Languages are so cool and interesting but also really hard to learn, especially consistently.
One of my biggest goals for my life is that I want to learn a language other than English, and so far it looks like the language of choice is going to be German (I'm currently learning it in school, and I'm in the middle of my third year of learning it! Es ist eine gute Classe!) but I'm also really interested in the rules of other languages. Plus I have multiple family members who are learning or have tried to learn other languages and that's really cool!
The list of languages my family members are learning/did learn (excluding German, which three of them tried to learn at one point or another) is Japanese, Thai, Finnish, Danish, and Russian.
Anyways I really, really like language and it's so fascinating to me!!! Feel free to rb this post or send me asks or something talking about different languages, if you'd like!
#personal #german is very similar to english (both are germanic languages) but they're still different #japanese has a different writing system and grammer is very different (subject object verb in jp as opposed to subject verb object in en) #thai has TONES which look terrifying #dunno much about the others1 note
I don't know how to say this without seeming inflamatory toward the anons who have been asking questions, but how much do you have to want pedophilic porn on a site in order to not understand what is written in the guidelines?
Is the character under 18? Are they being presented in a sexual situation including kink? If yes to both, don't post it. And by the way, there are ways to discuss CSA and the like for survivors looking for community and support, or even imply characters under 18 are in a relationship for the general population, without graphic sex descriptions or drawing smut. Art of characters under 18 is fine, even shipping is fine. But if you're asking about the guidelines it's pretty obvious you aren't asking about two 17 year olds holding hands or even kissing since the guidelines are specifically about child porn. There is the convention of "fading to black" in writing for many reasons.
If anything I've written here is wrong, Thell, feel free to coreect me and I'm happy to abide by that, but people really are trying to find loopholes around even the most basic of "don't post child porn" rules.
Nope, you've more or less gotten it right.
There was another ask underneath this one saying "I think they meant non-inappropriate stuff" - if that's the case I'll hold my hands up and apologise, but for the most part when I hear "shipping" I automatically associate it with the gross sex kind.
If it's not inappropriate, it's fine. If it is, then you need jesus.
Watched the first ep of Owari no Seraph (aka Seraph of the End) today and it's pretty good from the first ep! It has vampires and sad children so that's fun, but I also got really sad about the main character's situation of watching people die and then getting kidnapped by vampires and then seeing more people die :(((
I think I'm too empathetic for fictional characters but I enjoy it all anyways despite that
It's feel sad about Akutagawa hours my dudes
He just wants approval! But he was manipulated for so long into believing that the only way to get that approval was through violence, and that if he did anything wrong that Dazai would actually attempt to kill him without remorse. He was just a teen praised for being strong but told that he was too weak!
I really like the blog-switching mechanic here. At first I was kind of uneasy because I'm so used to sideblogs on tumblr, but having two separate dashboards for two separate blog is a muuuuch better system so that you don't have clutter, you know?
Kindness is the base of Yosano’s reason for existence, given to her by Ranpo and the agency, but it’s not something that comes easily for her in the doctor’s role. She is fierce, and she is powerful, and she will save people, but the kind of soft kindness that saved her is not natural to her.
She suspects that Dazai is much the same, in that way.
Yosano and Dazai (finally) talk about Mori and the mafia.
A/N: I’m 16 years old and I don’t know anything about bars or drinking, so please forgive me for anything I got wrong with that! Also, warning for Yosano’s past and everything that has to do with that.
(Word count: 3462)
In the low light of the bar, Dazai seems almost too young.
Yosano leans back on the faux leather-padded chair, swirling her beverage in one hand and tapping the nails of the other on the shiny table. The walls are a wine red, and there’s a neon sign in the far corner, blinking red and blue in the corner of her vision as she faces her coworker. Dazai’s hair covers his face in soft shadows, and he looks at her with his head resting lazily on his palm.
His cheerful disposition, which Yosano knows is largely a cover, often falls into a lesser version of itself on these nights; there’s still a smile gracing his lips, but his expression occasionally shifts into bittersweet. His conversational tone is pleasant, though, and Yosano still laughs at his jokes as he makes them, perhaps out of habitual courtesy.
