#i forgot to do my bible study this morning

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 FIRST LIGHT

FEATURING: beast dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai severely overestimated his self-control. it takes approximately six days and thirteen hours for him to break, seeking you out again. when he does, he knows that nothing will ever be the same. {wordcount: 14.5k; fem!reader; romance & tragedy}

AUTHOR'S NOTES: PART TWOOOOOOO, we have one of my fav parallels in this one, i know you guys will catch it immediately but u still must tell me when you do. also, there's another hint about badlands!reader & dazai's relationship in this chapter that happened after the events of the last installment so u must let me know if you catch that too. reblogs are always appreciated! thank you guys & i hope you guys love this as much as i enjoyed writing 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. + we have a bit more of unhinged thought processes on dazai's end. as always please let me know if i forgot any warnings!

SEE: UNREAL UNEARTH SERIES MASTERLIST READ: BADLANDS SIDE A

He understands now the temptation that Eve must have felt in the Garden of Eden with the forbidden fruit dangling right in front of her face. Traditional interpretation of the Bible places the expulsion of Adam and Eve from the Garden on day six of creation; Dazai’s restraint has thus far rivaled that of the two Biblical figures. He’s on day six now, in fact; it’s been exactly six days, twelve hours and forty six minutes since he met you in the hallway of the club and each passing second has been more agonizing than the last. 

He isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to last. 

His office is dark and suffocating, the atmosphere so cold and unwelcoming that it has him craving the return to your warm and homely apartment so intensely that he thinks it might be making him sick. He turned off the light earlier when he felt a migraine coming on, hoping that the darkness would let his eyes and mind rest enough to catch it before it fully came on, but he’s realized that it probably wasn’t the light causing his headache, rather it was you.

He sighs as he tilts his head back, willing the migraine to go away even though he knows it's to no avail. But he can’t even rest his eyes in peace, because every time they slide shut, the image of you burns the inside of his eyelids—your soft gaze and bright smile, the way you held your hand out to take his and the way your lashes fluttered as you leaned into his touch. 

Six days, twelve hours and forty seven minutes. 

He thinks he would prefer the nightmares of his other lives to this. At least with those, they fuel his drive to press forward with his master plan, the reminder of your fates in the other worlds would scorch away any desire to seek you out in fear of bringing it upon you again in this one.

Now, every night for the past six days he’s been plagued with dreams of you—pleasant dreams. Dreams that when he wakes from them, he finds his cheeks wet and his chest heavy with such an intense longing for you that it makes him physically ill. He dreams of having you in his arms, kissing the top of your head as you do your best to study even with him making every effort to distract you. He dreams of watching sunrises with you, seeing the way the early morning colors wash over your face, your skin glowing and eyes glittering in such a vivid way that Dazai swears he can even picture it now. He dreams of a ring, and he dreams of his palms sweating as he walks with you down to the beach you met on to watch another sunrise, and he dreams of getting down on one knee in front of you just as the sun breaks over the horizon. He never dreams of a wedding, so Dazai theorizes that you never made it long enough for one to take place. 

And the realization of that alone should be enough to make the yearning for you evaporate but it’s not, because dangerous thoughts have been circulating through his head since the night he left you. Thoughts of how maybe this could be different. Dazai is the boss of the Port Mafia in this life, he has enough resources to protect you—more money than god and enough armed forces behind him to rival the nation’s government. He has the power to keep you safe in this life, more than he ever had in any other. 

If there was any life that he could be with you and ensure your safety, it’s this one. 

Six days, twelve hours and forty nine minutes.

Does he really want to give this up?

Dazai rests his arms on his desk, lowering his head down, eyes sliding shut again. He can see you again, the image of you from last week, laughing wildly at something he’d said—he can’t even remember what it was, he was so nervous that he can’t even recall half of the night, but he doesn’t really care at all what he said anyway, too enraptured by the way you react to it. 

He wonders if you’re there now. At the bar. Because what he does remember, of course, is your teasing grin as you tell him that of course, you’re scheming out a second meeting between the two of you because naturally you’ve decided that you already like him. And he remembers the hope thinly veiled behind your eyes, as you look over him, knowing that if the two of you are to meet again, it would be reliant on whether or not he decides to come back to the club, because you’ve already made your intentions clear.

Six days, twelve hours and fifty minutes.

Dazai’s throat feels swollen, his nails dig into his palms. He imagines you waiting there, he imagines the disappointment on your face as you slowly realize he’s not going to show up. And you’re so damn beautiful, radiant even beneath the shitty lighting of the club—he’s sure you saved a seat at the bar for him, and you’ve probably had dozens of interested men who’ve offered to buy you drinks, asking if you’d come to the club alone. And you’ll probably turn them down at first, telling them that you’re waiting on someone, but he wonders how long it’ll take for you to finally take one of them up on their offer after you’ve realized that Dazai isn’t going to show. He wonders if you’ll follow them out to the dance floor, he wonders if you’ll give them the same teasing smile you gave him. He can picture slim fingers caressing your hips, pulling you closer. He can picture your lashes fluttering as they lean their head down to ghost their lips against your neck, swaying to the music. He doesn’t want to picture anything else, but his mind, as always, betrays him. 

He wonders if you’ll take them back to your apartment—would you get right into it or would you sit and talk with them for a while? His head spins as his thoughts take an increasingly more dangerous spiral. It’s a bitter cold night out, maybe you’ll take the opportunity to make them the hot chocolate you’ve made him hundreds of times, thousands of times before—no, he corrects as the lines start to blur in a treacherous way, you’ve never made it for him in this life. Maybe it’s so cold out that you’d forgo small talk altogether, instead seeking out the warmth of someone else’s body—you’d take them by the hand, lead them into your bedroom and lay them back on your bed. 

Would you be gentle with them? Like you were with him? No, he reminds himself again, you’ve never been with him like that, not in this life. The pages of the Book pile around him, memories flooding him with an intensity that he’s never experienced before; he can hardly even remember what his reality is, all of the others blending and shifting together in his mind, making it impossible to decipher the lines between them. 

You’re dragging him to the beach to watch your first sunrise with him and you’re telling him that you want to see as many as possible with him—he wants to tell you that he thinks he might love you but he doesn’t know how to say it  You’re laying him back against a bed, asking him if he trusts you—of course, he does, how is that even a question? You’re leaning your head against his arm, standing before a familiar grave and accepting him for all that he is even after he strips bare down to all of the worst parts of himself for you—you shouldn’t, he wants to say desperately, but instead he’s telling you that he loves you, even though he knows it might kill you. And then-

And then he’s ripped violently from his fall into the pages of the Book as his phone vibrates and it’s not him anymore, it’s someone else, someone unworthy and undeserving, a stranger that you’d turned to because Dazai wasn’t there.

Dazai nearly heaves. He never should have indulged in you that night. He should have known he was never going to go back to normal after it. The difference between the memories and actually having seen you and heard you and touched you and smelt you was so much more severe than he ever could have expected. Now, the memories aren’t enough; he wants a life with you, he wants it to be his reality. He thinks that it’s not fair that he’s the only one who can’t be with you. He wants to make new memories with you so he no longer has to struggle with the blurred lines, so he doesn’t have to yearn for a life that he’ll never be able to experience, having to watch every single other Dazai get to have what he can’t.

Six days, twelve hours and fifty eight minutes.

He can do it, his thoughts are a bit manic as he tries to ground himself after the spiral. He has the knowledge. He has the power. He has the resources. If there’s any life that he’s able to be with you and keep you safe, it’s this one. He doesn’t have to hide from you, he doesn’t have to deny himself of you to protect you—he has the knowledge, he has the power, he has the resources. He can keep you safe. Instead of being the only Dazai who never gets to be with you, he’ll be the only Dazai who can actually spend his life with you—a long one, a happy one. He’ll have what none of them did. He can do it.  

Before he can stop himself, he speaks.

“Gin-chan,” Dazai calls softly, knowing that he doesn’t have to speak any louder for the girl to hear him. As soon as he hears the door to the backroom open, he continues with, “Have Albatross be ready downstairs with one of the cars.” 

“Of course. Where to, sir?” 

To Gin’s credit, she doesn’t sound at all caught off guard by Dazai’s sudden request, as if it’s normal for Dazai to randomly decide to leave the Port Mafia base even though he can count on one hand the number of times he’s left the base since he ascended to the position of boss four years earlier. 

“... The club we own in Naka,” Dazai says after a few moments, fingers thrumming against the mahogany of his desk for a moment before he adds, “... Don’t tell Chuuya.”

“... Yes, sir. I’ll have Albatross get everything ready immediately.”

At exactly six days and thirteen hours, Dazai’s self-control shatters. 

You sigh. 

The seat next to you remains damningly empty despite the many attempts of handsome strangers trying to join you at the bar. You’re sure you must’ve turned down half a dozen by now in hopes that the stranger from last Friday will end up showing up but those hopes are very quickly disappearing. You want to convince yourself that maybe you’ve just missed him—it’s a rather large club, after all—but it’s not half as packed as it was last week; you think that if he were here, you would’ve spotted him by now. Or he would have spotted you.  

Dazai Osamu, you remember his name, eyes sliding shut briefly as you take a sip of your water, wondering if you should just switch to alcohol and drink your sorrows away, seek out one of the men who’d approached you already so you don’t end up spending the night alone. The thought leaves you unsatisfied, a pout rising to your lips around the rim of your glass as you finish off yet another glass of water. 

You swear that you’re not usually this pathetic—especially not over a man—but there’s just something about this Dazai Osamu that has you acting up. Like honestly, who even are you? Going to the club alone on a Friday night with nothing but some faint hopes that the man you’d met here last week would show up too? It’s so embarrassing, you think you might die—but somehow you’re not embarrassed enough to leave because you’re still hoping that he shows up. 

God, you think again, who are you anymore? You barely even know this man. You know his name and you know he’s handsome. And that’s just about it, but here you are, sitting bummed at a club because he isn’t showing even though he has absolutely no reason to. 

The bartender raises his eyebrows with a small smile and you pass the glass over to him, letting him refill it. He’s the same one from last week and he recognized you as soon as you took a seat at the bar, making sure to get you what you need and keep you company whenever there’s a lull in patrons flagging him down. It’s a stark contrast from the treatment that you got early in the night last week, where it had taken you twenty minutes to get a single drink and even then you could barely hold his attention long enough to tell him what you wanted. You can’t help but notice that he seems hyperaware of the open seat next to you.

As the bartender passes you another glass of water, you flash him a wavering smile, unconsciously sparing another awkward glance to the empty seat next to you. While the club isn’t quite as packed as it was last week, it’s not exactly empty and you’re starting to feel bad hoarding the seat when plenty of others probably want to sit down too. 

“I’m sure he’ll show,” the bartender tells you before he’s waved down by another patron. You wonder if he’s guessed who you’re waiting for or if it’s just meant to be some general comfort. “Probably just running late, he’s a busy man.”

Oh, you think, eyes widening, but before you can question him as to what he means, he’s rushing to go refill the drink of a blonde man on the opposite end of the bar.

A busy man. 

Who are you, Dazai Osamu? 

Even in your drunken state, you knew from the moment you met him that there was something off about him. The way he held himself, the way he looked at you, the way people treated him—it all screamed danger. Once you’d sobered up, you remembered all of the things you didn’t notice while you’d been intoxicated. You remembered the way people would rush to get out of his way or show him complete deference, eyes a bit wide and faces a bit pale. You remembered the way Takeda looked sick and scared when Dazai told him to go, and Takeda is usually a bull-headed and fearless man, it takes a lot to make him back down. You remembered his driver—he had a driver!—and how when he stepped out of the car to open the door for the two of you, you swore you caught a glint of gunmetal holstered at his waist before Dazai gave him a cold look and he quickly covered it up.

And you’re not usually a girl who seeks danger out, for as much as you went on your spiel about living life on the edge the last time you spoke to him, you’re usually a pretty careful person. If you were smart, you would have woken up the next morning and pretended that you were too drunk to remember the night before, forget all about Dazai Osamu and his dangerous smile and intense gaze. 

But you aren’t smart, evidently, because instead of forgetting about him, you spent half of the next day mourning because he didn’t even leave you his number and the other half of it scheming out the best way of running into him again. 

You sigh, resting your cheek on your hand as you prop your elbow up on the bartop, idly tracing the rim of your glass.

What is it about you, Dazai?

One meeting and you’re captivated. He must be some kind of witch, or siren, there’s no other explanation for how you’re so utterly enchanted by him. He spoke your name with the familiarity of a lover, watching you with gentle eyes even though they become cold and empty whenever they avert to someone other than you. And you—you felt as if you’ve known him your entire life. You’ve never had such an instant connection with someone like that before, you’re convinced that it’s fate at work, even if he’s adamant against the thought.

You want to see him again. You wonder if it was maybe just your drunken brain misconstruing things, although somehow you doubt it. You need to talk to him again to know if the connection is real, and if it’s real-

“Is this seat taken?”

At first, the voice doesn’t register as familiar, so you let out a soft puff of air, trying to figure out if you should deny another person. But as you turn to face the newcomer, your eyes widen a bit as you catch sight of the long, burgundy scarf hanging in your peripheral, stark against a long, sleek black suit jacket.

Your lips part in shock, head snapping to the side so you can fully look at the person to your left. Dazai Osamu stands there, hands resting comfortably in the pockets of his jacket, head tilted to the side, a small smile curving at his lips and a soft look in his eye as he looks down at you, comforting and warm compared to the cold emptiness you vaguely noticed from him at certain points last night.

You try to say no, it’s not taken, but no words leave your lips, so instead, you shake your head, eyes following Dazai as he takes a seat next to you at the bar. The bartender rushes over, all but abandoning the couple he’d been helping on the opposite side of the bar, pouring Dazai an expensive glass of whiskey and giving him a nod before going back to who he’d been helping before. Your eyes follow the man curiously before you turn your gaze back to Dazai, not speaking for a moment as you observe the way he stares down at the glass of whiskey for a second, the warmth in his eye slowly dissipating.

You don’t like it, and not because it makes you uncomfortable or anything, but rather because you just don’t like how alone he seems. So, you lean forward, smiling, and say, “Fancy seeing you here.”

Dazai turns his gaze back to you and the warmth returns, pools of honey rather than the endless void. You melt beneath it. 

“I vaguely remember a beautiful woman mentioning scheming out a second meeting,” Dazai drawls, dark eye lidded as he looks down at you, a half-smile decorating his face. “It would be quite remiss of me to be the cause of her failure.”

Your cheeks feel a bit a hot as you grin down at your drink. “While we’re on the topic of things I may or may not have said last week, I have to be honest with you. I totally lied about something,” you say with a laugh, leaning on the bar. He raises his eyebrow curiously. You give him a sheepish smile as you continue with, “I have absolutely no idea how to charm someone, drunk or sober, I was entirely speaking out of my ass, so keep your expectations low.”

The smile that curls to the corner of his lips is soft enough to make your heart skip a beat. “I think you just being yourself is plenty charming,” he murmurs.

You let out a noise caught between a groan and a whimper, face going hot. “Oh my god, you’re the charmer,” you accuse loudly, burying your face in your arms. “I’ll never survive. Handsome and charming, a deadly combination.”

As you peer your eyes open to look at him, you can’t help but notice the way his smile briefly falters at your words. You promptly decide to change the subject with: “Thank you for making sure I got home safely last week.”

“You don’t need to thank me for that,” he says, one pale, lithe finger tracing along the rim of his glass. Your eyes linger for a moment on the digit, mind wandering, before you force your gaze up; you can see the bandages peeking out from beneath the sleeve of his dark coat as your eyes drag his arm back to his face. There’s a knowing expression on his face, the smile on his lips a bit more sensual. Your breath catches as you avert your gaze, feeling quite like you’ve just been caught doing something bad.

“Sure I do,” you try to make the words sound casual and easy but despite your most sincere attempts, your voice is strained. “Not many people would go out of their way like that for someone they just met.”

Something akin to amusement flashes through his eye. You’re not sure what he finds amusing, but you decide you don’t care because you very much prefer it to the distant look that had been painted in them before.

“An unfortunate world we live in, then,” he says softly, but there’s a lilt to his tone that makes you feel like he knows something that you don’t. He doesn’t give you much time to dwell on it though as he asks, “Are you going to have anything to drink?”

You startle slightly at the question, glancing down at the glass of water you’re drinking before you tell him with a laugh, “I don’t know if I want to force you to deal with me drunk twice. Didn’t I promise I’d stay sober this time?”

“If I remember correctly, you only said ‘not quite as drunk,’” he says, lips tilting up a bit and god, the way he’s looking at you has you flustered, gaze lidded and intense, as if you’re the only one in the room and not in a club with hundreds of other people. “Let me order you something, I think you’ll like it.”

“Oh, that’s bold,” you warn, tossing him a teasing smile. “I'm very particular about my drinks, I’ll have you know. I’m almost curious what you have in mind that makes you so confident.”

“I have a good feeling about it,” Dazai says, tilting his head to the side as he waits for your decision.

You give a heavy sigh, pretending like it’s a difficult decision even though you know it’s not. “Fine, but only if you promise to cut me off after two. Whenever I hit three, I hit the floor.”

You extend your pinky toward him, waiting for him to take it, and when he does, you swear a jolt of electricity shoots up your arm. As he wraps his finger around yours, your heart skips a beat, your eyes meet his and you think you might get lost in the dark pools, you don’t think you would mind if you do and that scares you. You’ve never had someone make your heart flutter and mind haze like this, especially not so quickly.

“Promise,” he breathes out, barely audible above the thundering music and crowds. 

You dip your head down to press your lips against your thumb to seal the deal, and you think you fall even more when you don’t have to tell him to do the same, following your lead and kissing his own thumb to seal it. And you briefly wonder if this man might be your soulmate because he didn’t give you a single odd look and didn't hesitate for a second whereas when you’ve made pinky promises with some of your other friends and past partners, their expression always twists a bit in confusion or oddity at the second part.

Rather than letting go of your hand, he swaps to his other hand, intertwining his fingers with yours and resting it on your lap before he flags the bartender down—quite easily, might you add—and leans over the bartop to say something quietly to him. The man nods and rushes off, and you give Dazai a scandalized look as he turns his attention back to you, hyper aware of the warmth of his fingers against yours.

“You won’t even tell me what it is?” you gasp in mock offense. 

Dazai rests his other elbow on the bar top, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you through his lashes. You couldn’t drag your gaze away if you wanted to, tunneled onto him.

“It’s a surprise,” he says with a smile. “You’ll like it, trust me.”

“Quite confident for someone that hardly knows me, aren’t you, Dazai?” you giggle, raising your hand to cover your lips, and god, he looks so amused again, and so handsome. You might die. “That’ll be for me to judge.”

“Very confident,” he agrees, and you think he winks but you can’t tell because one of his eyes is covered by bandages. 

“So,” you begin, waiting for the drink. “You’re from around here then?”

You hope he is, at least, because you’d like to keep seeing him. Something about him is just so intoxicating, like a drug you just can’t get enough of. You think he must be, from the way he seems so familiar with the bartender and other patrons, but you could always be wrong.

You hope you’re not wrong.

“Mhm,” Dazai agrees, humming around the rim of his glass as he takes another sip. You hope the excitement you feel doesn’t flash across your face. “Yokohama born and raised… you?” 

