Latest Posts by formiito - Page 2
once again kunikida doppo being the agency's backbone fr
Headcanon that anytime anyone in the Agency gets a job they don’t feel comfortable taking, they’ll say Kunikida said no.
Even Ranpo and Yosano who are his superiors will just shrug like well I’d like to help but, Kunikida looked it over and has declined it.
Kunikida doesn’t know about it for the longest of time until Atsushi slips up and says it with him there.
Fortunately Kunikida, while confused agreed with him because I don’t want you taking such a task.
There were many conversations had later and it concluded with Kunikida saying to make let him know on such occasions.
Especially the teens.
Kunikida was surprised by it but he is rather touched that they trust him to take care of them like that.
And he vows to examine the cases they get through carefully so no one’s sent out on a case they aren’t comfortable with taking.
One time Fukuzawa got a call to meet with a rather unsavoury individual and without missing a beat simply said “I’ve consulted my second and I’m afraid I must decline your offer.”
odasaku is muscular but has a belly because of beer. he is definitely not skinny-muscular. he is long. he is stronger than he looks. ango's back is hunched unless the times he reminds himself to stand upright. his ass is flat, from sitting too much. he looks skinny but it's more about his figure rather than his weight. dazai is tall for his age, he is slightly underweight. he may be skinny-muscular but the muscles appear only if he clenches his arms too tight. which he does often to show odasaku and ango. he is ridiculously elastic. he grows to be taller than both of them. when odasaku gets to be a writer he gains weight. dazai eats better in ada, so he gains some too.
odasaku remembers to shave when ango mentions it. he also mentions dazai's hair. dazai cuts it himself without paying attention. when he wears his ada coat, ango praises him by saying light colors fit him. dazai invites them to the cafe under agency. ango's glasses got thicker because his vision got worse. he sleeps more though. odasaku feels lighter when he looks at dazai. him and ango are planning to move in together. dazai insists on somewhere near the agency.
when they chose different paths, they thought they'll be seeing each other less but it's the opposite. they meet pretty often. they age together.
ao3 is such a surreal experience
just read the tags of a fic and scrolled past it like it didn't give me 30 psychic damage and made me lose my faith in humanity
is it too early to kms
also yeah he'd probably make playlists for his friends and never be able to share them and just get reminded of a friend he couldn't be with everytime he hears his songs
him and dazai probably had a shared playlist from pm days to avoid fighting over the aux too and once he left it's just nvm im gonna take myself to the psych ward
low effort hcs : what music would bsd characters listen to?
everyone puts mother mother and tnbhd in dazai playlists but i can't stop thinking about how this guy would probably love 70s city pop. likes number girl and betcover!! as well. rotates between like five songs he's just obsessed with all the time.
he also feels like the exact type of mf to listen to the smiths and now it's canon in my head. 'there's a light that never goes out' is HIS song im convinced.
akutagawa is the kind of guy who would listen to visual kei. everyday that malice mizer is not on spotify he loses it a little. would also love classic goth. bauhaus, the cure, sisters of mercy, he likes all that shit. probably started with old panic! at the disco, it's that emo -> goth pipeline fr.
in my head chuuya loves rock. likes deftones but would be put off by the screaming. probably fucks with soundgarden, maybe sonic youth, rhcp, nirvana, alice in chains, the velvet underground. it just is the vibe to me. but most of all, i think chuuya would like jazz. chet baker, coltrane, miles davis. likes physical media and would spend a bit too much on records. listens to ultraviolence on occasion, i don't make the rules.
look me in the eye and tell me ranpo wouldn't love shibuya kei. lamp, pitcher56, 800 cherries, satellite lovers, roundtable ft nino. just the sort of music i could picture him listening to. would also love bossa nova. would listen to laufey. once again, i don't make the rules.
fyodor dostoevsky listens to only three kinds of music: symphonic metal, classical music and gregorian chants. this is true and real and you should believe me without question. i think he'd like opeth quite a bit as well. fyodor is also the kind of mf who hates when people refer to baroque or romantic compositions as 'classical'. Yes, he has the eras memorized. disgustingly skilled with most instruments. heard liszt play firsthand.
Party mean girls shit talking everyone in elvish
poetry in motion ; dazai osamu
dazai osamu + gn! reader — a conversation by the sea. a morning of quiet contemplation.
author's note: was feeling mentally ill at 2am while listening to lana del rey unreleased and shat this out. can be read as both platonic and romantic! this is set between odasaku's death and dazai's departure from the mafia. i hope i portrayed pm dazai well enough. listen to some ocean sounds while reading for ambience. read on ao3 here. wc: 2930 words.
