#me: what have i done to deserve this pain!!!

[ellecdc]

how do you think the boys would react to reader telling them that she’s like NEEDY needy (iykyk)

would they do it, or just like get shy and walk off? or? 👀👀👀👀👀👀

mature content ahead: view discretion is advised

So, are they in a relationship yet? I'm going to go with they're in a relationship for this but if you meant they weren't you can feel free to re-ask

James:

chokes on his spit and nearly trips as he turns to look at you in shock (not unpleasant shock, mind you)

"You're what?"

He'd coo in sympathy after you had to embarrassingly repeat yourself in a whisper, rubbing your thighs together desperate for friction

"awe sweets. Okay, come on." and he's leading you by the hand - he's almost more eager than you are as he rushes down the hall

ends up on his knees with his face under your skirt in the closest bathroom - you'd be taken care of for sure 😩

Sirius:

biggest shit eating grin you've ever seen in your life and you almost regret saying anything

I think he'd tease you a little bit: "Awe, poor dolly's feeling needy, hm?" He'd coo in faux sympathy, the bastard

He'd make you tell him exactly what you're looking for. "What do you want, dolly?" 'touch me' "Like this?" and all he'd do is push your hair behind your ear

two can play at that game: 'Fine, I'll go ask someone else.'

He'd let out a horrified squawk and throw you over his shoulder. "Now now, let's not get hasty. I don't want anyone thinking I don't take care of my girl"

bent you over in the nearest broom closet and you both leave flushed and satisfied

Remus:

would smirk at you but continues reading through the first draft of his essay "really dove? now?"

he'd chuckle listening to you pout and get all breathy as you try to sit still "We've got homework, baby girl."

You'd get petulant and lean back in your seat with a huff, crossing your arms.

without even looking, he'd grab the leg of your chair and pull it over towards him - he'd keep his head low and continue making adjustments on his paper as he slips his free hand under your skirt and moves your panties aside.

"Awe, poor dovey - you really were needy weren't you" he'd lightly tease, murmuring softly so only you could hear.

your breath would hitch as he slipped inside of you, earning you a gentle shush as he threatens to stop moving his fingers.

"I'll take care of you but you have to be quiet; only I get to know how pretty you sound, yeah?"

gets you off with just his fingers in the library - makes up for it again later once he's done his essay

Regulus:

he's mean, I'm sorry

he'd make you wait all day

he'd go to class, to every meal, to quidditch practice barely sparing you a glance leaving you all the more desperate

it was painful for him too, mind you. Thinking about you being needy made him needy, and he spent all day dreaming of taking you over and over and over again

but he's a bit of a sadomasochist lol

he'd finally be all wound up after quidditch practice and would pull you roughly into his room and, like he'd been imagining all day, take you over and over and over again

to the point of over stimulation

"Come on amour, you can give me one more, yeah? Wasn't this what you wanted? Weren't you so needy?"

he got three more for his dirty talk alone

Barty:

no questions asked

'Barty?' "Yes Treasure?" 'I...I want, erm....I mean I...I feel kind of needy'

slams book shut and throws it over his shoulder where it lands in the fountain with a splash

"Where are you two going?" his friends ask bemusedly

"I'm going to treat my girl like a slut the way she deserves, Black; if you're not going to help, mind your fucking business"

you spend the rest of the day in his bed, fucking, smoking, eating, fucking, smoking, fucking, reading, fucking again

you'd hardly ever need to worry about feeling needy with him - whenever, wherever, however - consider it done.

#ask elle #elle does smut? #marauders headcanon #headcanons #remus lupin headcanon #remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #sirius black headcanon #sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #reader insert #self insert #james potter headcanon #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #regulus black headcanons #regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #barty crouch jr headcanons #barty crouch jr #barty crouch jr x reader #barty crouch jr x you

[fyorina]

ᡣ𐭩 DEATH BY A THOUSAND CUTS

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: seven months after his defection, you run into dazai osamu by sheer chance. you know in your heart what you should do—traitors are to be disposed of, regardless of any previous relationship you might've had with them... but can you bring yourself to do what must be done? or will you be more driven by the questions you desperately need answered?

(wordcount: 7.1k; fem!reader, pm!reader, angsty (i promiseeeee i have some happier ones coming up with pm!reader and pmzai), alcoholism, dazai is in a particularly bad mental state)

AUTHOR'S NOTES: this one was suchhhh a doozy. the third installment of my pm!reader & pm!dazai universe, this is why i had to retcon he's my collar because originally pm!reader didn't see him at all during the 4 years but i got the idea for this fic like 2 ?? weeks ago and it was too good to not use - tomorrow i think i'll put up the masterlist for it so you guys can see the chronology and planned installments

Against all odds, you run into Dazai Osamu seven months after his defection.

You should put a bullet in his skull. You watch absently from the mouth of the alley as the ex-Port Mafia executive groans, trying to push himself to his feet only to crash back onto the pavement, blood smeared across his face from a crooked nose and split lip, bile pooled on the ground where he’d landed.

Gross, you think, lip curling up in disgust as his lithe fingers smear through the vomit, blunt nails scraping against the pavement as he attempts to push himself up again but fails. His shoulders are heaving, breath slow and labored as he lets out another wretched sound, crumpling back to the ground. 

You click the safety off of your gun, pulling it out of your pocket as you quietly make your way deeper into the alley, over to where he’s still struggling to get off the ground. He doesn’t even acknowledge your presence until he hits the ground hard again after nearly making it to his feet. This time, he falls onto his shoulder and gasps in pain as he rolls onto his back, blinking up blearily through glazed-over eyes that can hardly focus on you or the gun pointed at his head.

You should just get it over with, pull the trigger, and leave the body for cleanup to handle. It’d be a better fate than he deserves, cleaner and quicker than he’d ever give himself, and not even half as painful as it’ll be when the Port Mafia inevitably get their hands back on him. 

You’d be sparing him, really; it would be a mercy.

And it’s what is expected of you. Letting a traitor as high profile as Dazai Osamu go free when you have a clear chance to execute him would be more than enough to have you stripped of your rank and thrown into the torture chambers, body dumped in the river when the Port Mafia is done punishing you. 

But still, for some reason, your finger hesitates as you move to pull the trigger. 

“You…” His voice is so slurred that you can hardly make out coherent words, but you use his words as an excuse to bide even more time, curious to see what he’s going to say. You can smell the whiskey on him from where you’re standing, his skin is paler than it usually is, and you notice, idly, that the bandages on his right eye are gone and you wonder when he chose to shed them. “You’re not real.”

Your eye twitches in irritation. 

You pull the trigger. 

If he was sober, he would have expected the reaction from you and dodged the bullet, but he’s not sober, so his eyes fly open in shock as the bullet grazes his ear and embeds itself in the pavement next to his head. He doesn’t look any more sobered up by the pain, which you suppose is a testament to how drunk he really is, but he does look significantly more confused. 

“You shot me,” he says, pale lips parted as he stares up at you—too pale, you notice absently, brows furrowing a bit as you try to consider what to do.

“Yeah,” you say, voice rough with irritation. “Real enough for you?”

Dazai blinks, you don’t even think your words are registering and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. 

Get it over with, you tell yourself again, this time positioning your gun over his forehead. A clean kill. You won’t move it to the side at the last minute again. You remind yourself that this is what he deserves—he’s a traitor to the Port Mafia, to you. Killing him now would be a mercy compared to what the Port Mafia would do to him, compared to what he’d do to himself. 

He stares up at you, brown eyes wide and glassy. He parts his lips to speak but you can’t give yourself the same excuse; you don’t wait for his words this time. 

You pull the trigger again.

But Dazai is moving. He rolls over onto his side trying to push himself back to his feet and the bullet lodges right into the ground where his head had once been lying. You stare down at it in disbelief, gun falling to your side as your fingers start to feel a bit numb and clunky, breath catching as you realize what you’d almost just done—what you tried to do. 

Dazai makes it to his knees and he tries to reach out for you but you step back out of reach. His brows furrow before he keels over again, dry heaving now—there’s enough bile around him for you to realize he’s probably thrown up everything in his stomach and then some. He leans against the wall, the glassiness of his eyes spilling over his cheeks as he continues to dry heave but your gaze is still trained down on the ground where the bullet is embedded in the ground where his head had just been laying. 

You just tried to-

You think you’re the one who feels sick now. The dinner you’d had out with Chuuya and Kouyou rises to the back of your throat as you take another step away from Dazai. Your vision blurs as your gaze turns to him again, but instead of the tattered and vomit-stained clothes he’s wearing now, he’s back in the dark suit you’re accustomed to, crumpled on the ground still, but not because he’s drunk because he’s been wounded on a mission that he took on so you wouldn’t have to. 

You just tried to kill Dazai.

Dazai, who’s been your closest friend since the two of you were sixteen and at the center of the most violent conflict to rock Yokohama’s foundations. Entirely inseparable, forever entwined since the moment the two of you met; the type of instant click that most people could only ever dream of experiencing in their lives. 

You almost killed Dazai.

Dazai, who promised to put a bullet in Ace’s head if the man ever came near you again after he found out the newly promoted executive had insinuated putting one of his collars on you during a confrontation between the two of you. He knew that even he would face consequences for threatening another executive, that he would face even more if he dared to follow through with his threat, but he didn’t care and he had every intention of following through if it meant keeping you safe.

You would have killed Dazai if not for sheer luck. 

Dazai, who used to kiss you with trembling fingers and quivering lips, because for as much as his reputation as the Demon Prodigy had spread throughout the country, he was still just a teenage boy who’d never had his first kiss until the two of you got drunk on champagne after a successful mission when he made the mistake of admitting to you that he’s never kissed anyone before. The two of you’d spent the entire night giggling between chaste kisses, getting through just about two bottles of champagne before you started throwing up.

He held back your hair and laughed at you as you leaned over the toilet, miserable. But he was gentle with you in a way that Dazai Osamu is never gentle with anyone, fingers carding through your hair, rubbing absent circles on your back to soothe you as you choked over sobs and gags. 

Then there’s you. You, who not only a moment ago, looked down at him with your lip curling up in disgust, unable to hold your grimace at the way he laid in his own vomit. You lifted the barrel of your gun in his direction not once, but twice, and you pulled the trigger not once, but twice.

