clammy, my heart was racing, my chest and upper back between my shoulder blades felt tight. At times I felt like I needed to gasp or take a big breath in to feel like I was filling my lungs? Does that make sense?! So I took my blood pressure 3 times, both arms. Numbers: 145/99, 145/105, 140/95 with my HR 95-105 each reading.

Naturally, I gaslit myself into thinking I was having an asthma attack. So I called my mom and she was like “lol maybe call the nurse hotline about that” so I did and THEY were like “BITCH GO TO THE HOSPITAL” so I left work and went to the hospital lol. (Important to note here: I have had unexplained high BP since I was a teenager that is managed with meds).

ER saw me basically immediately due to the chest pain but they didn’t have a bed for me so I was just kinda sitting in a chair for a while lol. They did blood work, blood cultures, an X-ray of my chest and an ecg. Basically all of it came back clear. I saw a Student Dr first and she listened to my chest and then left pretty abruptly afterword, both drs came back and listened, NODDED TO EACH OTHER and confirmed “yes what you heard is correct”. Like okay, pls say more immediately, thanks! They ask me if I’ve ever been diagnosed with a heart murmur (no), then tell me they hear a murmur and want an ekg done (booked for Monday). And then they SENT ME HOME lol. Chest pain, elevated BP, etc. still happening. They were very thorough, i just kind of feel like I wasn’t given a real plan for the next couple of days? The symptoms are still there, so like do I go back if they get worse? How much worse does it need to get? This is partially my fault for not pushing harder to get those answers but I don’t think they really had anything at that point, realistically.

So I slept a couple of hours last night and woke up early today feeling the same way. I called my GP’s office and booked an appointment for Monday and let them know what happened yesterday. They said he’ll likely call me this evening bc he’s on call at the hospital. I went and got a couple of groceries, exhaustinggggg. I had to sit on my bottom stair when I got home and catch my breath lol. So things are basically the same as yesterday EXCEPT I can’t help but feel like “I don’t feel good” - like I feel like I have a cold. And then I’m thinking, what if it’s COVID? Im assuming my bloodwork didn’t show any red flags and that’s why they didn’t test. I asked my friend to grab me a couple of rapid tests just for shits though. More info is good at this point.

A lot of thoughts, top of the list is that I don’t think I have asthma and neither does the er doctor. I told him I almost didn’t go to the hospital bc I felt like I was overreacting about an asthma attack - because this is what an asthma attack feels like, right? And the answer is nooo, so have I just had an undiagnosed heart murmur for this long? It feels like that’s impossible hahahaha I have so much shit wrong with me surely someone would have heard it by now.

Anyway, I’m playing the new h*gwarts game on switch and gonna sleep as much as possible today. Eat, then sleep.

#felt so good to get that all out of my head r #good news is that I am doing pretty good on paper otherwise hahaha #turns out losing 70 pounds does that!!!!!#I’m making light of this whole thing bc otherwise I have to be really really scared

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ratherembarrassing · 7 months

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2023: whatever the fuck this week is

on a sunday night and everything.

the marvels: i know in my heart without even bothering to look that 99% of people having opinions out loud about this movie will have hated it. that's fine. i'm not into superhero comics for shit most people get into it for. my favourite team book is that run of i think avengers assemble where it's like nat, steve and thor living in stark tower? so a movie that was packed with long establishing shots of the crap all over carol's ship and a three way mind reading montage was entirely my jam. the things i wasn't expecting to have a problem with but did: the weak writing in the key emotional scenes, brie larson's acting. anyway, you win most, you lose a few. that scene made me laugh so hard someone in the theatre shushed me.

i have no idea what else i did this week besides listen to 'the album' on repeat, which is probably telling.

this week was just. yikes, at almost every level. mentally, personally, creatively, family, globally, and it seemed like everyone around me was feeling it too, which is less comforting than you might think.

but. some wins: i've started onboarding with the org whose legal team i'm joining for at least the next six months, and i'm frothing at the mouth to get started. i've spent years being the most pointless kind of lawyer, which is fun but ultimately utterly useless to society, so this opportunity coming up now, to do something genuinely meaningful during such a terrible time? it's good.

i cannot emphasize this enough: having a pool in your apartment building is fucking awesome. i wish this treat on everyone in life.

#this week in ashleigh

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lilolilyr · 7 months

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ANSWER MY RIDDLES SIXTEEN (or not lol pls only answer all of them if you want to)

5. something in fiction that reads like poetry

28. a book you wish you could read as a beginner again

42. a book that made you want to scream by the time you got to the end

43. a book that you have read more than three times

50. a book that made you cry a LOT

54. a book with the best opening line

55. a book with a satisfying ending

60. a book that you think about at 3 am

66. a book that fucked you up

70. your favourite poetry collection

74. your favourite love triangle

80. a book that reminds you of a loved one

90. the longest book you've read

99. a book with a strong female protagonist

119. your favourite summer read

131. tag somebody with whom you would want to buddy read a book

Ohhhhhhh Dayum that sure is an ask xD I’ll try my best adsfghjkl

Ask meme

5 Ok already the first one i go completely Blank on? Wtf reads like poetry?? What Does That Even Mean 🙈

28 as a beginner like as someone who hasn’t read any books yet?? Or for the first time? I wish I could read LotR for the first time again. I remember I’ve even read all the songs and long tree descriptions and everything because I was so in the story I couldn’t miss a single word, and I’ve skipped most of them every time since, and usually just watch the movies instead anyway lmao

42 scream in a good or bad way? Bad way so many Deutschunterricht Bücher. Homo Faber in particular.

Good way most of the discworld books recently!

43 & 50 Sara, die kleine Prinzessin <3 used to borrow it each time I was at the local library as a kid

Oh and also Isola by Isabel Abedi! It’s been a while and I don’t really remember the plot all that well but I remember reading it a lot. Maybe I should give it another re-read!