Distantly, a part of you feels like the question is just an afterthought, as though he already knows the answer and you wonder if you’re that obvious, but you pay no mind to that, instead nodding. “Same,” you say, and then, “... I wonder if we have crossed paths before then. You’re so familiar, I can’t imagine that we’ve never met before… Maybe uni? Did you happen to go to UTokyo? I graduated there last year.”

Dazai seems to hesitate at the question, as if considering his answer. You wonder why, but he leaves you little time to figure it out because he finally replies, “No… I was in Tokyo for business for a while a couple years ago though.”

Your eyes light up. “Really?” you ask, leaning forward as you speak. “Where did you work? I know the area pretty well.”

He hesitates again, this time more blatantly, and you can see the confliction that briefly flashes across his face. How curious. 

“It wasn’t a particular storefront, or anything, just my line of work had me in the area for a while.”

You’re about to press into what his line of work is, desperate to know more about the man sitting in front of you, but you’re interrupted by the bartender returning with a martini so stunning that if it tastes half as good as it looks, you might fall in love. 

But you’re not going to make it that easy. 

“Go on,” Dazai says, leaning a bit back in his seat as he watches. He looks at you as if he already knows that you’re going to like it and you’re adamant on destroying his assumptions, you will hate this drink if it’s the last thing you do. “Tell me what you think.”

You lift the martini glass up to your lips carefully, the dark liquid so close to the brim that you’re nervous it will spill over the sides. He watches you expectantly, you pointedly hold his gaze as you take a sip of the drink and-

“Oh my god.”

Dazai looks utterly vindicated, raising his chin as you take a sip of the drink and stare at it in shock. It’s so… tasty. It’s creamy, and sweet, and you can hardly taste the alcohol but you can feel the tingle on your tongue and the light burn in your throat. All thoughts of the conversation you were having before the drink showed up disappear, and you’re focused solely on the glass in your hands and the man before you.

“So?” God, he’s evil. He almost purrs the word, as if he knows exactly what your response is going to be. He leans forward a bit, looking down at you through his lashes. “Give me the verdict, Your Honor.”

“It’s good,” you say, raising your chin in spite, hoping that your expression doesn’t betray but from the way his lips spread into a wider smile, you fear that you completely failed. 

“Just good?” Dazai croons. 

You pause for a second, debating on lying and telling him yes, just good, but the words you intend on speaking do not leave your lips. Rather, you say, “Okay. It may or may not be one of the best drinks I’ve had in a while. You have to tell me what it is so I know what to ask for.”

“Hmm.” Dazai lifts a finger to his chin, as if considering your words. “I don’t think I will.”

“What!”

His smile becomes a bit softer, his expression more teasing. “I think I’ll hold that information hostage, so you have to come out with me again if you want to drink it.”

A jittery feeling spreads through your chest, heart fluttering, cheeks hot. “Oh? Look who’s scheming out our third meeting already,” you taunt lightly. “How the tables turn.”

“Of course, I’m scheming out our third meeting, maybe our fourth and fifth too,” he mimics your words from last week shamelessly. “I’ve decided I already like you, bella.”

The pet name rolls off his tongue easily, as if it’s second nature to him, and your face is on fire but Dazai looks like he’s shocked even at himself. You fumble with your words for just a second, it takes you a moment too long to recover but you think that Dazai doesn’t even notice in his stunned state. 

You decide to return fire. 

“I hope all of our dates aren’t just going to be at clubs,” you tell him with a smile that edges on flirtatious, cocking your head to the left.

Your words hardly register until you notice that his cheeks have become bright and rosy, hand instinctively coming up to hide his face. He looks entirely like he’s at a loss for words, lips parting and closing several times. It’s so endearing that you think you might really die now, but then the gravity of your words hit you like a train.  

Oh god. A date? A date?? This is only the second time you’ve met, that was way too soon. You-

“I’ll make sure the next place we meet is somewhere special,” he finally says, voice smooth and gaze gentle and- 

And just like that, you’re a goner.

You’re not sure how long you sit there talking to him. Hours, probably. It feels like no time at all and forever all at once. You lose yourself in his gaze, and his smile, and you think the whole world could be burning around the two of you and you’d have no idea just because you’re so tunnel visioned on him. The music drowns out, and all you can hear is his voice. The people around you blur out of focus, and all you can see is him. 

It’s insane, you think. You’ve never felt like this with anyone before. You’ve had so many flings and so many boyfriends over the years, but the way your stomach twists and turns and the way your head feels fuzzy with Dazai is so incomparable to how you felt with anyone else. 

You feel like you’ve known him forever. 

You feel like you’ve only just met him. 

How is it possible to feel like you know someone you’ve only just met so intimately? When you know you don’t actually know much about him personally but it still feels like you can read into the depths of his soul?

God, you don’t know, but you do know one thing, and it’s that you never want to lose this feeling. 

And that’s how it began. 

Every Friday for weeks, you find yourself at the club, sipping cheap martinis at the bar until a certain handsome man in a dark suit decides to finally grace you with his presence. Sometimes, the two of you would just sit at the club’s bar until the sun threatens to rise, when you finally go your separate ways and you make your way back to your apartment, falling asleep with a smile on your face and waking up with a giddy feeling still sparkling in your chest. Other times, he only comes by the club to pick you up, fulfilling his promise of making sure to take you somewhere nice when you find yourself fine dining at the fanciest rooftop restaurants in the city. 

He never stays over your place, even when he does drop you off. Sometimes he’ll hang around for an hour (you made him your favorite hot chocolate, he liked it so much that he nearly cried although he vehemently denied that was the reason why his eye got all misty), but he always leaves. You try not to let it bum you out, convincing yourself that it’s just because he doesn’t want to keep his driver waiting (albatross, you remember his name, he’s funny. you like him), but sometimes you can’t help the heavy feeling set over you when he makes his abrupt leave, wishing for just a bit more. He hasn’t even kissed you yet, for god’s sake. 

You also distantly note that you don’t really know much about him, even after all of these weeks his personal life remains a mystery to you. The closest you were able to get to prying anything out of him was when he showed up so late that you were on the verge of leaving because you doubted he would even show, he apologized and said a work meeting ran late. You asked him what about and he hesitated, as if he was about to say it, but then gave you some vague response and steered the conversation to something less personal.

That’s what’s happened every time you try to learn a bit more about him. You don’t really notice it in the moment because he’s smooth and charming about it, but he always manages to turn the conversation to you or some other general topic. You want to respect that he doesn’t want to talk about his personal life because maybe he’s coming to you to have some sort of escape from it, but you also want to know him beyond just the flirting over drinks and the slim things you can gleam from his reactions, words hidden between the lines of what he actually says.

Your friends think you’re crazy. They think he’s bad news. They’ve come with you to the club a few times to wait with you until he shows up and every time they see him you can see the weary looks that they shoot at one another. You don’t care what they think—or well, that’s a lie, you do care what they think, you’re just too enamored with Dazai for their words to have any weight. Which probably should be concerning, but that’s something for you to think about another day. 

Because now, you’re focused on him again. He’s been talking more tonight than he usually does—most nights, he’ll spend the majority of the time just listening to you, a soft smile on his face and a captivated look in his eye, but tonight, he’s been rather vocal, people watching with you and making sly advances that you think is just plain cruel considering he hasn’t even kissed you yet. 

But tonight, you’ve decided, will be the night. 

You’ve been trying to figure out how to go about it, if you should just invite him back to your apartment—something you’ve done before, so there shouldn’t be any nerves but you still find yourself wavering because you don’t know how you’re going to proceed once you get to your apartment. You are not a seducer. You have no experience in seducing. In fact, you are usually the one being seduced. So every time your lips part to ask if he wants to leave the club, you find yourself withering and faltering, waiting for a ‘better’ chance as if one will magically arise.

It does. 

It’s when a fight breaks out on the dancefloor a bit too close to where you’re sitting, certainly the result of some sleazy man trying to put his hands on a woman who already has a date, when you finally force yourself to stop pussying out. You let out a shriek as you stumble forward off your barstool when one of the men careens a bit too closely to you, and it’s only by Dazai’s swift reaction, arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you to him and steadies you, that you don’t go toppling onto the floor. 

Your eyes widen as you watch the fight escalate, a bit entertained now that you’re safe in his arms from becoming collateral damage, but Dazai looks distinctly unimpressed by the scene taking place a few feet away, lips twisted into a deep frown. You watch as he shoots a sharp look to one of the bouncers lingering by the door, and you note how the man immediately moves forward to break up the fight. Interesting. You’ve noticed that the people at the work tend to be respectful to him, but that’s the first time you’ve seen them seemingly take a silent order from him.

You steel your nerves and you decide to try your hand.

“Would you… maybe want to get out of here?”

You look nervous, Dazai watches you carefully as he leads you across the club to the exits, so he figures that there’s something else going on in your head right now. You’ve been quiet most of the night, he realizes, and he wonders if something is wrong. If something happened. His mind immediately catapults to the worst case scenario: that someone found out about the two of you, despite how careful he’s been in making sure that the places he’s brought you to were locked down by the Port Mafia before you arrived with him, and you’re being threatened.

His thoughts race. Albatross should still be waiting where Dazai left him, so if something goes wrong, he’ll be ready. Dazai glances at you again, and he slowly realizes that you don’t seem nervous because you’re fearful of something, and his anxieties slowly are edged away. 

But that only gives rise to new anxieties because then what’s making you so nervous then? What did you mean by get out of here? Do you want to go somewhere else? (but where, the longer he’s out in the open, the more of a risk there will be without him taking precautions beforehand like he usually does) Do you want to be dropped off back at your apartment? (that’s what he initially assumed, but he doesn’t want the night to end yet) Do you want to invite him to your apartment? (it wouldn’t be the first time, but it doesn’t leave him any less nervous. he’s terrified of making the wrong move) Do you want him to invite you to his apartment? (god, he hopes not)

The last option cannot happen. You’re already suspicious from the way the bartender and the other club patrons have been treating him the past few weeks, and now you’re doubly suspicious, Dazai can tell from the way your eyes squint as the bouncers at the entrance of the club nod their heads to him. If he brings you back to his place, the tallest of the five towers making up the Port Mafia base, there’s no way you won’t put together that something’s up with him and the last thing he wants is to scare you away. Even if you don’t know what the buildings are exactly, you’ll definitely question him about his occupation, go back to the dangerous line of questioning you’ve been treading on lately, and when he can’t give you a straight answer, it’ll become all the more apparent that it’s something shady and if you’re smart, you’ll make an excuse to leave and then never seek him out again.

Realistically, he probably won’t be able to hide this from you for long, but it just has to be long enough for him to woo you so the news isn’t so jarring that it makes you cut off all contact with him. Although, Dazai isn’t sure if any amount of time will make the knowledge that he’s a mafia boss not jarring enough to flee. His heart feels a bit heavy, wondering if this is all a mistake because how the hell is he supposed to just accept it when you inevitably decide to leave? And isn’t that what he should want, anyway? He wants you to keep yourself safe, no matter what the cost, and if you’re the one to cut him off, then he won’t be tempted to come looking for you again. He can protect you from the distance as he initially planned with the memory of the nights he’s spent with you pushing him forward. So maybe this is for the best.

You accepted all of the other Dazais, the traitorous part of his mind tried to convince himself that isn’t a hopeless cause, even though he knows that there’s a stark difference between who he is in this lifetime, the face of Japan’s underworld, drenched in blood and rotting from the inside out, and who he was in all of the other lifetimes, desperately trying to make himself a better man so that Odasaku would be proud of him. 

Maybe you’ll understand, he thinks weakly as the two of you leave the club. It’s drizzling now, and his eyes cut across the parking lot looking for Albatross, but his thoughts are lost—you understanding would mean he would have to tell you everything. He can’t do that. Not just because you would probably think he’s delusional, or psychotic, but because it would put the very fabric of this reality at risk. He can’t tell more people than necessary and stage five… 

His plan. 

Dazai’s gaze shifts back over to you, the sudden remembrance of what he’s been planning since he came in contact with the Book so many years ago spreading like ice through him. He should take you by the hand and lead you to the car, the rain is going to start coming down harder any second now, but Dazai is frozen because in his manic state, when he’d decided he can protect you in this life, be with you in this life, he hadn’t even given any thought to what would become of his plan, and he’s been so consumed by thoughts of you the past few weeks that it’s hardly crossed his mind.

He has to force himself to move forward, ignoring the way his mind is reeling—if he decides to live, what does that mean for Odasaku? For Atsushi and Akutagawa and Chuuya? For the world? Would he be condemning everything he’s worked to protect? He still thinks he can do it—protect you, that is—but would it be at the cost of everything else? He feels sick, trying to figure out if he’s going to have to plot out a whole new plan, as if this one hadn’t taken him years to come up with and implement. 

But you don’t move to follow him to the car where Albatross is waiting when he steps forward. Instead, you tilt your head up to the sky, lashes fluttering as rain begins to drizzle down from the dark sky. 

And Dazai’s spiraling thoughts halt. 

He thinks you look beautiful—you’re always beautiful, but he thinks there’s something magical about the picture of the small smile on your lips as rain drops slide across the smooth skin of your face. He tries to force himself to look away so he doesn’t seem creepy staring at you, but he can’t bring himself to.

You don’t seem to mind though, because you turn your attention to him, eyes lit up in a way that makes his heart race. “Dance with me,” you say suddenly, holding a hand out to him, the soft smile on your face is a bit mischievous now.

Dazai looks down at you, raising his eyebrows. “Here?” he asks, voice tainted with a hint of incredulity. “Now?”

“Mhm,” you say, unperturbed, holding your hand out more insistently. 

Dazai thinks he isn’t capable of denying you much of anything, but he can’t help but hesitate. Not because he doesn’t want to dance with you—he would sell what’s left of his wretched soul for just a single dance with you—but because the longer he’s out in the open, the more of a chance there might be an assassination attempt on him. Every time he goes out, he’s gambling his life. It would put you in danger, and it’s not like he brought Chuuya along for if something goes wrong. Albatross is capable enough, but his ability is not combat centric. 

Being seen with you in general could put you in danger, doubts begin to sprinkle through his head again, his heart lodged in his throat as remembers that Fyodor Dostoevsky and Agatha Christie aren’t the only threats to your life. He’s been as careful as he could be but even with all of the precautions in the world, there are still risks. He’s made new enemies in this lifetime, hundreds of them over the years, and if any one of them caught wind of you and his apparent attraction to you…

“If you wanted to dance, shouldn’t we have done that inside?” Dazai drawls instead, trying to play it off. Inside, where it’s significantly safer. Inside, where Dazai knows that there’s less of a chance of unsavory eyes falling upon the two of you because the club is owned by the Port Mafia and everyone let in is screened. Inside, where Dazai can still convince himself that he has the power to keep you safe. You’re entirely unbothered by his question, so he continues before you can shoot him down, “Where it’s not raining, and where there’s actually music.” 

“Haven’t you seen all of the romance movies?” you complain, smile widening. “Dancing in the rain is romantic, Dazai. Who needs music anyway? C’mon, dance with me.”

And how is Dazai supposed to say no to you when you look at him like that? Eyes wide and imploring, smile gentle—you look at him in a way that Dazai’s only dreamed of, and he knows that he’s a goner. Well, he’s known since he first met you, but it’s being made abundantly more clear right now with the way his heart, which he usually has such keen control over, beats rapidly in his chest. His lips part because he still wants to try to deny you—for your sake, not his—but no words leave them.

You don’t wait for his response anyway, hand darting out to catch his so you can drag him out into the parking lot. His eyes widen, stumbling forward and trying to catch his balance—you only laugh, intertwining your fingers with his while your other hand finds his waist, spinning the two of you in a reckless circle. 

“Keep up!” you tell him with a smile that causes his breath to catch. 

Dazai thinks he might die. His head feels fuzzy as you lead him in a wide ballroom dance, sweeping across the vacant parking lot with ease. He thinks he must look like a fool being dragged along in your dance like a puppet, hardly able to keep himself from tripping over his own feet. 

He’s not sure how you’re able to keep yourself so graceful, heels splashing in puddles as you lead him through spins and turns and pivots, but Dazai thinks you’re beautiful. Again. Extraordinarily so, even. Rain is pouring down over the two of you, the drizzle quickly becoming torrential, and your hair is wet and matted to your face, mascara a bit smeared underneath your eyes, but you’re laughing, and Dazai thinks you’re divine. Heavenly. Too ethereal to be tainted by the likes of him and yet here he is, the putrid skin of his fingers intertwined with your untarnished ones. You raise your arm and his, beckoning for him to twirl beneath it.

He does, and it’s awkward and clumsy because he’s too tall to comfortably perform the move, but you giggle loudly so it makes up for the embarrassment. And for a moment, Dazai can almost convince himself that this isn’t a life where he’s been forced to let the dark consume him for the betterment of the world; rather, it’s a world where he’s gone unsullied by the dark, his blood still runs red and you’re beautiful and you’re alive, and he’s just a boy who’s fallen so terribly in love with a girl so far out of his league that he thinks he might be dreaming when you return his interest. As he spins, he notices that his cheeks feel a bit strained and sore, and he realizes that there’s a smile on his face that matches your own, the muscles of his cheeks and jaw unused to stretching in such a manner and he hopes, anxiously, that it doesn’t look quite as unbearable as it feels.

If it does look unnatural, you don’t seem to mind. The rain blurs his vision and he’s forced to blink away the raindrops that keep falling into his eye, and for a split second, you’re standing before him in a pretty red dress on a sidewalk, and he’s the one leading you in the theatrical dance, dipping you down as lightning webs across the sky above the two of you, and he’s about to beg you for a kiss, he knows it but then-

He’s drawn out of his thoughts when you pull your hand back from his, but you don’t give him time to mourn the loss of your touch because then you’re slipping your arms around his neck, loose and casual. You’re pressed up close to him, chest brushing his and head tilted back so you can look up at him—a slower dance, swaying to the music of the wind and rain—and Dazai can hardly breathe. You’re so close. So close that he could kiss you if he wanted to. God, he wants to. He’s wanted to for weeks but every time he tries to gather the nerve to do it, he backs out.

“Where’d you go?” you ask softly, and he can barely hear you as thunder rumbles in the distance, brows furrowed in confusion, unsure of what you mean. You tap his temple twice gently, “Left me for a second there.” 

Oh, his throat feels a bit dry, realizing that you must’ve noticed when he started to slip back into the pages of the Book. Terrifying. Beautiful and terrifying, that’s what you are, if you can read him that well after meeting him once a week for a few weeks, he dreads to know how well you’d be able to read him once you start spending more and more time with him. But would it be so bad? To have someone that knows him so profoundly? He’s so alone all the damn time in this world, and you’re giving him a taste of a life where maybe he wouldn’t have to be. It’s terrifying. Tempting. He forces another smile onto his lips, and this time your eyes narrow, as if you know this one isn’t as genuine as the last. 

“How rude of me,” he murmurs, lifting his hand to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He’s so close, he realizes again, hyper aware of the way his lips are almost brushing yours. He could kiss you if he wanted, he repeats, and he wants so badly but he doesn’t want to scare you away. “To leave behind such fine company.”

You don’t look content with his apparent attempt at avoiding the subject, and Dazai’s throat feels tight because it’s not really a conversation to have with you here. Now. Ever, really. 

For once, mother nature appears to be on his side, because before you can press on the subject, lightning strikes dangerously close to where the two of you are standing, making you jump, eyes wide. He takes the opportunity to wrap an arm around your waist, guiding you over to where he left Albatross earlier in the night. 