When you showed vulnerability to him, he showed you a type of tenderness that everyone thought was long lost to the notorious Demon Prodigy. 

When he finally shows vulnerability to you, you only show him cruelty in response.

You try to convince yourself that it’s different, that the circumstances are different now but the words ring hollow in your head, taking no root, because you think the circumstances shouldn't matter. This is Dazai. Dazai. There are no circumstances that justify executing him.

Your head spins and you take another step away, you don’t know where you dropped your gun and you don’t want to know. You don’t want to look at it. You don’t want to touch it. You’ll send someone else after it later. You blink, and for a moment, you can visualize what almost happened: you can see Dazai motionless on the ground, blood pooling around his head and a bullet wound piercing through his forehead. You gag, pressing your hand to your mouth as you force back the bile that nearly comes up. 

“Wait,” Dazai garbles out, pushing off the wall toward you but he propels himself right into the ground again, face first, scraping his cheek on the concrete. “Don’t leave again.”

Again? The word nearly pulls you out of your daze, the bitterness that’s poisoned you for seven months returning with a vengeance as your eyes focus on him. 

Dazai, who left you without a word or a warning. Not even the slightest goodbye. He abandoned you like you meant nothing to him. 

“I need to-” he gags again as he pushes himself to his knees. He tries to reach forward again but his whole body sways, eyes half-rolling back as he tries to steady himself, on the verge of passing out. “I need to tell you this time. I need to-”

He doesn’t finish the sentence, slumping back over onto the ground unconscious—in a puddle of his own blood and vomit, naturally. The logical part of you knows you should just leave him there. You’re already playing with fire by not executing him on the spot, but you also know if you leave him here, it’ll be as good as a death sentence. If he doesn’t die on his own from alcohol poisoning, then he’ll certainly be found by the Port Mafia patrols. You think Dazai is a fool for drinking so much so deep in Port Mafia territory, for not being careful enough to make sure he didn’t wander out in the open. 

He should know better. 

He does know better.

A part of you wonders if it was intentional, if he thought that he’d stumble into Port Mafia territory and he’d run into someone eager to lay claim to the fame of being Dazai Osamu’s executioner.

If that’s the case, he nearly got his wish—that thought alone almost sends you spiraling over the edge again, having to shove away more nausea. You force all thoughts of the Port Mafia and betrayal to the back of your mind as you fall to your knees next to him, gathering him up into your arms and pushing yourself back to your feet. He curls into you instinctively, even while unconscious, smaller than you remember, smearing blood and bile all over your suit. Your grip on him tightens, a shaky breath escaping your lips when you realize that this is the first time you’ve touched him since the night he left. 

You shake your head to clear your mind, desperately trying to focus. You can’t stay out in the open with him for long otherwise you’ll risk someone seeing you with him, and that’ll open a can of worms you’re not prepared to deal with.

You’ll drop him off somewhere safe, and then you’ll get back to base.

That’s all.

That is not all.

The safehouse in Sakae that the two of you would run to whenever you wanted to avoid Mori is just how you left it the last time you spent the night with him there over half a year ago. One of his jackets is still draped over the couch, one of your ties thrown haphazardly on the ground—you remember the night vividly, the way he smiled against your lips as he lead you into the back bedroom, stumbling over each other and fumbling with buttons as you tried to undress the other while walking to the room, high off the success of a mission that everyone had said would fail because the odds were so stacked against the two of you. Even Chuuya had laughed in your face when you said you’d take the mission, but you knew so long as Dazai had your back on it, it would work out in your favor. 

He’s woken up several times, you don’t even know what he’s saying in his incoherent babbles. Every time he wakes back up, he’s calling for you, stumbling out of the bed you laid him in after getting him cleaned up and crashing to the ground before he reaches the hall. It’s irritating, you have to go back to help him back into the bed every time and he starts babbling again, passing out before you can figure out what he’s saying. You finally had to move yourself into the back bedroom with him so he didn’t try to get up again.

You don’t know why you’re still here. 

You lean your forehead against your hand as you sit on the bed next to where he’s lying, one leg tucked beneath you while the other hangs over the side. You tell yourself it’s because you don’t want him to get up drunk trying to look for you and then crack his head open, but it’s a weak excuse because Dazai Osamu is not your issue anymore. It’s not your job to watch over him when he gets shit-faced drunk, it’s not your job to patch him up when he gets hurt, it’s not your job to look out for him. 

He left you, not vice versa, You don’t owe him anything. He lost that privilege when he betrayed you. Fuck the Port Mafia, he betrayed you when he left without a word. You deserved better than that. You deserved a goodbye. You don’t owe him shit. You should leave him here to rot in his own vomit and blood but-

But you won’t.

Your gaze drifts back over to him. He’s still out cold—cleaner now, because it had never just been ‘get him somewhere safe and then go back to the base,’ as soon as you got him into the safehouse you wrangled him into the bathroom to clean him up. He was uncharacteristically pliant as you manhandled him into the shower. You suppose it was because he was unconscious for half of it but even for the moments where he was awake and blearily blinking the water out of his eyes, looking up at you through wet bangs with those stupid big eyes of his, as if he was still unsure if you were actually there.

Instinctively, you reach out to brush the back of your knuckles against his swollen, split lip, wondering if it was just from him being clumsy while drunk or if he’d managed to piss someone off at a bar. Both are equally likely—Dazai is a rather cantankerous drunk when he’s alone and drunk on whiskey, and even after cleaning him up and dousing him in soap to get out the reeking scent of his vomit out from where it’d sunken into his skin, shoving a toothbrush into his mouth to brush his teeth and scrubbing so they don’t rot from the bile, you can still smell the whiskey on his breath.

You wonder how much he drank. His skin is still pale, his breath shuddered, and he’s shivering even though you wrapped him in three thick blankets. Some degree of alcohol poisoning, that’s for sure. You tell yourself that’s why you’re not leaving—you don’t want to leave before you’re sure he’s pulled through the worst of it. You’re not going to admit to yourself that you don’t want to leave because you’re worried it’ll be the last time you see him for real this time. 

You hesitate right before your knuckles brush his skin, swallowing thickly before you withdraw your hand back into your lap, eyes sliding shut as you sigh.

What the hell are you doing?

If anyone from the Port Mafia knew what you were doing right now, you’d be hunted down right alongside him, branded as a traitor and sentenced to death. Chuuya would kill you if he knew what you were doing right now—and not because you betrayed the Port Mafia by helping Dazai, instead because you’re a fucking idiot. You’ve done a lot of stupid things in your life, but this might take the cake for the stupidest, sticking your neck out for someone who didn’t even care enough to tell you goodbye. 

You rub your forehead, tired. You try to summon the anger you felt when you first found out he betrayed the Port Mafia from Mori and Chuuya—from the hot fury you felt in the direct aftermath, screaming and breaking everything you could get your hands on as you cursed his name and burned everything he left in your apartment to the cold rage you felt when you finally calmed down, bitter and lonely and betrayed by the one person you never thought would betray you—but you can’t. And you think it’s pathetic because what use is all of that anger if you can’t utilize it when the reason for it is lying right before you?

If Chuuya were here right now, he’d drag you out by the hair and leave Dazai to suffer on his own. You left your phone in the kitchen after turning off your location, because he was already buzzing incessantly wondering where you are. You’d told him that you wanted to stop by one of the fishing ports in Kanazawa to check on a small weapons shipment that should’ve arrived earlier in the night before heading back to your shared apartment—you’d moved in with him after Dazai’s betrayal. He made the executive decision himself, not giving you a choice in the matter because he realized that you living on your own in the apartment that Dazai had practically moved into with you was not conducive to you healing from his betrayal.

Plus, you think he was lonely too without Dazai around anymore, but he’d never admit that.

You should’ve been back an hour ago. You’re sure that he’s getting suspicious and it’s only a matter of time before he tries to track you down. You don’t think he knows about this safe house in particular, Dazai had threatened you with piling up mission reports onto you if you told him about this one, but you wouldn’t be surprised if Chuuya learned about it through other means—somehow, he always seems to know everything. 

You sigh again, heavier this time as you try to figure out what to do. You know what you should do, but you also know you’re not going to do that. Your gaze drags back over to him and your breath catches when you realize he’s awake again, bleary brown eyes trained on you, brows furrowed. 

His lips part to speak again and you tense, waiting for whatever he has to say, unsure if you’ll even understand it.

“You… came with me. You never come with me. Are you… really here?” 

Even though his eyes are still glazed over and muddled, his voice is less garbled than it was before. You think that’s a good sign, but even so, you let out an even heavier sigh, this one more irritated, and a bit confused because you don’t even know what that means: you never come with me. 

“Yes, Dazai,” you say sharply, but then you let out a puff of air. The same memories that hit you before coming right back to you, remembering all of the nights Dazai would stay up having to take care of you, patient in a way that he never was with anybody. You soften your voice a bit as you say, “Yes. I’m here.”

Dazai looks at you like he doesn’t believe you. He blinks once slowly, then his brows furrow deeper and his lips turn downward.

“You don’t call me Dazai.” He speaks the accusation slowly, as if to make himself sound more coherent, but you can still hear the clear slur in his voice. “You never-”

You turn away because if you don’t, you think you might lose your temper. He’s drunk, you remind yourself, but he’s still ripping open wounds that never properly healed, because how dare he expect you to still call him by his given name after everything. It had taken months for you to get used to calling him Dazai again and-

You feel your chest start to cave in again and your throat spasms. Your eyes flutter shut and god, you want to hate him. You thought you did hate him, you convinced yourself of it in all of the bitter rage and acidic betrayal you’ve felt the past seven months but now that you’re confronted with him again, you know that it was never hate. You could never hate Dazai Osamu. You'd just missed him so terribly that the pain was easy to mistake as hate; love and hate has always been a treacherously thin line, and Dazai more than anyone else wavers on either side of it.

Your heart feels like it’s about to leap from your chest and crawl right back to him, you have to physically place your hand over your chest as if to hold it in place, to make sure the traitorous thing can’t go back to the very man that tore it shreds. You force yourself to breathe, in and out, steady, trying to settle down. 

This was a mistake, you realize, this was a mistake. 