The foaming blue waves roll softly on the docks, the wooden boards of the pier damp and rotted over the years, silently standing against the ocean currents. The dock workers shuffle through the shipment yard in the early morning hours, sun risen but obscured by heavy clouds. The cold, salty breeze pricks the cheeks of the brunet, leaving a pink hue wherever they gently brush. He was here to watch the sunrise, took you with him, but the hours have already passed and he couldn't tell when the inky black of the night disappeared and was replaced by the greyish blues he sees now. It's always possible to miss things even when they are in your sight the whole time— everything slips past his fingers too easily.
You are still here beside him, wires tangled between the two of you, sharing earpieces; he's never been a fan of your tastes in music, but he's beginning to get used to it. The same way you've made your way into his life; unpredictable, unwelcome, yet needed. Puffs of fog hang around the two; winter's over, but it's still very much cold. Atleast, that's what he thought when he put his coat over your shoulders. It doesn't fit him, it doesn't fit you. Instead, it hangs off the edges of your shoulders like a heavy weight, meant for someone else to bear. Not him, not you.
The song repeats over and over, but he does not feel like clicking to the next one. The endless loop of songbirds, crashing waves, featherlight melodies; there is something comforting in familiarity. Even if it is merely temporary. The sky is empty and grey, so he naturally looks down below. The spot he chose for the two of you was perfect the night before, when everything shrouded in the cold blanket of the midnight hours, playing games and laughing about silly anecdotes to distract yourselves. Even as the both of you were covered in dried blood and sitting with trembling hands from the action of the evening before; it was absurd, but ignoring reality made everything a little bit easier, if only for the little pockets of time you both had. Anything that kept you both sane, wasn't it what you both wanted?
But now the night is gone and he can look at the drop down below, legs dangling off the edge; there's a vague feeling of disappointment somewhere under his skin. It's another day under the sun where nothing ever happens. The thrill of being on the edge of death will creep again at night, but daylight hours were largely sleepy affairs; everything that was worth happening only did once the sun went down. Atleast he has the solace of being around someone he actually likes the presence of. Your eyes flit over the scene down below. The shuffle of life looks distant from this height and when you strain your ears the garbled, vague voices of dockhands reaches your ears, but it's all so far away. There's always a quiet temptation that pulls on the mind; to leave this little bubble of fragile, short lived peace and join the waking world again, to cross this height and meet life where you can feel its signs. For there's no life in the dull chocolate brown gaze that you can feel affixed to the side of your face. Still, you like his company. He's easy to be around, even if he goes out of his way to be troublesome for certain people, like a specific ginger boy you're both familiar with. There is something deliberately performative about it, however; his dramatics are for his amusement, but there is a layer of irony so subtle in his excesses that sometimes, it feels like a mockery of something. Of what, you cannot tell. Your gaze doesn't meet his, mind consumed by the tides below, edged white with seafoam and painted a muted blue by the sky. It's not because you feel uncomfortable holding his gaze, like certain other people do—in truth you've always found something unique in it, because it's only natural that when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back. Right now, however, you felt like any eye contact could ruin this moment, and once that happens, you both will begin the same loop that has defined this life for the two of you.
You're tired by this point. He can tell how you yawn every few seconds, and he knows he's kept you here for too long, but he's not one to ever feel satisfied when it comes to things like this. "Tired?" He asks flicking open his box of cigarettes and handing you one. That might just make you more sleepy, but you didn't seem to care when you took out cigarette from the box and flipped open your lighter. The blue flame lit the stick in his mouth first, then yours, and was shut with a flick of your thumb. "Kinda. You know, maybe we shouldn't have stayed up playing games all night. I think I'm gonna pass out and I can't even sleep in today, man."
"Your fault for asking for rematches for six straight hours. Your win-lose ratio is hilarious."
"I am not a quitter."
"That's right, you're a loser instead. So much better!"
"Shut it, mummy boy." You scoff, tapping him lightly on his arm with the cigarette in retaliation. It doesn't connect, but he doesn't spare a second before gasping. Though, it wouldn't exactly be the first time either of you have tried putting out cigarettes on each other. As a joke, of course. Punchline unknown.
"That hurt!!"
"I didn't even touch you."
"It's the principle of it!" He complained, resting his chin on the heel of his bandaged wrist.
"You're ridiculous, I swear. Next time, I'm gonna win."
"Wanna bet on that?"
"…No."
"Thought so." He huffed, exhaling smoke.
Petty things like this mattered little to you anyway. Even during the mundane minutes where nothing seemed to happen, you never bothered to cure your boredom anywhere else. Even when it would be so easy to point out that you really had no one better to be with, he never taunted you with it. There had grown a silent understanding between the two of you that he'd rather keep it that way. It's not that you had very few friends from a lack of trying either, but friendships in the mafia were mostly superficial. After one point, you had begun to retreat into yourself, at the very least, emotionally. It was simply the nature of things. Even when you tried to reach out to someone else and connect, it felt wrong. There was something unfit and dishonest about it, like trying to find love in a brothel.