The car is already running, Albatross is leaning back in the seat scrolling on the phone and Dazai nearly commits an atrocity when he sees that the man has his gun laying haphazardly on the dashboard. As if Albatross can feel Dazai’s murderous intent, he looks up from his phone and his eyes shoot open when he sees you with Dazai and he scrambles to holster his gun back at his waist. 

Luckily, you don’t notice. Or maybe unluckily, because your attention is still fixated on him and Dazai is not ready to have that discussion with you because how the hell is he supposed to say “Sorry! Lost in some worlds that don’t exist, and just so you know, we almost got married in some of them! And just so you know, I got you killed in all of them!”

Yeah. That would go over well. 

Instead, he opens the door to the car for you, letting you hop in the backseat. He follows after. Albatross slides his glasses to the bridge of his nose, an unscrupulous smile on his face that instantly has Dazai suspicious. He hopes the man knows that no friendship with Chuuya will save him if he decides to purposely embarrass Dazai in front of you. 

“You’re back!” You recognize Albatross immediately, a smile spreading across your face at the sight of him. Dazai is almost jealous until he remembers that you’re still holding his hand. “You weren’t driving last time.”

Right. Because of the raid on one of the Scarlet Gang’s warehouses in Tokyo. A mission that Dazai definitely should have been more available for on the off chance that something went wrong, but he was far too busy indulging in you. In his defense, he had no doubts that the mission would go according to plan—the Scarlet Gang is dangerous, yes, and Kawabata is a force to be reckoned with, but he’s simply not Dazai.  

“D’aw, didn’t think you’d recognize me, doll,” Albatross grins, tossing you a wink. “Good to see you again too. You’re significantly more sober tonight, aren’t you?”

Dazai’s eyes narrow a bit at the pet name, but he’s more focused on the way you throw your face into your hands with a groan, reminded of just how drunk you’d been the last time Albatross was playing chauffeur. You’re a messy drunk, he remembers fondly, he doesn’t remember ever seeing you drink in any of his other lives with you, and he feels a bit giddy at the thought that he gets to experience a side of you that the others never did. Even if he was spending half of the night holding your hair back while you threw your guts up, spluttering apologies through sobs and heaves. He would do it again. Without even the slightest hesitation, he would do it again. 

“I wasn’t that bad, was I?” you ask, peeking one eye between your fingers to look at Dazai for confirmation. 

Dazai doesn’t even have the chance to assure you that no, you weren’t that bad, because Albatross is speaking again. Of course. 

“You were pretty damn bad, doll,” he grins, and you groan even louder, leaning your body over to rest your head on Dazai’s bicep. Dazai’s heart nearly leaps out of his throat. “S’alright though, boss took care of you.” 

“Did he?” you ask with a teasing smile, eyes glittering as you look up at Dazai, who suddenly feels a bit embarrassed, but Albatross rescues him. 

Maybe he does deserve the vacation he’s been bitching about wanting. 

“Where to?” Albatross asks, putting the car in gear, gaze flickering between you and Dazai briefly. 

Dazai is about to tell him your apartment when he catches the sudden apprehension on your face. He hesitates and waits for you to say whatever you want to say, but you don’t, instead you let out a puff of air and let your eyes slide shut. 

“Where do you want to go?” Dazai asks you.

You still look uncertain, but then you finally say, “I was meaning to stop and get some groceries at the convenience store on the way home. There’s one a few blocks away from my apartment. I can just walk over there if you drop me off at my place though, it’s fine.”

As if. The idea of you walking anywhere so late at night makes his skin crawl, especially considering there’s been a rise of violent crimes in the city that the Mafia has yet to get a handle on. He needs to push for that to be taken care of if he has to worry about you leaving your apartment to wander around so late. He makes a note to himself to bring it up to Chuuya later. 

“We can stop there on the way there. It’s no trouble.”

Albatross gives him a look, as if he’s asking if the boss of the Port Mafia is really about to go grocery shopping with a civilian in the middle of the night, forcing the Mafia’s best getaway driver to be their chauffeur. Dazai only gives him a cold, sharp look in return—if you need groceries, then they’ll stop for groceries. Simple as that. In a life where Dazai thought he’d never even be able to look at you, the chance of doing mundane chores like grocery shopping with you is not something he’ll just pass by. 

He can pretend to be normal. If only for a little longer. 

Until he has to go back to the base, and his lungs are clogged with corrupted air, being slowly suffocated by his surroundings.

Until you figure out who he is, and he’s alone again, being consumed by the void in his chest once more. 

He hardly considers the fact that he’s going somewhere with you where his subordinates haven’t made extensive efforts to ensure that no one suspicious is around to see the two of you. 

“Alrighty,” Albatross agrees, backing down as soon as he sees the expression on Dazai’s face. “To the convenience store.”

Your eyes brighten, a smile lights up your face. “Thanks,” you say relieved, and Dazai wants to say that you don’t ever have to thank him for everything and that he’d give you the entire world if given the chance, but he thinks that might be a bit weird so instead he settles on just giving you a small smile. “I’ll make you the best hot chocolate of your life when we get to my apartment. Just wait.” 

Dazai’s chest feels warm. “I don’t doubt it.”

“Wait here,” you tell both Dazai and Albatross as Albatross pulls into the parking lot of your apartment complex and stops the car outside of your building. Dazai, who’d been about to follow you, pauses from where he’s ducking beneath the doorframe to step out of the car, looking at you and waiting for an explanation. “... My apartment is a mess… I, um, wasn’t expecting company. Let me just… tidy up before you come in. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

Dazai’s visible eye crinkles up in amusement as he sits back down in the backseat of the car and you immediately take off up toward the steps leading up to the second floor of your apartment, giddy and excited, grocery bag swinging and bumping against your hip as you make your way quickly up the steps. You don’t know what’s gotten into you. You feel like a schoolgirl dealing with her first real crush, flustered and giggly, hardly able to hold a conversation without stuttering over your words. 

He’s just so… you don’t know how to describe it. Intense. But intense isn’t even the right word, because he’s not so intense that it makes you uncomfortable or overwhelmed, and that’s usually what you think of when someone is intense. Or maybe overwhelmed is a bit fitting, because you swear every time he sets his soft gaze down on you, your heart might leap out of your chest. Intense. Familiar, you don’t know how it’s possible to feel like you’ve known someone you’ve only met a few times your entire life.

Your fingers fumble as you try to unlock your door. One, two, three, it takes three attempts for you to finally slide the key into the lock, pushing open your door and stepping inside, free from the torrential rain and wild wind outside.

You sigh and rest your back against the door as you shut it behind you, eyes sliding shut. 

Who are you, Dazai Osamu?

Someone important. 

Of course, you noticed how he was treated by the workers of the club—the bartender, the bouncers, even just the regular patrons. The restaurants he’s brought you to the past few weeks, they all treated him the same way. There were plenty of men there that were dressed in expensive clothes and held themselves highly, but none were treated the same way Dazai was.

Someone dangerous. 

You’d also caught a glimpse of the gun on the dash of Albatross’s car. (His driver, another point to note because who has a driver except very important people) Only three types of people have guns in Japan—military, police, and criminals, and you’re pretty sure he’s not part of the military or police force…

Someone you probably shouldn’t be so drawn to.

That should be enough to make you run. It really should be. You have no explanation or excuse for why you’re not besides the fact that you might not be as smart as you herald yourself to be. You shouldn’t feel giddy when he smiles softly at you, you should be nervous. You shouldn’t be longing for his touch, you should be avoiding it. Instead, you’re leaning against your door, smiling like an idiot after making him wait for you to clean up your apartment so you don’t embarrass yourself. 

Oh, you’re such a fool. But how could you not be with how he treats you? Tucking hair behind your ear, setting a gaze so soft on you that you think it might make your heart stop, dancing with you in the rain clumsily with rosy cheeks and wide eyes. How is it possible for you to reconcile the way the man acts with you to the way others treat him? Or maybe that’s just delusion speaking. It could be, honestly. You think if your brother was living with you, he’d be horrified, might lock you away for the rest of your life; you think your friends already want to put you in a psych ward and they’d only become all the more insistent if they knew half of the things you’ve noticed. 

But your brother left you and your friends don’t know, so nothing is stopping you from making what might be a terrible decision. 

You let out a breath as you push yourself off the door, placing down your grocery bags on the table by your door so you can scramble to pick up all of the stray clothes you’d tossed around your apartment as you frantically tried to find an outfit earlier in the night. You reach over to turn on your light, flicking the switch once, then twice, and then three times.

No way.

You sigh deeply, head falling back against the wood door of your apartment, knocking the back of your head against it twice in frustration. Letting out a irate puff of air, you push yourself off of the door and force yourself to get to work. It’s not the end of the world, hopefully it'll come back soon, the providers are usually quick with getting the outages fixed, even in your shitty area. 

You force yourself to move forward, frowning deeply as you scoop up all of the paperwork spread out on your coffee table, making sure to keep it all in order as you move them over to the desk you have by your window seat. You drop the pile down and cast your gaze out to all of the clothes strewn haphazardly around your apartment, cursing yourself for having been so messy earlier when you were trying on just about every outfit you own and then flinging them around frustrated when you decided they weren’t good enough.

You scowl as you bend down to pick them all up, deciding you’ll just stuff them messily in your closet and fold them later when you don’t have company. As you zoom around trying to snag all of the dresses and different pairs of bras and underwear scattered about, your mind races. Your stove should still work because your landlord refuses to install any modern appliances into your apartment, for better or for worse, so you have an old model that shouldn’t be affected by the outage. But you think it’ll be awkward sitting in the dark, you think you have a few candles stored away in your room—you’ll have to find them and set them up. 

Candlelit evening, how romantic! you think to yourself, a bit dreamily. You wonder if Albatross will be coming up to join the two of you in your apartment, you’d offered to make him a drink too but you figure it’ll be Dazai’s decision if he’ll be waiting outside or…

Or maybe, he’ll send him home. 

You get giddy at the thought—candlelights, slightly tipsy after a night out, you take a peek under your dress to try to figure out which underwear you’d decided on earlier and if you should change into a different pair but are delighted when you realize that you’d gone with your pretty red ones. 

You think he’ll like them. 

Hopefully. 

You like them, they’re your favorites.

Oh, you have to clean your bedroom too, you think to yourself in partial agony because you don’t know how the hell you’re going to clean up everything in there without making Dazai wait out there for an hour. You get anxious at the thought, worrying that if you take too long, he might leave, so you pick up the pace. You snatch the last stray bra hanging on the arm of your couch before taking off into your bedroom.

You hardly get a step into the room before you’re freezing in your tracks.

No way.

You stare at your bed, arms falling loose to your side, lips parted in shock. The clothes you’d cleaned up all drop aimlessly to the floor around you. Your bed is drenched with water—your sheets soaked, your mattress soaked, the ceiling heavy with rainwater from a leak you didn’t know you had.

“Oh my god,” you breathe out to yourself, unsure of what exactly you should do, never having had a problem like this before.

You think this is what you get, seeking out the cheapest possible apartment complex to stay in because you’re trying to save all of the money you have for school. Now, your mattress is ruined, your ceiling looks like it’s on the verge of collapse and oh my god, you left your laptop on your bed. 

A noise caught between a whimper and cry of frustration leaves your lips as you dive forward, fishing your laptop out of the massive pool of water flooding your bed. You hold it in front of your face between two fingers, watching as water drips from it down to the ground. 

There goes your laptop too.

You think you might be sick. 

Now, you have to deal with a landlord who is decidedly not helpful when it comes to issues in the complex and you have nowhere to sleep. Maybe you can call one of your friends to stay at their place, but it’s already the middle of the night and you know two of them have their own entrance exams tomorrow for the programs that they’re applying to.

Unless…

Your gaze shifts to the window in your room, looking between the blinds to see Dazai and Albatross still waiting outside in their car. 

Okay. Most urgent problem temporarily fixed. Maybe.

Dazai has a place. He has to. He’s clearly rich. It’s probably a much nicer place than yours too. You can go there, at least for the night. He wouldn’t just leave you with nowhere to go… right? No, of course he wouldn’t. You need to pack then, instead of cleaning. 

Okay, this is fine. 

It’s fine. 

It takes you about five minutes to grab a few spare pairs of clothes into the duffle bag laying at your bedroom door, occasionally tossing dirty looks at the leak ruining your bed. When you finish throwing your clothes in the duffle—unfolded and hastily, of course, they’ll be terribly wrinkled—you rise to your feet and swing the bag over your shoulder, making your way back to your door and grabbing your groceries. 

You don’t know what to say to him when you get back to the car. You’re probably being a bit presumptuous. Okay, a lot presumptuous—Dazai has never invited you back to his place, you’ve invited him to yours—but you don’t really have another choice.

You exhale as you step back into the rain, locking your apartment and making your way back down the steps to the complex’s parking lot. You don’t let yourself hesitate as you dart across the parking lot toward the car, fearing that if you take a second to actually think about what you’re doing—inviting yourself into someone else’s home!—you’ll probably back out.

You open the car door. You slide back inside, taking a seat behind the passenger seat. You drop your duffle bag on the floor between your feet and place your groceries back down between you and Dazai. You can feel both Dazai and Albatross staring at you. You stare ahead.

“... My apartment is flooded,” you finally say after a few moments.

Dazai doesn’t say anything, brows furrowing as he watches you. You can hardly bring yourself to look at him, trying to peek at him from the corner of your eye as best as you can without being too obvious about it. He’s not responding. Albatross isn’t moving the car. You’re getting the urge to bolt, to run upstairs and drown yourself in the puddle of water on your bed. 

Finally, Albatross clears his throat. “Boss?”

Dazai still doesn’t respond. You think you might be doubly sick now, and embarrassed. An awful combination, really. You know that he knows what you came back here hoping for, and you realize that he might just send you back to your flooded apartment instead because he obviously did not sign up for taking in some random girl that he’s met a few Fridays for the night because she has nowhere else to go. 

You finally turn your face to look at Dazai head on and you can feel that your eyes are glassy, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You don’t know how pathetic you must look for Dazai’s expression to shift the way it does, his conflicted expression crumbling as he turns away from you. You don’t want to know how pathetic you must look, you’d only feel even more humiliated.

After what feels like an eternity, Dazai finally says: “Drive.”

Albatross’s eyes shoot open, he physically turns to look at Dazai, “But-”

You don’t catch the look that Dazai gives Albatross, too busy basking in the relief of having somewhere to stay for the night, but whatever it is, it makes Albatross turn back to face the wheel without another word, turning the car back on and shifting it into gear before pulling out of the parking lot. 

As soon as you’re on the move, you turn your attention back down to your phone, trying to figure out if you should message your landlord now or in the morning, dreading the inevitable argument you’re going to have with him. You fiddle with the device, occasionally sparing looks at Dazai, but the man is lost in thought next to you, visible eye distant and conflicted.

You can’t bring yourself to say anything so the whole drive to Dazai’s apartment is long and quiet. Even Albatross, who’s had no difficult sparking conversation the whole drive to your place, stays silent.

You’re bummed, all of the excitement you felt about bringing Dazai back to your place is long gone, feeling the stress of having to replace everything that’s been ruined by the leak and the anxiety of dealing with your landlord; all you want to do is sleep and die. Okay. That’s dramatic. But you’re exhausted and you really do want to sleep. Maybe not die, but definitely sleep. 

You lay your head against the window, eyes starting to droop shut, and you can feel Dazai glancing at you now but you can’t even bring yourself to look over at him. Instead, you keep your eyes trained outside the window, only perking up when Albatross finally starts slowing to a stop.

And then, you’re suddenly not tired at all. Your eyes widen as he pulls to the front of the tallest of the five black buildings that tower over the Naka ward, lips parting as you crane your head to look up out the window and then look pointedly back at Dazai, stunned.

Dazai refuses to meet your gaze, staring ahead. 

… You think that your instincts about this man must be spot on. 

Too bad you’re not listening to them.

“You’ve gone crazy.”

Dazai’s gaze draws up from the paperwork he’s definitely not doing, far too preoccupied with thoughts of you; it’s cold and cutting as it lands on Chuuya. His executive enters the room without any type of announcement, his voice just as cold as Dazai’s expression—he supposes it’s testimony to how angry he is, because Chuuya is only frigid in his anger when he’s really been pushed to the brink.

Naturally, Dazai only smiles, a slow and taunting one that he knows presses all of Chuuya’s buttons from the way the man’s bicolored eyes flash with fury. Chuuya storms over to Dazai’s desk, making his way until he’s standing right in front of him. 

“How so?” Dazai drawls, folding his hands over his lap as he leans back in his chair, tilting his head to the side questioningly. 

“How so?” Chuuya spits out, slamming his hands down on Dazai’s desk. Dazai raises his eyebrows and then lifts his chin, looking pointedly down to where Chuuya’s hands are splayed against his desk. Chuuya doesn’t flinch—of course he doesn’t, he’s Chuuya—but he does pull his hands back to himself, albeit snarling as he does it. “The hell are you bringing some random woman back to our base? Back to your room? Going out alone the past few weeks when you know you’ve got a bounty on your head higher than most world leaders? I was letting it slide but this is too far, why the hell is she here? You’ve gone crazy, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Careful, Chuuya,” Dazai warns, voice quiet, expression growing a bit flinty when he brings you up. Dazai doesn’t care if Chuuya wants to rail on him for being reckless, but he’s not allowed to drag you into it. He decides to not acknowledge the comment about you, focusing on the end of his tirade, “I was with one of the Flags, I wasn’t alone.”

“Albatross isn’t cut out for that type of combat and you know it,” Chuuya snaps, glaring at Dazai. “If one of those bounty hunters came after you, you both would’ve been killed. What’s gotten into you? Never took you for the type to be this reckless. You get a taste of a woman’s c-”

“I said careful, Chuuya. Know your place,” Dazai repeats, voice icy. The warning is gone, only a threat remains—Chuuya doesn’t need to finish his sentence for Dazai to know where he was going with it, the way the man’s eyes darted over to Dazai’s bedroom was more than enough to confirm it. 

“Is this a goddamn joke to you?” Chuuya asks, keeping his voice low, his lips flat and his eyes narrowed. “I don’t get it. You’ve always been so careful, more than anyone else. What the hell does one random woman have that’s making you risk all of this?” 

“I’m not risking anything,” Dazai tells him coolly, “and she’s not just some random woman.”

Chuuya’s expression shifts, brows furrowing deeper; Dazai can see the tiny cogs working behind his eyes as he thinks. He wonders if Chuuya has been drinking tonight, catching the pink hue to his cheeks and the hazy look coating his eyes. 

No wonder he’s so angry then, Dazai muses, he must have been out with Kouyou when he got word that Dazai left the base again without any protection detail and then brought someone up to his room who in Chuuya’s mind, could be an assassin for all he knows. 

Suddenly, the confusion clears and something closer to realization sweeps across Chuuya’s face. His gaze turns back pointedly in the direction of Dazai’s bedroom.

“That’s her,” Chuuya says, disbelief dripping from his tone. “The girl you’ve had Kouyou looking over for years. What the fuck, Dazai? I thought the whole point of having Kouyou look after her was so that you kept away from her.”

Dazai stares at Chuuya, only for a moment, because then his gaze drifts back to the door leading into his bedroom, mind drifting. He supposes that he shouldn’t be surprised that Kouyou told Chuuya about it—Dazai wasn’t explicit enough with his orders, only telling Kouyou to ensure that Dazai himself never knew anything about her. Of course, the woman would bring it up to Chuuya, probably hoping Chuuya had some insight into why Dazai is so insistent on your protection. 