Just as you’re about to push yourself up, you feel lithe fingers curl around your arm. You freeze, not even daring to glance back at Dazai. You can hear him pushing the covers off of him as he crawls closer to you, the mattress dipping beneath his weight. His movements are unsteady, and you can’t bring yourself to push him off of you when you feel him slump against your back.

His weight is familiar, comforting in a way that it shouldn’t be. If you close your eyes, you can imagine that you’re back at the Port Mafia base seven months ago and Dazai is draping himself across your back, complaining about being overworked by Mori and trying to convince you to take over his paperwork. You’d have to drag him halfway across the base trying to get to your office with his dead weight hanging onto you, you remember all of the wary stares from your subordinates as they try not to let their gaze linger on the two of you but let their curiosity get the best of them regardless.

You hate that you don’t push him off right away, that you’re letting yourself indulge in his touch again. You’ve moved on from this—from him. It’s been seven months. You’re over all of this.

“You… understand, don’t you?” 

You barely hear the words muffled against your back, but you do and you can’t help but stiffen at them. He shifts against you, fingers biting into your skin as he pulls himself up a bit more to bury his face in the crook of your neck, arms looped around your waist as he leans all of his weight onto your back. You can feel his breath warm and shuddered against your neck, making your hair stand on end, and his hands are limp in your lap now, fingers brushing against the material of the clean slacks you’d pulled on after getting Dazai showered.

It’s all so familiar that it could make you sick.

“How could I?” you ask bitterly, even though you know you shouldn’t take out your resentment on him while he’s so drunk; he probably won’t remember any of this in the morning anyway. There’s no point, you’ll just be wasting your energy.

His arms tighten around you, breath hitching against your skin. “I had to, Odasaku-”

The noise you let out is such a sharp scoff that you can feel Dazai flinch behind you. You almost shove him off of you but you refrain, taking in a deep breath to calm yourself down. You never really had any feelings about Odasaku—he was always just there, you heard about him from Dazai occasionally and he seemed pleasant enough the few times you encountered him—but after all of this, you can’t help but hold a grudge against him, irrationally blaming him for Dazai leaving you.

“Odasaku wasn’t your only friend,” you say tightly. “You had me. Chuuya. You-”

“It’s not the same,” Dazai protests, clinging to you as if he hadn’t just driven a knife right through your back into your heart. 

This time you do shove him off, barely sparing him a glance as he lets out a surprised yelp, sprawling back onto the bed. You push away the mistiness that threatens your eyes, breathing in and out slowly to try to keep yourself calm. It’s not the same, you repeat his words, bitterness poisoning your blood and clouding your head. What the fuck does that even mean? You know logically you should take his words with a grain of salt, that he’s so drunk he probably doesn’t even know what he’s saying, but you just feel so angry that it’s hard for you to keep that in mind. 

You hear him scrambling behind you: a thump as he hits the floor hard and then a rush of movement as he pushes himself to his knees. His fingers curl around your ankle before you can get further away and you have a half a mind to kick him off of you and leave.

You don’t.

“Don’t leave,” he pleads. He drags himself to his knees, pulling at your pants and it takes all of your self-control to not look back down at him. “I didn’t-it came out wrong. I didn't mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?” you ask him, even though you by all means should not even bother to hear his shitty explanation.

“I just-I didn’t mean it like that.” You’ve never heard Dazai’s voice crack before, but it does now. “Don’t leave. I miss you.”

“You miss me?” you spit out, and you finally turn to look down at him—a mistake, of course, because he’s on his knees in front of you, looking up at you with those stupid, big brown eyes and you almost let your anger fizzle away at the sight of it. He’s drunk, you remind yourself again, but it doesn’t stop you from snapping at him. “You left me, Dazai. You have no right to miss me.”

“But I do.” His fingers fumble for your hand, grabbing one of yours with both of his. “I miss you so much, I think about you all the time.”

His lashes flutter, fingers brushing along your forearm as he presses his lips to your knuckles and then to your pulse point before leaning forward to rest his forehead on your thigh. You can’t even look at him, keeping your eyes trained on the wall, because your lashes feel wet and heavy and you know that you’ll give into him if you look at him now and he doesn’t deserve that.

“I couldn’t go to you before I left,” Dazai whispers and he sounds oddly coherent now even though you know he’s not. “I would’ve asked you to come with me.”

For some reason, that hurts worse than if he’d just admitted he didn’t care enough to say goodbye. Because what does that even mean, I would’ve asked you to come with me, would that have been so bad? He didn’t want you with him? Why wouldn’t he have wanted you with him? If you had left, he would’ve been the first person you ran to, begging him to come with you.

“How terrible that would’ve been,” you say, and you’re proud that your voice remains cold and steady, not betraying the hurt ripping through your chest.

“I wouldn’t have been able to handle it,” he says, voice breaking over a hiccup. “Odasaku had just died and-”

He cuts himself, and you dare to look down at him when you feel him lift his face from your thigh. You regret it immediately. Glassy, glazed-over eyes beg for you to understand, and you scare yourself because you want to understand when he shouldn’t even matter to you anymore. You’ve moved on. You have. It’s been seven months. He left you without a word. So why do you care so much for what he has to say right now?

“You wouldn’t have come with me,” he says, shaking his head. “You would’ve said no. You never would have chosen me over the Mafia.”

Your lips part to deny the allegations, to say that of course, you would have come with him, but the words fizzle out before they even form on your tongue because-

“You can’t even bring yourself to deny it, can you?” Dazai asks, and although he sounds more cogent now, you can’t help but notice that he’s starting to look sick again, the back of his throat making that faint clicking sound it always makes when he’s about to throw up. “You never would have chosen me.”

You would choose Dazai Osamu over a lot of things. You would choose to save his life before yours if put in the position, and you would choose to trust him over anyone else in the whole world. You’d follow him to the depths of hell and deep into the shadows, until your blood is black and corrupted and you’re entirely irredeemable, but you can’t follow him into the light. 

You can’t choose him if it means betraying the Port Mafia. With his defection, the two have become mutually exclusive: Dazai or the Port Mafia, there’s no way of having both anymore. The boy you’ve come to love or the only home you’ve ever known. The only family you’ve ever had. A shitty family maybe, but a family nonetheless. If you don’t belong with the Port Mafia, you don’t belong anywhere on this earth, and as someone who’s always had a desperate fear of alienation, the thought makes you sick.

You stare at him, throat tight, and then you say, colder than you intend for it to come across, “... If that’s really why you didn’t say goodbye, then I’m glad you didn’t put me in that position.”

The expression that crosses Dazai’s face is something caught between ruin and shock—and you can’t help but wonder if he held out hope, thinking maybe he was wrong in his assumptions. That there had been a chance that you might’ve chosen him if he’d given you the option. That he’s been living his life in the what-ifs for the past seven months and now that he’s finally gotten the chance to bare his heart to you, you’ve crushed it.

Your chest tightens, your throat spasms and it takes all your self-control to not immediately take back the words, regret flooding you so intensely that it nearly makes you physically stumble. Because it’s true, you never would have picked Dazai over the Mafia, but he didn’t have to know that—especially not now, when he’s drunk and vulnerable in a way that he’s never allowed himself to be before.

You hope, for his sake and your conscience, that he doesn’t remember any of this in the morning.

His lips part to respond again but his hand is flying to his mouth instantly, doubling over, and you’re cursing, reaching for the trash bin you’d brought into the bedroom and falling to your knees next to him, helping him kneel upright and holding the trash bin in front of him as he starts gagging again.

“I would’ve-” He’s still trying to talk through the bouts of nausea, gasping over air, body trembling as he leans into you for balance.

You don’t want to hear what he has to say.

“Dazai-”

“I would’ve chosen you,” he finally forced out, voice breaking over the words and you’re not sure if it’s a sob or another heave that escapes his lips as he continues. “If the positions were reversed, I would’ve chosen you.”

Oh.

The words echo in your head so loudly that it makes you want to cover your ears even though you know it won’t do anything. You want to accuse him of lying, tell him that he’s full of shit and just trying to make you feel guilty, but you don’t think he’s capable of lying right now and you don’t think this is anything Dazai would have ever admitted to you if he was sober. He guards his heart more carefully than anyone you’ve ever met—in the two and a half years you’d known him, he never admitted he cared about you. You knew it just from how he treated you, but you think he might’ve ripped his own tongue out before actually admitting it.

You wrap an arm around him as his whole body shudders through another gag and he tries to push you off—angry, upset, you don’t know what he might be feeling because you’ve never seen him like this before—but your arm only tightens around him and Dazai crumbles.

He heaves again, clutching the small garbage can to his face as he throws up all of the water you’d managed to get in him before he passed out earlier. Tears spill over his cheeks, his face is pale and his lashes are fluttering again, on the verge of passing back out. You swallow thickly as he leans into you, letting him collapse into your chest after he’s finished vomiting.

“Will-” he tries to say, but his voice is slurred and weak. He’s desperately trying to stay conscious, you can tell, but he’s fighting a losing battle. “Will you be here in the morning?”

No.

You don’t want to say it, you think you’ve done enough damage for the night, but there’s no need. As soon as the words leave his mouth, Dazai is slumping over unconscious, head laying limp on your arm, lashes brushing his cheek. You sigh as your grip around him tightens before you adjust him in his arms to carry him back into the bed, laying him comfortably beneath the covers.

You don’t linger for long after that. After another hour or two passes and Dazai doesn’t wake up again, you make your way back into the bedroom, raising your hand to his face to brush away the dark locks in his eyes before cupping his cheek. Even in his sleep, he leans into your touch, and it makes your chest feel so agonizingly tight that you think you might be having a heart attack.

You lean down to press your lips to his forehead, to his nose, and then to his lips, indulging yourself one last time. Your forehead rests against his as you consider your words—there are a million things you’d like to say to him before you leave, but you don’t have nearly enough time to get them all off of your chest.

Instead, you tell him softly, “I hope you don’t remember any of this in the morning.” You don’t move your hand from where it’s caressing his cheek as you stand straight again, thumb drawing absent circles on his skin. Your voice is thick with emotion, eyes welling with tears that don’t spill over. “We’ll meet again one day.”

Dazai wakes up the next morning with a hangover so bad that he thinks he might die.