It’s a habit they engage in rarely - the drinking together, that is. Ranpo doesn’t drink, since he doesn’t like the taste, and Kunikida would join them on occasion, but more often he seems to wish only reprieve from Dazai’s eccentric actions, so it’s taken upon the two of them to seek each other out.
Yosano, for her part, is usually the person to ask Dazai.
It’s been a long day, she’d commented, today, and Dazai had grinned at her. Yosano smiled back. Dazai, after hearing her request for him to accompany her, made a comment about ruining her health. The irony of being a doctor, she had replied.
A drink for the sorrows of being a doctor, then? Dazai’s words come back to her.
Being a doctor. Yosano has been a doctor since she was a child. Her ability is one thing that will never be taken from her, because despite the atrocities that she’s seen and committed by her mere existence, she still values human life too much to leave it behind.
Kindness is the base of her reason for existence, given to her by Ranpo and the agency, but it’s not something that comes easily for her in the doctor’s role. She is fierce, and she is powerful, and she will save people, but the kind of soft kindness that saved her is not natural to her.
She suspects that Dazai is much the same, in that way.
Yosano isn’t sure how much Dazai knows about her past, but she’s fairly certain that she knows very little about what happened in his past, as secretive as he is. Since he joined the agency at the age of twenty, it’s become a bit of a game for people to guess what sort of life Dazai had lead before he joined the agency, though it’s a game that Kunikida pays more attention to than Yosano does.
Yosano stopped asking questions of Dazai after she saw the scars under the bandages he wears. Though Dazai joined the agency at an age older than Yosano did, there aren’t many reasons for a child to have gotten such wounds.
Dazai had, uncharacteristically, not been smiling at the time, as Yosano rewrapped the arm that had been shot by a criminal he’d been chasing, his face barely twitching despite the pain. His eyes lingered on the way she paused, the blood coating her fingers. There was resignment in the way he looked at her, knowing that she’d ask.
She hadn’t asked.
But that incident made her look closer at Dazai, in a passive way if nothing else. He knows enough about the Port Mafia that it makes sense for that to be the connection that she would make. She’s a detective too, after all.
And as the dots began to connect, she realized, like turning on a light in a dark room, that there was a new sympathy in their every interaction. Dazai, though he didn’t often show it outright, was nervous in Yosano’s presence; he was just a bit more cautious when speaking, or he would mess with the bandages on his hands. He still smiled with her, commented on everything she did, still involved her in his plans, no matter how insane they were, but Yosano could tell the work of Mori when she saw it.
She presses her lips together, thinking of the man. Mori’s ruined so many things for people. Doctors being one isn’t too far fetched, considering that Mori has a penchant for violence. Or, at least, he had when he was in the military. Yosano’s heart feels heavy.
Even if the nervousness disappeared in the weeks after Yosano discovered Dazai’s scars, she still feels the empathetic flame light up in her chest. Friendship between them will always be tentative because of that, she thinks, because she’s unable to ask and she’s unable to forget. There’s no brushing off the similarities in their lives.
Her eyes stray again to Dazai, in a lapse of silence between them.
“You met Mori-sensei, didn’t you? When you were in the mafia,” Yosano speaks, almost without thinking, unable to stop herself.
Dazai stiffens momentarily before relaxing again. There’s a pause in the conversation.
“Once you got up the ranks, everyone had met Mori-san at least once,” Dazai states, blandly, like he’s forcing emotion out of his voice. His eyes travel up from the table to meet hers dead on, and his mouth is quirked up in a smile with more bite to it than usual. “Why do you ask, as a woman who was formerly in the hands of the mafia?”
Yosano doesn’t laugh, but the breath she releases almost feels like one, hissing out in some relentless amusement of the similarities between them. They’re both tortured by the wounds that only a man like Mori Ogai could inflict upon them. And maybe Yosano doesn’t understand Dazai’s past, and she almost certainly never will in the completeness she wants, but she at least knows for sure, now, that Dazai understands. If nothing else, she can have the fact that Dazai won’t learn her full, true past, until she tells him the whole story. They coexist in their lack of knowledge, and yet they still share one thing, in this moment; somehow, it doesn’t feel like enough.