Chuuya didn’t, of course, but he guesses that only made the topic of you and Dazai’s apparent random attachment to you even more of an interesting topic for their wine sessions. Honestly, he’s surprised that Chuuya didn’t realize earlier that the girl he’s been seeing is the one he’s had Kouyou assigned to. Kouyou surely should have known by now.

You’re fast asleep by now. He got lucky because of how exhausted you were over the stress of the whole situation: he didn’t have to deal with the questions that he was certain would arise as soon as you caught sight of the Port Mafia base. You were all but falling asleep on your feet as the two of you stood in the glass elevator leading up to Dazai’s apartment, the penthouse in the centermost of the five buildings consisting of the Port Mafia base. Dazai thought he was about to have a heart attack when you swayed on your feet and ended up resting your head on his bicep, eyes drooping shut. You only managed a few sleepy protests as he led you to his bedroom, asking where he was going to sleep if you take his room (the fact that you worry about him when you’re even on the brink of falling asleep on your feet made his fingers tingle), but you gave in quickly at his insistence. 

He should feel some sort of pity, or sympathy, because he could see the weariness in your eyes and the fatigue plaguing your body. Dazai might not be capable of feeling pity or sympathy for most people, but if he could feel it for anyone, it would be you. But he does not, and it’s for a selfish reason, of course: your misfortune led to you turning to him for help, and the thought of that alone makes his chest feel light and giddy. 

Yes, he’s going to have to figure out some sort of excuse tomorrow for when you wake up and inevitably have questions—he is not ready for you to know about his position in the Port Mafia—but right now you’re sleeping in his bed and you’re relying on him for help. His fingers thrum against his desk, jittery with excitement, he almost forgets Chuuya is there until he hears the man let out a sharp noise of disgust at Dazai's apparent exhilaration. 

Distantly, very distantly, he knows this is bad. You’ve been smart and observant in every universe, you’re going to put together that something is seriously wrong—you were not supposed to come back to his place, but how was he supposed to say no to you when you were looking at him with teary eyes and nowhere else to go? The thought itself feels like sacrilege. 

“You know what we are and what we do,” Chuuya says, voice calmer now as he shakes his head and fishes a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it with his free hand before he turns to leave. “I don’t know what the hell you’re doing, but you’re putting this girl in danger after the lengths you went to keep her safe. I don’t get it.”

He squints a bit as Chuuya’s words ring through his head. That’s what he had thought too, but he’s the last person to admit to Chuuya that he might be right. A cold feeling starts to set over him, spreading through his chest like ice. If he’s going to think about this realistically, you’re probably already in danger just from being around him. The likelihood of someone catching sight of the two of you the past few weeks is higher than he’s comfortable with, even with the precautions that he’s taken, especially with tonight outside the club and at the convenience store. The thought is terrifying, enough to immediately kill off the jittery excitement that had been running through his body. 

Dazai’s index finger traces the outline of his lips, his mind races. What does he do? If you’re in danger, he can’t just let you go back to your apartment and leave you undefended in a sketchier part of the city. His enemies will jump on it. They’ll target you. But he can’t just keep you here. It’ll be too risky, you’ll figure out who he is and what he does, and that’s not even considering the fact that maybe you won’t even want to stay. You might wake up in the morning and head to someone else’s place—you’d made a vague comment about not wanting to intrude and going to a friend’s house tomorrow but the thought makes his stomach twist a bit. 

God, he’s so conflicted. 

But the first thing to handle is making sure that you don’t go back to your apartment alone. The rest he can figure out later on—he has to decide if he’d rather try to keep you around the base and risk you figuring out what he does (god, he wants to keep you around) or if he should just send you off to a “friend’s” (he still stands by the fact that your ‘friends’ are shitty because what sort of friends leave their drunk friend alone at a bar with a stranger—even if he knows that he’d rather let the world burn than see harm come upon you, they don’t know that) with an extra protection detail. One that you wouldn’t know is there, naturally. 

But how does he make sure you don’t go back to your apartment after the leak is fixed? 

He thinks to himself, an idea coming to him swiftly. It’s a bit dark, yes, and he’s sure that if you knew, you’d run for the hills but… to keep you safe, he would do whatever it takes. Even if you’d hate him for it if you knew. 

But what you don’t know won’t hurt you. 

“Chuuya,” Dazai says before the man can leave his apartment. Chuuya stops dead in his tracks, not turning to look at Dazai, but waiting for whatever he has to say. “I’m going to text you the number of her landlord… make sure he doesn’t get her apartment fixed any time soon. And let Gin-chan know I might have a guest for the next few days so she’s not caught off guard tomorrow.”

Chuuya scoffs. “You’re a freak, Dazai.”

Dazai only smiles idly to himself, eyes sliding shut as he leans back in the chair at his desk, Chuuya leaves without another word, Dazai loses himself in thoughts of you. 

A freak? Yeah, maybe. In love? Definitely. 

Should he convince you to stay with him? The thought bounces around his head frantically. He doesn’t know the answer. The more careful part of him screams no, tells him that it’s too dangerous to keep you around. It’s dangerous for you, because the longer you’re around here, the more at risk you’ll be of getting hurt. It’s dangerous for him, because the longer you’re around here, the more at risk he’ll be of getting exposed,

But the less logical part of him, the one that’s consumed by the idea of you, and the chance he has of being with you, is much louder. 

You came to him, he reminds himself. You found him. He tried to be good. He did everything he could to stay away from you, but you still found him. And you chose to seek him out again. You chose to. It’s easier to blame it on you, convince himself that you brought this upon yourself, as if you had any idea what sort of sick and fucked up person Dazai really is, as if you have any idea what’s happened to you in every other universe because of him.

He can never go back to how he was living before meeting you; he can’t. 

You came to him. 

Why should he have to let you go now?

With that thought in mind, Dazai thinks the answer to his question is made abundantly clear. 

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

[larissa-the-scribe]

Terrarium Lights, pt. 2.2

Last time on Terrarium Lights: the ghost returned and tried to make sense of nonsensical memories. (next part >>here)

It turned out to be all very well and good to offer the lad help and a place to stay (as much as he could stay anywhere), but then she had to figure out what to do with him.

He seemed to be having trouble figuring out what to do with himself, too, and spent the rest of the day hovering at her shoulder—at which point they both discovered that he quite liked to talk, despite being firmly uncertain about anything he was saying. It was making working on the terrarium rather difficult, and she had trouble with the fine details at the best of times, but she found herself enjoying the company more than she expected.

It was nice to have sound in the house again.

By the end of the afternoon, she had learned he was pretty sure he had been traveling with someone else—the blue-moss cave was one of two places he was pretty sure he remembered, along with somewhere growing purple trees on blue and crimson rocks—he was pretty sure he had studied something at a university at one point, but had no idea what or where—he didn't know if he was from this area but he was pretty sure it seemed kind of familiar—he didn't know his name but he was pretty sure he knew what names were—and so on.

He asked her if she knew any names, and she found herself absently replying that she had no idea, before realizing her mistake.

To tell the truth, she had gotten distracted. When names got brought up, it occurred to her that if she could figure out his name, she might be able to find out who he was. If she started going through obituaries, maybe she could find out who he was—or had been. She was turning over the idea of looking through recent obituaries anyway, to see if any matched; while she wasn’t sure what had happened to the lad, obituaries about old folks dying peacefully in their sleep would hardly work.

Mainly her conundrum was that she didn’t know if she could tell him, either about the research itself or if she found out anything. The lad had gotten startled enough when realizing he couldn't remember his name; she had no idea what he would do if he realized he might be dead.

For now, she decided, it would be more helpful to the lad to listen to what he was saying and try to respond. She was about to rally her forces to his aid (her next strategy being to go through all the names from the Bible that she could remember), but the lad had gotten diverted again and was asking her about the papers open on the top of the desk.

"Oh, those?" she waved a hand. "I was trying to figure out if I'd be able to send a letter or two to Michael to pick up at his layover, but there don't seem to be any good letterships making their way out West. Probably wouldn’t get there in time. I forgot to put them away this morning."

Last night she had been trying to write a letter to him in her head, and had kept getting stuck on their guest. Hopefully, by the time Michael got back she'd be able to share information with him in some way that made sense; for now, she contented herself with keeping her diary updated and detailed.

"Who is Michael?"

"My husband." She took a second to fold the map and directory and timetables up, and stow them in their proper cubby.

"You're married?"

Gail had to chuckle at the surprise written all over the lad's face—the face of a child who finds out their parents' name isn't, in fact, "Mum." "Have been for the past thirty-three years, or at least so I've been led to believe."

"O-oh." He blinked. "I see. Do…do you have kids? I… I hadn't heard any… um…." He gestured vaguely around him.

"Four, but none living here," she said, resuming her work on the terrarium. "The youngest moved out a year ago, and she's working full-time as a professor now. Passed her last examinations for that station not six month hence."

"Ah. They’re all doing well for themselves, then…?" This sudden twist of information had rendered him back to incoherence.

In all fairness to the lad, Gail remembered it taking her some few decades to figure out how to talk to people. "Quite well, I'm happy to say. One took after their father, got into the shipping business. Moved rather far away, up north, where his wife’s family is from, but he writes often. A captain of his own airship now, in fact."

"Ah, congratulations," the lad said with awkward, but heartfelt, enthusiasm.

"The other is working in an orchard a few days journey away, seems quite happy with it." Gail knew quite well she could spend far longer than the lad would care to endure talking about her children, but kept the descriptions short. If he wanted to know more, he would. “From his letters, he seems like he’s getting rather taken with one of the other workers there, though I’m not sure he realizes it, himself. But they all seem to be well settled. I’m quite happy for them, though Heaven knows I’d like to see them more regular. ”

He cocked his head. "And the fourth?"

She carefully measured out how much gravel she’d need in between the layers—perhaps more carefully than she truly needed. "The Lord took him when he was a lad. Not much younger than you."

"Oh." He shuffled his feet. "I'm sorry to hear that."

Gail rested her hands on the desk, looking out the window at the bright, clear day. "Thank you for that. We miss him dearly."

Even after decades of practicing how to talk with others, she never quite knew what line to take in this particular conversation. David’s death had been something she had come to terms with, but it wasn't like it went away. One couldn't just brush over the soul-deep hurt, say that they'd been fortunate overall with getting to have him in their lives at all. But it wouldn't be right to dwell too much on the loss, not when there had been so much good.

She looked back at the ghost in her living room, standing there and watching her with soft sympathy; she wondered where his mother was, if she knew what had happened to him.

Gail dropped her plan of searching through the obituaries for the time being. Death wasn't a matter to be rushed; let him get there in his own time, when he was ready. She turned back to the desk, to the terrarium, and poured in the gravel.

"Maybe I can take you by the university sometime," she said, more abruptly than she meant. "It has been longer than I sometimes remember since I've visited my Charity, and I'm sure you'd find the place interesting. Deep into the city, it is—perhaps you’d recognize something of it. And we'd pass by the lighthouse on the way, too, if we did."

"Oh?" His tone was polite. He could tell that she was shifting the conversation, and was letting her.

"A nice place. A lighthouse and a café and the good souls that run both establishments, and it would break up the journey into the city. Though such a trip couldn’t be immediate. I'd have to let Professor Charity know ahead of time." She smiled to herself—the title still felt new and strange in her mouth, but she liked it. "The city might be nearby, but sometimes the letter system is abominably slow. Practically faster to send a whole package aboard a lettership to catch up with my Michael than to send a note to the university."

She could sense him nodding thoughtfully behind her, as if he knew what she meant. Maybe in some part of his memory, he did.

"I…I'm not sure if I'm quite ready for… something like that," the ghost said in a small voice. "I feel disheveled, and… and… I don't know where I can even go to get a change of clothes, or a bath, or anything like that. I don't… I don't know where I live."

"Ah." Gail turned in her chair, facing him as much as she could and with one arm hitched over the chair's back. "That is a dilemma. No idea at all? Perhaps if you remember a neighborhood of some kind we could take a look. Or I could, rather, if you'd prefer not to go yourself just yet."

Could he change his clothes? Should she urge him to try, and perhaps find out there was something wrong? She didn't want to lie to him and pretend he could be normal, but she also didn’t want to discourage or frighten him unnecessarily. But… he deserved to know.

He tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat again. "That's… that's very kind of you. I appreciate it, I really do, but… I have no idea. Honestly, I'm not even really sure where I've been that hasn't been here. Just… vague recollections of things like trees. Or that I was in a city once. But nothing clear, nothing that makes sense."

The ticking of the clock in the background became more present, more audible.

"I’m sorry to hear it," Gail said softly. "I will be honest, I'm not very sure what I can do to help, but… I do think it might be something that will get better with time. After all, you've been telling me bits and pieces of things you remember. Maybe more will come."

"True, but… I don't know." He looked around him, as if hoping something in the room would give him a clue. "Those feel like memories but they also feel… distant? Temporary? Not unimportant, but… I don't think I lived in a cavern of blue moss or whatever weird places I've thought up that don't seem to be from around here. It's all… dark. Did I have a family? A home? A… a change of clothes." He trailed off.

"It will come," Gail reaffirmed, unsure of what else to do. "At first, you didn't even realize that you had memories missing. So maybe, now that you know they are, you can look for them, and maybe you'll be able to hold on to something."

"Yeah." His shoulders slumped, somewhere between resignation and relief. "That's true. Like… what I'd imagine waking up out of a dream is like. I hope."

Gail nodded.

"So, um, yeah… I think for now I'd rather not try and go anywhere new."

"I understand. You're welcome to stay here as long as you need."

"Thanks." He smiled, but his eyes were foggy again. "Even here, every now and then… feels like I can't quite see it…"

"Well, it is getting on towards evening." Gail pushed back her chair. "It’s time for me to light the lamps. That should help."

The blank unfocus didn't change.

Pursing her lips, Gail looked him over, turning thoughts around in her head. "Well, I can't quite offer you a change of clothes—my Michael is of rather a different build than you." She snapped back into motion, busying herself with moving around the room and gearing on the lights, calibrating them deftly. "But if you'd like, you can look yourself over in the washroom. And if it helps, your clothes are fine. Your hair is a tad messy, with a few loose strands and all, but easy enough to put right.” She hesitated, hand on the last lamp. “Only thing with your clothes would be that stain on your shoulder."

"O-oh." The brown seeped back into his eyes, staring at her as she geared the lamp on and turned back to him. He reached up to touch his hair cautiously, as if he expected it to come alive and bite him. "I had forgotten about my hair."

"Just a simple fix needed," Gail assured him. "Washroom is right over there, and we've a decent sized mirror, too. You can go and check the matter out for yourself."

Nodding, he meandered his way over.

Gail went to close the blinds, noting the first stars beginning to poke out of the depths of navy sky.

"Lord, give me wisdom," she muttered. She didn't even know if he could see himself in the mirror, much less do anything to actually alter his appearance.

She didn’t like how she was edging on covering up the truth. She had always taught her children that honesty was better than secrets, and she had no intentions of turning hypocrite at her age.

But how could she break the news to him?

This was the best she could do, for now, to try and tell him—or show him—that something in particular was amiss, beyond what he was assuming.

A few minutes later, he returned with his hair neatly combed and tied back into a proper ponytail. He seemed to have made an effort to clean his face up some, as well. However, the bloodstain on his shoulder remained unchanged, rip and all.

"I'm afraid I couldn't find anything on my shoulder," he said apologetically, if a tad bewildered. "Is it still there…?"

Gail sized him up.

The injury or stain or whatever it was still clearly visible.

"Well, I suppose it might have just been a bit of grime, or shadow," she said, unthinkingly approaching him, "you look quite the charming lad." She dusted off his shoulder, adjusted his tie, as she would with her own son.

He beamed, the melancholy in his features giving way to bashful pride. "That's very kind of you, ma'am."

“Shall we go into the kitchen?” Gail gestured toward it, hoping he wouldn't notice the sudden strain in her smile. “It’s about time for me to get my bread kneaded and in the oven, if you’d like to hang around.”

He nodded and headed towards the kitchen.

Gail waited a moment, looking down at her hand.

The sensation still sat there, like her skin was reliving the moment of touching and not touching. His clothes, his body, had not reacted to her at all. But there had been something there. Nothing physical, nothing solid, nothing like a person--but something. Like the feeling of a blanket that's been drying in the sun but isn't done yet, warm, soft, but wet and clinging. Except not there at all. And still there was a prickling in her hand, like static build-up during a cold winter.

In her mind, too, there was something more, a sudden flash, like an unveiled lamp, a moment of brightness and lostness, emptiness.

She closed her hand around the feeling, keeping it her palm and engraving it in her mind.

It was odd, but it was him. Maybe it meant something. Maybe it could help her figure out some way to help him. And if nothing else, she had connected with him for an instant. That alone was value enough.

He, apparently, had not noticed anything odd.

Squaring her shoulders, she followed him into the kitchen, and decided that, for now, she would not bring up the clinging charge and heat that moved with her.

#How is she going to hug him now :( #terrarium lights #gail goffrey #ocs #the santa juliana files #inklingschallenge #inklings 2023 #team lewis #genre: portal fantasy #theme: burial #theme: visiting the sick #salt and light #scribe does inklings

[dangerously-human]

Helped the adventurer move this morning - mostly with packing, because of course Bible study bestie and I forgot we had a baby shower for another friend from life group, so we couldn't stay for the move proper. Felt bad about it, because everyone else ditched at that point except BSB's husband. But I'm going over tomorrow to help him with the move-out cleaning at the old place, which maybe is more practical anyway - I mean, I can help with moving furniture, but that is ideally more of a boy job, I'm only slightly more than useless with large heavy objects. Packing/unpacking the kitchen stuff and cleaning, that I can do, and with very little direction. Still mindboggling that he chose to move to the worst US state, I've been teasing him mercilessly about it for the last year and I doubt I'll run out of steam anytime soon. Oh, and then in all of this, I was supposed to feed the young whippersnapper's cat, but the lock at his place absolutely hates me, so that turned into a multi-trip process. Despite my friend's panic, the cat had no qualms about the ordeal, she wasn't even hungry and was just excited I was there to play - which I give her credit for, considering last time I was there was to clip her toenails, poor baby.

I guess when I start outlining my weekends like this, it really makes it clear just how much of my life I live with these people. It really is a life group in the sense it's intended, a group of Christians whose friendship and fellowship goes deep, as we learn about the Lord and do life together. I am SO grateful for the kind of friends who do accountability and adventures on a whim and helping each other all the time. I haven't had that since college, and it's amazing the impact it's had on my life!

#personal

[projectiondepartment]

tagged by @antipl3asure for the book ask game (which is perfect bc i also love seeing what other people are reading)

book that pleasantly surprised you: the edible woman by margaret atwood..i don't know why my expectations for this were so low given i've read and really enjoyed atwood's poetry (morning in the burned house) but i was just so drawn in by the concern with disgust that this book exhibited + which i also wasn't expecting so ! definitely a win

book that disappointed you: sacred pain: hurting the body for the sake of the soul by ariel glucklich :( i was reading this for research reasons mostly, but it ended up being way wayyyyy too sciency and didn't do enough analysis imo. weird and kind of sad honestly

current read: so im reading a million different things rn and im gonna list them all. 1) someone who isn't me by geoff rickly (really fucking good. like truly astounding) 2) who's afraid of virginia woolf by edward albee (...i just need to finish this bc i was reading this on vacation and then forgot to go back to it) 3) melancholy i-ii by jon fosse (my slow read - unrelentingly cruel and so vivid) 4) everything: a book about manic street preachers by simon price (for my thesis :P)

top 2 books on your tbr: 10000% death valley by melissa broder, and triptych: three studies of manic street preachers' the holy bible

rec a book to the person who tagged you: okay so take this with caution bc it's quite violent BUT i think you might like dennis cooper if you haven't read him already? i personally haven't had time to go through his whole bibliography sadly but i was obsessed with the sluts when i read it, so i recommend that !

tagging: @campcowboy @talkshowhost1996 @hauntedwoman @lesbianboyfriend @lastparty

#tag games #<3

[virtualmentalitylove]

Dear reader, (i forgot hw many entries this is now)

Okay. SO much to say.

