One Must Never Underestimate An Opponent Who Does Not Fear Death. An Enemy Who Values Your Death More

My oil painting of an Uncrustable

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Меня зовут Нейсо, можно просто Ней. Я люблю читать французскую литературу, редко рисую, учусь на инженера. Хочу увидеть снег вот уже несколько лет. А вас как зовут? Как давно вы в тамблере?

My brain hates sleeping

Okay, lemme try and answer the question of why Dazai abused Akutagawa.

This is such a debated topic in the fandom sob

Dazai never apologized to Akutagawa, or really did anything to say sorry about how he abused him.

Why?

Well, let's take a look at Dazai's debut.

The answer is staring yall in the face.

Dazai says that he wants a painless suicide, yeah, but there's one part that usually overlooked.

He wants a painless suicide that doesn't bother anyone.

So what if him abusing Akutagawa is on purpose? To make him hate him?

Dazai doesn't want to be missed. That's why he said that he has no regrets when he died in BEAST.

By abusing Akutagawa, he can make Akutagawa hate him, and Atsushi somewhat feel conflicted about him.

That way, once he finally dies, no one will miss him.

Note: Him being the reason that Murase died could be a hing to make Chuuya hate him that failed or smthing... idk...

It's always "oh poor Naruto! He had to agonise for three years over Sasuke, chasing after him and missing him!" and never "oh poor Sasuke! He had to abandon all his dreams of revolution and need for justice for his clan because all he wanted was love & the only person who could give him that wants him to not talk about the injustices he lived through, so he stopped".

There's something so deeply tragic about Sasuke in the Boruto movie, nowhere near Konoha, holding onto Naruto's old jacket and arguing for the soul of a Shinobi staying the same like in some hope that maybe Naruto is still the boy who saw him ar his worst, half-blind, after having the entire world against him and said "I understand ".

I feel like the main reason Francis called Richard when anxious and sabotaged is because after he sees that hot chaotic though incredibly mundane man the only intrusive thought left in his mind is how much he wants to fuck him on the backseat

i was doing research on donna’s life because i’m writing a thesis on the secret history and i came across this beautiful article that delves into her private life a bit more, revealing that there are a lot of personal stories she included in the book, such as her love for proust, which, in fact, isn’t the only thing she shares in common with richard as her voice because indistinguishable from his, since she spent 9 years writing a story from his point of view. people that know her described her as a great storyteller and an eloquent person who was rather quiet in real life, but also an insomniac smoking in her room at 4am and that awfully reminded me of richard as well. they way her looks were described resemble camilla - boyish haircut and boys’ suits, which is the similarity they have regarding appearance, but another thing that binds them together is the fact that donna herself was in a college clique similar to the greek class, except that she was surrounded by a couple of other literature students, making her the only girl in the group! they even had an eccentric professor picky about his students in a way that julian was. her accent, is in a way, southern yet british sounding, which is how she described francis’s accent. what’s beautiful about all of this is that it seems as if she didn’t do it on purpose but rather that her life became intertwined with the character’s life, blurring the lines between the two to the point that not even donna could distinguish it. as a writer, i know how easy it is for that to happen and how beautiful it is to look back on your manuscript and notice how you left pieces of yourself in it.

Henry is not this perfectly composed psychopath that some people like to pretend he is. He loved Bunny, and he hated him, and those two things can and do coexist. Killing Bunny broke something in Henry, or maybe it unearthed something that had always been broken. But he still loved him. That was his best friend and his worst enemy and sometimes those two things aren’t so different. In this essay, I will…

"My favorite trope is enemies to lovers. is it? or do you think that someone is only capable of loving you after getting over their initial disgust of all your flaws?"

I never felt more attacked in my life.

Francis visits Henry’s grave every year. Alone.

No one else does — no one else wants to. Charles avoids the topic entirely. Camilla sends Francis clipped replies when he brings it up. Richard pretends he never gets the messages. But Francis marks the day like a liturgy. Like a holy feast. Like penance.

He books the same suite in a faceless hotel. Wears the same black coat. Packs the same silver lighter — an old one Henry once admired in passing. It’s all performative, of course. But what is Catholicism if not grief wrapped in ritual? He fasts before the visit. Doesn't drink the night before. He makes the trip feel like confession.

The grave is unmarked, just a patch of earth in a neglected corner of a rural cemetery, the kind no one visits on purpose. Francis had to dig to find out where Henry was buried. Had to call someone’s widow and lie. But now he knows, and he treats it like a secret shrine.

He kneels every year. Gets the dirt on his trousers, on his coat, lets the damp seep into his bones because suffering feels closer to prayer when it’s physical. And he talks.

Not to Henry. Not really. To God. To himself. To something between the two.

"You ruined everything, you know," he says once. "And so did I."

He breaks off. Lights a cigarette. Doesn’t smoke it. Leaves it burning at the grave like incense. The first year he did this, he left a bottle of scotch. Last year, he left a page torn out of a Latin prayer book. This year, he doesn’t bring anything. He just sits.

And he waits. For something. A sign. An answer. Forgiveness.

But Henry is silent. Always was. Even now, dead and buried, he’s still the one with the upper hand.

And Francis — Francis goes back to the hotel, vomits in the sink, lights another cigarette with shaking hands. He doesn’t cry. Not anymore. It’s been years. But his hands won’t stop trembling.

That night, he goes to mass. Sits in the very back. Doesn't take communion.

He knows better.