54 “The wind howled, lightning stabbed at the earth erratically, like an inefficient assassin” - Terry Pratchett: Wyrd Sisters

(Tbh it’s the only book I physically have on me atm and so the only first sentence I could check. But. I think it’s pretty good!)

55 If it hasn’t got a satisfying ending I don’t like itttt, honestly everything I’ve already answered could go here too…

60 the fucking house of night side stories haunt me

66 oh god oh fuck I don’t remember the name because halfway through I put it Behind the other books in my shelf in my childhood bedroom so I’d never have to look at it again but. It was about what if ‘ageing’ got a cure and everyone was basically suddenly immortal and obvs we don’t have the resources for that kind of population and wars and fucked up politics and killings and ghettos and oh my god

70 I actually tend to read poems either online and then it’s not a collection but more going through Google images of a particular author like K Le Guin, or checking out old poetry books from free book thingies where I maybe won’t like them all that much most of the time but they’re still kinda interesting? But couldn’t name a fav

74 love triangle or love angle? Poly 📐 from books I can’t think of anything canon or hc? And ‘love triangle’ ~oh who will she be end up with’ angles I just can’t stand. But most well written of these kinds of situations is definitely Panem because it’s not actually about the picking the boy but rather picking the kind of life Katniss wants to live

80 5 Freunde makes me think of my parents bc I have all their old books <3 and Lola makes me think of my sister because i used to read that series out loud for her

90 I know for sure I’ve read fanfics longer than any book I might’ve read!

99 hunger games. Oh, also anything from Trudi Canavan, especially the Age of the Five series. Many great women there and I love the witch best

119 what on earth is a summer read? XD but some other fav books of mine are

- Lies we Tell Ourselves by Robin Talley, an interracial lesbian story set in the US during the segregation

- Dracula by Bram Stoker. Seriously if you haven’t read it yet do so it’s amazing. I love seeing all the Dracula daily memes now, when I read it years ago most ppl just knew some movies that have nothing to do with the original plot and the original is great!

- Erebos by Ursula Poznanski. That one just… I couldn’t put it down, it’s so thrilling and good.

131 I’m not sure I’d want to buddy read a book with anyone because if Dracula daily taught me anything, then that I am incapable of reading on a schedule xD I really tried to re-read it with the emails. But nope. But theoretically, on a we‘d-probably-vibe-with-the-same-stories-&-enjoy-chatting-about-them kind of way, I’d have a bookclub with you and @lavendelhummel @squishmittenficfan @purlturtle @mimi-mindless @die-schwanenkoenigin @wellsbering :)

And if you guys liked these qs, the ask meme is here, if you reblog it I’ll send some your way!

Thx so much for the ask Ela! <3

#ask the blogger #book ask #Book rec ask #f #answered #24.10.23 #25.10.23 #toboldlynerd #mine #non anon #ask meme ask #books

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blubushie · 1 year

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Well I'm taking you at your word, then! Round 1: How did you come to do what you do? Was it a sudden impulse/ jumping off the deep end, or a slow and steady march into it? Have you always wanted to hunt nuisance animals for money or did you come by it while pursuing something else at first?

In short: How did Blu become bushie? *chin hands*

It was 100% a result of me losing my mind and going off the deep end.

FUN STORY TIME.

I don't like people. In this kinda way.

"EW. PEOPLE."

People are strange and cruel and nasty and sometimes they'll kill lizards in front of you when you're in year 4 because they know you like them. People do mean things to other things just to hurt someone they don't like, so I don't like people. And there's a fucking lot of people everywhere. There's a lot of people in Alice Springs. There's a LOT of people in California.

And I don't like people.

I'll admit that I got into my own head a lot (still do; I zone out often). And I got this idea, right? The Swagmen of Olde. They lived in the bush with a lot less, er, support than what we have now. Modern day swagman. Revive an old Australian tradition. So I was say fifteen and we got out for I think the term 1 holidays, aaand I was officially a missing child for a week because I packed my swag and disappeared into the Outback. I lived off bottled water, native wells, and my scroggin ran out on day 2 so after that I survived off quandong and witchetty grubs (note to readers, don't go into the Outback without a machete because trying to dig out witchetty grubs with a knife will blister your palms). Basically stayed alive by making my own shelter from shit my dad taught me, or things I read about in books.

Anyway the NTPF eventually put out a chopper for me and dragged me kicking and screaming to civilisation (I was so feral they put me in the fucking divvy van) and it sucked (also I made the newspaper, not the point). But in the 5 days I was gone I just... found some inner peace, I suppose? I was talk of the town and over the next year there were three or four additional attempts to return to the Outback until Mum (and the NTPF) got tired of me trying to dehydrate myself to death and brought us both back to California.

And my California town is bigger than Alice Springs. The town has a population of ~80,000 and there's people fucking everywhere and I hate it.

So I did the same thing I did in Australia and routinely went walkabout to the point our local sheriff knew me by name. It got to the point the LOCALS knew me by name. Half would call in and report me when I was out walking on behalf of my father, the other were of the wildchild mentality and had an unspoken agreement of "Do not send Blu back to that house." (My parents aren't abusive or anything, the locals were just of the idea that at 16 I was finding my own way in the world like kids did back in the 50s, which... Yeah, I was.)

I was given an ankle monitor because I was a flight risk, and I stopped leaving.

Anyway I left high school, got a job working part-time graveyard at Dad's insistence on doing something with my life, and on the side I started talking to the neighbours who know I'm one hell of a shot (courtesy of me recently winning a county sharpshooting competition). And they get this bright idea, right, they've got a lot of coyotes on their property trying to lift their sheep. So I start killing coyotes. They're proud of my work, they tell their neighbours, I start getting paid $25 per pig I kill on their property so long as they keep the bacon. Fine deal for everyone involved.