Still, for the better or worse, you both were close friends, whether you both said it out loud or not didn't matter because where he is, there's always you not too far away.
When the silence falls again, the acrid smoke curls around the both of you in silence, dissipating into the morning air as you both watch. Once the wind begins to pick up, Dazai adjusts the lapels of the coat draped on you a little. A mundane gesture, but you appreciated it. Still…button ups and bandages couldn't be enough. "Aren't you cold?" He responds with a noncommittal hum. "Kind of, but it feels good." The ocean draft was cold, but soft. A feathery touch.
However, you'd rather not risk him getting sick, even if he would love the excuse to skip out on work. You shift the coat so that it is draped upon the two of you, the black trenchcoat enveloping the two of you. It fit better this way, you think, the weight of it not as heavy when shared. Dazai, despite his earlier nonchalance, does take the lapel on his end and pull it tighter on his shoulder. His bandaged fingers no longer tremble as much, fiddling with the beaded bracelet on his wrist instead, and the crab charm hanging from it. It's silly, but it hasn't left his wrist in years. Or yours. Underneath bandages, shirt cuffs and heavy black coats, the weight of childhood presses down with a gentle reminder. Don't forget who you were.
After all, people don't simply become anew when they grow up; rather the years build upon them like successive shells. The way nacre builds around pearls. But it always seemed to you like your shell was never hard enough for this place; every day felt uncertain, like being thrown into the deep end of a pool for the first time. Then there were the times where you felt like you could almost forget all of that, the little pockets of normalcy within the chaos. Normalcy with him. It wasn't enough, but it was enough to remind you that sometimes, it was worth it to be alive. You were only afraid that one day, it will no longer be enough. That there would be a day when your soul will be steeped in the same loneliness as his, the same mafia black that painted his life in broad strokes.
Still, you had your solace in the fact that Dazai too, seemed to be changing, even if it was in a way that was subtle for most people. He didn't seem to throw himself into death's welcoming arms as often anymore, or with the same passion. Something had changed, but you couldn't tell what it was. You didn't know how to ask, but you already knew that he wasn't going to answer. There was no explanation for it. You just knew. Looking down at the ledge, legs hanging off it, you wonder if his attempts had any merit. That perhaps you were simply desperate for any reason to hold on when you should've just given up and let go.
The port town is a little more lively in the morning now and the sounds that characterize this life still ring in your ears, though it is distant. Painfully so. When you look down at the drop below, gaze over the wooden dock and the turbulent waves, there is a strange thought in your mind. A sort of distressing temptation, some sort of a call that makes you want to close the distance that separated you from the rest of humanity. It appears out of nowhere, but stays in the back of your mind. A siren call to the ground that you don't dare answer. You pull your legs up and rest them on the concrete, slightly away from the ledge. His eyes follow the movement, but he says nothing of it. There was no explanation for it. He just knew. He does the same, placing his legs on the ledge instead of letting them dangle, an arm around your shoulders. "Dazai, can I ask a question?" Your tone was softer, less aggressive than it was during your banter. "Yeah, what is it?"
You extinguish the lit cigarette on the concrete. "You ever get that weird feeling? A temptation to fall? Not wanting to, but the thought feels…"
"…Compelling, yeah. Why do you ask?"
"I don't really know. I don't think I want to die. Sometimes I'm not sure of that either."
Dazai hums, a noncommittal sound. You've been changing lately too, this he knows, but not yet enough to truly consider such a solution. He knew you, how you seemed to still have some sort of a hope for living; a meaning that seemed to be lost on both of you but very much there. He had thought that the nature of death and unbridled vice that gripped the mafia would be enough to give him a reason to live, but some days, he feels a sort of unfounded jealousy towards you. That though you seemed to not know your reasons, you never realized the futility of your existence. Not in the same way he did. In that sense, your presence here felt out of place, discordant; sometimes he thinks if he shouldn't have dragged you down with him.
Eurydice, after all, is not supposed to follow Orpheus to hell.
But this story is all upside down and inside out, wrong in its very nature; meant to evoke a certain disgust in whoever witnessed it.
Even God would turn away.
"It's just a thought. You don't want to die." Dazai remarks, uncharacteristically sincere for once.
He wonders, how long will you hold onto that dying light in your eyes?
"Yeah. I mean, I don't think I do. It's just… living is so exhausting."
"And it's so easy to die, isn't it?"
You nod quietly, but don't agree with him entirely. It is easy to die, especially in the mafia, but you won't willingly seek it. The permanence of death still terrifies you, and you're not that courageous. You don't want to face the devil you know. You'd rather sit here on the ledge with the one you do.
"Maybe. But sometimes it feels worth it to be alive. And I don't want to miss that."
"Even if it's tiring and meaningless?"
"… For now, yes."