I got the job for RMIT, but I have to finalize the offer

I have to finish murder module for criminal law

Start writing economics essay

Okay so it has been one day and I have not yet started.

I don't know when I will die. Maybe it's today, maybe tomorrow. "So when my time comes to be my turn" "so when I go which I must do" I know for a fact that I will regret my life and my decisions. I'll regret living my life vicariously through the lives of others, watching media that leads to brain rot, caring about people that don't care about me. Choosing to live a sinful and meaningless life. Although, I believe in Christ, I feel as though i am not living my life for christ, but for the flesh. The wills of the flesh. I want to be better, so I am going to start a new way of life. No more watching news that I don't understand (I believe now it is the conflcit and drama I enjoy in my life to subsititue for me not having a social life). I honestly even don't know what they're talking about in the news. Todday I was lazy, I ate too much, I wasted my time and sinned against God.

here are some things I want to learn to become the person I believe I need to be:

I want to start studying properly. Taking my academic work seriosuly will please my Parents and make me more disciplined and a better person.

I want to start studying the bible, not just memorizing scripture, but understanding the context, the history, the intepretation and other ideologies that contradict Christianity.

I wanna study history (ancient, mythology, biblical history, everything). When I mean study I don't just mean learn about history from youtube. But understand the significance in our lives. Specifically war, South East Asian history, the history no one ever talks about.

Learn languages I can use; tagalog, malay, Japanese, spanish, French, Chinese (mandarin) and so many more.

Learn about politics (not just what's going on in the world) but learn about the mechanism, diplomacy, the treaties.

Agriculture

It's already 1:35am Saturday morning

I can feel my brain rotting. Right now I am alnguishing in my own pain and sufferig. I feel so tired, yet I want to do so much. I know in the future, whether it be tomorrow or next week or ayear from now. I will look back on this moment and think why didn't I just do something, Why didn't I just supress my laziness and try. I don't liek to think about this, because if I did then I would have to think about all those times where I sepnt hours on my phone, the hours eating food when I wasn't hungry and all those times I wasted in my whole life. So I Want to try. I want to be better, but sometimes I feel that I am too attached to the past, too afraid. I remeber as a kid I felt like I could do everything. I don't know what it was, I feel like it was this spark or this unexplainable optimism. Thta made me believe I could learn everything. As I got older I lost that spark. What I once thought were possible seems to not be. But the dreams I once had as a child is still with me, I know that all fo it is not possible, but at the back of my mind there's still hope. That my 12 year old self has always wanted.

I feel like I have wasted my life, my parent's life. I dont know why I feel this way. Somethings are left unsaid, the worst feeling is being unable to comprehend your own emotions. Why did my lfie lead to this. Why am I like this.

Let's dissect my life;

The negatives: I hav etaken on more than I could possibly imagine. all the classess and responsibility i don't want. Being stuck in the past, still thinking of people who have forgotten me. Being surronded by endless information all the poeple on the internet telling me how to feel and what to do with myself. I feel like I've lost my sense of self. Only seeing the world through a screen has definitley harmed my sense of self. I feel like I need a detox from the internet, social media, endless amounts of pornography and all the people whose opinions I honestly don't care about. Living my life through imaginations and not reality has harmed me the most. But nothing in the world has set me back then these words "I'll do it next time".

The positives: I have a a good family. No matter what I've always had them. Although they annoy me to the pint where I sometimes don't want to be in the house. I still love them. I have the unending word of God, guiding me through life. I have access to unlimited knowledge and technology that some poeple can only dream of. I can read any books, watch videos on history, chemistry. I honestly believe one of the reasons that I am so sensitive and weak is because I lack the knowledge. I believe that knowledge will better poeple. Maybe I should live by this.

More positives;

I am studying 2 different courses (2 Bachelor degrees + 1 associates degree)

I am on track to becoming more healthy and more aware of my physical health.

I started walking this year for the very first time

I just came back on holiday from Japan and Philippines 4 months ago

I cna be better I am going to be better because I ahve no choice anymore.

[letthylightshine]

What has my day been like?

Good Afternoon, friends! I am going to let you all know what my day has been like. First of all, my sleep was sweet but my schedule was completely off. The weather has been affecting my sinuses so bad. My nose has been running and stopped up for almost a week now. Its contradicting because the weather in the past two days have been in the 60's. Why is it so cold in my house? I have been making arrangements to keep it warm. I've got my spaceheater going in addition to the AC Heat.

So, I am a FT Wife to Carlos Ramirez. My days consist of cooking for him and I, cleaning the house, organizing anything I can get my hands on, sleeping & napping, studying Spanish, reading my bible, praying, personal hygiene, and now blogging and social media. All these things together are like a Full-Time job. And now I am looking for a job because I am desiring an increase in my living standards. Hopefully, I can get a job that is for me and I will be able to simplify some things for Carlos and I. Carlos and I are both independent people. If we can do it ourselves, we will do it. And that even narrows it down to fixing our own vehicles because Carlos is Mechanic.

However, in the past few years I have been quite fascinated by the: "Hi, we are calling you about your cars extended auto warranty!" phone calls because who would have know that car warranties came with such convenience. I'll have to tell you all about it later. Let's get into my day!

"You may not believe, but you will see my power." - Jesus

This morning, my day began at about 7:00AM. I woke up to achy, stuffy nose because of the sudden weather change within the past two weeks. Fall seems to be transitioning out and Winter is transitioning in. In my most recent 5 years, I decided: "I like winter because its not so bad on the body. Plus, I can dress cute with my winter clothes - layers, scarves, boots, flannel button downs." Do you get the jist ?" I am going to have to see how this winter is going to be. As I stated, the past two days have been in the mid-60's, which is good, but its still quite cold for me. My husband, Carlos, is from Mexico. He's told me how, in Mexico, they don't experience a Winter Season. Atleast, not where he lives in VeraCruz. I'd much rather live in Veracruz at this point, but he's enjoying the stability he's gained in Estabas Unidos. So, I don't rush it but I have said: "I'd like me a Mexico Original home in the suburbs of Mexico or atleast on some nice land." With the curvy brick- style shingles. Yes!

Carlos is funny and he loves to tell jokes here and there but last night got me! He said, "You're working on the roof with me tomorrow?" Half serious/Half joking I said, "Yes!" very seriously. Meanwhile, I said: "Yes!" at maybe 8pm in the night. I have not really been out of the house, especially in the morning time, in a long while. Plus, its "cold outside." I believe I answered too soon. I woke up about 7AM and I was like : "Yes! New day. (I was sleeping on the love seat in our bedroom. I had fell asleep there after my shower.) Now, it's time to get in bed and have the real sleep." Moments later, Carlos' alarm goes off at 7:30 AM.

He's like: "Mi Reyna, despierta! Wake up! We are working on the roof this morning! Let's get ready!" I am like: "Oh no, I was just playing when I said yes." So, I layed back down. Carlos began getting ready. Friends, my nose was stopped up, sinuses congested, throat mildly sore - Can we say it may have been the end of the world considering the circumstances! Carlos has to basically peel me out of the bed like you use a spatula to scramble eggs when you forgot to put a little oil or butter on the skillet! Mama wasn't ready!

So, I got up! I was upset! But, I got up, brushed my teeth, put on clothes, and we were out the door. We had to go to Collierville for his work today! Carlos work sites vary from Arlington, Cordova, maybe Memphis, Millington, Covington, or Southaven - all in Memphis and surrounding areas. Today we went to Collierville. These houses are nice and beautiful too. They are brand new houses - some are for sale and others are still new construction or under construction.

This Morning began to be a beautiful day after I finally got up! We drove towards Collierville and I started having faint memories of my days when I used to be in Collierville and East Memphis with my friends. It was sweet memories and maybe I also teared up but it was nothing compared to the NOW. We stopped at the corner store for gas. Carlos offered to purchase me something from the store. Carlos is so kind, caring, and nurturing. He's awesome. I love him! I ordered me a Sausage, Egg, and Cheese Biscuit with a V8 Vegetable Drink. Talk about good! It was delicious! The biscuit was perfectly soft, flaky, and mouthwatering. I tore that biscuit up! Carlos got more coffee, LOL. He'd just had coffee at home, but I guess, "When you gotta go, ya gotta go!"

We arrived at his worksite. I began to become a little nervous because I had not worked with Carlos in a while. Especially moving those heavy shingles, as he asks me to assist him with. And thats exactky what he needed me to do. I have been meditating on the verse that says: "Do not be greedy for money and appreciate what you have." I have been appreciating God blessing me to be a Stay-At-Home wife. So, Carlos asking or making me come to work with him this morning really put me a little on edge and out of my normal routine. I said NO to helping with the shingles today. It's as though the Holy Spirit said, "Carlos should have called his boss and requested emergency back-up since he was the only person working. I did not sign you up for this and you're allowed to say no." So, I said no. I felt a little bad for my honey but alls fair in love! He accepted my NO and got to work. So, I decided to pray for us so that we can have a good day with our great expectation. After praying, the Sun came out and I swore I could see the Father's face. It was well with my soul.

Then, I'd remembered that I'd been having knee pains. The neighborhood was a pretty good size to walk around, even offering a walking trail. Do you know what I did? Got to walking!

Listen to a favorite of mine:

Yes, you all - I began walking this really bad knee pain off. I did not understand where it came from but I did realize I have not been exercising as much since it got colder outside. This was perfect timing to begin building my motivation to walk in my own neighborhood. As I began to walk, the pain slowly but surely began to go away. I am going to keep on walking until the pain is no more. I am going to have to manage it throughout the winter. I have to get back motivated to exercise all together.

Once I had enough walking, I rested in our van, took a nap, and woke up to Carlos asking for more assistance with those heavy shingles. This time, I said: "Yes, my love!" You all, I could only do so much. Then, it began sprinkling! "Yes!" I shouted in my mind because I did not need Carlos to get frustrated thinking that I did not want to help. Neither did I want the Lord to think the same. So, I prayed like Elijah that it would not rain, LOL. My prayer was: "Lord, please don't let it rain today. And don't let it rain for 3 years. And keep hydrating the Earth and its inhabitants. Amen." I had to show that my faith is strong and unfaltering. Then, it began to rain harder! Ha, sometimes you gotta be happy and joyful even when you don't get what you've asked for. Its possible with gratitude!

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

I'd like to share the story of Elijah and the Prayer Of Rain:

Elijah was a man with a nature like ours, and he prayed fervently that it might not rain, and for three years and six months it did not rain on the earth. Then he prayed again, and heaven gave rain, and the earth bore its fruit (James 5:17-18).

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

It began to rain even harder. I got so happy and I am sure Carlos did too because then we could go home and spend some quality time with one another, which is rare in the afternoon time of most days. Carlos usualy gets home after the sun has gone down. So, we packed up all the tools - nails, ladders, nail guns, and more. Then, we headed home. Our day was adventurous because we received what we did not expect - but the flowers need the rain, so it was good. And we need the rain to replenish the harvest. Take a good look at the fields, the harvest is ready!

We got home, cooked dinner, and I am now relaxing and concluding my day! It was short but sweet. Carlos is outside looking at my vehicle. Its been a tiring day so relaxation is needed.

Thank you very much for reading! Until next time....<3

#bible verses #jesus #jesus christ #jesus is coming #jesus of nazareth #Youtube

[lesfeldickbiblestudy]

  Through the Bible with Les Feldick LESSON 1 * PART 1 * BOOK 79 PART 3 of the MESSIANIC PROPHECIES – PART 1 Psalms 40 and 41 Okay, good to see everybody in again this afternoon. For those of you out in television, we just checked with our studio audience—and, my goodness, we’ve got people from all over the country here today.  Chicago, Kansas, Missouri, Indiana, and Washington State and there might be another state or two that I’m missing.  We’re just glad to have a representation from almost coast-to-coast.  Oh, yea, I forgot about Gloria over there from Florida.  Boy, she’s been looking forward to this day for months on end.  We do appreciate it when you folks come in from a distance to spend the afternoon with us. All right, I’m not going to take any more time for announcements, because, you know, everybody reminds me this is the only Bible study they’ve really got.  So we have to buy up the time.  We’ll get as much in these thirty minutes as we possibly can. All right, we’re still going to continue on our walk through the Book of Psalms, picking out the Messianic Psalms.  In other words, we will look at those Psalms that are definitively pointing to and representing the Messiah in His death, burial, and resurrection.  Now, that doesn’t mean the rest of the Psalms doesn’t mention it, but they are not as graphic. We’re just picking out the Psalms that most graphically describe His first advent and the Glory that will follow. Okay, now I’m going to do like we did in the last taping, maybe even the one before. I’m going to kick off every program with these verses.  Because I want people to almost see these two verses in their sleep and be aware of it when they wake up in the morning. I Peter chapter 1 and we’ll drop in at verses 10 and 11.  Remember now, who wrote it?  The Apostle Peter.  Who was he writing to?  Fellow Jews who were looking forward, of course, to the coming of the Tribulation—just over the horizon—and the Second Coming.  They all thought that was going to be in their lifetime.  But Peter is reminding them of something.  That’s why we’re taking an in-depth look at the Book of Psalms. I Peter 1:10a “Of which salvation the prophets (the Old Testament writers) have inquired and searched diligently,…” Now, I’ve got to stop a minute.  I can’t help it.  I wish could.  Don’t you?  Marilyn here is from Chicago. She’s been listening to me for years.  She and her friend Mary stopped by yesterday, and they put on a little skit—just for Iris and me. She’s mimicking me—all the way through from the way I start until the way I end. Well, it just reminded me of it, because this is part of it.  We’re going to be stopping every now and then.  When it says that they searched diligently—do you know that even today in these Jewish yeshivas (You’re going to want to know how to spell that, aren’t you, Sharon?)—in these Jewish yeshivas—which are places of learning for young Jewish men—they may spend a whole day, maybe a week, just contemplating one verse of Scripture.  Or maybe even a part of a verse. Now, that’s what I think of when I see this word that those old prophets were looking at all these things diligently.  Not just haphazardly writing, but they were really searching and trying to get an understanding of all these Old Testament Scriptures that were looking forward to a Messiah, which they understood.  But as I mentioned the last time, and I’ll probably mention it several times before we get through with this. They could understand the coming of a Messiah—but two of them?  Now that threw them a curve. Here it comes now, and then you’ll know what I’m talking about. I Peter 1:10b “…they searched diligently, (those prophets) who prophesied (or foretold) of the grace that should come unto you:” Now remember who Peter is writing to.  He’s writing to fellow Jews.  And these prophets now in verse 11 were: I Peter 1:11 “Searching what, or what manner of time the Spirit of Christ who was in them (As they wrote, remember. That’s why we’re always emphasizing Holy Spirit inspiration.

Otherwise, these men could have never done what they did.) who was in them did signify, when it (or I prefer He) testified beforehand (through the writing of these prophets now) the suffering of Christ, and (What?) the glory that should follow.” Now, if you’ll remember way back when we were going through the Book of Isaiah, pretty much chapter and verse, I laid that out so clearly—that Israel was being foretold that three times they would suffer the discipline of God because of their unbelief, but it would be followed with blessings. The first one was the Babylonians. The second one—of course that wasn’t followed with blessings so much, but still was an act of God—was the A.D. 70 invasion and destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans and then their dispersion.  Then the third one was the seven years of Tribulation to be followed with the glory of the Kingdom to follow.   All through Scripture this seems to be the format—first the suffering and then the glory that should follow. Now then, I had another brainstorm this morning, like I did last time we taped.  I learn these when I teach them often enough.  I know these verses now by memory.  They were searching diligently what manner of time the Spirit had testified beforehand, the sufferings of Christ and the glory that should follow. And I couldn’t help but think—turn with me now to Romans chapter 8 and see if it isn’t the same thing.  It’s just unbelievable. That even Paul with the regard to the Church Age believer and its sufferings, many times—not always—I’ll make that point in a minute here.  But what’s going to follow our earthly suffering?  Oh, the glory of eternity that’s ahead of us! Romans 8:17 “And if (we’re) children, (And that we are, if we have become a believer for our salvation in the death, burial, and resurrection plus nothing else.) then heirs; heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ; (Now here it comes.) if so be that we suffer with him, that we may be also (What’s the next word?) glorified together.”    See the order? Now, I’m going to be careful here.  This does not say that unless you suffer you can’t be glorified.  It doesn’t say that.  But it says it’s a possibility that we as believers may suffer. And the Lord knows that they did for the last 2,000 years.  My goodness, even during Paul’s ministry when these people were converted out of paganism, was it a bed of roses?  Why, heavens no.  They came under intense persecution.  They came under complete rejection by their families and maybe by their employers.  And all the way up through the last 2,000 years that has been the case for most believers. You know, we in America have been so blessed that we don’t know what it is to suffer for our faith.  But most of Christendom has.  All right, so I’m going to qualify that in verse 17.  It doesn’t say you won’t have glory unless you suffer.  But it’s possible we might suffer.  And if it’s possible that we suffer, then we go through the suffering with the same mentality that Christ did when He suffered.  And that was what?  It was all for an end, and the end would be the glory.  All right, that’s just a theme of Scripture, that “first the suffering and then the glory that should follow.”  All right, now maybe that’s as an introduction.  Come back with me to Psalms again.  And this time we’re going to move up to chapter 40, Psalms chapter 40.  Now the casual reader will never get the true impact of these Psalms.  The casual reader will never say, oh, this is Christ speaking.  It’ll never enter their mind.  But it is.  The Holy Spirit so inspired David, that as he wrote, he was saying it as if Christ Himself was saying it.  Now keep that in mind as we study. Psalm 40:1 “I waited patiently for the LORD; and he inclined unto me, and heard my cry.”  If at no other time, this should ring a bell—how about that night in the Garden of Gethsemane?  Right?  How He cried out to the Father knowing what was coming.  Now here’s the amazing thing of the crucifixion.  Jesus was on the one hand totally human.