Between pest control and graveyard and some other odd jobs I made ~$15k over 6 months and I still had this niggling idea in my head of going bush permanently. At 18 I bought my FIRST ute and went east. And that ute was fucking old. Not a '99 Ford, an '87 Ford F-150 with over 300,000mi on it. I figured I'd get to somewhere around New Mexico before it'd cark it because that poor bastard didn't sound right from the get-go.

And cark it it did! But I also learned a few things from my dad, and so I jerry rigged that cunt (which consisted of removing the faulty ignition and replacing it with a fucking screwdriver). I got it started and working again. Got it to Texas, got the ignition fixed, and took jobs in the southwest for 6 months.

And then I got sick of the southwest. I saw the towns I frequented become gentrified. They lost their personality. The mum and pop stores shut down and were replaced with Targets and Walmarts and the land started seeing construction and in six months I'd lost all hope for it.

So I said "fuck this shit" and decided, for the fifth time in my life, that I was going to the Outback. I went back to California, got my passport and all my necessary identification, had a MASSIVE argument with my parents because they didn't want me to leave, but I left anyway and sold the ute and I took a bus to San Francisco, got lost, ended up sleeping in an alleyway at some point which isn't important except to remember that I fucking hate cities, but eventually got my way to the airport with about $10k in cash and debit and I got the first flight to Sydney.

All without a fucking mobile phone.

And I spent every dollar I had save for $2000 on a '99 F-150. And my first night I bought a bottle of plonk (strange buying booze at 19 years old). I smashed it in the bush over my ute's roo bar and I christened her Matilda, my steadfast companion who will come waltzing with me. And I drove her up to Brisbane, and then to Cairns, and while in Cairns I was stopped and detained because of my rifle, and then that was confiscated for a month until I got my firearms licence, and then I had to go BACK to Brisbane to pick it up again but before I did that I met a bloke and spent my last $2k on a camper for Matilda.

So now I'm stuck in Australia with not a dollar to my name, no means of getting money on account of not having a rifle, and a new-christened ute with a camper but no way to pay for petrol.

So I drive up the track, end up heading west until Matilda ran out of petrol, then walked 2km or so to the nearest station who happened to have cattle. Aussies take care of our own. Told the bloke there the story over tea and supper, he says I can help muster if I know how to ride a horse.

Boy, do I.

So I do that for a few months, say hooroo to him after he helps me siphon petrol into my tank, and I return to Brisbane and get my rifle back. I make my way back through QLD, stop for a week in Longreach, then get another job as a stockman. For maybe a year I was a full-fledged stockman and met my heart horse and I met the first girl I ever loved, but then I stopped being a stockman, worked at sea on a fishing vessel for a few months, come back, and ended up getting a job working some pastoral land near there dealing with a small pack of wild dogs who'd been lifting the bloke's sheep, and I start making a name for myself again as one hell of a sharpshooter. And then I got my commercial shooter's licence.

Rest is history!

#blu whos #bushman #enjoy my life story

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golbrocklovely · 4 months

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Random question,

Were you homeschooled? If you were, I have literally no socialization when it comes to people besides family. My mental health is rotting, I'm extremely emotionally sensitive, and I feel I really need friends, like it just feels like it would help alot.

What do you think?

i was only homeschooled for 8th grade, but i do get the sentiment of not knowing how to make friends. i used to have a big friend group that i've since lost bc back in 2020 my best friend of 10 years (and basically my life line to that group) decided she didn't want to be friends with me anymore bc her life was too stressful and she figured she was a shit friend anyway so she should cut me loose (along with a mirade of other things that went on that she blamed it on). so, i haven't had a core group of friends in a long time and i struggle to connect with ppl.

i will say, your best bet - at least at first - is to try to make friends online based on things/fandoms you are a part of. i have my couple friends on here, and even tho we almost exclusively talk about snc related shit, i still count them as my closest friends. and it's nice to be able to talk to them about that stuff.

and as for in real life stuff you can do to make friends, idk how old you are, but try to see if there are any local groups or events you can join in your area. see if there is a book group at your local library, see if there are any classes at a community center you can take. hell, even getting a job where some of the ppl in that place are the same age as you is good starting point as well. when you are in forced proximity with ppl, you tend to befriend others more often. that's why a lot of us were even able to have friends in school.

try to go into everything with an open mind. and genuinely remember that 99% of ppl are a, in the same boat as you (confused and don't know what to do next) and b, aren't trying to hurt your feelings. most ppl are nice. of course there are assholes, but try not to let ppl like that bring you down. and gentle reminder, you most likely are not as awkward as you feel. and i know that from personal experience lol

also, my biggest recommendation is working on yourself as well and learning to become your own best friend. i know that's very cliche and silly to say, but highkey one of the best choices i ever made was learning to cut myself some slack and start being nice to myself. if you can afford it, consider therapy. but i know that's not always an option for ppl (even myself). try to do some introspection on who you are, the obstacles you've gone thru and overcame, and do your best to be nice to yourself. i'm telling you, when you start to actually like yourself and give yourself a break, especially on the things you had no control over in the first place, life starts to feel a lot less harder to deal with.

even if your first step is to start reading self help books - do that. write out your feelings more, explore why you act the way you do and if that's something you want to change. set goals that are reasonable, put pride into yourself. treat yourself like you would someone you are friends with. think of yourself as someone worthy of love, bc you are.

but let it be known that this will not happen overnight. i wish it did, but it took me YEARS, i truly mean years, to finally start liking myself and having any resemblance of confidence. it will not happen in one go. you have to be consistent and constantly working on yourself. and i know that can be difficult. but in the long run it will do wonders for yourself.

i wish i had all the answers for you, and i wish i knew the best course for you to take. and i wish you all the luck in the world. i truly believe you will make friends and start a great path on your mental health journey. it won't be easy, and it will take a lot of time, but it's worth it bc you deserve that. you deserve happiness <3

#ask #personal

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george-the-pumpkin · 1 year

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Ok I finished the rest of the episodes and here are my thoughts

I just feel like someone who hasn't read the books might have a hard time following it but idk

Barnes did grow on me. He was much better later. Still miss his mustache though.