He sits up in bed and is instantly groaning, hand flying to his forehead as his brain throbs inside of his skull. He needs to figure out where he is—the last thing he remembers is…

The bar?

His eyes slide shut as he tries to think, but it only makes his head hurt more. He flops back onto the bed, arms splayed out. He still feels nauseous, he can feel it rising to his throat and he desperately does not want to throw up again—it’s one thing vomiting when he’s too drunk to remember, it’s an entirely different thing to vomit while he’s sober and conscious. 

Dazai thinks he might rather die. 

He lets out a heavy sigh as he begs the nausea to go away, breathing in and out deeply. He lifts his hand to brush a lock of hair away from where it’s tickling his ear and-

Ouch.

Dazai’s eyes fly open again, confused now, as he rips his hand away from where he’d touched his ear to stare up at the ceiling. He’s used to waking up with odd injuries after a night of blacking out at whatever bar will still have him, but his ear is a particularly strange place to be wounded, isn’t it?

Driven by curiosity now, he forces himself into a sitting position, and it’s only when he pushes himself out of bed, does he finally start to recognize the room he’s in. His lips part in a distinct mixture of shock and confusion as he looks around the room slowly, making his way over to the mirror.

The safehouse in Sakae?

His chest feels heavier instantly, and a tight feeling rises to his throat as he catches sight of an old jacket of yours draped on the desk chair, the one that had ripped during the last mission you went on together—just the way you left it the last time the two of you were here. A pair of his old dress shoes are lying haphazardly outside the closet door, he’s sure that if he peeks into the closet, all of your suits will be hanging there because you refused to share the closet with him so all of his spares are stuffed in the dresser. Dazai suddenly feels sick again and he doubts it’s from the hangover this time.

How did he get here?

He needs another drink desperately.

But first… Dazai leans over the dresser to look into the mirror—a bit dusty after so many months with no one stopping in—he lifts his hand to brush his hair behind and then-

What?

His jaw drops and his brows furrow, his fingers graze over where the top of his ear used to be, only to find the whole upper quarter of it missing. 

What the fuck? He mouths as he stares at the missing cartilage, and then he looks back around the room, and just as his eyes catch a trash bin that should be in the bathroom, his vision blurs, and his head is aching. He’s suddenly stumbling down an alley, he’s lying in a puddle of his own vomit, unable to stand up straight. He can hear someone approaching and he knows he should get up, find some dumpster or crevice to wait out the night until he’s sober enough to get the fuck out of the heart of the Mafia’s territory in Yokohama, but he can hardly move.

He can lift his head from the pavement just enough to-

Just enough to see you.

Dazai can hardly cope with the emotions that rattle his chest. Longing, because he’s missed you so terribly the past seven months. Disbelief, because you shot his fucking ear off. And… and Dazai isn’t quite sure what the other emotions are. They’re heavy and light at the same time, his chest feels bubbly but his ankles feel chained—it’s a weird mixture of hope and dread, he thinks, because the safehouse is eerily quiet, seemingly void of any life other than Dazai himself, but the chance that you might still be here…

“Will you be here in the morning?”

The faint memory of the last words he spoke before he passed out the last time rings through his head, and his feet drag against the ground as he forces himself to move from the bedroom into the main room of the safe house. His fingers hesitate against the wood of the door—scared that he’s going to open it and you won't be there, scared that he’s going to open it and you will be there. He doesn’t remember the things he said to you last night, but he knows that he’d been staring at old pictures the two of you took before he blacked out. He can hardly imagine the things he might’ve said to you when given the chance.

It takes all of his strength and all of his willpower to push open the door. 

It takes even more to actually step out of the bedroom.

The safe house is empty.

You’re nowhere to be found.

Dazai’s feet are moving before he’s fully even registered what’s happening.

He makes his way into the kitchen to rummage around for another bottle for him to drown away his sorrows, but he doesn’t pull out the untouched bottle of his favorite whiskey he knows is sitting in the cabinet—he goes straight for the wine fridge. He nearly shatters three bottles of whites before he finally gets his hands on your favorite red, the one you’d asked him to stock up in there for you three days before he left, knowing that the two of you had a mission coming up and you’d be celebrating here, as always. Not knowing that he’d have betrayed you by then. 

He struggles to uncork it, the frustration causing his headache to return with a vengeance. It takes an embarrassingly long amount of time for him to finally get the bottle open, but when he does, he brings it to his lips immediately, eyes sliding shut as he downs a few generous gulps.

The taste is familiar. Pleasant. It makes his heart ache with such an intense longing for you that it nearly makes him throw up.

He can almost imagine that he’s tasting it off of your lips instead.

He leans over the counter, elbows digging into the marble as he tries to push away the ugly feelings ripping apart his chest. He can’t. He never can. He hasn’t been able to since the day he left you behind seven months ago. He can only numb it.

With a hand closed around the neck of the bottle, Dazai slides down the cabinet to sit on the ground. His cheeks feel wet, but he doesn’t dare lift his hand to acknowledge the tears sliding down them.

Instead, he lifts the bottle to his lips again and drowns himself in the memories of you for another night. 

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

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Stay in the Light✨

A/N: I’ve been wanting to do a one shot based off the song “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron for a while, and I finally got some inspiration yesterday to write this little piece. Hope you like it 🩵 Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for being my beta reader before I decided to release this out to the world 💕

Summary: Joel gets injured after a raider attack, and he’s wishing he could’ve told you all the feelings he held back from you for so long

Word Count: 2.2k

Pairing: Joel x fem! reader

Rating: 18+ Only

Tags: Outbreak! Joel, Jackson! Joel, blood, angst, comfort, feelings, regrets, in both reader and Joel’s POV, no deaths, fluff (I am bad at tags, so let me know if I should add anything)

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

“When the night was full of terrors, and your eyes were filled with tears. When you had not touched me yet. Oh, take me back to the night we met”

- “The Night We Met” by Lord Huron

The ground is cold, wet, unwelcoming with a thick puddle of crimson blood pooling beneath his worn green flannel. Large flecks of powdered snow lace through his grey threaded curls that stick to his sweaty forehead. His vision blurs, going in and out in waves as pain takes hold of his insides. He can hear Tommy screaming in the near distance, his deep voice sounding like it’s washed out beneath a wave of deep water. He can barely register it, barely hear anything, but what he does see is a bright light, an angel in disguise. He sees you.

You. The girl he should’ve been more careful with. Your feelings, your heart, your everything. He was such an asshole ever since the first day you came walking through the front gates of Jackson. He should’ve been nicer, shouldn’t have yelled at you over petty things that were his doing and shouldn’t have thrown insults your way when you were just trying to help on every patrol you were assigned to with him.

Maybe if he would’ve been fucking nicer then maybe this wouldn’t have happened. A clean gunshot to the abdomen, now bleeding out on the thick white snow beneath him. Raiders. He wasn’t being careful, wasn’t paying attention. No, he was fucking fixed on arguing with you. Maybe he deserves it, maybe if he wasn’t such a grouch all the time then maybe none of this would’ve fucking happened. He sure as hell doesn’t deserve you. Warm, bright, gentle, kind. He was none of those things, so why the fuck were you still sitting here with him, keeping him from slipping into the thick fog of darkness?

“Joel! Stay with me, okay? Stay with me.” Your voice is so adamant, so terrified, so hurt. And it fucking kills him, destroys him. “Tommy! Help him!”

Joel sees the gathering tears that burn through your beautiful eyes, sees the absolute horror that’s coated through your knit together eyebrows, sees the pain of holding it all together just like you always do. Always so brave. His brave girl…. NO. You’re not his to keep, not his to hold, not his to tell everything’s going to be alright. You weren’t his and never would be. Not after the way he’s treated you.

He wishes you were his, but you’re not, and it’s his own damn fault for being so reckless. He should’ve been softer, more kind, like you. He should’ve done so many things, should’ve told you just how he felt. How much he likes you, how much he…

He winces in pain as Tommy presses down on the open wound, barely holding himself together to even keep his eyes open, but he fights. He fights for you. The girl he so desperately fell in love with over the last year, the girl he wished he treated differently. He should’ve fucking told you, but now it’s too late. It’s all too late.

“Hey, hey. Joel, look at me. Look at me!” You grab the sides of his face, sink your delicate fingers into the scruff of his greying beard, and cling to him just enough to where maybe he won’t slip through your fingers. You can’t lose him, you can’t.

“Joel, open your eyes. Please, keep them open for me.” You shake his head lightly, kneel over him and let your hair fall in a heap at your side as you pray for one more day with him. “Joel…”

Your voice is so sad, so desperate as you call out for him. He sees your face blur in his spotty vision, sees the glistening tears start to spill down your face. So he reaches up, musters up enough strength to wipe away the falling tears that stain your beautiful face. He thinks you’re so gorgeous, always has. Ever since you walked into his life, he knew. He knew he’d fall, and that’s why he pushed away so strongly. He didn’t want to lose you, he never wanted to. But now you were the one losing him…

He holds the side of your face for just a few more seconds, just enough to finally know he got you, some part of you, if only for a minute. And that was enough for him. At least he knew what it was like to feel your soft skin slipping under the weight of his calloused fingers. That moment alone was all he wanted.

He starts to close his eyes, starts to fade away into the midst of darkness and silence, but he hears you plead to stay in the light. “Stay in the light, Joel. Stay with me. Stay,” you beg. And he carries those words into the darkness with him. And then there’s nothing but the fading words of a promise he never could keep.

Stay in the light.

He awakes slowly, hearing the buzzing sound of some medical machine he doesn’t know the name of. Slowly but surely his eyes open as the harsh light from the blinding window slips against the warm sheets of the sterile bed. It takes him a second to come to himself, to know he’s not dead.

He looks cautiously down at his exposed torso, finding the tight bandage wrapped around his wound. It’s clean, mended to, but the pain burns through his body. Every breath he breathes feels like fire in his lungs, but at least he knows he’s alive.

He feels warmth sliding through his fingertips, feels comfort bubble over his entirety. He wonders what it is, wonders what thing could ever bring him comfort until he slowly turns his head and sees you sitting there on the edge of the bed, fingers laced through his while your thumb gently glides side to side in slow circles on the back of his rough hand.

