Oh! Hello!

WAIT, LOOK AT THE PARALLEL:

Chuuya being Dazai's reason to live while Atsushi being Akutugawa's reason to live.

Because Dazai said that Akutugawa would find a reason to live in the Port Mafia and here it is.

LIKE WOAHWOAHWOAH SOMEONE COOKED HERE

ok that is enough ranting for me

Bunny Corcoran, an empath, sensing that they are not looking for new ferns.

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.

Can't decide which version I like more, sooooo here's both!

If Cass is the narrator, but it's Naja's story, it got me thinking:

Richard is the Narrator, but it's... Henry's story...?

Hm.

"Francis talking, gesticulating wildly in his white robe and  Henry with his hands clasped  behind his back, Satan listening patiently to the rantings of  some desert prophet."

brought to you by the notes i keep receiving

Bunny when he took a leisurely walk in the woods and saw all of his friends suspiciously gathered around collecting ferns:

Hey so, how do u get over DPS? It's been like nine months since I first watched it and sometimes I still tear up thinking abt Neil Perry