Loved Lockwood the first episode of TWS after the wraith case. Peaked right there

Winkman. Holy cow Winkman. He got tazed! And strapped to an electric chair! Way more savage. And to see that guy murdered

Leopold? I had many questions. I thought he was a mechanical doll at first.

I was looking so forward to Lockwood's flying shorts. Disappointing

Also disappointing, George didn't go to the ball. How is Lockwood going to tell Barnes George turns into a pumpkin after midnight if he doesn't go to the party!?

I dont like Rupert. I was ambivalent to him in the books

Also the black library had 2 bookcases????

The part where salt rains from the ceiling is the coolest animation. And the skull looking into the bone glass.

I also didn't really like the skulls comments. His first I'm so lonely was great but after that. I guess he didn't really say anything in that book really anyway.

And his weird voice. Cringy

Flo? Who are you?

Why did Joplin explode?

Why is Lucy a coward? She was on the floor 99% of the time or screaming. She was much more BA in the books

Why did they never use chains and leave their bags everywhere? Where is your defense?

#lockwood and co #l&co spoilers #l&co. netflix #l&co netflix spoilers #this is just my opinion #think whatever you want

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tenpintsof-sundrop · 2 months

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HEY!! i passed out half way through reading it last night but guess who just finished it at 7 something in the morning (me, i did). doing that in the library is riskyy but also his whines 🤭 and the fact reader took did that twice in a row no break— hot. i truly do have an obsession with submissive men so id like to thank you kindly for blessing my eyes and mind. it really helps feed a girl’s delusions 💞

Read It Here: Tongue Twister - Sub!Gar Logan x (Dom)GN!Reader

"doing something like that in the library is risky"

meanwhile, I used to write smut on my laptop in the middle of class <3 and one time I literally had a teacher come up behind me when I wasn't paying attention while I was in the middle of writing an M/M anal scene (in this very famous fic of mine) and she said 'that doesn't look like the class website' - and she scared the literal shit out of me. but the second she walked away, I resumed writing the fanfic. I did not go on the class website at all that day. because I was trying my best to get transferred out of that class and get put into independent study

and what did I do during independent study? splitscreen Kamen Rider Ghost and my digital bio text book. and I still passed.

but yes - the fic!

I am glad that you enjoyed it <3 converting people to my submissive Gar agenda is just so perfect. like you can't look at him and his big beautiful wide sad eyes and tell me he's not the most submissive baby ever

also, the fic was 99% inspired by the fact that I have literally said before (multiple times) that I need to suck him so hard that his stomach collapses in like a capri sun. so the reader made him cum twice with no break because well - that's what he needs :)

like - I rarely write him as a dom, and when I do, it's the same way I write 'dom' Spencer - he's not being dominant because he actually has a desire to dominate. because he doesn't. he is being dominant because he is so fucking needy that he needs to take what he wants (aka your holes) or he feels like his brain will melt and pour out of his ears. he is just touching and consuming and mounting you out of a pure animal need. especially on Gar's part - because he is literally part animal.

but if someone is there who will shove him down and put him in his place, then he fucking loves it, and he whines about it like a sweet baby.

I could go on about Gar forever. but anyway - I am glad you enjoyed the fic <3 I absolutely look forward to you finishing up Titans so you can read my past Titans fics that have more context of the show, and you can enjoy my future ones <33

#anonymous #sundrop answers #fanfiction #random #gar logan #gar logan x reader #dc titans #dc titans fanfiction

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neverwritewhatyouknow · 11 months

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hello hello~ i saw your post about rw&b from another blog and decided to give your blog a look through. i just wanted to say really thank you for bringing these representation issues to the conversation, even if it's tiring and hard :')

i thought about it and i really could only name a few characters on tv that i've seen recently who were jewish (jake/gina from b99 and dr. taub from house md). as a jew, even nonreligious like many of us are, the culture is still such an important part of the community, and yet none of us really get to see this representation on screen - especially minorities within the jewish minority (i have a friend who's half chinese half jewish for ex).

i didn't grow up with religion (we only celebrated passover sometimes and we usually forgot to light the hanukkah candles after day 3), but we ate latkes and matzah and hamantashen and my mom and grandparents (also nonreligious jews) regularly used yiddish words like schlep and schmutz which I didn't know wasn't normal until i had college friends ask me what they meant.

anyway this ask doesn't really have a point but i'm really glad to see that this kind of issue is being talked about at some level, especially as you've seen, it keeps getting denied and pushed down (like saying having a jewish producer on a movie means we shouldn't have jewish actors??? wtf). even though i haven't experienced much discrimination myself (i don't have an easily identifiable/stereotypical jewish name or appearance) many many people have (for literally thousands of years) and there's so much antisemitism in our society. it's exhausting seeing it, hearing about it, reading it in books, etc. sorry for the very long message but sending much love and gratitude <3<3 you're amazing

Thank you so much for this!!!

I was just talking to someone else about Jake from Brooklyn 99, I’m gonna watch the show because everyone keeps telling me great things! And Taub… yikes… his character isn’t bad, but man do they really use his Jewishness as a punchline sometimes, granted House does it with everyone, but it feels more offensive with Taub. Dr Cuddy in House is Jewish too, played by Lisa Edelstein. But that was more of the case that she was Jewish and they let her character be too. But yeah, Jewish rep is such a small fraction of characters, and meaningful Jewish rep even more so.