“Is it so bad of me to have addressed the fact that Mori-sensei exists?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, and watches as Dazai laughs.
“Maybe if you have plans to kill him. Then I’d love to be of service.”
Yosano leans forward, taking a sip from her glass and laying it down with a clink as it hits the table. A small, devious smile stretches across her face, and she finds that it’s genuine. “As much as I’d love to gut the bastard, the agency runs itself with as few battles to the death with the Port Mafia as possible.”
“Ah, well,” Dazai leans back dramatically, as if it’s such a shame, and Yosano’s face breaks into a grin as she watches him lament towards the sky. “At least he knows how to run his business, if nothing else.”
Yosano remembers the efficiency of Mori in the war, the orders he would give and the bullets he would shoot into her patients, and Yosano’s nose scrunches up against her will. “I suppose so.”
She likes to think that the only thing she learned from him was how to make her patients not want to live, and how to avoid that outcome if at all possible. Or, maybe, the craving for life she holds comes from him as well, a hopes that she won’t be like that. In any case, her methods of bringing people close to death are much more creative, perhaps even as a way to cope with things, with the fact that in order to help those she cares about she has to hurt them as well.
Dazai is lucky that he can’t be healed by her, she thinks.
“Do you resent him?” Dazai asks, as if sensing how her mood has changed. Yosano doesn’t pause at the sudden question, curling her fingers into her hair in feigned casual interest.
“I think you know the answer to that.” She doesn’t want to answer. The words feel bitter in her mouth. “Tell me, how long did you spend around him?”
“Long enough to know that you should loathe him,” Dazai smiles around the rim of his glass as he swallows more of his own beverage. His eyes are dark, and Yosano can see how they flicker towards the hand that she’s resting on the table, pulled into a fist without her realizing, and the one in her hair, tugging on the dark strands.
She loosens them as she takes a breath in, then breathes it out. As always, the two of them dance around each other, never saying what they truly mean, but understanding all the same. Still, Yosano wants to know Dazai through more than the barest knowledge. Dragging information out of him, however, is like pulling teeth. Yosano pauses, tastes her words in her mouth before she voices them.
“I think I know why you hate him.”
Dazai leans back and sighs. “Manipulative man, isn’t he? Mmm, but I wonder what, exactly, he did to you.”
There’s a pause. Yosano can’t remember every atrocious action that Mori had taken against her and everyone around them, but she can remember most of it, flashing through her memories like a morbid vision of a movie, playing in her mind. She remembers him forcing her into making an “immortal army,” and she remembers him opening the door to the institution that she had found herself in after the war ended.
She had frozen solid at the sight of him. She had felt numb and distantly angry, but more than anything else she felt the crushing sorrow filling her limbs. She hadn’t put up any resistance when he took her, when Elise looked at her with doll-like eyes and smiled. She was too tired, too resigned to move away from Mori’s hands, the ones that, only a few years before, had clutched her arms or her hair, forcing her to stay and heal the soldiers again. Again. Again.
She looks away from Dazai, trying to stop her lips from pulling into a bitter frown. She’s not sure if she succeeds.
“That’s not fair, don’t you think?” she says. Her voice sounds more confident than her heart says she is. She’s felt almost free from her past since she joined the agency, but she still feels the shakiness of being eleven years old and scared when she remembers. “I think that if we’re going to share information, we should do it the right way.” Dazai opens his mouth to say something, smile still on his face, but she intercepts him easily, “If I say anything, you won’t tell me a thing. You’re always dodging questions.”
“Fair enough.” He doesn’t say anything for another moment, looking up at the ceiling with his hands resting casually behind his head. “How about this,” he says, looking back at her with an amused quirk of his brow, “I’ll tell you why I left the mafia, and you tell me why you left Mori-san’s care.”