The look in his eyes has changed, softened to one of resignation, and it scares you. Even when you are looking straight at him, you can glean nothing from his eyes. You could vaguely guess what a person usually thought of by their expression. But he was different, he always was different; the times when you could tell what he felt merely off a glance were gone a long time back.
"I guess we can't see eye to eye on it, then."
He wonders if there would ever be a day where you start seeing what he sees; if there would be a day you'd come home with your hopes crushed and he'd be able to say something stupid like, I told you so.
He didn't know if he wanted that day to come.
Swallowing a lump in your throat, you observed his far off expression for a few more seconds, before looking away. The question that leaves your mouth feels jarring, without any proper forethought that can soften how rough it feels on the tongue. But it's not your fault there's only one thing you could think of at the moment.
"…Do you think people who can't understand each other can be friends?"
"Understanding or relating? They're different things."
That threw you in for another loop. The worst part was that you didn't even know. You know your friend's sorrows, you know the emptiness that runs through him more than anyone— yet you could never truly piece where it started and where it'd end, nor could you feel it in yourself. No matter how much you wished you could. "Either."
"I think… people should atleast be able to understand each other when they're friends, no? You can't really care about someone you know nothing about. Relating isn't that important, though."
"… Are we friends, then?"
The moment's silence is heavy between the two of you as Dazai thinks over your words. Were you his friend? Here, in the morning light, under the same coat, wearing matching crab bracelets? Maybe you are his friend, but he wonders if he knows what friends are even supposed to be like. You're not like Odasaku or even Chuuya, though with the latter he has a complicated relationship, yet could still call his friend sometimes. You two were close, but he was not blind to the very fundamental differences between the two of you. The chasm of hope that separated you. A space that'd only grow wider once he leaves, and he knows he has to. Still, for some reason he feels compelled to take your hand and hold it lightly in his. Are we friends, then?
"Yeah, I think we are." He answers, with a small smile on his face.
Ultimately, he didn't think any of it mattered. For the better or worse, after all, the both of you were together. Your faint, content smile at the confirmation makes him feel like it wasn't wrong to say it.
"Really? Well, that's good enough for me."
He had the urge to retort back with another quip, something that would derail the conversation and steer it back towards the usual banter; something familiar and easy between the two of you. However, this time, he doesn't follow through with it, instead stewing in the temporary discomfort that comes with sincerity. For once, he feels like being honest with you, even if it means not punctuating this heavy silence. Letting the sounds of the waves and the faint music in the shared earphones be the only voice in his ears. You seemed content with the same, still sitting by his side and sharing the coat, pinky fingers interlinked loosely.
Perhaps you did not need to understand his sorrow or feel it as your own, and he does not have to understand your exhaustion and hope for the future. Everyday is all anyone can ever have, and if these days were a little more bearable like this, there was no reason to deliberately cut this off. There is a passing thought; that perhaps in the coming days, when he finally decides to leave this teenage wasteland for good, he could take you with him. After all, where he was, you weren't too far away. If fallen angels exist, so do risen demons, and perhaps this time, Eurydice will make it back to the surface; for this story is all wrong, and that's alright.
i brought you my bullets, you brought me your love by mcr while reading beastzai fics goes hard
nobody matches it so well, i swear
the BEST ideas always come through when i'm brain rotting and half asleep
tysm for ur thoughts ily <3
dazai and akutagawa make me sick too (though i discovered today that i had food poisoning and did not, in fact, actually throw up from bsd angst)
dazai was only a couple of years older than akutagawa and simply perpetuated that cycle of violence that the world around them followed, one lost and deeply disturbed kid trying to lead another and idk that just makes it all the more sadder because the intention behind dazai's actions weren't even malicious. who is to say dazai did not wholeheartedly believe, like he did for himself, that akutagawa could find meaning in the port mafia?
dazai, who had assimilated in the darkness, who lived around blood and violence each day, how would he have taught akutagawa something other than all he's ever known in his life?
i don't know i just feel like we need more nuance in this discussion when it comes to dazai's abuse of akutagawa, which isn't to defend him at all but to realize that it was a horrible position for either of them to be in; where the blind lead the blind.
i agree that it is not entirely unintentional on his part! i loved ur analysis, it gave me some new thoughts and yes im ok now lmao thank uu
also i agree that a lot of it definitely went into shaping akutagawa as a proper weapon. it was a crude way, but idt dazai at the time would've felt remorse over the fact. hell, he might've seen it as a necessary for the goal he wanted, i think. incredibly fucked but they both make me so sad i'm crine
i don't think it is entirely altruism, either. he did know what he was doing, but i feel like it is important to keep in mind while analyzing both dazai and akutagawa that the port mafia is just. a horrible place for a kid to be in, even though dazai's actions there were largely voluntary. that type of thing deeply colours someone's world view, and even with being as smart as dazai, i don't think it is something that won't warp someone's worldview a lot. i don't think he believed what he was doing was right or okay in any form, but definitely was a lot more callous to him because it was a means to an end.