There will be “Jewish” TV shows like The Goldbergs or Maisel, and people consider that rep… but 1. There are almost no Jewish actors in either of those shows, 2. Heavily stereotyped, 3. If the only time you can see more than one of two Jews on screen is in a show that is about Jews… It’s still othering Jews by literally putting them into a different show. I can easily name more than a dozen shows with no Jewish characters, which is just so terrible. Especially because there are so many different Jews in the world. Not every Jew is from New York and speaking Yiddish. There’s an entire other type of Judaism called Sephardic Judaism and there’s almost no rep there. Plus, there is barely any rep for Jews of color (especially played by Jews of color). I also have a friend who’s Jewish and Chinese, apparently that’s a super huge sector… yet, I can’t remember the last time I ever saw that represented by an actor who is. Sorry, little rant.

I love hearing about people’s Jewish upbringing, because there’s such a diverse range in the way people live their Jewish lives, and it doesn’t make any Jew more or less Jewish than another. I’m really glad you’ve never been discriminated against, like honest to god that makes me so happy. I’m the total opposite. Nearly been killed and attacked a handful of times, so any time another Jew tells me they’re able to live without worrying for their life, it makes me so happy and hopeful that maybe one day we all can. Probably a big hope lol, but maybe.

And yeah, Jewish representation is something that people don’t wanna hear about, because it would require people to understand more about Judaism and Jewishness, and due to history/society/culture, many think they already know everything and learning more would make them reevaluate things. And many don’t want to.

Thanks again for your message, Anon! Great to hear from you!!

#Jewish #anon post #jewish representation

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hoidn · 2 years

Text

checking sources and giving proper attribution are two issues near and dear to my heart, especially in the age of Everyone Makes Quote Graphics. don’t get me wrong, i love a good quote graphic as much as the next girl. i’ve even got an isak dineson quote on a cushion cover! but the internet is rife with the promulgation of misattributed/incorrect/badly used quotes because apparently doing a quick google search to check the information is just too much effort. here’s a rant about three quotes i came across on a single day:

We need the tonic of wildness -- [misquotation of] from Walden, by Henry David Thoreau. this is the beginning of a paragraph in chapter 17. i’ve never read walden, but i found this information in about three seconds. the full text of the book is available online! it was the third result of my search! yet there are dozens of graphics that say, “We need the tonic of wilderness”. is it a reading comprehension issue or what?

No legacy is so rich as honesty -- [that does not mean what i think you think it means] Shakespeare, from All’s Well That Ends Well. i read this somewhere and wanted to know which play it came from. my first search result was a link to a Forbes article where the author tells us earnestly, “I've lived by Shakespeare's words since I started my business.” except that a brief scan further down my search results tells me that the quote is actually a joke, using a play on words, where ‘honesty’ means ‘virginity’. awkward, bro.

You have bewitched me, etc. -- [misattribution] ugh, i can’t even bring myself to fully type out this insipid, trite garbage that whoever wrote the 2005 movie adaptation of P&P inflicted upon the world. it’s been spread around like manure but without any of manure’s usefulness, so it just sits there stinking up the place with its foul miasma. anyway, i saw a graphic in which this drivel was attributed to jane austen and i think i had a small aneurysm. (i also read someone quoted as saying she’d seen the movie 4,000 times and knew every line and i was like, oh, honey, that’s not something to brag about.) (AND OH MY GOD SOMEONE GOT IT TATTOOED ON THEIR BODY I AM SO EMBARRASSED FOR THEM AND THEIR BAD TASTE)

so anyway. the c.s. lewis foundation actually has a page for quotes misattributed to him.

then there’s quote investigator which i love because they correct misattribution and provide the original context.

and don’t forget six things darwin never said, which is what it says on the tin.

(if anyone knows of other resources like the above, please share!)

last but not least, some advice: if the only mentions of a quote in english that you can find are on quote websites and/or pinterest, there’s a 99% chance it’s not authentic for one reason or another. when the quote is an english translation of a text, it gets more complicated, but for well known writers/works it’s typically not difficult to establish provenance. if you can’t do that, at least consider it highly suspect.

#words are my life #the date on this is 23 January 2021 #it's clear that it was Not A Good Day for past!me #for present!me however it's extremely funny

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galaxythreads · 1 year

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1, 2 (b – may I also ask what colour?), 4, 8, 9, 12, 13, 15, 18, 20, 25, 28, 33, ✨34✨, 35, 36, 38 (even if you are okay with sharing, i need to know what cats say about us), 39

Quite a lot, isn't it? You may skip numbers you don't feel like elaborating.

One more question from me: what particular question(s) made you reblog this questioner? If I didn't pick it (them) then answer it (them) anyway

What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting? Calibri, size 11 font. Yes I care a lot. I've changed fonts three or four times since I started writing. I used to do Times New Roman, then Arial, then Algeraya, now I'm using Calibri and Arial occasionally.

If you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? If you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil? I went to online high school and every summer you had to give back the laptops they loaned out. I wrote by hand for three months until I bought a laptop when I was 18. I know I could do it because I already have. Colors usually black or pencil.

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral? Giggled. I hate it with my entire soul. Or yummy. If I could permanently remove words from the English language, it would be these two ^

8. If you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go? Already did. Someone fell from their sky to their death. it was a one-shot I wrote five years about for HTTYD.

9. Do you believe in ghosts? This isn’t about writing I just wanna know. Yes but no. I am one of the most skeptical people when it comes to the supernatural. I know you're going "........you're christain." and like yeah. Different than a haunting to me. I think 99% of hauntings are just mold or carbon monoxide poisoning. I would personally have to be possessed by a ghost before I took the story seriously. I am always going to try and find a scientific reason first, if I've crossed out all those, THEN i'm like "Yep. Ghost." I genuinely DO believe people have encountered the afterlife. I feel bad energies in places/rooms, and I've seen some stuff. But I DO NOT believe that every haunting is a haunting. It's ridiculous. Make sure your carbon monoxide detector is up to date.