His eyes go wide, eyebrows knit together as he stares wondrously at the girl he’s been pining over since the day he locked eyes on you. You look so goddamn beautiful there with your fingers threaded through his. He can feel it deep in his gut, that fluttering feeling he’s always tried so hard to push back down, but this time he can’t. He won’t. He can’t ignore the voices anymore that scream your name every single night he’s in between his sheets, wishing he could just have a chance to hold you, to feel you pressed against his firm chest. And maybe he would. One day. Maybe he still had time to make you his.

You hear a faint rustling sound in the sheets and turn your face slightly to the left, expecting it to only be your vivid imagination. Your jaw drops suddenly and your eyes go wide the moment you see Joel awake, breathing, alive.

“Joel!” You turn frantically and crowd his body, locking your arms tight around the back of his neck as you inhale his deep mahogany and pine cone scent.

“Ouch, take it easy!” Joel pants out as you jump back, realizing you might’ve hurt him with your body weight.

“I’m sorry, are you alright?” you ask as you assess his wound, running your fingers lightly over the bandaged area. He winces a little as you smooth out the edges, but he just hums in response.

“I’m fine. Jus’ calm down, will ya?”

You gently smile at him and brace your hands on the fitted sheets, just barely grazing your skin over his warm, sweaty body. Your eyes scan over his bare chest as you take in the coarse hair that covers his broad chest, watching the way the cool sweat glazes over tanned skin. You think he looks so beautiful, even after a gunshot wound. You’ve never seen him bare chested, and it surprises you what it makes you feel inside. Warmth.

“You came back to the light,” you whisper out, grazing your fingertips across the back of his hand as he stares wide-eyed at you, honey eyes so intense that you swear they’re about to split you in half. “I was so scared, Joel. You scared me half to death!”

He just watches you, eyes wading into yours like a violent tidepool about to drag you into the crashing waves, but there’s a fondness to them, a slight gleam in his eyes as he assesses you. Slow, curious, eyes that look like they might shed a tear.

“You… you saved my life today.” His tone is somber, his honey eyes wild as you see tears lick the surface, but he won’t dare shed them. Not in front of you. That’d be too vulnerable.

“Mhm. If Tommy wasn’t there, I don’t know how I would’ve ever gotten you up on that saddle alone. But we did it. We made it in time. I was so scared we were too late. You weren’t… you weren’t really breathing. Even the doctor was worried you wouldn’t make it. You’re a… well, a miracle.”

His face turns pale, lips parted solemnly as he breathes and lets oxygen back into his tired lungs. “Why did you save me?”

His words surprise you as you furrow your eyebrows and shift your weight slightly on the bed so you’re facing him. “What do you mean?” Your words come out shaky, appalled. What did he mean why did you save him?

“Why did you save me?” His honey eyes bore into yours, fingers flexing around the white sheets as he just stares with flared nostrils.

You place a hand gently on top of his warm hand as he tries to pull away, but you don’t let him. “Because I think you’re worth saving.”

His plush lips tremble, his eyes blowing wide as he takes in your quiet words. He looks like he wants to say something, looks like he’s fighting with himself in his mind, but he just stares unblinking, taking in the soft way you look at him.

Finally, he clears his deep voice and rasps out a response. “I’m not worth saving.” His eyes look so sad, defeated, and you wish you could take away all his pain. Physical and emotional, you’d take it all on if it meant he could have one single day where he didn’t wear the weight of the entire world on his tired back.

You lean forward as you hear the creak of the old bed and place your hand gently on his bare chest, feeling the bristles of coarse dark hair running down his tanned skin. “I think you are, Joel.”

He gulps, arms fidgeting beneath you as you see him fight with himself, battling the demons of reaching out or letting you slip through his grasp. He finally finds the courage to slowly, steadily crawl his hand up the side of his chest, then ever so softly places it on top of yours.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bein’ a jerk to you the past year. I was a real asshole, and there’s no excuse for the way I treated you. I think about it every single night, think about how I should’ve done better, how I should’ve tried harder because I… I…” Joel winces in pain as he tries to sit up, but you push him back down easily and try to get him to stay still.

“Hey, careful there. It’s okay, Joel. It’s…”

“No, please let me finish.” You nod your head and he continues with a low grunt through gritted teeth. “I should’ve been nicer to you. And I want to apologize for everything I’ve ever done, every hurtful thing I’ve ever said to you. I didn’t mean it, not really. I’ve jus’… I’ve been goin’ through a lot, but that’s no excuse. Because I should’ve told you how I felt about you, not pushed you away. You see, the thing is… well, thing is I like you, darlin’. A lot. You’re so fuckin’ beautiful and those eyes, that smile. I…”

You cut him off as you lean forward and crash your lips into his, letting his warmth overwhelm you as you slip into him. His tongue tastes like coffee, his skin smells of freshly cut firewood, and he feels so good in the palm of your hand. He surrounds you in something like warmth, ecstasy, something you’ve wanted to feel for so long. He glides his thick fingers through your hair and pulls you closer as he gets lost in you, overwhelming your senses until all you can smell, hear, feel is him. It feels so right, this feels right. You almost forget he’s injured until he grunts and shifts his weight to the right.

You quickly let go of the kiss and lean back, assessing if he’s alright, but he’s smiling. Warm, bright, glowing. You’ve never seen him like this, like he’s the happiest man in the world. It’s that twinkle in his chocolate irises that gets you, and you finally know that this is where you belong. In Jackson, with him.

He guides a strand of hair behind your ear and cups the side of your face as his warm, calloused thumb grazes gently across your cheekbone. “You kept me in the light, sweetheart. You’re exactly what I needed all along, I jus’ wish I didn’t wait so long to find the light.”

You sigh and smile. “It’s okay, Joel. You found it. You found me.”

“You gonna keep the light on for me, sweetheart?”

“Forever, if you want me to.”

He pulls you back in and grazes lightly over your lips as he whispers out, “Forever it is.”

Tagging some friends who might be interested 💛 @sawymredfox @burntheedges @littlevenicebitch69 @keylimebeag @vivian-pascal @rav3n-pascal22 @princesatracionera @bbyanarchist @amyispxnk @pedrostories @syd-djarin @msjarvis @untamedheart81 @survivingandenduring

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #joel miller pedro pascal #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel x f!reader #post outbreak joel #outbreak!joel #jackson!joel

[theflyindutchwoman]

Do you think Tim has been acting OOC lately? Breaking up with Lucy, what he did in the army and lying to Grey and West so easily : I can't help but think it came out of nowhere. Old Tim would never have done that. What do you think?

Old Tim would never have done that. I disagree. Not only would have Old Tim done exactly that, we know he actually did - @makeitastrength and @roguetwelve made some very good points on that subject yesterday. The difference is that we didn't see it play out in details like in 6.06. But Old Tim lied to IA about Isabel's addiction. That was why Detective Murphy was so gung-ho against him in 1.16 : he knew about her addiction but didn't report her. He covered for her to protect her. Just like he didn't immediately warn the detectives about the kilo of drugs in Isabel's apartment after she confessed. He was even ready to steal that piece of evidence for her before he came to his senses and realised that it wouldn't help her in the long term. And it definitely wasn't the first time he lied to Grey. Remember that time he went rogue (with Lucy) in 2.14? Granted, there was no IA inquiry but he still officially lied on a report and to Grey's face (with the rest of the team). Or that time he made Lucy lie in a report after he instigated a fight with the bikers or by not mentioning Isabel?

Also, not to be that person, but the man has mentioned several times that he did some work with the CIA in the past… and, well, no offense, it doesn't get shadier than them - which is kind of hilarious when you think about it, considering how black & white Tim is. Let's not forget that Guatemala op too : it was never sanctioned to begin with, they used a black-op branch of the DIA and it's pretty safe to say that they covered it up after getting Angela back. The biggest difference is his motive. Tim claims that he did what he did back then for his career, which sounds far less noble than saving his BFF or fighting for his country. It would be interesting to see if that's true though or if it was the self-loathing rewriting history. But either way, he has done some shady things in the past and we knew about it.

As for Tim breaking up with Lucy… It is very much still in-character, unfortunately. This is the same man who decided to divorce Isabel because he thought that it would help her, not because he wanted to. He was terrified of being a walking reminder of her addiction and didn't want to hold her back. In that regard, his decision to break up for Lucy because she deserves far better (his words, not mine) is not that different. So, no, I don't think Tim was acting out-of-character. If anything, that's what makes this storyline so painful. Because it feels exactly like something Old Tim would have done. Because it feels like he just took a huge step backward, practically erasing his growth. And for me, that what makes it so real and interesting. Personal growth is rarely linear. Sometimes you take a step forward and sometimes you take a step backward. Sometimes you need to touch rock bottom before you can get better. Life is messy that way. We thought Tim was doing better - and in many ways, he was. But he never really dealt with his trauma. He simply tried to move forward and forget. Only now, his past has caught up with him and he's stuck in this self-destructive mode.

I fully understand disliking this arc. I also fully understand being frustrated by that 'regression'. But that doesn't mean he was written out of character. Because, unfortunately, that was the most Tim Bradford he ever did. Like the man said, he is "a man of principles and contradictions".

#thanks for the ask anon :) as always this is just my perspective - I'm not trying to change your mind or say you're wrong #ask & ye shall receive #the rookie #chenford #tim bradford #6.06

[8-rae-rae-8]

CW: Referenced/implied abuse, past abuse, thoughts of worthlessness, unconventional self harm. AgeRe content.

Simon who gets tense around people who don't hurt him. Throughout his whole life, even when he was safe bouncing around squads in the military, people roughed him up. Insults, punches, mocks. No matter his size, attitude or status. So when the 141 doesn't do it, he waits. He waits thinking they will eventually, waiting for the other shoe to drop. The most they do with him is spar or tease him about things that don't hurt. They don't go for his soft spots. He doesn't understand why they don't want to hurt him, he doesn't get that it's because they care.

So he tries first. Why won't they fight back with more than a snort and a pat on the shoulder? Why don't they argue?

Price doesn't show more than a slight sadness about Simon's attempts to get someone to hurt him. He pulls out the only thing he thinks will do anything. The mama voice. He can't fight with Simon, not when he can see that Simon feels soft. Breakable.

Fragile.