dazai and akutagawa make me sick too (though i discovered today that i had food poisoning and did not, in fact, actually throw up from bsd angst)
dazai was only a couple of years older than akutagawa and simply perpetuated that cycle of violence that the world around them followed, one lost and deeply disturbed kid trying to lead another and idk that just makes it all the more sadder because the intention behind dazai's actions weren't even malicious. who is to say dazai did not wholeheartedly believe, like he did for himself, that akutagawa could find meaning in the port mafia?
dazai, who had assimilated in the darkness, who lived around blood and violence each day, how would he have taught akutagawa something other than all he's ever known in his life?
i don't know i just feel like we need more nuance in this discussion when it comes to dazai's abuse of akutagawa, which isn't to defend him at all but to realize that it was a horrible position for either of them to be in; where the blind lead the blind.
poetry in motion ; dazai osamu
dazai osamu + gn! reader — a conversation by the sea. a morning of quiet contemplation.
author's note: was feeling mentally ill at 2am while listening to lana del rey unreleased and shat this out. can be read as both platonic and romantic! this is set between odasaku's death and dazai's departure from the mafia. i hope i portrayed pm dazai well enough. listen to some ocean sounds while reading for ambience. read on ao3 here. wc: 2930 words.
The foaming blue waves roll softly on the docks, the wooden boards of the pier damp and rotted over the years, silently standing against the ocean currents. The dock workers shuffle through the shipment yard in the early morning hours, sun risen but obscured by heavy clouds. The cold, salty breeze pricks the cheeks of the brunet, leaving a pink hue wherever they gently brush. He was here to watch the sunrise, took you with him, but the hours have already passed and he couldn't tell when the inky black of the night disappeared and was replaced by the greyish blues he sees now. It's always possible to miss things even when they are in your sight the whole time— everything slips past his fingers too easily.
You are still here beside him, wires tangled between the two of you, sharing earpieces; he's never been a fan of your tastes in music, but he's beginning to get used to it. The same way you've made your way into his life; unpredictable, unwelcome, yet needed. Puffs of fog hang around the two; winter's over, but it's still very much cold. Atleast, that's what he thought when he put his coat over your shoulders. It doesn't fit him, it doesn't fit you. Instead, it hangs off the edges of your shoulders like a heavy weight, meant for someone else to bear. Not him, not you.
The song repeats over and over, but he does not feel like clicking to the next one. The endless loop of songbirds, crashing waves, featherlight melodies; there is something comforting in familiarity. Even if it is merely temporary. The sky is empty and grey, so he naturally looks down below. The spot he chose for the two of you was perfect the night before, when everything shrouded in the cold blanket of the midnight hours, playing games and laughing about silly anecdotes to distract yourselves. Even as the both of you were covered in dried blood and sitting with trembling hands from the action of the evening before; it was absurd, but ignoring reality made everything a little bit easier, if only for the little pockets of time you both had. Anything that kept you both sane, wasn't it what you both wanted?
But now the night is gone and he can look at the drop down below, legs dangling off the edge; there's a vague feeling of disappointment somewhere under his skin. It's another day under the sun where nothing ever happens. The thrill of being on the edge of death will creep again at night, but daylight hours were largely sleepy affairs; everything that was worth happening only did once the sun went down. Atleast he has the solace of being around someone he actually likes the presence of. Your eyes flit over the scene down below. The shuffle of life looks distant from this height and when you strain your ears the garbled, vague voices of dockhands reaches your ears, but it's all so far away. There's always a quiet temptation that pulls on the mind; to leave this little bubble of fragile, short lived peace and join the waking world again, to cross this height and meet life where you can feel its signs. For there's no life in the dull chocolate brown gaze that you can feel affixed to the side of your face. Still, you like his company. He's easy to be around, even if he goes out of his way to be troublesome for certain people, like a specific ginger boy you're both familiar with. There is something deliberately performative about it, however; his dramatics are for his amusement, but there is a layer of irony so subtle in his excesses that sometimes, it feels like a mockery of something. Of what, you cannot tell. Your gaze doesn't meet his, mind consumed by the tides below, edged white with seafoam and painted a muted blue by the sky. It's not because you feel uncomfortable holding his gaze, like certain other people do—in truth you've always found something unique in it, because it's only natural that when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back. Right now, however, you felt like any eye contact could ruin this moment, and once that happens, you both will begin the same loop that has defined this life for the two of you.
You're tired by this point. He can tell how you yawn every few seconds, and he knows he's kept you here for too long, but he's not one to ever feel satisfied when it comes to things like this. "Tired?" He asks flicking open his box of cigarettes and handing you one. That might just make you more sleepy, but you didn't seem to care when you took out cigarette from the box and flipped open your lighter. The blue flame lit the stick in his mouth first, then yours, and was shut with a flick of your thumb. "Kinda. You know, maybe we shouldn't have stayed up playing games all night. I think I'm gonna pass out and I can't even sleep in today, man."