12. If a genie offered you three writing wishes, what would they be? Btw if you wish for more wishes the genie turns all your current WIPs into Lorem Ipsum, I don’t make the rules. 1 - I get published and get a big fandom, 2 - one of my fanfics gets turned into a movie 3 - ChatGPT becomes illegal and doesn't overtake writing and ruin any potential prospects I have at making writing a career.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy? Hard: child death. Easy: child abuse.

15. Do you write in the margins of your books? Dog-ear your pages? Read in the bath? Why or why not? Do you judge people who do these things? Can we still be friends? No I don't. If you damage a book, I feel annoyed. My sister loaned me a book she wrote in the margins of once and yes it was cool to see her thoughts, but she crossed out sentences and wrote it differently and circled unique words and it was really really annoying because it was so distracting. Have never written in a book that wasn't scripture, have no plans to start.

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end. Spicy addition: Questioner provides the passage.

"I'm sorry.

He moves down the hall. Tony's enjoying this. Making May uncomfortable. It makes him sick. He wants to scream himself hoarse and demand to know how anyone could ever want that. (She said sorry.) Peter pushes open the door to his room and stares at it.

There's no looming shadowy presence in the corner. Nothing to suggest what's been going on for all this time. (Nothing has been going on.) it looks...painfully ordinary. Normal. Numbingly so. Peter stares at everything with an ache in his chest. Staying with the Starks isn't permanent he reminds himself, just until he can work things out with M&M. Then he'll be back here. He just needs...not everything.

Sorry.

Peter moves into the room, leaving the door open behind him.

I'm sorry.

He shuffles to his closet and digs through the top until he finds a duffle bag and starts to throw things into it. Clothing, his laptop, his phone charger, a blanket, other things he barely processes, and a few books. He doesn't see his phone and realizes that it's probably still in May and Matt's bedroom. Which...great.

Peter moves for his backpack, stuffing anything school related inside. He doesn't know if he'll be back before winter break is over. He doesn't think so.

Sorry.

May said sorry.

Peter's stiff hands move across the desk, fumbling to grab his history book, but it won't stick with his fingers. The backpack falls from his limp hands, landing at his feet with a huff of air.

Sorry.

As if that's supposed to fix it. Take back everything that happened. Half a year of aching. Of hating. Of nothing.

May said sorry.

Matt pushed him down the stairs.

Sorry.

His arm is broken.

May said sorry. And he doesn't want to forgive her."

-> Not one for Chocolate Anymore, I see

This passage is in response to May apologizing to Peter. And Peter just. yeah. This passage went through a lot of revisions that I can remember, Peter fixated on different things. But the sorry was what struck a chord with me.

I was, at the time, struggling with a lot of personal issues with my parents, and had a similar vein of thought to this ^. Sorry doesn't fix it. Sorry doesn't make it better. It's just words. I wanted to showcase that.

People hound victims of abuse for forgiving their abusers, especially if they said sorry. Like it makes it all better. They apologized, didn't they? Yeah. But May neglected Peter for months. He doesn't have to forgive her. This was my response to that. Peter is angry. He's allowed to be angry. Sorry doesn't fix it.

20..If a witch offered you the choice between eternal happiness with your one true love and the ability to finally finish, perfect, and publish your dearest, darlingest, most precious WIP in exactly the way you've always imagined it — which would you choose? You can’t have both sorry, life’s a bitch One true love. perfection doesn't exist and the potion would be useless. Plus I'm lonely and single and very much wish I had a gf.

25. What is a weird, hyper-specific detail you know about one of your characters that is completely irrelevant to the story? I always write Thor as hating poptarts because I like to subvert fandom tropes.

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

Loki. His head is haunted. Hela's a close second though. Her head is very haunted.

33. Do you practice any other art besides writing? Does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate? I draw. I play several instruments. I make collages and I build modals sometimes. The art comes into my writing sometimes, but not often.

34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go: It is utterly pointless. Look, there are very few instances that you NEED to have the oxford comma there. When you're listing things, people understand the and. I think that English is desperately trying to stick to outdated rules because they're "right" but the thing is, if you don't adapt with the language the language will die. Let it flow and change. It's normal. It's healthy. That's why English is how it is now.

35. What’s your favorite writing rule to smash into smithereens? No adverbs.

38. What is something about your writing process YOU think is Really Weird? If you are comfortable, please share. If you’re not comfortable, what do you think cats say about us? I write the chapter, let it sit for 3-4 days and then rewrite and edit it. Letting it marinate is just so weird to me.

39. What keeps you writing when you feel like giving up? I like comments. I enjoy putting down stories and sharing them. I like seeing people put the story together in the comments. I like the community.

40. Please share a poem with me, I need it.

Poem I wrote a few years ago (I have pages and pages and pages of poems actually, it was my Thing when I was 13-15).

"Trapped and I can't breathe,

Blind and I can't see,

Alone I cry and grieve,

I'm afraid of me,

from this ask game

#answered #ask game #okay #i feel like i've answered every question and it was only one ask #my writing

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iampikachuhearmeroar · 2 years

Text

to the younger people on this Webbed Site (affectionate)™️, please don’t feel bad blocking people or feel bad when you lose a follower on sites like tumblr/tiktok/insta etc.

as someone whose basically grown up on social media (i’ve been on it since the the dying days of myspace in 2007/2008 and the switch to facebook being the dominant social media site in 2009/2010); i know the feeling of hating yourself or beating yourself up when people delete you or unfollow you. for example when i was in my early days on tumblr from 2011 to 2014…. when i lost a follower, i would beat myself up and wonder why the hell someone would unfollow me. what was i doing wrong??? what was the last stick to make them unfollow me??? please don’t hate me and i’ve got to rebuild the 10+ followers i’ve just lost. how long will it take???