  He suffered as any human could have suffered.  But on the other hand, He had the Deity part of Him so that He would know what was coming.  You know that. Even back there in Luke 18, remember, when He had the Twelve as they were getting ready to go up to the Passover.  They didn’t have a clue of what was coming.  But He knew to the last detail.  And He told them so.  But even though He told them, the Spirit kept it from them so that “they did not understand the things that were spoken.” But it just tells us now as believers today that, number one: Jesus knew exactly what was coming.  As I’ve said over and over through the years, He could have named those Roman soldiers who drove the spikes.  He could have named every person out there in that Jewish crowd that were hooting and ridiculing Him.  But at the same time, He suffered as a human.  And the Holy Spirit kept the understanding from the Twelve so that they didn’t know.  But anyway, if you keep that in mind, then these verses in Psalms are truly graphic. Psalms 40:1-2a “I waited patiently for the LORD; (as He cried out to the Father) and he inclined unto me, and he heard my cry. 2. He brought me up (Now, this is after His death, and He’s been in the grave.) also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock,…”  In other words, after His resurrection He is now in a position to bring in salvation for the human world and also to set things in motion for His coming Kingdom. Psalm 40:2b-3a “…and established my goings. 3. And He hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: many shall see it, and fear,…” Now don’t let that word throw a curve at you.  What is the meaning of fear, especially in the Old Testament?  The fear of God is the beginning of what?  Wisdom.    So, the fear that is used here is not a shaking in their boots, but it was an understanding of the mind of God Himself. Psalm 40:3b-4a “…many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the LORD. (That is the God of Glory.) 4. Blessed is that man that maketh the LORD his trust, (Or the place of his faith, I’ll repeat the blessing again.  Blessed is that man who) and respecteth not the proud, (Now don’t lose your negative there.  The true believer has no room in his thinking for pride.) nor such as turn aside to lies.” My goodness, lying, lying, lying—it’s almost gotten to be the sin of the day, isn’t it?  They lie through their teeth, and it doesn’t bother them.  No…no conviction, no embarrassment—they just go on as though nothing was ever said—in the business world as well as in everyday life.   All right, verse 4 again: Psalms 40:4 “Blessed (happy) is that man that maketh the LORD his trust, (and not the things of the ungodly world) and respecteth not the proud, nor such as turn aside to lies.”  He doesn’t have any respect for the proud, the puffed up.  He has no respect for the liars.  That’s just opposite of the mindset of our God. Psalm 40:5 “Many, O LORD my God, are the wonderful works which thou hast done, and thy thoughts which are to us-ward: they cannot be reckoned up in order unto thee: if I would declare and speak of them, they are more than can be numbered.” Now again, that is from the prophetic speaking of the Lord Himself.  But I can’t help but think of a verse that Paul writes, and I’m going to have to use it.  That’s why I think these things pop into my mind.  This isn’t in my preparation whatsoever.  Believe me. But come back with me to Ephesians, because I just had a letter in the mail the other day or a phone call.  I don’t remember what it was.  But they were asking about this very term.  And if this isn’t almost a perfect parallel with Psalm 40 and verse 5.  Ephesians 3 verse 8, and again, remember who is writing.  It’s the Apostle Paul writing to Gentiles.  He’s writing to us.  So he speaks of himself here. Ephesians 3:8 “Unto me, who am less than the least of all saints, is this grace given, that I should preach among the Gentiles the (What?) unsearchable riches

of Christ;”  Now, beloved, do you get an idea of what He’s talking about?  He could never put into any language the riches of Christ.  It’s beyond human understanding.  What little we get we take by faith, and we glory in that.  But, oh, beloved, the understanding that we’re going to have someday—but here it is.  They are unsearchable. Well, then I had another question that followed it, and I used this for the answer.  The individual wrote and asked what it meant in verse 18.  Now just skip across the page, at least in my Bible, in the same chapter.  This is Bible study, so I don’t have to stay on a format.  That’s why I don’t use outlines.  I’d go nuts if I had to go by an outline.   But here we go across the page to chapter 3 verse 18.  And the same Apostle is still writing to us, and he says: Ephesians 3:18a “May be able to comprehend with all saints what is the breadth, and length, and depth, and height;…”  Now, what makes that so different?  There are four dimensions.  We live in three.  So what’s the fourth dimension?  The unsearchable—that’s the only way I can put it—the unsearchable that we will never be able to comprehend until we get there.  And then we’re going to have full knowledge. All right, now you might as well keep your hand here in Ephesians, because I think when I get back to Psalms and the next verse—yea, next verse—then we’ll be going to the Book of Hebrews chapter 10.  But first, back to Psalm 40 and you’ll see what I’m driving at.  Psalm 40 verse 6, it is still speaking as if it were the Lord Himself.  David is writing it by the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, but it’s just as if he’s taking the words that the Lord Jesus will speak in His first advent. Psalm 40:6 “Sacrifice and offering thou didst not desire; mine ears hast thou opened: burnt-offering and sin-offering thou hast not required.”  Now, that was two of the four major offerings in Judaism.  Now I’ve got to stop a minute.  Another verse comes to mind.  Isaiah chapter 1—because I think this is all so apropos to what we’re talking about.  Isaiah chapter 1—start at verse 10.  I’m using these just to show you what Scripture is talking about.  What does Psalm 40 back here mean when it says, Sacrifice and offering you did not desire?  Well, I thought that was all part of the Law, didn’t you?  Isn’t that part of Judaism, the sacrifices and so forth?  Well, under good, normal circumstances, yes.  But what had happened in Israel?  Unbelief.  Did they still practice them?  Sure.  But did it have any Spiritual significance?  No.  Why?  Because they weren’t doing it in an attitude of belief and faith.  They were just doing it because it was a prescribed religious way to do. Does that ring a bell?  That’s exactly what churches are today. All right, but now look what the real attitude was that God hated.  Isaiah 1 verse 10, where the prophet writes: Isaiah 1:10-11a “Hear the word of the LORD, ye rulers of Sodom; (Now this is from the previous verse, a reference to Jerusalem.) Hear the word of the LORD, ye rulers of Sodom; give ear unto the law of our God, ye people of Gomorrah. (Because up in the previous verse He’d said they were like Sodom and Gomorrah, but it’s Jerusalem.  All right, now here it comes, verse 11.) 11. To what purpose is the multitude of your sacrifices unto me?...” Multitude.  Do you have any idea how many animals were killed every year up there at the Temple in fulfillment of these religious rituals?  Thousands of them.  I think Josephus made the claim of a million.  I find that hard to believe, but whatever.  I’m going to be a little more easy to accept.  But thousands every year were sacrificed.  How much of it amounted to anything?  Very little, because it wasn’t done in the attitude of faith.  It was just simply done as a religious ritual.  All right, read on in Isaiah. Isaiah 1:11 “To what purpose is the multitude of your sacrifice unto me? saith the LORD: I am full (Now, how would we say it today?  You’ve got it, Charlie!  I’ve had it with all of your sacrifices, God says.

) of the burnt-offerings of rams, and the fat of fed beasts; and I delight not in the blood of bullocks, or of lambs, or of he goats.”  You see that?  It didn’t mean anything to God anymore, because it wasn’t being brought in the prescribed way. Isaiah 1:12-13a “When ye come to appear before me, (That is in the Temple.) who hath required this at your hand, to tread my courts? 13. Bring no more (Or, let’s put it as we would say it.  Don’t bring me anymore.) vain oblations; incense is an abomination unto me; the new moons (Which were all part of Judaism, remember.) and sabbaths, the calling of assemblies, I cannot away with;…”  And again, put it in our language.  What’s he saying?  I’ve had it!  End it.  It doesn’t do you any good. Isaiah 1:13c-15a “…even the solemn meeting. 14. Your new moons and your appointed feasts my soul hateth: (And don’t forget who’s speaking.  God is, through the prophet.) they are a trouble unto me; I am weary to bear them. 15. And when ye spread forth your hands,…” Oh, my goodness, what did they think they were doing?  They thought they were showing worship. We were in a meeting one time—Iris, you remember, don’t you?  And I said what a fake.  It’s all fake.  They don’t mean anything.  And Israel was doing the same thing.  Oh, you know, they would pretend that they were worshiping. They would raise their hands and all, and God hated it.  It’s no different today. Isaiah 1:15 “And when ye spread forth your hands, I will hide mine eyes from you: yea, when ye make many prayers, I will not hear: your hands are full of blood.”  In other words, guilt—not necessarily of murder, but they had all kinds of moral guilt.  Do you see that now? All right, now from Psalms, then, let’s go to up Hebrew chapter 10. This is a good parallel for Psalms 40 and verse 6.  While you’re looking, I’ll reread it. Psalms 40:6-7 “Sacrifice and offering thou didst not desire; (In other words, speaking of God, He’d had it with Israel’s religion.) mine ears hast thou opened: burnt-offering and sin-offering hast thou not required. 7. Then said I, Lo, I come: in the volume of the book it is written of me.” All right, now Hebrews chapter 10.  Let’s see how that was fulfilled.  As I feel that the Apostle Paul wrote Hebrews; so after the fact, now, Paul can reflect back on everything that the Psalmist had put in the mouth of the Lord Jesus, and see how it comes out again. Hebrews 10:1 “For the law (the Judaic Law) having a shadow of good things to come, and not the very image of the things, (themselves--They) can never with those sacrifices which they offered year by year continually make the comers thereunto perfect.”  Or spiritually mature.  It couldn’t do it.  Now verse 2: Hebrews 10:2-3 “For then would they not have ceased to be offered? because that the worshipers once purged should have had no more conscience of sins. (But they did.) 3. But in those sacrifices (these sheep and the goats and what have you) there is remembrance again made of sins every year.”  Reading on, verse 4: Hebrews 10:4-5a “For it is not possible that the blood of bulls and of goats should take away sins. (Now here comes the quote from Psalms.  So we know that the Holy Spirit inspired David to write what the Lord Himself would say later.) 5. Wherefore when he cometh into the world, he saith, Sacrifice and offering thou wouldest not,…” Now, doesn’t that give you goose bumps?  It should.  Here he is saying the same words that David put in Psalm 40.  Now what does that tell us?  This Book is supernatural!  And yet mankind hates it.  They scorn it.  They ridicule it. They think it’s just a bunch of fables and legends and myths.  No, it isn’t!  It’s the revealed, Holy Spirit-inspired Word of God, and it’s so perfectly written out.   All right, back to Hebrews 10 verse 6 again. Hebrews 10:6-8a “In burnt-offerings and sacrifices for sins thou hast had no pleasure.  7. Then said I,   Lo, I come (in the volume of the book (That is in the Word of God.) it is written of me,)    to do thy will, O God.

8. Above when he said, Sacrifice and offering and burnt-offerings and offering for sin thou wouldest not,…”  Now, you see why I read Isaiah 1?  Why not?   Because it wasn’t amounting to anything; it was done without faith.  It was just a ritual that they thought they had to do because their neighbor was doing it.  This is the way Mama and Daddy did it.  This’s the way Grandpa did it.  But it had no redeeming value whatsoever.

[chestshot]

On This Rock

“I’m going to get my degree in philosophy” I said. “Oh. ok. What are you going to do with that?” “Well, if I get my masters, I can teach at the university level” I said. “Cool. That’s going to be very expensive. You might want to start looking for scholarships.” 

I had listened to books on tape a great deal when I worked at the library and still had a car. They were books on compact disk but saying “books on tape” somehow sounds more intelligent. I get a sense of packed and dusty shelves. It’s romantic. So, I listened to a disk on great minds of western philosophy, and the speaker states that studying philosophy just for the sake of reciting theories is like going on vacation for the sake of taking pictures. The value of my education at the age of 16 was not derived so much from how I could apply new philosophical concepts but more about familiarizing myself with different viewpoints. Eventually, this would make me into a more tolerant young adult, or at least I would like to think so. 

I was taught about the Holy Trinity through years of Sunday morning mass. I was baptized and had my communion at St. Francis De Sales, the Roman Catholic church at 1111 Michael Way when I was eight or ten. I forgot. One was all three, and yet, I could not find this “trinity” in the whole bible. What was more, my dad told me that I should worship no other god but the Father. He was a Methodist. He had come to believe in a god of his own understanding through years in a twelve-step program. This god fit neatly into the Methodist doctrine of community involvement. 

My dad was the pioneer of my family for stepping away from the faith of our ancestors, or at least the one’s that the Spaniards had graced us with, when they decided to land in El Salvador in 1524. I thought that if it was ok for my father to question the church and its practices of praying to saints, then it was ok for me. I changed the way that I understood my god. He was not angry anymore. No, he was disappointed. Not at the sins I had committed, for I believed that they were forgiven. I was an imperfect human, and no matter how hard I tried to purge myself of rock and roll music, secular television, premarital sex and drugs, I felt that I was never going to be good enough for my perfect god. I was a disappointment to the creator of heaven and earth. 

The value I found in believing in God was primal. I knew that if I suffered for my faith in this world, I might be seated at the right hand of the Father when I died. I found my own church at the age of 15 and a half. During this time, I was volunteering at the library, going to Friday night youth service at Truth Christian ministries, and getting a 2.0 GPA average at Spring Valley high school. Going to church was like taking a crack hit. I felt a rush of dopamine to my brain. I felt that I could talk with God, face to face. I went to bible club at school, and this is where I recruited newcomers to worship with the body of Christ. The church bus would pick them up at their house around five pm. Service wouldn’t start till seven. Most of these kids had problems at home. Church might have been the only place where they got to meet other kids, who wanted to feel something that they were searching for their whole lives. 

When the lights turned off, the church band kicked off a set of 3-4 contemporary Christian rock songs. The pastor spoke for an hour, and then there was alter call. This desire inside all of us to feel something deeper was triggered. We got out of our seats and laid everything at the altar. We cried, spoke in tongues, and gave words of wisdom, as if we were the mouthpiece of God. Afterward, the church bus driver would take us to In-N-Out or Aloha Kitchen, where we would have fellowship over burgers or teriyaki chicken. We were in a sort of dream-like state, in our own bubble, in the afterglow of the first hit. We climbed down from Mt. Saini and stopped on the way home to get dinner, before we got dropped off home. Remember the crack hit? It leaves your lips numb, just like your mind. You want to feel this way forever, but it’s a bit too late. Monday comes along, and you won’t see your church friends for another week. The afterglow faded away by Sunday evening, and I needed another hit. 

Parents start to wonder why you spend so much time with these new people. “What could you possibly be doing out that late?” If it’s to go to church, then it’s totally fine. I cut off from secular existence because I had found my god. He wanted me to have my own house and my own business. He wanted me to have a godly wife and godly kids. All he asked in return was 10% of my salary, unquestioning faith, cutting ties with earthly things, showing up to church twice, sometimes three times a week. It was a small price to pay. I needed another hit. 

#drug abuse #church #las vegas #Theology

[robertabobertson]

It’s not about the booty

This week was another good one. We went camping, met with friends, had deep conversations, overcome some weirdness, and I met my goals. 

I didn’t make it to the first meeting because A. needed his car (which he told me 24 hrs in advance, so I respected that). We went camping, and preparing for camping - I did somewhat pull the victim card, thinking to myself why am I doing all of this work? But then I pulled back - stopped trying to micromanage everyone & everything and just tried to enjoy it. 

Booty Comment

A. did make a comment the morning we left that for some reason totally rocked me - that another girl’s booty looked nice. We usually joke about that stuff together and laugh about it, because it is amazing. But this time, I was on my period, I was ragged and dirty from the weekend and it was the last thing I wanted to hear. I got SO MAD. And withdrawn. I let him know that was a new boundary with me, and that I felt it was disrespectful both to me and the woman who is married. 

But later, I realized it was more. It was about trust again, of course! And co-dependency. Because I give A. my all, and because I don’t know what he does or talks about behind closed doors, and he’s done stuff before, I don’t know if I trust his true intentions. It’s not about the comment. It’s about a whole other layer of complexity - does he find me sexually attractive? Is he willing to age with me? does he realize the effort I put in? Is he making the same? Is he going to cave to his vices? 

A. apologized a million times, and he did show shame around it and realized that was a wrong comment. I tried to explain again later that I was being a bit irrational on the comment itself and the true meaning was that I felt insecure in our relationship and wasn’t sure if I was just a best friend or a lover. Ever since, he’s been very thoughtful & complimenting me, and holding me, making me feel loved. We’ve both put an effort into our appearance and physical touch, which gives me hope, and makes me feel good. 

Loneliness

Coming back from the trip, I felt exhausted, but happy. I spoke with K. on Monday and she asked me how A. & I are doing. I started to go into it, but in even talking about it, the weight of it all exhausted me. She asked me if I was tired and needed to stop. It felt somewhat abrupt, but I realize now that the layered complexity of the topic is too much for a friend to take on all at once. 

The next day I sloweeedddd down and tried to do “S” things. Lived intentionally. An overwhelming sense of loneliness overtook me. I went to God (who told me to go to a meeting), I went to my devotional, I meditated, but I felt so alone. My epiphany here is that I am distracting myself from my loneliness - at least in this case. But that’s why I go so crazy over work, cleaning, gym. Because I’m lonely and I feel like I’m living a lie. 

 I realized then, I needed a meeting. I went to one, and not only do I feel proud of myself, but I felt like these women were just like me. Tired, determined, graceful, and so confident and assured of their self-worth. I was very impressed. We talked about victimhood. Some spoke to how I’ve felt frequently in the past - it’s something I still struggle with. How we can put ourselves into this horrible victim place, making it feel like life is happening to me. But the reality is, we & our higher power (God in my case) are in control, we are responsible for how our lives are going - not anyone else. Which is a beautiful concept. I definitely get into a “victim” rut, and it still takes me a while to realize my mental state can change. 

Regardless, it was extremely fulfilling. I want to text Am. and make sure I go again. 

Overall / Misc

I did a lot well this week. I signed up for Bible Study, I got a woman’s number, I went to a meeting, I was intentional (some days), I worked through an issue with A., and I realized why I am distracting myself. 

I still did some stuff wrong. I forgot to pause and prevent myself from controlling the situation or others in some cases. I was insecure, I forgot to be mindful and I forgot to protect my euphoria. 

Reminders... 

PAUSE. breathe. Let other’s talk 

Protect my state of mind from spiraling out of control. 

I have choices. 

Honesty

Openness

Willingness

God voice 

[alleycat97]

Daughter in Law

Queen B

Pairing: Chloe x MC (Bea)

I have no idea why I wrote this. It’s been in my drafts for months so I decided to finish it. Part 1? Maybe a second if it goes well. Angst/fluff/homophobic issues when coming out.

“Chloe relax. You need to breathe it’s just my parents they’re not going to bite.” Bea said reassuring a very nervous Chloe.

“I know I just want to make a good impression on them. You did tell them we were coming right?”

“Well ya see babe, I totally forgot to mention it and I’m so sorry. I figured a surprise would be better?” Bea tried.

“Bea!!! Do they even know you’re gay?” Chloe asked hushing herself. “Last time we talked about it, you were still hiding it.”

The silence coming from Bea was enough to answer Chloe’s question. This was going to be terrible, so much for a great first impression.

“So you’re telling me I’m about to meet my girlfriends parents on their farm halfway across the country in Hicktown USA and they don’t even know we’re coming and they don’t know their daughter is bringing her girlfriend. Sure...this isn’t a bad idea.” Chloe mumbled.

“It’ll be fine. I hope.” Bea trailed off. “My parents will love you and my decisions no matter what. Now relax, put on your pretty face and get out, we’re here.”

Chloe was impressed indeed, for being in the middle of Iowa, The Hughes Family had a beautiful home. It was filled with beautiful trees and the air was filled with....was that crap? “What is that smell Bea?”

“Fresh air babe, just good ol country air.”

At the sound of car doors closing, the front door to the extravagant farm house opened and an older couple came out.

“Bea!? Is that you?” The woman asked quickly making a beeline for Bea, scooping her up in a hug.

“Welcome home kiddo, you should have told us you were coming.” The man said sauntering over patting Bea on the back.

“I figured this would be better, I hope you guys are surprised!”

“We are indeed. Now who is your friend?” The woman spoke looking over Bea’s shoulder directly at Chloe.

“Mom, Dad. This is Chloe, my girlfriend. Chloe this is my mom, Linda, and my father, Mark.”