"Your fault for asking for rematches for six straight hours. Your win-lose ratio is hilarious."
"I am not a quitter."
"That's right, you're a loser instead. So much better!"
"Shut it, mummy boy." You scoff, tapping him lightly on his arm with the cigarette in retaliation. It doesn't connect, but he doesn't spare a second before gasping. Though, it wouldn't exactly be the first time either of you have tried putting out cigarettes on each other. As a joke, of course. Punchline unknown.
"That hurt!!"
"I didn't even touch you."
"It's the principle of it!" He complained, resting his chin on the heel of his bandaged wrist.
"You're ridiculous, I swear. Next time, I'm gonna win."
"Wanna bet on that?"
"…No."
"Thought so." He huffed, exhaling smoke.
Petty things like this mattered little to you anyway. Even during the mundane minutes where nothing seemed to happen, you never bothered to cure your boredom anywhere else. Even when it would be so easy to point out that you really had no one better to be with, he never taunted you with it. There had grown a silent understanding between the two of you that he'd rather keep it that way. It's not that you had very few friends from a lack of trying either, but friendships in the mafia were mostly superficial. After one point, you had begun to retreat into yourself, at the very least, emotionally. It was simply the nature of things. Even when you tried to reach out to someone else and connect, it felt wrong. There was something unfit and dishonest about it, like trying to find love in a brothel.
Still, for the better or worse, you both were close friends, whether you both said it out loud or not didn't matter because where he is, there's always you not too far away.
When the silence falls again, the acrid smoke curls around the both of you in silence, dissipating into the morning air as you both watch. Once the wind begins to pick up, Dazai adjusts the lapels of the coat draped on you a little. A mundane gesture, but you appreciated it. Still…button ups and bandages couldn't be enough. "Aren't you cold?" He responds with a noncommittal hum. "Kind of, but it feels good." The ocean draft was cold, but soft. A feathery touch.
However, you'd rather not risk him getting sick, even if he would love the excuse to skip out on work. You shift the coat so that it is draped upon the two of you, the black trenchcoat enveloping the two of you. It fit better this way, you think, the weight of it not as heavy when shared. Dazai, despite his earlier nonchalance, does take the lapel on his end and pull it tighter on his shoulder. His bandaged fingers no longer tremble as much, fiddling with the beaded bracelet on his wrist instead, and the crab charm hanging from it. It's silly, but it hasn't left his wrist in years. Or yours. Underneath bandages, shirt cuffs and heavy black coats, the weight of childhood presses down with a gentle reminder. Don't forget who you were.
After all, people don't simply become anew when they grow up; rather the years build upon them like successive shells. The way nacre builds around pearls. But it always seemed to you like your shell was never hard enough for this place; every day felt uncertain, like being thrown into the deep end of a pool for the first time. Then there were the times where you felt like you could almost forget all of that, the little pockets of normalcy within the chaos. Normalcy with him. It wasn't enough, but it was enough to remind you that sometimes, it was worth it to be alive. You were only afraid that one day, it will no longer be enough. That there would be a day when your soul will be steeped in the same loneliness as his, the same mafia black that painted his life in broad strokes.
Still, you had your solace in the fact that Dazai too, seemed to be changing, even if it was in a way that was subtle for most people. He didn't seem to throw himself into death's welcoming arms as often anymore, or with the same passion. Something had changed, but you couldn't tell what it was. You didn't know how to ask, but you already knew that he wasn't going to answer. There was no explanation for it. You just knew. Looking down at the ledge, legs hanging off it, you wonder if his attempts had any merit. That perhaps you were simply desperate for any reason to hold on when you should've just given up and let go.
The port town is a little more lively in the morning now and the sounds that characterize this life still ring in your ears, though it is distant. Painfully so. When you look down at the drop below, gaze over the wooden dock and the turbulent waves, there is a strange thought in your mind. A sort of distressing temptation, some sort of a call that makes you want to close the distance that separated you from the rest of humanity. It appears out of nowhere, but stays in the back of your mind. A siren call to the ground that you don't dare answer. You pull your legs up and rest them on the concrete, slightly away from the ledge. His eyes follow the movement, but he says nothing of it. There was no explanation for it. He just knew. He does the same, placing his legs on the ledge instead of letting them dangle, an arm around your shoulders. "Dazai, can I ask a question?" Your tone was softer, less aggressive than it was during your banter. "Yeah, what is it?"
You extinguish the lit cigarette on the concrete. "You ever get that weird feeling? A temptation to fall? Not wanting to, but the thought feels…"
"…Compelling, yeah. Why do you ask?"
"I don't really know. I don't think I want to die. Sometimes I'm not sure of that either."