Why is Price so gentle when he sits him down? Called him in there with his title anyways. This was it, right? They'll fight, like he's been wanting. To prove what? That he doesn't deserve softness? That he's bad like Roba and his father instilled in him?

But Price doesn't yell. He sits in front of Simon on his desk and talks to him. How can he feel safe and threatened at the same time? Was it Price's gaze or his stance? Was it how he was so obviously the weaker of the two, or the hands that would pick him back up that made him feel that way? Price couldn't get angry and hurt him, but he doesn't. He's slow, patient and kind. Something Simon is hardly used to. His heart squeezes in his chest.

The mama voice is what makes Simon tear up. He's not being scolded, but it still feels so firm. Not mean, but with an edge to it. He looked down at his hands. Bad. Unworthy. Rude.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you." His mother and father would say. But Price softens as he looks at Simon.

"We don't have to talk now, Ghost." Ever so gentle with how he handles Simon. Respecting his wishes to not say his name but Simon ached to hear it out of his Captain's mouth. To hear his name softly said, without anger or malice. Especially without the slur of alcohol consumption.

"Are you going to get rid of me, Sir?" Simon's voice breaks. When Price pauses, his shoulders tense. Is this it? Is he done with him?

"Simon..." There it is. His name a soft sound on Price's lips. Warm, coated in concern. Don't leave. Don't leave. Please don't go.

"We're a team. No one gets left behind." Words Simon would later repeat to Johnny in the los vaqueros safe house.

"Why?" Simon questions. He hears the slight pained sound Price makes as he asks. I'm sorry. Don't go.

"We don't want to leave you... You're stuck with us." Price tries to be light-hearted, but stops when Simon frowns behind the mask. So expressive, usually when he doesn't want to be.

"I'm sorry." Sorry for what? Being argumentative? Being distressed?

...Being?

"Hey," Price crouches down next to him, following the way Simon's eyes dart to look anywhere but him, "You didn't do anything wrong." Gentle, guiding him like a child.

He felt like a child. Small. Weak. Breakable.

He hasn't heard anyone say it was okay before. No one comforted him like that. Not as a kid. Not as a teen. Not with his superiors. Because it hadn't been okay. Because he did do bad things.

And now he wasn't bad, it was okay. His mind didn't know how to deal with that.

Simon flinches as Price's hand rests on his knee.

"Simon, you're okay here. What can I do?"

Simon shakes his head. What could Price possibly do? Hold him? Tell him it was okay until it felt like it was? Let him cry it out like a kid? God he felt like a kid. Smaller and smaller the more Price talked.

He'd seen Johnny and Kyle small around him, but never let himself break. He always left as soon as he could. Now he wonders if it hurt them when he left so fast.

"'m sorry." The words come out faster, broken in the syllables. Forced and rushed. Will the other shoe drop?

"I know, Si, I know..." Price murmurs, looking up at him from his crouched position. It can't be comfortable, but neither comment.

Simon wants to fall forward into his arms the longer he looks at him so sweetly. Like Simon wasn't damaged goods. Like he was just as small as Kyle and Johnny. He feels smaller.

"Help..." He weakly mutters. He says it on the off chance that this won't hurt. That he'll be okay.

And Price doesn't leave, he promises to stay and help. Never pushing further than Simon wanted to go. He waited till he was okay to hold hands, then waited till he was okay being picked up. Then until he let himself cry. Price didn't have to work hard to notice just how small Simon made himself, how easy he could break. Simon, not Ghost. Price vowed to protect him once the sobs died down and Simon fell asleep on his chest. There in his office, on the couch in an uncomfortable position. Like he was a cat, Price didn't go anywhere.

Price gains another little that day, but he didn't bring it up until Simon came to him. Until Simon needed his help again. It's all on his time, Price doesn't push. He's the most giddy he ever had been when Simon crawls into bed with him and falls asleep safely. Cooing in his sleep. Price hadn't felt that happy before about being needed. Simon came to him for comfort. For safety. He holds it to the highest honour.

#cod agere #simon ghost riley #john price #john price cod #call of duty #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #call of duty agere #might get posted on ao3....

[capturecharlesau]

This fic will be about me venting on this exact day of when Danny ACCIDENTALLY ALMOST hurt Auriela and Florence BUT when in reality it was Danny’s shadow Daniel! I’m here a year later to break the ice! And finally give my baby justice! >:) I hope you guys enjoy! :D

I’m not a professional at these but imma try my best lol! If ya see any English mistakes just in case remember I speak French and this English typing/spelling be hard xD

Not My Fault

Danny was walking down the halls… that day finally came around…. Funny… last year he remembers all the pain getting beaten up and even punished for something he didn’t mean to do. Almost killing the twins… he didn’t mean it he swear he didn’t he was so sad… and depressed he was crying alone in the kitchen he remembers how Amelia, Ulle, and others hurt Danny that day how the Music Enforcers spun Danny around upside down on a rope it made Danny very dizzy and he puked that day…

Danny could barely walk that day and the only people who took pity on him that day was Crusher, Pollo, Reginald, RHM, Sven, and Burt. Was it pity? Or was it…. Love…? True love like Crusher felt kissing Danny at night…? Feeling him, rubbing him, feeling his hair, his nice and hot kisses, the deep “connection” they feel nice and close with each other~…. Is that true love? It’s partly love but the TRUE love Danny felt with Crusher apart from physical is the EMOTIONAL help he felt… wow did Crusher help Danny feel warm and calm that night. So relaxed so comforting to Danny’s ears… all Danny really needs is his one and only Crusher. After the shitty day he had and feeling nauseous after the boys spun him and the others hurt him…. It made him feel like a monster… a monster with explosive emotions that he can’t control… why can’t he control these feelings? These emotions? He deserve it! Did he? He almost hurt two babies….

He doesn’t deserve Mary his beautiful baby daughter… all his life he wanted a family but now he looks in the mirror and sees himself as a MONSTER!! He doesn’t have friends, he doesn’t have a family, he’s a piece of shit, he let… HIM …. HIM use him like a TOY, he FOLLOWED HIM, yes he was manipulated but he should have DONE SOMETHING!! Why was he FROZEN and let his negativity drive him to do the wrong thing when all he wants…. Is for people to love him and for him to be happy that he exists….

Why did Randy curse him? All he wanted was to help his dear father…but…. He was now stuck with his evil version of himself… telling him LIES, telling him negative things, …. Danny was addicted… he found himself addicted to sadness… and thinking how his friends, his family, his Toppat family, his husband would maul him, cut him, HURT HIM, kill him, humiliate him over and over and over and over and OVER

….and over… and over….. and over…. And over…. Why won’t it stop? Why won’t these thoughts go away?…. What’s wrong with my brain?…. Why am I like this?….. why do I exist? If all I do … and all I think and hear are ways…. The people around me… wanna…. Kill me? I don’t deserve anything at all… I just want my breathing to…. Suddenly….stop….

…

“You deserve good things dear…” Danny opened his eyes in shocked as he was on the floor crying in the kitchen “A-Amore? O-Oh b-b-but how—?” Crusher kissed and picked up Danny “Dear, you were hiccuping and crying … And you were talking a bit hehe…”

“…..” Danny showed hidden eyes. Crusher frowned “Dear I know today was … you know… the day Daniel made you do that… I knew you’d be upset… so we wanted to show you something…”

“…we?” Said Danny as Crusher walked out the kitchen to see all his closest friends there all coming in to hug Danny at the same time as Crusher carried Danny still.

Reginald giggled “Nyeh hello dear! Danny’s eyes widen “R-Reggie?? Jeremy? Svensson, Bertram, Picoletto? What’s happening?? *he tears up* Aahhhh I-I-I don’t deserve t-t-this! Whatever it issss! *hic*—.”

Crusher gave many kisses to Danny’s cheek to calm him down. “It’s ok pai!” Said Pollo “We are here to support you in your apology! Even though we know it wasn’t you really who wanted to hurt the twins.”

“Ja! Burt saw it all in the cameras” said Sven as Burt added “You were… REALLY twitchy before you entered the room to harm the babies…”

“You guys would really support me?” Danny shivered “ I don’t d-deserve it-! *hic* I d-d-don’t-!”

“Yes you do Dan…” said Accordion along with Violin holding the twins “ We know it was not your fault now… Burt showed us the footage…. We shouldn’t have been so… extreme—.”

Danny then interrupts crying“ NO! IM HAPPY YOU HURT ME! IM BAD IM HORRIBLE-! *HIC* I’M—!!”

Violin then said “ A human with emotions….”

Those words many Danny cry in his hands as Pollo RUSHED to his father and Crusher hugged his hubby tightly. “Give them the gift Dan” RHM smiled as Danny gaged the twins bagels. “I made them *hic* myself-! Please f-f-forg-give m-me-! *hic*

…

The twins jumped onto Danny’s lap as the Italian man was so overwhelmed “I’m sorry! I’m s-so sorry! How can anybody or ANYONE so perfect like you guys can …..

… ever love someone…..like….me…?

…

Thank you guys to my fellow Tumblr mutuals! I’m so happy someone so perfect like you can love someone as emotional and defective like ….me 💕 I love you ❤️

Crusher belongs to @jaytoons7

The Music Enforcers and the twins belong to @bluetorchsky

Pollo Miller belongs to @00lari00

#thsc #the henry stickmin collection #henry stickmin collection #captured!charles au #danny felizima #aurelia arcoil #florence arcoil #thsc accordion #thsc violin

[xxlovelynovaxx]

Oh lovely, the transandrophobic "trans inclusive" rad/ical feminis/ts are now calling te/rfs "twerfs" (trans woman exclusive radi/cal femin/ists).

Hey, you know how terfs "soured" a lot of people on genuine, intersectional feminism?

You're just them but trans, regardless of your gender. You're JK Rowling and Dave Chappelle in blue white and pink. You're writing essays on the evil predatory (trans) men invading (trans) women's spaces and mutilating their bodies with testosterone and cutting off perfectly healthy organs and rejecting the only good gender as traitors.

That last part is just verbatim, even.

Add trans in front of the genders in any transphobe's horrific ranting and you get your own posts. You're cruel, you're class traitors, you're feds in binders and gaffs too pathetic to even demand pay for the work you're doing for our oppressors.