Yosano rests her cheek on her fist, her other hand wrapped loosely around her glass, which is still chilled despite the melting ice. “That sounds good. You have my word that I’ll tell you the truth,” she bares her teeth in a grin, “but that’s only applicable if you don’t tell me blatant lies.”
Dazai looks more cheery at that, a mock-offended look covering his face. “And to think that Yosano-sensei doesn’t trust me!” He beams again, like he knew this was coming. “But of course! I’d never lie to you.”
“Ah, but it’s simple, really,” Dazai says, and his expression turns bittersweet. “Mori-san killed my friend. He teamed up with the government, manipulating a stray group of gifteds to fight my only friend to the death - for his own benefit, of course.”
Yosano feels sympathy burn in her heart. “What was your friend like?” She doesn’t ask for the friend’s name, aware that Dazai likely wouldn’t give her that information.
“He was a good man, too good for the mafia. We would go drinking, with another person,” Dazai’s eyebrows draw down while his smile quirks upwards, smirking resentfully, as if irony has caught up to him. “Turns out we were drinking buddies with a dirty coward who worked with the very people who brought down my friend.”
Yosano stays quiet for a second, mulling over Dazai’s words. It’s tragic, a good reason to leave Mori and the mafia life behind. Yosano’s finger taps against her glass. Really, any reason would be a good reason for one to leave the mafia. She smiles softly at Dazai’s uncharacteristic honesty, brief as it may be.
“I see. Is it painful to be here, drinking with me?” Yosano asks, tracing the cool condensation on her glass with her fingertip.
“Is it painful for you to keep being a doctor after being near Mori-san?” Dazai retorts easily.
Yosano lets out a sharp laugh at that, smirk widening over her face. “Touche.”
“Well?” Dazai looks at her after a small pause with his eyebrows raised, inviting her to speak. “What about you? What pushed you to leave Mori-san?”
Yosano doesn’t keep her past as hidden as Dazai does, but she still feels apprehension as she breathes in. “I was never a part of the mafia. I never had to heal anyone for them, and the only reason for that is because the President got to me before Mori-sensei could force me to heal for him again.”
“Again,” Yosano clarifies. She meets Dazai’s eyes head on. “That’s what he wanted me for in the first place. I thought that I couldn’t find a place where I would be more than a tool, but then Ranpo-san gave me the offer, saying that the agency didn’t need my healing.” She shakes her head fondly. She will forever be thankful for Ranpo’s words, for his kindness and friendship, offered to her so honestly. “It was enough for me, to be given that offer.”
“You were saved, then.” Dazai smiles, voice airy as he continues, “Seems like we had very different reasons for joining the agency, hm?” He leans forward, his elbows pushing him slightly closer to Yosano’s space.
“No,” Yosano replies, even knowing that Dazai hasn’t revealed his true reasons for becoming part of the agency. Her gaze is sharp, but Dazai doesn’t react, as usual. “No, I don’t think so. You try so hard to be different from Mori-sensei, I can tell.”
“And how do you know?” Dazai’s fingers twitch and tighten around his glass as he takes a short sip. He’s still looking at her, his lips pulled upwards into a lazy grin, fingers on one hand going to trace the edge of the bandages on the other. “How do you know I’m not lying to you, like any good mafia member would?”
Yosano knows that in the way that she knows his story, though only in bits and pieces, showing her a glimpse of what Dazai is really like. She knows Mori, and she knows with sickening familiarly how he would be with another child that he could use to his benefit. Dazai, with all his scheming, tries so hard to fit into what Mori is not. He wouldn’t go so far to use the Detective Agency’s abilities in his plans without harming them if it didn’t matter to him.
Dazai isn’t a member of the Port Mafia anymore, and if what he says is true, then that’s important to him; it’s important enough to leave his entire life of crime behind for his only friend.
Dazai is, Yosano thinks, a good person too, because of that care for others. It’s the same thing that sometimes lets her think she can be forgiven despite everything she’s done at the hands of the military. Dazai, in turn, was forgiven for his past by the agency. Blood stains both their hands, but it does not command them.