Dazai hums, a noncommittal sound. You've been changing lately too, this he knows, but not yet enough to truly consider such a solution. He knew you, how you seemed to still have some sort of a hope for living; a meaning that seemed to be lost on both of you but very much there. He had thought that the nature of death and unbridled vice that gripped the mafia would be enough to give him a reason to live, but some days, he feels a sort of unfounded jealousy towards you. That though you seemed to not know your reasons, you never realized the futility of your existence. Not in the same way he did. In that sense, your presence here felt out of place, discordant; sometimes he thinks if he shouldn't have dragged you down with him.
Eurydice, after all, is not supposed to follow Orpheus to hell.
But this story is all upside down and inside out, wrong in its very nature; meant to evoke a certain disgust in whoever witnessed it.
Even God would turn away.
"It's just a thought. You don't want to die." Dazai remarks, uncharacteristically sincere for once.
He wonders, how long will you hold onto that dying light in your eyes?
"Yeah. I mean, I don't think I do. It's just… living is so exhausting."
"And it's so easy to die, isn't it?"
You nod quietly, but don't agree with him entirely. It is easy to die, especially in the mafia, but you won't willingly seek it. The permanence of death still terrifies you, and you're not that courageous. You don't want to face the devil you know. You'd rather sit here on the ledge with the one you do.
"Maybe. But sometimes it feels worth it to be alive. And I don't want to miss that."
"Even if it's tiring and meaningless?"
"… For now, yes."
The look in his eyes has changed, softened to one of resignation, and it scares you. Even when you are looking straight at him, you can glean nothing from his eyes. You could vaguely guess what a person usually thought of by their expression. But he was different, he always was different; the times when you could tell what he felt merely off a glance were gone a long time back.
"I guess we can't see eye to eye on it, then."
He wonders if there would ever be a day where you start seeing what he sees; if there would be a day you'd come home with your hopes crushed and he'd be able to say something stupid like, I told you so.
He didn't know if he wanted that day to come.
Swallowing a lump in your throat, you observed his far off expression for a few more seconds, before looking away. The question that leaves your mouth feels jarring, without any proper forethought that can soften how rough it feels on the tongue. But it's not your fault there's only one thing you could think of at the moment.
"…Do you think people who can't understand each other can be friends?"
"Understanding or relating? They're different things."
That threw you in for another loop. The worst part was that you didn't even know. You know your friend's sorrows, you know the emptiness that runs through him more than anyone— yet you could never truly piece where it started and where it'd end, nor could you feel it in yourself. No matter how much you wished you could. "Either."
"I think… people should atleast be able to understand each other when they're friends, no? You can't really care about someone you know nothing about. Relating isn't that important, though."
"… Are we friends, then?"
The moment's silence is heavy between the two of you as Dazai thinks over your words. Were you his friend? Here, in the morning light, under the same coat, wearing matching crab bracelets? Maybe you are his friend, but he wonders if he knows what friends are even supposed to be like. You're not like Odasaku or even Chuuya, though with the latter he has a complicated relationship, yet could still call his friend sometimes. You two were close, but he was not blind to the very fundamental differences between the two of you. The chasm of hope that separated you. A space that'd only grow wider once he leaves, and he knows he has to. Still, for some reason he feels compelled to take your hand and hold it lightly in his. Are we friends, then?
"Yeah, I think we are." He answers, with a small smile on his face.
Ultimately, he didn't think any of it mattered. For the better or worse, after all, the both of you were together. Your faint, content smile at the confirmation makes him feel like it wasn't wrong to say it.
"Really? Well, that's good enough for me."
He had the urge to retort back with another quip, something that would derail the conversation and steer it back towards the usual banter; something familiar and easy between the two of you. However, this time, he doesn't follow through with it, instead stewing in the temporary discomfort that comes with sincerity. For once, he feels like being honest with you, even if it means not punctuating this heavy silence. Letting the sounds of the waves and the faint music in the shared earphones be the only voice in his ears. You seemed content with the same, still sitting by his side and sharing the coat, pinky fingers interlinked loosely.
Perhaps you did not need to understand his sorrow or feel it as your own, and he does not have to understand your exhaustion and hope for the future. Everyday is all anyone can ever have, and if these days were a little more bearable like this, there was no reason to deliberately cut this off. There is a passing thought; that perhaps in the coming days, when he finally decides to leave this teenage wasteland for good, he could take you with him. After all, where he was, you weren't too far away. If fallen angels exist, so do risen demons, and perhaps this time, Eurydice will make it back to the surface; for this story is all wrong, and that's alright.