The air grew still as Bea announced Chloe to her parents. Her mother looked uneasy and her father was clearly startled.

“I’ve got fencing to do. I’ll see you at supper.” Mark said walking off towards his farm shop.

“But Mark! Bea just drove all of this way to see us.” Linda protested.

“And I told you I’ve got fencing to do. Now I best be tending to it.” Mark grumbled getting further away.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here.” Chloe spoke trying to blame this on herself.

“Now don’t you go blaming yourself young lady. We are glad to have you here.” Linda replied to the girls relief. “Now y’all go get settled in and wash up for supper. It’ll be ready in a few hours.”

Chloe and Bea drug their luggage up to Bea’s old room and the guest room down the hall. Bea naturally had a few bags but spent the majority of her time lugging Chloe’s endless supply of bags into her room for her. “That’s the last of them babe. I really don’t see why you need all these bags...” Bea stopped when she heard Chloe snoring on the bed and went to tuck her in, road trips and Chloe didn’t mix.

Bea took the oppurnity to head downstairs to help her mother fix supper. Fresh fried chicken, sweet corn and baked potatoes.

“Do you think dad is upset with me?” Bea casually asked.

“I don’t know sweetie. You know how he is. I think part of him believed that with you going off to that fancy school, you’d bring home a man and he’d finally have the son we could never have.”

“But it shouldn’t matter who I bring home right?”

“I agree honey. But your dad is a man, a man who comes from a long line of men who believe in the samething. It’s going to take him awhile to come around.”

“And what about you? How do you feel about this?” Bea asked setting the table.

“I really wish you would have called and told me how you felt. So I would have time to adjust to this. But I think she’s a beautiful young girl and she seems to make you happy and that’s all I care about. So I’m perfectly ok with this as long as she makes you happy.”

Bea couldn’t help the smile forming at the thought of her girlfriend. “Oh she does. She’s sassy, she knows what she wants and how to get it. She’s crazy beautiful and she actually listens to me. She knows what I need before I ask and I don’t know how, but she’s always one step ahead of me.”

“Sounds like you have a winner Bea.” Linda smiled.

“I sure hope so, I think I love her, and I mean really really love her.” Bea stopped her gushing when her father stepped into the kitchen.

“How was your fencing dad?”

Mark took a deep breath and calmly tried to answer, “Busy as usual.”

Bea sighed at her fathers few words. He was definitely not thrilled with her right now. And to add fuel to the fire, Chloe stumbled her way into the kitchen to join the soon to be circus.

The four of them sat at the table, Chloe uncomfortably across from Mark. He was staring her down hard and it was clear he wasn’t thrilled to have her eating at his table.

“So Chloe is it? Tell me, since you go to school with Bea, is there a required course for sexual education, or a bible study course? I know a few ago could benefit from such courses.”

What the hell was that? Bea thought. That was random but she knew what he was doing.

“I’m not sure?” Chloe replied.

“Tell us about you then? What is your major?”

“I...I don’t have a set in stone one yet. I haven’t decided.” Chloe admitted.

“So you’re telling me you’re a junior in college, and have no idea what you want to do in life. Bea are you sure this is the one you want supporting you?” Mark asked.

“Daddy enough! You’re putting words into Chloe’s mouth.”

“I am not! I asked her what her major was and she doesn’t know. That tells me more than enough. That’s the problem with that school. All the rich kids pay tuition to screw around and all the kids who earned their spot pack them in academics. All the rich kids care about is partying and corrupting the innocent minds of the good kids.” He said staring directly at Chloe.

“Thank you for dinner it was wonderful.” Chloe said wiping her mouth and running upstairs.

“Daddy you’re such a fucking jerk!” Bea said slamming her napkin down and chasing after Chloe.

“What did I say?” Mark asked innocently.

“Mark you know damn well. That is your daughter and someone who she really cares about. We’ve been married for 26 years and I’ve loved you every minute of it until now. I’m so ashamed of you.” Linda said jerking his dinner plate away from him to clean it.

“I just don’t understand where we went wrong.” Mark hissed watching his wife do the dishes.

“We!?” Linda stopped to stare daggers into her husband. “WE haven’t done anything wrong. YOU have.”

“Oh come on Linda. How can you be ok with your daughter bringing home a girl? I didn’t send her to that school to become gay. I sent her there to get a top notch education and find a man to help tend this farm and give us a house full of grandkids.”

“Mark, please listen to what you just said. It’s Bea’s life, not yours. We have to respect whatever decision she makes and that girl makes her gush and she loves her Mark. She makes Bea happy. Why can’t you accept that?” Linda stormed off leaving him mulling over his thoughts.

“Chloe?” Bea said desperately knocking on her door. “Please sweetie let me in.”

She could hear Chloe quietly sobbing on the bed, this was gonna be hard Bea thought as she collapsed against the door.

Linda approached quietly tapping on Bea’s shoulder, “If I may, I think it’s time for operation shingle shuffle.”

Bea couldn’t help but giggle at the memory of how operation shingle shuffle came about. It was her escape route when she needed to get away or hide out.

Bea went to her room and climbed onto the roof and started walking to the next window which was Chloe’s room. She entered and sat on the window seal taking in the crying blonde fetaled on the bed.

“Careful.” Bea started scaring Chloe. “You’re gonna ruin that pretty sweater with all them tears.”

“Go away.” Chloe mumbled. “I wanna be alone.”

“Ok.” Bea moved to climb back onto the roof when Chloe’s voice stopped her.

“No please. Don’t leave me.”

Bea’s heart shattered at the weakness in Chloe’s voice. She hurried over and gathered her girl in a hug. Slowly rubbing her back to comfort her.

“Chloe I’m so sorry. I never knew he would act that way.”

“Am I really that terrible?” Chloe asked sulking.

“No! Chloe you are amazing. Please don’t listen to my dad. He’s just not acclimated to this yet. I know he’s fighting it but I know he will come around.”

“And if he doesn’t? Bea, I cannot go through another altercation like that.”

“If he doesn’t? Then we pack up and never come back.”

“What?! This is your home, your parents! You would throw them away like that?”

“Chloe listen to me. Yes they are my parents and I love them. But I’m madly in love with you and right now, I need you way more than I need them. You are my entire world right now and hopefully for a long time.”

Chloe cried harder at the revelation, she knew how special this was, but to hear how much she meant to Bea, made her pride overwhelm her.

“I love you to Bea. So much. But I want this blessing, I want your parents approval.”

“Chloe?” Bea asked questioning her girlfriend. “That’s not necessary.”

“I don’t care what I have to do. I’m going to prove to your dad I’m not a loser and I am perfect for you. HE WILL RESPECT ME.”

Bea wasn’t about the argue. She knew when Chloe set her mind on something, she was bound and determined to do it.

Chloe pulled her phone out to set an early alarm, “Will 9:30 be early enough to start working?”

“Um Chloe? We start milking cows at 5am.”

Chloe nearly fainted, she’s never woken up before 7 am in her life. “5am!? That’s...that’s way too early! Can’t we start later?”

Bea snorted, she loved what was about to transpire in the morning. Chloe wasn’t a morning person at all. “Goodnight babe.” Bea kissed Chloe’s forehead. “See you at 5.”

#playchoices #pixelberry #chloe st james #chloe x mc #queen b chloe #queen b mc #queen b choices #queen b #bea hughes

[dangerously-human]

Feeling truly atrocious - I think I forgot to take allergy meds this morning, and I've been Suffering™ all day - but I managed to wash half the dishes that have been piling up for weeks and shove the rest in the dishwasher (even though I'll just have to wash most by hand again later, that lets me hide them for a little while), and I voted, and those were the two non-negotiables for this evening, so I've been successful by a very low-bar metric. I had a new person start on my team at work today, and I'm primarily responsible for training her - partly because I'm the only person on my team who's regularly in the office, but mostly because the goal is for her to take over several of my projects, and also because I genuinely enjoy training people and do well in that pseudo-supervisory role. Anyway, to meet her for her first day, I caught an earlier train than usual, which meant waking up very early, and I was so slammed between onboarding and meetings all day that I didn't get to take a lunch, plus we had to walk to another building and wander between floors a fair bit, so that was. Well. A tad exhausting. I kind of wanted to lay on the floor and do nothing after work, but it's election day, and then I had to do at least some cleaning, because I have some Bible study friends coming over for game night tomorrow. I'll do the rest of it later, and probably drastically reduce my standard of acceptability... but for now, I think I am allowed to crash for at least a little while!

#personal #research rambling

[spnsmile]

Happy?

Monday prompt: BET #SpnsStayatHome

@pray4jensen​ @bend-me-shape-me​ @helianthus21​ @verobatto-angelxhunter​

Castiel leaving Dean to babysit Jack for a few hours comes back to find Dean declaring something utterly ridiculous as—

“I’m going to make you happy!”

This after Jack casually praises Dean not only for being a very good hunter but also an expert hustler, baby driver, fisher, the best chef in the Bunker and just about everything Jack also wants to become (though not really a making of a very good role model), still made Dean feel so good about himself which was rare because in the Bunker— between him and his brother— these are all essential stuff they needed under their sleeves and he thinks Cas barely cares about trivial stuff so Dean appreciates the kid’s honesty because kids never lie.

Until the catch when the boy mentions something in lines of, “Except, you can’t make Cas happy,” making Dean’s eyebrows twitch.

“Excuse me? I can’t make Cas…happy? Did Cas tell you this? That I don’t make him happy?”

“No, but he doesn’t need to say anything. He is not happy, that’s—"

“Wait, you’re telling me I can’t make Cas happy?”

“I think you can’t do that.”

“Even if I’m hilarious?” it has gone very serious.

Actually, Jack means the deal with the Empty but Dean still ignorant of context naturally heard it differently. He heard it like a taunt a challenge on his ability. No one ever challenges Dean without the consequences for even doubting le Dean Winchester! Excuse his French, but he can do anything he put his mind into—and just like that when the angel finally returns from his errand as if summoned, Dean studies him very carefully wondering when the last time Cas’ smile muscles were ever used.

“Cas, you ever been happy?”

Castiel freezes like Dean just told him there’s no such thing as profound bond and continues to look like Dean just gutted him when Dean looks him square in the eyes.

“Happy. I am asking if you’ve ever been happy?”

Eyes widening with a frantic look that seems so out of place from a very simple question, Castiel dwindles. He glances at Jack’s direction searchingly before running the tip of his tongue on his chapped lips.

“Um… why?”

“Ah, shit.” Scraping sound of the chair on the floor as it gets pushed back, Dean stands up tall before the angel, dead flicker on his eyes.

“What—why?”  Cas looks taken aback when Dean turns his heels and walks away. Exchanging a confused looked with Jack, the angel runs after him. “D-Dean, what?”

“You should have said something.”

“About what?” voice quivers a little but no one pauses to check as they drag the conversation to the corridor, possibly aiming for a door to shut on the angel’s face, but Cas doesn’t wait for that so he pulls Dean’s arm back.

“Dean—”

“You not being happy, alright?” annoyance not equal to the hunter’s troubled handsome face. Castiel quickly steps on Dean’s space in concern.

“I don’t understand. What’s my happiness got to do with you?” again with the quiver on the voice.

Dean rolls his eyes heavenward. “ I’m not supposed to ask if my best friend if he is happy?”

Castiel shakes his head, lost for words, nothing to describe his shock at the turn of events. Dean returns it with guilt realizing how the ocean blues eyes always there when he is in dire need, those blues he considers so precious to behold have never expressed real joy since it’s fall. Just always stormy anger and determination to fulfill tasks after tasks season per season beneath the blues of the sky.

But never joy. Well, one time with that burger… Dammit. But then…

An idea suddenly occurs to Dean.

“Cas, I’ve never been a good friend to you—”

“That’s not—“

“No, hear me out. I really suck, I know—”

“Dean—” reprimanding, not right to say.

 “I always make you angry—”

 “Um… okay…” a slow take.

“I always get on your bad side—”

“That is true.” Approving this time.

“I annoy you most of the time—”

Castiel just nods not even trying to stop him now.

Dean glares. “Of course, you realize what this means, do you?”

“Um…” Castiel squints, remembering the Bugs Bunny line Dean always repeats when they watch the loony tunes together, “…war?”

“I’m gonna make you happy,” Dean says with relished determination.

Then true apprehension sets in. The angel saw it in his eyes.

Castiel gulps. “Please, don’t.”

Can’t make Cas happy? You wanna bet?

Three days passed since then. The Bunker remained at peace, oblivious to the upcoming storm. Dean was busy in his room while Castiel can only wait in vain. He becomes apprehensive every time Dean walks into the kitchen or the library or in his general vicinity. Except Dean only smiles at him and do absolutely nothing.

It begins with a text.

Dean smiles to himself in the kitchen with Sam drinking his coffee, Jack opposite him when Castiel’s familiar light steps come bounding from the corridor.

“Dean…”

Sam turns to the angel from his laptop, “Hey, Cas—get this—”

“Dean, you sent me a good morning text.” Cas says urgently, following Dean to the stainless kitchen worktable like he’s afraid Dean would vanish from thin air. Dean who’s wearing a gray calico apron on top of his dark green shirt, sleeves pulled up to his elbows and a very charming look on his face when they stand opposite each other with the angel holding his phone like it’s the bible.

Dean leans both hands on the table, smirking. “So?”

“There’s an emoji text… with a heart.”  Cas insists like it’s very important that they understand and make it clear. Sam stares up quietly from one to another. Dean only smirks and shrugs like he’s teasing the overly reacting angel from a trivial text.

“There’s more where that came from, you just wait this afternoon, Cas.” Winks the hunter like it’s allowed to look even prettier in the morning with his beautifully shaped lopsided smirk playfully turning up as the angel helplessly stares in his direction.

Castiel’s eyes widen.

Oh, but that’s just the beginning.

“Dean, why are you thinking about me?”

Cas’ says from the other line of the phone with voice deep and sounding uncomfortable to Dean who’s currently driving the impala after a successful hunt for the day. Cas was left to babysit Jack in the Bunker while Dean took care of the ghouls in Minnesota that took about half a day to hunt and another half a day to kill.

Out of the Bunker the entire day, he messages Cas and promptly receives a call from a very stricken angel.

“You said in your message ‘I’m thinking about you’…Do you have any specific reason why you are thinking about me?”

“Nothing really,” Dean hums in satisfaction, “I’m just thinking about you, that’s all.”

Castiel gasps. “T-that’s very nice of you, Dean… umm…I cannot think of why a person would think about another—”

“Why? Aren’t you thinking about me all the time too?”

There’s a sound of something crashing on the floor so it’s either Cas was reading a book or holding a laptop and Dean’s betting it’s the latter so he hopes its Sam’s laptop not his.

Dean smirks again and perhaps just forgot Sam is sitting beside him until his brother clears his throat again with a funny look on his face.

Dean ignores him.

That same week when Castiel and Jack return from grocery shopping, Dean is there waiting for them in the war room table with a beer can in one hand and book on the other. He looks up and warmly greets them ‘Welcome home,’ especially giving Castiel a very long, meaningful look, green eyes speaking volumes of sincerity so Castiel stammers a response. Dean meets him on the bottom of the stairs and without a word, twirls Cas by the shoulder and begins removing his coat—

“D-Dean!?”

“Yeah, it’s summer, what are you doing still wearing this? You’ll get hot. Well, you’re hot—” and no one asks if it’s the current body temperature but Castiel adamantly fights him.

“My vessel does not respond to the weather as with you humans—”

Dean takes it off anyway, grinning at another success. Before Castiel can say anything, Jack stands Dean’s side, shoulders hunching and waiting for his own jacket to be peeled. Dean takes it too with a smirk, then sees Sam watching from the table giving him the same funny expression he had from the kitchen.

“You wanna get your flannel taken off too?” Dean shoots over Sam as he puts the coats on his arms. Sam rolls his eyes but it all didn’t matter because even when Cas seems annoyed when they reached the kitchen, he was smiling at Dean the entire evening with less coat off his shoulder.

And it just goes on and on be it in the Bunker, the Impala, in the middle of the case while they are working as FBI agents, Dean will just light up like fire in the middle of nowhere.

“Hey, Cas.”

“What?”

“Who do you think is my speed dial number 1?”

“Um… I’m guessing it’s no longer Sam?”

Dean laughs out loud before knocking on their prospect’s door with an agent’s grim expression returning on his face in a flick of a finger.

One night when Dean strolls past Sam in the kitchen comes the awaited talk because Sam has been watching them and knows it’s no longer ordinary ‘thing’ he can ignore even when he wished he could because just the other night, Sam caught the two dancing on top of the war room table with dopey smiles on their faces, arms around each other with Dean saying something about having a dream of tap dancing and symbolic lamps—

“Dean, you realize you’re giving Cas the ‘boyfriend treatment’...”

Dean who’s jut taken a can of beer from his stash doesn’t break a sweat shrugging, “You’re still speed dial 1 on my second phone, alright?”

“I—I don’t care! What’s up with you and Cas? Are you guys…?”

Dean leans his hips on the table and shrugs.

“Does it matter if we label it?”

“What?”

“Uh… I don’t know what you wanna hear, Sam, but… did you see how Cas’s been smiling a lot these days? And I just thought… it’s not bad. These simple things I’m doing… not bad at all.”

“Yes, I know, Dean. And it’s good.” Sam puts on the ‘I’m-trying-to-not-butt-in-but-i-think-you-need–to-hear’ look when he clasps both hands. “But don’t you think you’ll be confusing Cas? He told me about this whole thing, about how you were only trying to prove Jack a point. But this is more than a bet, Dean… This is Cas’ happiness… what’ll happen if you suddenly stop?”

Dean suddenly stops just enough to give Sam a serious look like he’s thinking and overthinking stuff once again before his thoughts come into a halt and he lifts his green eyes at his brother bearing something like a revelation lights his face.

He smiles.

“You got it all wrong, Sammy.” Then he was just gone.

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

“Are you happy?”

“Asking me this when you just shoved me on your door…” Castiel says, voice deep and husky inside Dean’s room, behind Dean’s closed door, with Dean upon him inches from his face, both hands

Castiel puts careful hands-on Dean’s chest, pushing him a little. Locking eyes with those beautiful orbs is enough for Castiel to forget why they were there in the first place.

“I think I maybe being selfish here, Cas but… I ….”

Castiel tilts his head.

“Why are you so fixated on making me happy, Dean?”

“Will this make you happy?”

“I prefer if you do not take this position.”

“What position?” Dean says, breathless, their hips dancing at the friction. Castiel takes Dean’s neck with rough hands and jerks him closer, foreheads bumping. In reality, Castiel is worried. Castiel knows Dean has been trying to make him happy for weeks now. With that kind of determination, it’s only natural Dean finally realizes what Castiel really wants.

“You don’t have to do all of this, Dean. Making me happy… this is too much…”

“You really want me to stop?” Dean says in a husky voice, his mouth already nipping on the angel’s chin sending shivers all over his body.

“I’m just saying you don’t have to do this to prove anything… Just stay by my side.”

“And if I really wanna do it?” the green eyes flash in arousal. Castiel eyes him searchingly, to see if Dean means it, if Dean is ready because Castiel has been waiting for a very long time. But he still fears it, fears the Empty that may just pull him out of nowhere.

“Are you scared, Cas?” Dean suddenly asks, pressing his lips on the angel’s cheeks, “Don’t look so scared… I’m gonna eat you, not leave you, ‘kay? I got you, Cas…”

Their lips crushed and it’s one thing for Dean to groan, another for Castiel to crush his lips on the man. When Dean lands flat on his back on the bed, Castiel as his top, he looks at the human—the man with the very soul he built from hell now ready to be taken apart again and all for him to take—

Dean who trusts him. Dean who loves him.