Yosano sighs, head tilting sympathetically as she smiles back at Dazai. “Maybe you’re lying, but does that matter? You’d still be working in the agency. You’re still helping people while you’re with us, whether you were, as you say, saved or not.”
Dazai laughs, quiet compared to the noise around them, but his expression looks kinder and less on edge. Yosano feels herself relax slightly, not even having realized how tense she had gotten over the course of the conversation.
“I was lying, by the way,” Dazai says, after a minute. “When you asked about why I left the mafia, you said that I couldn’t tell blatant lies, but you clearly believed me. I’m not sure why it’s so easy to believe that I had attachments in the mafia, really! After all, the truth is that I just got bored of the killing.” Dazai grins at Yosano, holding his hands up in a cheerful shrug, as if he hadn’t just seemed relieved by Yosano’s words.
Yosano looks at him, smiling back, and doesn’t believe him. “I see,” she says, anyway. “Still. That’s fairly kind, for a mafia member, don’t you think?”
Dazai hums his affirmation.
The two of them lapse into silence, drinking more but not speaking. Yosano feels satisfied, somehow, with the small but genuine sincerity that Dazai allowed her to see.
Dazai, predictably, is the one who breaks the stillness that surrounds them.
“You feel responsible for talking to me about this,” he says, and it’s stated as an observation, a simple fact of the conversation.
Yosano blinks at him, and then begins to laugh softly. Somehow, he figured it out before she did. Someone like Dazai, who understands people so well, would, of course, be the person to realize the underlying truth of Yosano’s burning curiosity, so tightly coiled around her heart.
No matter the similarities between them, it’s Dazai who is the younger of them, even if only by three years; her experience with Mori has made her careful with the lives of children like them. They’re in their twenties but still so young, the two of them, and Yosano sees a version of herself reflected in Dazai’s movements: somewhere behind her there’s a girl who had pushed beyond her past, but hadn’t quite let go yet. Dazai reminds her intrinsically of that part of herself. Yosano realizes, in that moment, how much she does feel that responsibility for them speaking to each other candidly, if only to break Dazai away from his own head for a moment.
Her laughter dies out, leaving a sharp smile in its wake.
“You’re right,” she says, one eyebrow quirked up. “I am, after all, the responsible adult here. You’re so childish.”
“And yet you’re drinking alcohol with me,” Dazai’s eyes crinkle at the edges as he leans back. “I’m shocked and offended that you consider me like a child!”
“Your reaction itself is proof,” Yosano smirks. She leans her head on her hand and watches a finger on her other as it traces the rim of her glass, then looks back up at him. “Though, if you really want to gain my approval, then, perhaps, have another drink with me?”
“I think I’ve had enough for tonight, Yosano-sensei.” Dazai looks amused, regardless. His own smile beams across his face, so natural that Yosano can’t tell if it’s fake or not. She’d like to believe, that for all her efforts, it’s real in her presence, a reprieve from people who don’t understand.
“One last toast before we leave, then?”
“Very well then. To death!” he says, cheerful as ever, raising his near-empty glass with a grin framed by the light from the neon signs.
Yosano quirks a brow and smiles, raising her own glass, but doesn’t clink it against Dazai’s at first. “To life,” she responds, a note of finality in her tone.
Dazai’s smile widens, like she just told a joke, brown eyes crinkling at the edges. Yosano ignores the breath of air that leaves him that sounds almost like a sigh. “To life,” he echoes, and the sound of their glasses hitting each other resonates around them as they down the rest of their alcohol.
Yosano wonders, briefly, if Dazai is thinking of his friend, the one who died. She sighs into the bar’s air, filled with other people chatting and simply coexisting, just like she and Dazai are. It’s unknown to her, the truth of Dazai’s brain, of his lies and his past, and she thinks on whether their bond could, perhaps, be considered a strange friendship of their own.
She decides that it doesn’t matter, as Dazai smiles back at her, too young in the bar’s soft light.