Trans unity means I never give up fighting for your rights, even as you're throwing them to the wolves just for a taste of what it feels like to have your boot on someone else's throat. You justify it because of who you say has faced the "worst" pain, has been hurt the "most" by (trans)misogyny, because don't you know that women have the right to speak over any other marginalized person on their own oppression because only women really know what it's like to be oppressed?

Merlin's unwashed nutsack, do you fuckers even hear yourselves? You're indistinguishable from ter/fs!

Yeah, I'll keep fighting, because I can understand that even the most sniveling narcs who think they're "saving" people by betraying them, even the people radicalized enough that they actually believe in the bullshit they're spreading, don't deserve oppression.

Quite frankly, this post isn't FOR them, no matter how much it's worded like it is, because rage is not a tool of deradicalization and I refuse to judge even bigots every bit as taken in as your average Jehovah's witness or Amish person for doing harm while being victims of the group they're doing harm for.

(All the same, the accusations of trans people being indoctrinated and taken in by "MRA shit" are not only blatant projection, but also in the rare cases that they are true, pale in comparison to the quantity and scope of harm done by this actual significant growing group of radicalized trans people .)

Since I've mainly seen people with some form of "baeddel", who call people "transandrophobia truthers" or "transandrodorks" doing this, perhaps people need a reminder that baeddels were a group who took that name themselves (after it had fallen out of usage for several hundred years, claiming they were "reclaiming" it) who did a shit ton of harm to transmascs, nonbinary people, intersex people, and transfems.

These trans-woman "inclusive" radic/al fem/inists who actually are dangerous and violent towards every transfem that doesn't agree with you. TWIRFs are not a fucking joke. And to be exceedingly clear, there's a reason I hyphenated trans-woman in the acronym spelled out, because it's an adjective modifying inclusive; trans people of every gender make up "twirfs".

There's a decent chance they'll either take "twirfs" and wear it like a badge of honor, like some t/erfs do, or claim it's a slur, like... oh, like some terf/s do. I've read the playbook, and if there's a play I haven't laid out, I'm sure it'll be just as uninspired and plagiarized from te/rfs. But who knows, maybe they'll come up with something new and horrific and surprise us - every so often, ter/fs do that too.

Anyway, if you see this post and wanna tell me, an intersex transneufemmasc, what a horrible awful transmisogynist I am for acknowledging all forms of oppression I face and not just the single one I share with most of you, fuck off and block me. I've got no time for the usual suicide baiting, florid violent fantasies of me being raped and/or tortured and/or killed, and the like.

Besides, while you are fucking dangerous, I've got worse danger to deal with than you on a daily basis, for being a visibly genderqueer fat disabled person in a place where everything from gender roles to medicine is stuck in the 18-fucking-hundreds. I truly do not have time for your bullshit.

#transandrophobia #transmisandry #exorsexism #intersexism #transmisogyny #ceterophobia

[phoen1xr0se]

I want you to know that you’re a source of hope and faith for all of us in the fandom. Every word you write is poetry, the sort of lyrical wonder which everyone and anyone can appreciate. You straddle the line of literary and unfathomably approachable in your writing and I couldn’t ever stress enough how much we all love you. I know you’ve been going through hell recently and I just want to tell you that, for someone who is being constantly challenged and tested, you give other people an awful lot of happiness. Just in case no one’s said it recently: you are a wonder to us all.

Sometimes, especially recently, I wonder what I could possibly have done to have earned so much darkness and pain, what did I do to deserve so much devastation and trauma? It can feel extremely... hopeless.

But then sometimes I get little signs from the universe, that all is not lost.

Like this beautiful, heartfelt message that reduced me to a blubbering wreck.

Thank you, nameless person, for bringing me back a little further from the brink of utter hopelessness today. Today was... bad. But now it's that tiny little bit better.

I don't feel much like a light right now, but whatever sputtering spark I have left, I'll try to keep it lit.

#thank you #phoenixrose314 #good omens fandom #despair #hopelessness #i feel so much less alone here than irl and i love all of you for that #❤️

[glorystark]

Prompt List

I decided to make a prompt list. It’s still in progress but I’m gonna publish it anyway. REQUESTS ARE OPEN :)

P.S.: It’s mostly angst!

“I told you to not get too close to me.”

“We were never friends.”

“I wish you never had trusted me.”

“From the day we met, I knew I’d hurt you eventually.”

“I’m good at hurting people. It’s all I’ve ever done.”

“ I deserve more than this.”

“ You’re hurting me.”

“ I never loved you.”

“Please let me go.”

“Don’t leave me.”

“ Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“Not everything is about you.”

“ I want pt you out of my here, and out of my life.”

“Kill me.”

“I can’t trust you anymore.”

“When will you stop lying?.”

“I should have seen it coming.”

“Make it quick please?”

“Forgive me for what I’m about to do.”

“I hate you.”

“You ruin everything.”

“What the fuck did you just say?”

“You mean nothing to me.”

“You did this to me.”

“Move or I’ll move you.”

“Repeat yourself, I dare you.”

“I wish I never met you.”

“You ruined my life.”

“I gave you my everything.”

“We are over.”

“It’s too late for apologies now.”

“I’m sorry for us.”

“Of course you didn’t love me, I’m such an idiot.”

“What about the plans we made?”

“Bearing your pain has always been my job.”

“What did you do to make your heart become so cold?”

“Remember how we used to be? I don’t.”

“Look what happened because of you.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

“How can you be in love with me when you destroyed all my happinesses.”

“I’m so tired of everything.”

“Stop yelling at me!”

“Get out!”

“I’m falling for you and it’s scaring the shit out of me.”

“What happened to us?”

“I don’t feel like I belong here anymore.”

“Why does our love feel like prison.”

“When I let go, run for your life.”

“I always knew you’d die in my arms.”

“I gave up on us a long time ago.”

“Your eyes can be so cruel.”

“You thought I cared about you? Cute.”

#marvel #mcu #the avengers #harry potter #supernatural #Dean Winchester #steve rogers #bucky barnes #sam winchester #dean winchester x reader #sam winchester x reader #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #angst #fluff #smut #comfort #supernatural fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #writing prompt #prompt list #angst prompts #loki #loki x reader #peter parker x reader #star wars #anakin skywalker x reader #tony stark x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #castiel x reader

[chososchalupa]

wish that it was me

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The last person you wanted to see at this meeting was your older brother. The same brother who left you in the hands of Chuuya Nakahara and the Port Mafia years ago, but all you can see now are the pleading eyes of Osamu Dazai begging for forgiveness.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Chapter six - He's gone

wc - 809

cw - sad Akutagawa moment, not proofread

chapter seven

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“Did Dazai actually explain anything?” Akutagawa asked as soon as you got into his car. 

You nodded, “He did”

The three of you sat silently as Akutagawa drove away before he spoke up again, “Care to share?”

“He said he wasn't able to take care of me and was scared of hurting me, I guess. I was eavesdropping on his and Chuuyas' conversation. He didn't say anything to me about it”

Gin laughed from the passenger seat, “As if he didn’t hurt you and everyone else by leaving”

You let out a soft laugh, “exactly”

The rest of the car ride was silent besides Gin humming along to the radio. Akutagawa would glance at you in the mirror every once in a while to make sure you were doing okay but he hadn’t spoken a word since you gave him Dazais’ reasoning. Once you arrived back at their home, he was quick to go to his bedroom. You gave Gin a look of confusion as you both sat on the couch,

“Is he okay?”

“He always gets like that when Dazai is brought up”

You nodded, Akutagawa was the only person who understood the level of pain you felt. Chuuya tried, and he understood for the most part but he also didn’t care as much as the two of you did. Akutagawa looked up to Dazai for everything, even when Dazai didn’t deserve the praise he was given. You remembered years ago, when Akutagawa came to you out of desperation, asking what he could do to receive the slightest praise from your brother.

“I have done everything he asks but it is never good enough” He spoke, clearly trying to hold back tears. You weren't sure if the tears threatening to spill were from anger or sadness but it made you upset regardless, knowing Dazai was capable of hurting someone who tried so hard for him. 

You reassured Akutagawa with a small smile, “I’ll talk to him” 

That night, you sat in your living room waiting for Dazai to come home. It wasn’t until 2am that he walked through the front door, a look of confusion on his face when he saw you still awake. 

“What are you doing up?” He asked, hanging his coat on the hanger beside the door. 

“I needed to talk to you about Akutagawa”

Dazai groaned, throwing his head back, “I’ve dealt with him enough today. Can it wait?”

You rolled your eyes, “You should be nicer to him”

Dazai lifted his head up and looked into your eyes, trying to see if you were joking with him or not, “You’re serious?” 

“Mhm”

“No. He’ll never learn if I'm soft on him. And he definitely shouldn’t be going to my little sister to complain. I’ll talk to him tomorrow”

Your eyes widened, “No, Osamu. He was just upset”

Dazai waved his hand at you as he walked away, “I don’t care about his feelings. I’m training him to be in the Mafia, not to join the Boy Scouts”

You weren't sure what happened after that, Akutagawa didn’t speak to you about Dazai until he had vanished and Dazai never spoke a word about Akutagawa to you. 

What you did know was Dazai never gave Aku the praise he so desperately wanted and now that Dazai was back, all of the memories were flooding Akutagawa's mind again.

“We should probably get rest too, you can sleep in my room with me if you don’t mind. My bed is comfier than the couch” Gin spoke

“You’re right. This couch isn't the best” You laughed, getting up to follow Gin to her room.

You awoke the next morning to hear muffled voices coming from the living room. You quietly got out of bed and made your way down the hall.

“I told the bastard it was a stupid idea, he never fuckin’ listens” You heard one of the voices say.

Definitely Chuuya.

“I don’t think it’s wise to bring her back to your house if he is still there” 

“He went home”

You finally walked out into the living room to see Chuuya and Akutagawa standing beside the couch that Gin was laying on. 

“Ready to come back?” Chuuya asked, eyes locking on yours.

“He’s not there?” You asked, you knew he wasn’t but you needed to be sure before saying yes.

Chuuya huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “Like I just told Akutagawa, Dazai went home”

You nodded, “I just need to grab my stuff”

Once you had your belongings in hand, you went back to Chuuyas' now Dazai free home.