back on facebook in my final years of high school in 2012 and 2013, i was setting multiple statuses a day, all in an “experiment” to see if i could get 50 likes in a day over several statuses; since i could never get 20-50 likes on statuses at once, like all the so called “popular kids” at school did all the time. hell i remember one of the popular girls from the catholic school i went to posting bikini pics back then and getting literally like 400+ likes and i was SUPER bitter.

i also heavily beat myself up when people deleted me. i got angry, so i would stalk and stalk and stalk and stay up until 4 am wondering why the fuck people were purging me out their friends list like wildfire….. when like…. literally 90% of my statuses over my last two years of high school were me giving off Major Depression Vibes™️….. which i now realise in my late 20s that it wasn’t healthy posting a bunch of “im such a failure and everyone knows it” and other statuses like that, super frequently. by deleting me, people were preserving their mental health. and you know what??? good for them. because, after all, your newsfeed is not your therapist (or your diary), and nor are your friends.

and yes i know that i was Edgy Girl As Hell On Main™️ back then, and using that as my excuse to post those posts and to avoid therapy (although the main reason i’m not in therapy right now is obvs the cost and every therapist around in my area closing their books bc of the pandemic etc). bc hell, now in my late 20s, and over the last few years, i have actually started deleting some of these said statuses. and especially when i was feeling low. because i realised reading them back years later in facebook memories just made my anxiety/depression exponentially worse than it needed to be. actively culling your own Edgy Emo Tumblr Sad Girl Posts™️ from years ago makes you healthier as well.

but y’all. there has to come a time when you stop fretting about whose deleted/unfollowed you and why. and there also comes a time when you have purge your own friends/follow list anyway, when you realise that there’s some people you cannot stand to have in your newsfeed. one particular case in point, for me, is my old friend from public school in 2012 & 2013, let’s call her taya (not her real name). taya was (can't say is really when i barely ever talk to her now) the type of friend who constantly belittles your problems and makes her problems seem super more pressing than yours- basically she pits her suffering etc in competition with yours. she makes out that her mental health is far more important than yours and posted about it all the time. she straight up laughs at your shit and tells you yours doesn’t matter. 99% of her statuses at the time were about her being the “black sheep” of her family etc etc etc. hell, she even laugh reacted to a status that you intended to be important and urgent (it when i was in hospital in 2020 and maybe i shouldn’t’ve posted this. but still.) while anyone and everyone else who reacted to the status reacted with the sad react/the care react/heart react, or just liked it. anyway. you know this type of friend.

there comes a time when YOU can’t (and quite frankly shouldn’t) tolerate this anymore, no matter how close you are or close they/you think you are with them. i ended up deleting taya for a few years, a while ago now, because her statuses and shared posts were actively making my mental health worse. and it always seemed when i was feeling at my worst, she would post stupid shit on my timeline like “we all have that friend who acts like their (when it should be they’re) dead” or some other rude/snarky internet shit and be all like “haha get up you sack of shit 🙄😂” as the caption…. as if i wasn’t already telling myself that on the daily at the time. whereas 90% of her profile was all those stupid “only real people who REALLY CARE about mental health will share this status! be the BRAVE 10 who care!!!” or whatever the fuck else posts. and depressing shit about being a “lone wolf” and “being a strong scorpio woman who’ll never find love bc no one can handle my insanity and constant empathy for everyone” and “being a brutally honest bitch is tough when it doesn’t win you friends. but at least my true friends stick with me!” etc etc. just overall toxic friend stuff.

and y’know what??? when i deleted her, i guilted myself. good god i guilted myself. “why would i do something so mean by deleting taya when i’ve known her for so long???” and “it shows just how disloyal i am as a friend by deleting her” i asked and told myself on a loop until i literally THREW UP out of guilt for deleting her. but girl. sometimes a bitch needs to really protect her mental health from people like taya over here who thinks she’s the centre of the universe and EVERYONE must care about HER PROBLEMS AND TRAUMA ONLY 24/7/365 bc apparently they’re the most urgent things in the world bc “why can’t you understand my empath mind???”. like yes taya, i care, to a point. but i am NOT your licensed motherfucking therapist. for fucks sake. and no taya. you are NOT an empath when you can’t read a room for goddamn fucking shit and can’t understand why people are constantly tired and worn down around you.

and girl (back to myself), you are NOT being selfish or disloyal by deleting and/or blocking this energy sucking friend. and no, if you paint yourself/other people paint you as a “nice person”, blocking these types of people from your feeds etc isn’t you being mean to THEM. it’s YOU being actively nice to Y O U R S E L F, which is a hard and almost alien thing to learn when you always put everyone else’s needs and perceptions of you before yours. (and trust me, it’s something i’ve just realised RIGHT NOW while coming back to constantly re-edit this post lmao 😂).

like yes don’t get me wrong. i did listen to taya’s rants and stuff, as a friend does. but my god. the way she ALWAYS belittled my shit and laughed in my face (or it felt like laughing in my face on fb messenger) at the lowest points of my mental health was fucking awful. her depression posts made it even worse. but my fucking god. i could only take so much. i had to delete her. she did eventually find me and add me again after a couple of years. when this happened, i immediately got rid of her from my feed. i just clicked “don’t show me taya’s posts” and that stopped her constant stream of negative posts on my feed. however, it didn’t stop some of her dumbass comments like “hahaha as IF you’d get weight loss ads on your feed when YOU aren’t fat like ME!” on my posts; which i learnt to ignore or vaguely respond to before her comments got out of hand. like taya everyone gets weight loss ads apparently; bc fb ad filters don’t discriminate when you don’t tell them to.

tbh most of her insensitive behaviour shit towards me was from her instant labelling of me as the “funny friend” and the “doesn’t take shit from anyone friend”. which then meant to her that i could never be sad or never feel anything negative and could always take whatever bullshit people chucked at me….. and especially when someone says something hurtful etc bc it’s apparently all meant to slide off me like…. - i can’t think of a good metaphor- but you know what i mean. it also meant to her that i was NEVER being serious about anything EVER bc funny people don’t have the capacity to be serious, ever. apparently.

