Chuuya who doesn’t let himself want things because he has to put everyone and everything else first, who feels like his own wants shouldn’t matter because he has power so he needs to be responsible and prioritize those weaker than him.
Dazai who doesn’t let himself want anything because the moment he gains it he will lose it, who can’t handle opening himself up to that kind of pain and vulnerability because he’s been taught that that is a weakness.
Both Dazai and Chuuya whose experiences tell them that the moment they want, everything begins to go wrong and they’ll lose the things they care about.
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If I had a nickel for every time a folk band I adored released an album meant to be listened to in order, which tells the story of the fall of man/ a prodigal son character (one of them is both), started with man being close to God then followed his journey of rejecting him, realizing his life was empty without him, and eventually returning back to God, had consistent themes and motifs woven through it, and ended with a reprise of the first song to represent the restoration of fellowship,
I'd only have two nickels
but it is weird that it happened twice
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No, but all the implications!!!
Gortash starting to treat Durge's wounds as a mere way of ensuring his ally doesn't die while he still needs them.
Durge begrudgingly allowing it bc fighting against it is more trouble than it's worth, though they're a little peeved by the idea first. Letting others treat their wounds feels too vulnerable, too...intimate.
Gortash slowly establishing that as the means of control because well-treated dog is a loyal dog and he needs Durge loyal to him.
Durge getting used to that because for the first time ever they're offered comfort, for the first time ever their pain eases, even if only the physical one. Learning they don't have to bear pain, what they can simply go to Gortash and he'll make the best healers take it away. Or better yet, would bandage their cuts himself, almost as if he cares.
This gradually turning into routine to the point where Durge once gets hurt Badly, blacks out and drags their uncooperative body to Gortash's house bc subconscious is a bitch and connected Gortash = comfort/relief/no pain/etc.
Gortash being met with the bloody unconscious body of his ally on the floor of his bedroom and being both annoyed and, strangely, relieved, because his plan of leashing Bhaalspawn is working and because he'd prefer to know if Durge is hurt and be in control of their healing.
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honesty - muse a wipes muse b’s tears away from under their eyes (if its easier you can place it post or during our thread 🫡)
TO BE GENTLE, AND TO ACCEPT GENTLENESS ・ accepting!
VULNERABILITY WAS A DELICATE FLOWER, naught to be unfurled by the reckless hands of another person lest they risk tearing the petals curled inwards over its heart. and that, truly, was all she could imagine as the boy broke into tears before her, his theatrics weakly caked into his voice to fruitlessly level what had already begun rasping and choking up. he made himself to be a sorrowful image; stepping away from her as he clutched onto his chest, as if to hug or curl in on himself.
had emmeryn said something she was not supposed to? all she could remember uttering was what he asked of her; an introductory to be shared between the pleasantry gap she had yet to bridge across. but, even a full sun after their last interaction, his wonderous eyes still water at the sight of her.
should she have given more of herself? laid her past, whether from her lips or anothers', bare at his feet until he was comfortable enough to poke and prod through it at his own pace?
the epitome of gentleness stepped forward, gloved hands raised to beckon and guide, to remind odin, once again, that she was a space of comfort rather than anguish.
"you. . . you poor thing. . . come," came her whisper, merely the ghost of an invitation, as her hands have already cradled the back of his head, gently pulling him closer until he was near enough to embrace. simply by instinct, had emmeryn's eyes closed, her focus entirely subjected to the physicality of something between them she could not understand. not yet, but she would learn to, until his gaze felt only the urge to brighten once fallen upon her.
his shoulders remained trembling when she pulled back, not far and not dismissive. instead, her hands moved in time with the soft curl of her lips, offering him an all - knowing and none - the - wiser smile as the pads of her thumbs brushed away the tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. there was much to say, yet too little time to articulate any if all thoughts properly.
thus, confident in her silence, emmeryn whispered, only, "you are. . . are safe, oh━━━odin." before embracing the golden - haired man once again, canting her hand slightly to press against his as he shuddered and shook in her arms; sudden, came the memory of little sister clutching her skirts and sobbing until the fabric became wet with her grief. and, just as she had before, in the body she remembered nothing of, the former exalt gently held unto the back of his head and cared not for the dress his sorrow stained.
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Shhhh, hörst du das? Hörst du das Gemunkel?
Um dich wird es dunkel.
In deinem Kopf dreh'n sich die Gedanken
Bringen dich zum wanken.
Geschichten um die sich Dramen ranken
Nie erzählt und doch gekannt.
Oh, du lauscht gebannt.
Die Angst der and'ren tut dir nicht gut
Doch es nährt die Glut
Die das Feuer entfacht, das dich anlacht,
Einladend und warm.
Es nimmt dich in den Arm
Und verbrennt dich mit seiner Zärtlichkeit.
Dein letztes Geleit führst du selbst an.
Du hast dich entschieden
Und wirst kriegen
Was dein Kopf dir befiehlt das richtig wäre.
Es ist dir keine Lehre.
Du trinkst Gift wie süßen Wein
Doch dein Durst wird nie gestillt sein.
Armes Kind, wer soll dich jetzt noch retten?
Das Schloss für deine Ketten
Wiegt schwerer noch als selbst dein Herz.
Du kannst nicht mit noch ohne Schmerz.
Shhhh, do you hear that? Do you hear the murmur?
It's getting dark around you.
Your head is spinning with thoughts.
They make you waver.
Stories entwined with dramas
Never told and yet known.
Oh, you listen spellbound.
The fear of others does you no good
But it feeds the embers that kindle the fire
Which laughs at you.
Inviting and warm.
It takes you in its arms.
And burns you with its tenderness.
You lead your last escort yourself.
You have made your decision
And will get what your head tells you is right.
It is no lesson to you.
You drink poison like sweet wine.
But your thirst will never be quenched.
Poor child, who will save you now?
The lock for your chains weighs more than even your heart.
You cannot live with or without pain.
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