"I’m so happy you have that really annoying quirk of not fucking dying"
"….??"
shy mwah
WHY do i have the spine of a middle aged man. hunchback of notre dame lookin ass. sitting? hurts. standing? hurts. lying down? ALSO HURTS BECAUSE MY MATTRESS IS FUCKING BROKEN. god why i'm just a teenage girl why am i suffering like this
when will they learn that it never works
watching a tutorial on how to ride a bike just to write this fic on god the brainrot is real
i think i got around six chuuya requests y now so requests are closed again ! <3
yall PLEASE give me chuuya requests (yes it says requests closed on the blog but i specifically need chuuya asks </3) soukoku, hcs or full on x reader, it doesn't matter i just wanna write more chuuya <3
this is NOT a joke i'm DESPERATE!!
updates: req are closed now for all!
at first i lol'ed... then i serioused..
Karlach being a cat magnet throughout the city because of her warmth is something I often think about..
oh Karlach, you are so loved 🥹
i should be studying but i made this instead
i wouldn't even care if ranpo hit me with a car ngl
that man can do anything he wants i'd just be like whatever you want princess <3
his unstoppable boyfailure irredeemable cunt aura cannot be ruined by any medium
so funny that a bunch of the bsd anime watchers got into bsd for dazai when bones did him so dirty, like what do you mean you find this man attractive? he's nothing compared to his manga counter part
needed to clarify my stance because idk i was worried it cld be misinterpreted as me defending dazai which is not what im going for, but rather view the situation more empathetically and see it for what it truly is: kids struggling to survive and hurting each other for it.
dazai and akutagawa make me sick too (though i discovered today that i had food poisoning and did not, in fact, actually throw up from bsd angst)
dazai was only a couple of years older than akutagawa and simply perpetuated that cycle of violence that the world around them followed, one lost and deeply disturbed kid trying to lead another and idk that just makes it all the more sadder because the intention behind dazai's actions weren't even intentionally malicious. who is to say dazai did not wholeheartedly believe, like he did for himself, that akutagawa could find meaning in the port mafia?
dazai, who is assimilated in the darkness, who lives around blood and violence each day, how would he have taught akutagawa something other than all he's ever known in his life?
i don't know i just feel like we need more nuance in this discussion when it comes to dazai's abuse of akutagawa, which isn't to defend him at all but to realize that it was a horrible position for either of them to be in; where the blind lead the blind.
dazai and akutagawa make me sick too (though i discovered today that i had food poisoning and did not, in fact, actually throw up from bsd angst)
dazai was only a couple of years older than akutagawa and simply perpetuated that cycle of violence that the world around them followed, one lost and deeply disturbed kid trying to lead another and idk that just makes it all the more sadder because the intention behind dazai's actions weren't even malicious. who is to say dazai did not wholeheartedly believe, like he did for himself, that akutagawa could find meaning in the port mafia?
dazai, who had assimilated in the darkness, who lived around blood and violence each day, how would he have taught akutagawa something other than all he's ever known in his life?
i don't know i just feel like we need more nuance in this discussion when it comes to dazai's abuse of akutagawa, which isn't to defend him at all but to realize that it was a horrible position for either of them to be in; where the blind lead the blind.
genuinely had to take one of those anti throw up pills after this 💔💔💔 mental illness
everything about shin soukoku makes me sick
atsushi seeing akutagawa in a position so deeply relatable to him and seeing that glimmer of humanity behind the exterior of a fighter and actively sacrificing himself for that small hope. he who constantly believes in akutagawa's humanity despite the world that burns around them, he who gives him the chance while taking away his own-
atsushi seeing dazai through akutagawa's lens for the first time and the knowledge that akutagawa does not merely choose to be like this but that it's the only option ever left for it is so ... (sounds of crying)
their similar situations giving them an understanding such as that, in typical circumstances, only they could have for themselves, by witnessing akutagawa's past for himself
how does it feel to know someone like you do yourself? how does it feel to watch that suffering, understand it, see through it and yet still have hope for more? what kind of faith does it take to not only see that hope but throw yourself in the jaws of death for it?
nothing about them is casual and i love it but they have ripped my heart from its chest and im gonna cry need them to be alright and happy and together in a better timeline where everything is alright so bad im crying
everything about shin soukoku makes me sick
atsushi seeing akutagawa in a position so deeply relatable to him and seeing that glimmer of humanity behind the exterior of a fighter and actively sacrificing himself for that small hope. he who constantly believes in akutagawa's humanity despite the world that burns around them, he who gives him the chance while taking away his own-
atsushi seeing dazai through akutagawa's lens for the first time and the knowledge that akutagawa does not merely choose to be like this but that it's the only option ever left for it is so ... (sounds of crying)
their similar situations giving them an understanding such as that, in typical circumstances, only they could have for themselves, by witnessing akutagawa's past for himself
how does it feel to know someone like you do yourself? how does it feel to watch that suffering, understand it, see through it and yet still have hope for more? what kind of faith does it take to not only see that hope but throw yourself in the jaws of death for it?
nothing about them is casual and i love it but they have ripped my heart from its chest and im gonna cry need them to be alright and happy and together in a better timeline where everything is alright so bad im crying