but anyway. there comes a point when you have to care about yourself more than keeping people on your friend/followers list out of obligation because you’ve known them for so long. if you can’t tolerate what they post or can’t have a civilised convo with them about what they post (mostly bc i never bothered with this girl bc i knew she’d NEVER listen to me bc haha funny friend can’t be sad or angry or argumentative!!!! say something funny. for thee is mine own personal fool)… just delete them. or if you feel like you can’t delete them, just take them out of your feed so that you can no longer see their triggering posts. same with sites like twitter with following.

and this goes for other toxic people in your life too. because my high school stalker/creeper tried to re-add me again a while ago now…… and i instantly blocked him; bc i’d seen from going through his profile that he hadn’t changed at all…. and that i knew he’d start harassing me to fuck him (he’s a massive incel type guy) etc like he always does. i knew after all my time in hospital and stuff over the last couple of years, that i have NO TIME AND ENERGY to deal with his manipulative bullshit anymore (and i never really did in the first place anyway tbh). so before he could even start a convo with me, i just straight up blocked him. i’m never letting him in again to hijack my mental health and my self-esteem.

and even though, yes when you get older, it’s still fun to try to sniff out the person who has deleted you all of a sudden (bc tbh here, i still do this for funsies)… in reality, you know deep down that you’ve lost connection with them. or let’s be real, you never liked them in the first place in school or wherever else you met them (could be work etc)…. that yeah. you were just waiting for them to delete/unfollow you anyway and you don’t care that they finally have.

and the weird social obligation where you feel like you have to keep this person on social media because you’ve known them for X amount of years is fucked up and dumb. because if amanda or victor is constantly belittling you or constantly posting upsetting shit and they do nothing about fixing their feed after you’ve told them that it bothers you (if you’ve done this), maybe it’s time to just straight up delete/block them anyway so you can hopefully no longer see or engage with the upsetting stuff that they keep posting. and i’m obvs deflecting the fact that i actually did engage with posts that made my mental health worse (hello 2011-2015 tumblr era black & white depression blogs) on here back in the day, but i no longer do that.

moreover, follower counts and friend counts mean fuck all. they’re arbitrary. and the fact that social media makes you feel like an asshole for deleting/unfollowing/blocking people from your feed/dash etc….. it’s ultimately important if their posts are fucking with your mental health and/or you can’t have decent convos with this person about anything because they make it wholly about themselves; or have labelled you as a certain friend role which means you can never X, when they can….. it’s better to dump them out with the trash where they belong by deleting/blocking them. these stupid as fuck numbers have nothing to fucking do with loyalty and other traits for irl friends. the idea of loyalty in a follower only matters when it becomes your career. because without “loyal fans/followers”, you don’t make a mark (or y’know you don’t get brand deals/sponsors etc).

and also overall, this post is a big fuck you for growing up on social media. it really does especially hurt people with high anxiety etc. it’s utterly exhausting and it’s exactly why i haven’t made the supposedly necessary 1000+ different social media accounts: from insta to tiktok to twitter to whatever the fuck the next one is going to be. i just have no energy to invest in having to spread myself thin over several SM accounts to see the following stats and the for you page on TT for example, feeding me videos that could inevitably make me feel worse. i actually actively have to cull the videos on my facebook watch feed, which i talk about every so often.

i did all this shit 10+ years ago, beating up myself over losing followers when i was only at like 500 or something and it also hurt when i was in my obsessive tumblr cleaning out phase, at just how many of my old followers, and sometimes mutuals, On This Here Hellsite (affectionate)™️ had deactivated over the years. it really shooketh me to my core, if the kids are still saying that. i don’t want to do that on other social media platforms, though.

and as i’ve stated in the past on here, it’s also exactly one of the reasons why i dropped out of the comms and media studies (triple major in marketing comms/PR/advertising) degree that i originally started undergrad uni with in 2015. i had no energy to expend to “professional” social media account follower counts- which we were being marked on as part of the course. i had no desire for engagement and the study of social media engagement in a professional space like i thought i did from using tumblr, at that point in time, for 4 years. but systematically and critically studying it seemed like a nightmare because why should i give a shit that people on my course aren’t engaging with my tweets and wordpress posts??? (like i know why but still).

BUT ANYWAY. this post went in so many different directions…. and i hope that if i have any younger followers, that they know that the younger millennials/older gen z (idek what the fuck i am) know the struggle of growing up online and that blocking/deleting etc people on the internet is good. and also that losing followers/friends etc is okay esp when you get older. unless of course you made this shit your career…. on this front, i have no idea how to help you on that tbh

#life #about me #shut up ilona #ok dgmw the girl that i talk about in this post is obvs at a better place now when i look at her fb occasionally #and i’m proud of her for that #but man she does still post some of those annoying strong woman posts and stuff like that #but i will never forgive the way she treated me when i was not doing well mentally #and i feel like i know that if i ever bother to reconnect with her she’ll treat me the exact same way anyway #so it’s better to never interact with her anyway #and not have her in my feed in case she gets in that really horrible mental space again…..#…..and ruins my mental health in either the short or long term again #and i’ll also never forgive her for laugh reacting at that status i set while in hospital that was all like #‘hey life i know i joke about wanting to die a lot it doesn’t mean that you actually dole it out to me though lol not lol’#after my body decided to shit out an illeus after my stomach surgery in 2020 #and i lost a litre of blood etc when that happened and stuff like that #like i was like a hair breadths from death and this bitch is all like ‘hehe funny friend don’t mean shit be my funny monkey’#and like no i was being serious learn to read between the lines #but also yeah i’ll admit that i shouldn’t’ve even set the status anyway #but i was sick etx in hospital and wanted support lmao #anyway. it is what it is z.

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