And Castiel realizes one thing that night when he wreaks havoc on Dean’s bed, while he breaks Dean apart and put him back again, it’s all too clear, realized why he was still in Dean’s arms the entire night, Dean resting on his chest.

Happiness is impossible to attain.

So, when Jack sits by his side munching on his sandwich months later with Castiel and Dean’s relationship out for the world to question yet bearing no real significance to their truth— comes the most important question.

“Cas, are you happy?”

“No, Jack,” Castiel says with eyes twinkling, watching Dean wrestle the Thanksgiving turkey in the oven. Dean whose wearing his apron again, against the blue shirt with solid determination to have the overlarge turkey inside his oven. Sam who’s there telling him how to do it. Dean growling, not listening just because.

“I’m not happy… I want to see more.”

Castiel just looks at Dean with pure hunger and longing and maybe yes, also lust. Such a human ‘thing’ he has acquired since living in this world for many years, first unable to grasp it until finally, it’s here, with him, a feeling also afflicting the angel. Of the real truth about happiness. That in a way, you cannot just say ‘enough’.

Not with what they have. Castiel smiles.

Oh, he is happy, but not too happy.

He will never get enough of Dean.

The end. Ao3  #stayathomechallenge

#SPNStayAtHome #destiel ficlet #cas x dean fluff #tooth rotting fluff #Destiel #DEANCAS #dean winchester #destiel domestics #domestics

[bluejaysfeathers]

Trying to explain to my dad how exhausting it is to sleep 8+ hours, wake up tired, possibly to the point of physically crashing for several hours after lunch, and repeat. How exhausting it is to get so much less day per day in which to do anything. And all while fighting my own body, because it’s not just my hands that shake anymore. Like yes you have a full time job and are allowed to be tired but please understand that at the moment it feels like my legs have sprinted around the whole neighborhood to stand up for longer than about 15 minutes. That applying to jobs is exhausting even though it’s totally sedentary because it’s important and I can’t type well anymore and all my focus goes into not making a humiliating typo while also all my focus is going toward making the MAJOR LIFE DECISION of what do job, while also going into not falling asleep right on my keyboard. That I’m doing what I can but I can’t go stand at the back of a church I don’t believe in all morning two days straight because we have to livestream Bible study instead of just having a zoom call. I’m starting to think it’s gonna take me physically falling off the stepladder for him to take me seriously. And trust me! I hate it too! I would love to not feel like every time I move I’m fighting my body, or that even though I’m largely successfully managing my suicidal thoughts (bless antidepressants and antianxiety meds) sometimes I think that ceasing to exist would at least mean I’m not tired anymore. I’m not doing this because I enjoy not being able to participate in my life. But making shitty comments like “maybe if you did more you’d be able to do more” is NOT HELPFUL. You know what “doing more” got me today? Nearly passing out on the kitchen floor after I forgot to eat lunch and did a bunch of job shit. That’s what.

#tw I have no fucking idea what my body is doing #or why #I’m seeing a neurologist about it but one of the tests she wanted me to get my insurance declined #so #idk maybe she’ll find something #at this point I’m too exhausted to care #is this chronic illness? idk. chronic fatigue? idk. me just being weak and lazy? idk maybe it is! but it still sucks! #tw suicide mention

[lovemesomesurveys]

I take it you like someone? If so, who do you like? Nope, you’re wrong.

Any sexual stuff happen in the past two months? Nope.

Is your phone right next to you, or at least close by? Yeah, it’s near me.

What windows are open on your computer right now? This one and YouTube. 

Anything you would like to say to someone? Nah.

Last place you went besides your house? The doctor on Tuesday.

Have you ever wanted someone so bad, and then they completely stopped talking to you? Yes. 

Who is the last person to call you? My mom just did to ask me about something I wanted at the store.

What was the last movie you watched? Wonder Woman 1984.

What are you doing tomorrow? Same ol’ thing.

Was 2013 a good year for you? That was the year I got super drunk and sick at my birthday and haven’t had a drop of alcohol since and also when Joseph ended things between us for good. Those are the things that stand out for me that year...

Do any of your friends dislike each other? I don’t have any friends.

Who knows your biggest secret? I don’t really have like a “big” secret.

Do you think anyone has feelings for you? Not romantic feelings, no.

Do you care if people hate you for no reason? I mean, I’d be curious as to why.

Are you in a good mood? I’m tired and annoyed. I saw there was a Fruity Pebbles creamer and as someone who loves Fruity Pebbles, I wanted to try it thinking obviously it was going to be good. Well, it was not. It was disgusting, 10/10 would NOT recommend. So disappointing. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any other creamer so I was SOL. That means I haven’t had coffee and that’s not good. Fortunately for me, my mom had to go back to the store for dinner so she’s getting me creamer. Now I’m just impatiently waiting for her to get back, ha.

Do you think ex’s can remain friends? It happens for some.

Were you single on your last birthday? Yes.

Are you starting to realize anything? Umm. Nothing new.

Are you currently looking forward to anything? I’m waiting for my mom to get back with the creamer.

Could you go a day without eating? It happens once in awhile. I have a messed up appetite and stomach issues and sometimes I don’t want to eat anything. Or when I’m really sick. I don’t often go full days without eating at least something, though.

How many bracelets do you have on your wrists right now? Zero.

What are you doing right now, besides this? That’s it.

When you listen to a new song, do you usually play it over and over? Not back to back, but I’ll listen to it often.

You’re single, right? Correct.

How’s that going for you? It’s fine. Definitely for the best.

Has anyone laid on your bed besides you? Yes.

Who’s the first person you spoke to in 2014? I probably was at my friend’s house for New Year’s Eve that year.

Do you ever want to get married? No.

How was your Saturday night? It was fine.

Do you own anything from Victoria's Secret "Pink" line? Do you really think the clothes are worth the price? No.

What does your last incoming text say, who was it from, and how do you feel about that person? My mom texted me back “yes” in response to my question. I love my mom, she and I are very close.

Did you have a New Year's kiss? Nope. I’ve never had one.

Are there any words that you cannot pronounce or that you pronounce incorrectly? I can’t think of one at the moment.

After a long day at work or of doing something physical what tends to hurt more? Your back or your feet? After a day of doing nothing I’m in pain, so.

Do you have a smart phone? If so, what's your favorite app? Yeah. YouTube, Kindle, TikTok, Twitter, Facebook, Snapchat, and Instagram are the ones I use most often.

Who would you say is the overall best person you know, and why? My mom and brother. They just are.

If you had to choose between being a Nurse or an English teacher which would you choose and why? An English teacher out of the two. I couldn’t handle anything in the medical field.

How much older than you was the oldest person you have dated/had a relationship with? The two guys I had a thing with were both a year younger than me.

Is anything stressing you out at the moment? Oh, just the usual stuff.

What is your opinion on dating someone who already had a child/children from a previous relationship? That’s not something I’m looking for.

Have you ever actually found a mascara that makes a huge difference for your lashes? Yeah.

Do you have any plans for Valentine's Day? Did you do anything last Valentine's Day? Nope. It’s just another day for me.

Do you check your horoscope daily? If so, did you relate to your horoscope at all today? No. I don’t believe in that kind of stuff.

When you need to remember something how do you usually go about doing so? I use my reminder or calendar app on my phone.

Have you recently accomplished anything that you are proud of yourself for? No.

Are you still friends with any of your exes? Do you still communicate with any of them at all? Nope. What is your opinion on people that shop at Sephora for makeup as opposed to buying makeup from the drugstore? I don’t care?

When you enter a store like Target or Walmart where is the first section you go? Walmart is where we do our grocery shopping and other household stuff and my mom and I have always start at the side with shampoo, soap, toothpaste, medicine, etc and work our way around to the food. As for Target, I just head straight in usually and walk around the store.

Do you live on your own or with your parents/a roommate? Do you think you'd like to live alone? I live with my parents, brother, and doggo. I have no desire to live alone.

What is the last online purchase you made? Journaling stuff and a Bible study book.

Do you usually have bad symptoms around "that time of the month"? I always felt like absolute shit around that time.

Is there anyone you have to see on a daily/weekly basis that you really dislike? Nope.

Is your hair thick or thin? Would you say it's easy to manage? It’s thin.

Have you ever had to deal with any type of long distance relationship, whether it be a romantic relationship or a friendship? I’ve had online friends who were from different states or countries.

Are you procrastinating doing anything right now? No.

How do you feel about being called sweetie/dear/honey/etc.? I don’t mind it.

Have you ever had a thing for/relationship with a coworker? How did it end? I’ve never had a job, so no.

What would you say is your worst habit? Picking at my face. :X

What is the weather currently like where you live? It’s been in the 50s F.

Have you ever seen the last person you kissed without their shirt on? No.

Do you believe the last person you kissed still cares about you? Nope. I honestly feel like he forgot I even exist. 

Who was the first person you saw this morning? My mom.

Do you worry your last ex will move on and be happier with another person? I’m sure he has and that’s great for him. It’s been several years, I’ve long since moved on.

What were you doing at 1 in the morning? Surveys and watching YouTube videos.

Are you a jealous person? I can be, but I honestly haven’t felt that in years.

What does your last text say? “Yes.”

Would you hug the last person you hugged again? Yes.

Do you like to cuddle? I don’t have much cuddling experience to be honest, but sure.

Has the last person you kissed ever made you cry? Yes.

Are you excited for anything? No.

How are you feeling right now? Tired and hungry.

What are you doing right now? Just this.

What should you be doing right now? I don’t have anything else I should be doing.

Are you worried about anything right now? Always.

Who was the last person you spoke to on the phone? My mom.

Do you have any drugs in your bedroom? I have prescription medication.

Do you know the person who's locker is next to yours? I’m not in school. I also never had a locker.

What is annoying you? Nothing really at this moment. I was annoyed about the creamer situation earlier and about not having coffee, but I’m finishing this at a later time and I’ve since had my coffee.

Do you like the color blue? Yeah.

Do you know anyone who is going through a hard time? Yeah, including myself.

Did you get to sleep in today? Well, I stayed up until 7AM so I could call my doctor first thing when they opened to cancel an appointment and then I fell asleep after that until 230PM. 

Where will you be in 1 hour? Right here.

Who did you last talk to in person besides family? My doctor.

Anyone you were good friends with, that you no longer get along with? No. Like, I don’t have friends anymore but it’s not because we didn’t get along.

Has anyone let you down lately? Just myself.

Anyone you'd do anything for? My family.

What will you be doing tomorrow? My days are all the same.  Did you meet anybody new today? No.

What is your favorite TV show right now? I have many, but a new one my mom and I have gotten into is Dare Me on Netflix. 

Do you make any art? I like to color. That’s about as artsy as it gets for me.

What colors go well with your eyes? *shrug*

Would you go out with somebody you just met or do you have to be friends? I like to get to know someone a little first.

Do you like any magazines in particular? I haven’t read a magazine in yearsss.

Is it okay to laugh really hard over corny jokes? Yes...? Why wouldn’t something like that be okay?

Do you have a habit of falling for people already in relationships? No.

Do you flirt with people more than people flirt with you? No. I’m not a flirt and no one flirts with me.

Are you a pancakes kind of person or waffles? Waffles.

Has your best friend ever called you when they were high or drunk? No.

What’s your favorite kind of cake? Funfetti, strawberry, red velvet, white. Buttercream frosting, of course. Well, except for the red velvet, which must have cream cheese frosting.

Do you like yourself? No.

Have you stolen anything recently? No. I don’t go around stealing things.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

[dmedrrt]

Blog#6 A simple habits every morning that will keep you at track

Practiced your morning routine

Disciplined is what you must need! Keep doing it! You can do this!

Be a 5:00am person ( wake up every 5:00am make it a habit and you'll know the difference between 5:00am and 7:00am ).

Pray before you get up on bed or you do anything else!

Try a journal? Or devotion!

Stop using social media when you wake up, it won't help you to be productive! It will just end up 5 hrs spending in social media or worst! You might forgot your breakfast!

Stretching will help you!

Fix your bed or anything that you might clean and go brush your teeth!

Drink a 2 glasses of water every morning or maybe a water w/ lemon

Take your breakfast and maximize the calories.

Go exercise or else? Make a to do list for the whole day! ( I don't do my to do list at night before the day because it doesn't work for my opinion or maybe for others they are good in that! )

If you need to study then study for two hours or if it is your free space try to still read!

Always drink a glass of water! If you have tumbler! That's great! Always have it on your side.

Try sending your friends a motivational or inspirational messages. Like spiritual bible verse and other stuff.

This is a reminder that always start your day in God! This is the main core of your productivity!

I hope my page helps you to make you motivated and inspired, give you tips, ideas! If you have further questions just ask!

#inspo #confident #blog #inspirational #lifestyle #styleblogger #morning routine #routine #daily routine #morning habit #spiritual #productivity #motivations #studyblr

[michael-weinstein]

What depression tells me

NOTE: The title is a paraphrase on titles Mahler used to give to movements of his 3rd Symphony.

Well, I got my depression back. Again, school is to blame for this (mainly). Tons of assignments and expectations. This arrived almost at the most terrible moment. Yesterday (I’ll keep it short, for means of privacy), 2 members of our server left, and so would a third were it not for the fact that she founded the server, and didn’t want it to go to dust. No fights really (at least as I understand it), but simply mental health, anger and study preoccupations. As the ego-centric person which I always hope never to be, but deep down always am (which is frankly human and almost natural), I needed support this time, and the three that decided to take the time off, two are the better-acquainted with me from the entire six. In addition, they will feel missing, that something is wrong.

That’s absolutely the right thing to have when I have a monstrous history assignment to hand in in 3 months from now (in stages), trying to catch up with math homework, and having a Bible assignment, which is not as big, but is still annoying.

Now, I have a confession to make, and it’s the first time I’m letting out in a public sphere (or people that aren’t closest to me): I have autism. Always had it. Rather low on the spectrum. But here’s the interesting thing: whenever I panic, or suicidal or whatever, I never think first of autism, or at least I don’t consider it seriously. I always think I’m wrong because I have some kind of neurotic psychological disorder which needs to be cured. Or maybe I belong to the psychiatric ward. My mindset is that I am mad, but I don’t have autism. I’m just a regular madman.

Anyway, because of this specialty (that is, the autism), ever since 1st grade I have been with a small number of kids in a seperate group along with also participating in the main class. Over ther years, the number of classes spent with the seperate “little” class (as it’s used in our lingo) diminished in favor of the “regular”, “big” class, but it never entirely disappears.

Why did I tell you all of this? Because a shutdown started in September (it kinda finished now, but not really?), and during it, the “little class” members could arrive to certain hours in the morning to study online from there, and get assistance in homework and assignments. Until the beginning of this month, I denied going there, because I wanted to avoid school physically as much as I could. The problem was that, even though I could go to synagogue on holidays (more about that probably in another post), and I would walk the dog nearly twice a week, I didn’t get out of the house, and I became depressed. Eventually, on the 1st of November, I decided to take the day off. I had nearly 12 math homeworks to hand in, as well as nearly 6 Bible assignments. I decided, eventually, to try to go to school the next day and see how things go. I came back home that day much more relieved and useful. I felt this could really help me.

My “little class” teacher, however, has been much more nudging than she had been before the pandemic. This just got on my nerves, she became irritating. My first days in school learning online were fine, because I was feeling better mentally, but now I just want her to leave me alone (remember that phrase, don’t you?), and have her stop asking me what assignments I have left, and telling me to get done with them.

Last night, I needed to do some math (geometry, unfortunately, as it is my weak point). While doing it, I decided to draw out a musical doomsday weapon I haven’t used yet. For the past few weeks, I have been looking outside the obsessive Shostakovich box, looking a bit for the Second Viennese School and Mahler, looking for remedies in Wagner, Schubert and (briefly) Bruckner, as well as Berlioz and Liszt. I decided to draw a work incredibly important for me, ever since I came to know of it 2 years ago, but which I haven’t actually listened to in a long time - Alban Berg’s opera Wozzeck.

Wozzeck, an opera based on a somewhat-unfinished play of roughly the same name by Georg Büchner, is named after its title character, a soldier, who goes quasi-moralistic tirades from his captain, and earns money as a subject for the experiments of his merciless military doctor. After some while, he begins to hallucinate and turns mad. In addition, his life partner Marie (they’re not married, but they have a son, declared “illegitimate” by the captain) starts flirting with the better-looking (though not necesarily younger!) drum major. Wozzeck recieves these news step by step, first by further humiliations from the captain and doctor, then he sees Marie and the drum major waltzing in a tavern, and finally with a humiliating boast of the drunk drum major himself that night in the barracks. So, driven to his nth degree of insanity, he murders Marie, and while trying to hide the evidences, drowns in the nearby pond.

Marie, however, isn’t a selfish whore. She has been trying to hide the affair from Wozzeck, and feels sympathy for him. In addition, she has a real love to her son, and has deep religious feelings, as illustrated in a scene where she reads from the Bible on Mary Magdalene and Jesus, where he forgives her, and Marie (notice the symbolism?) cries out for forgiveness. In the same scene, however, she practically prophesizes the son’s future (I made a photo with that caption). The last scene, straight after Wozzeck’s drowning, is preceeded by a 3-minute orchestral interlude, based on a sonata fragment that Berg composed while he was studying with Schoenberg. It’s a practical lament for people unrecognized, not treated properlly, and having this opera being composed in the aftermath of World War I, it’s also a funeral to the old world, being crushed by global war and then by the Spanish flu. The curtain then rises, on a scene of children, among them Wozzeck and Marie’s son riding a hobby horse, singing a German equivalent of “Ring-a-ring-a-roses” (guess what this is subtexting). A group of other children then runs in, telling they found Marie dead in a pond. Despite having been told it straight to his face, he keeps going on the hobby-horse, uncomprehending. While everyone else rushes to investigate, he limps on with his hobby horse to discover the bad end. It is simply heartbreaking.

I’ve come to know Wozzeck nearing the end of 8th grade (I’m currently in 11th), and fell in love with it, and also studied it partially from the excellent book written on it by George Perle. Both its music with its Mahlerian legacy (Berg has often been called the most “accessible” member of the Second Viennese School), and the plot, with its anti-glamorous location and short cut scenes. And I also immediately identified with the character of Wozzeck. A man with a highly wild sense of imagination, crushed by the norms and conventions of society, not taken care of properly, somebody who’s cared about only to be condemned. It’s an identification both potent and dangerous.

I’m now currently fearing that I am becoming a Wozzeck myself. I always had that fear to a certain extent, but now I understand better the grave consequences of this. To begin with, coronavirus itself made us locked at home and all our basics which we used to take for granted are now elevated to a high degree of importance, all while trying to keep through a world of Kafkaesque hypocrisy and alienation. Then the education system reacted to that in a bad way, either intentionally or unitentionally, and I’m currently being swamped with assignments and homework. And remember this is 11th grade, there are lots of tests to arrive too, and how are these going to take place? In short, it’s hard to keep yourself intact.

All of these are just potent ingridients for disaster and insanity, and I’m feeling more than ever before the idea of becoming a Wozzeck, and I don’t want that.

PS: This post was originally written last week. Somehow I forgot to submit it until now, when it was in my inbox! (lol)

#alban berg #wozzeck #corona time #coronatime #submission