“Oh and Boss called earlier this morning” Chuuya spoke as you sat at the kitchen table 

“What’d he want?” You asked

Chuuya sighed, his eyes looking apologetically at yours, “Got a meeting tomorrow, me and you gotta go to the ADA building for 8”

taglist

@lacunaanonymoused @decaf-nosebleed @till-we-become-monsters

AO3

masterlist

#bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs imagine #bungo stray dogs angst #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #atsushi nakajima #akutagawa ryuunosuke #gin akutagawa #mori ougai #bsd chuuya #bsd dazai #bsd atsushi #bsd akutagawa #bsd gin #bsd angst #bsd imagines #bsd mori #dazais sister #brother dazai

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

#i walked into a situation today where my mom was effectively already dead. effectively bc her body was and is still alive. still breathing #painful groaning purrs. but her mind was gone yesterday. my dad said he showed her a picture of the mountains i took that day and told her #i loved her and she smiled. thats what he said. maybe he was just being nice. or maybe thats the last time she thought of me. i dunno. but #the human body is an incredible thing. shes got a heart still powering a broken body. too full of tumors to function anymore. stomach #streched like a pregnant mother. it happed really fast and now its happening very slow #im somehow probably better off than the rest of them. i only got here for the aftermath of a downslide. my daily life will b least effected #i only really saw her twice a year living so far away and she didnt text much. didnt call often. so life wont change much ill just kno shes #not there. which is sad. but theres nothing to b done abt it. life goes on. it hasnt been all bad tho. its nice to talk to my family abt her #how incredible she was. bc she was. wish her mom wasnt here tho. she doesn't deserve to b here. my mom wouldnt want her here. she didnt want #her here. but anyway. i wish her body would just let her go now. so we can sleep. so this can be over. so she can rest #but even like this shes stubborn and resilient. they say it could go on for days but i hope not. may the universe let her rest shes gotta b #so tired after 10 years of this. but i have no regrets. she knew how i felt abt her. and i dont think she had regrets either. she did so #much up to the very end. went out on a high note without the burdon of knowing it was coming #i dunno. its just such a strange experience to watch the empty shell of your mother sleeping like a gurgling baby #unrelated

[icannotgetoverbirds]

Share to save a dandruff-haver's sanity

i am making this post because all my life i have been told my dandruff was my fault for not washing my hair correctly and shamed for having "poor hygiene" as a result - this is probably where the bfrbs started tbh.

SO. There are two main types of dandruff!

Dry scalp flakes: these are white and itty bitty! you can probably solve this with a good hair and skincare routine. HOWEVER unless they are bothering you it is absolutely not necessary for any kind of health reason (afaik! disclaimer! i am not a doctor! this is not actionable medical advice nor should you take me anywhere near as seriously as a dermatologist). IS NOT CAUSED BY POOR HYGIENE.

Fungal dandruff: Bigger, yellowish, possibly oily/greasy flakes! Caused by your genetics going Oops All Yeast! Generally requires a prescription antifungal treatment from a dermatologist! ALSO NOT CAUSED BY POOR HYGIENE.

Either way, if you have dandruff, a dermatologist is the one you want to consult if it's bothering you! and frankly, even if it was a hygiene issue, nobody deserves to be shamed for that!!!!! especially considering that there are plenty of people who struggle to shower regularly due to circumstances beyond their control!

AND FOR CHRIST'S SAKE STOP SHAMING PEOPLE WITH DANDRUFF!!!!

#dandruff #byrd chirps #byrd's business #i am Big Mad about this #because ALL of my parents blamed me for my dandruff #and no matter what they tried it wouldn't go away #but they never thought to take me to a dermatologist for this SKIN issue #just assumed that we were doing something wrong #and i got called gross for having dandruff #and tbf it is kinda gross! but you don't call a literal child gross and say its their own fault #idk maybe my parents were just That Shitty and nobody else has this issue #but regardless. on the off chance that someone went through what i did: #i see u. you've done nothing wrong. you didn't fuck up in some way that makes you deserve to have dandruff #and by no means do you deserve to be shamed for it #certainly not to a degree where you feel like you have to cause yourself pain with scrubbing and picking and chemicals that don't even work #(which is what I've been doing) #dandruff havers ily and i am giving you a lil forehead kissie #dandruff shamers i am going to killing you with hammers

[six-of-cringe]

Do you ever wish that someone else could have your life? My life is so beautiful, but my brain is too broken and bad at its job to even enjoy it and take advantage of the opportunities that are practically handed to me. I wish someone else had been born into my life, someone who could actually appreciate and enjoy it to the fullest extent. It feels like it's been wasted on me.

#someone who idk. deserves it? has done something to earn it? #idk. i stayed up too late looking at current events and now i'm super unwell again #and i can't stand that so many comforts and opportunities in my life come at the cost of others #others in the past present and future. exploitation and oppression and ecological extractivism have allowed me to be here today. #what can i even do to make up for it. i can barely even do chores for a day without having brain episodes #it hurts but i haven't earned feeling pain about this. i'm the one with the great life. bruh #well there is one thing i can do to prevent any future harm but i am not doing that. maybe i should but i will not bc that's cringe #not me having a brain episode on my six of crows blog again!!!!!! #not soc #negativity cw #moral ocd

[darthvaderofmiddle-earth]

I'm so tired of being in pain that I snapped in front of my brother and sister (not at them, but just like in general I did it). I slammed my fist on the table hard as I gripped painkillers in perscription strength dosages that don't ever do a damn thing, and screamed out loud, "I'M SO FUCKING TIRED OF BEING IN PAIN!!!!" I could barely hold the pills because my hands and arms hurt so much.

Every day several times a day I'm taking ibuprofen and acetaminophen and it does nothing but I keep taking it in hopes it will do just a little because this is legitimately unbearable and I never ever stop feeling agony in so many spots all at one time in severe amounts.

I scream like I'm being killed. I cry like I've just watched a loved one die. All because this pain never stops and it never gets better it just gets worse and worse and worse and worse and when the fuck will it just kill me so I can be over with it and not have to suffer?

I straight up wish it would kill me already. It won't ever, I don't think, not according to the many doctors I've seen. But I just wish it would. I don't want to live suffering like this anymore. I can't make it stop, nothing makes it better, it just progresses and I have nothing I can do but die to escape it.

And until the insurance is renewed by the stubborn as fuck company that doesn't have the right people at any given time on staff despite making dozens of phone calls up the chain of command every day for weeks and faxing in tons of paperwork and sending even more emails and letters and shit to them, I can't even see a doctor to possibly help me. When I do get insurance back, seeing a doctor is going to take me literally weeks to 8 months because specialists are so backed up. I can't live this way. I just can't. I suffer so much and I've done nothing to deserve this. I just live every day praying and hoping the pain is better the next and it never is, it's just worse.

I don't even know what to do anymore. I can't fucking take this anymore. I am so done, so exhausted, so frustrated, so in pain. Pain is my life. I structure everything around pain. I have to. There's nothing that can be done, and the Gods have no mercy to take me and instead just see me suffering and let it go instead of letting me go. I hate this. I fucking hate pain. Gods above I won't even ask Them for help right now because I doubt They can or will do anything. Praying is useless. Everything is useless. My cries for help literally fall into a void and are swallowed into nothing.

#today im laughing for the joy i see but i am suffering more than i ever have before tbh #i hurt in literally every conceivable place on and in my body all at once #my pain is at a 8/10 at best and i cant fucking take it anymore #damn this fuck this fuck me fuck my life what have i fucking done to deserve this bullshit #will it ever get better or is it just going to get so bad that i ask the gods to just fucking take me until they do

[andessence]

so cruel to be stricken with blorbotions for a character in a mediocre source material. i love u ma'am but ur covered in bad writing grime!! idk if there's anything i can do for u....

#this is about honoria from the buccaneers and i'm in pain #i just need someone to tell me why this show parses like it's fully missing episodes' worth of plot and character development. #why do characters constantly reference events that never happened on screen #why do they think they've earned their jane austen angsty confessions when we haven't done enough building on any relationships here #honoria and mabel are quietly having the x500 speedrun of every lesbian period piece's plot without any of the emotional logic #like the writers really think they can have characters have fights and storm off and then.... without doing any scenes that show developmen #..... jump right to a ' i'm so sorry for the things i said. i've totally changed my perspective and gotten over this conflict. offscreen <3 #guys.... guys u need to show characters interacting with conflict and mind-changing stimuli they cannot just whiplash between vibes #with absolutely no apparent motivation other than 'this is what has to happen next for the plot' #killing me over here. honoria sweetie i'm so sorry that an ugly ass writer's room like this would even say that oh my god #i don't even read edith wharton's works but i KNOW she has to deserve better than this adaptation is doing to her writing #||x sheer calculated silliness [ ooc ]

[kabutone]

like not to sound like some edgy piece of shit but that is also why horror is like such a breath of fresh air to me lmao like in almost all the horror media i've seen

#like horror media is the most accurate representation of real life for me cause . life is suffering!!! life is pain!!! #everything fucking hurts !!!! #like i really liked that there were multiple suicidal characters in made in abyss #or at least a common theme was that death is sometimes the one and only way to relieve your suffering #bc thats true! the best day of my life will be the day i die bc i will not be in pain anymore !!! <3 SO TRUE MIA !!! #even the characters that werent horribly deformed like mitty and irumyuui. vueko wanted to kill herself bc of trauma #and saw my beloved i LOVE SAW !!!!! and i FIRMLY BELIEVE that saw is just like real life <3 #bc a lot of the victims arguably did not deserve to die. they did not deserve to be “tested” #a lot of good people suffer irl and a lot of bad people get away with what they've done #and sometimes you wake up in a situation that is not your fault but theres nothing you can do to get out of it #sometimes you are forced to endure something that will maim or kill you #and if ONE PERSON decided it was not worth it to hurt you you could have been spared. #and sometimes you panic bc the easier option may be letting yourself die but you wish it wasnt #you wish there was a key or that someone would come and free you painlessly but there isnt a third option #sometimes its immense pain and then death or just death. and you can only pick between those two #sometimes all the fucking tables are turned against you and you can do nothing to fight back! ultimately you just have to take it #and nobody is coming to save you either. someone picked YOU to be the one to suffer and die and now you just have to endure it