I Lowkey Might Be Incapable Of Original Thought All My Shit Is Based Off Songs

once my exams end i'm gonna brainrot over my skk AUs again and YOU 🫵 will suffer with me

however i did make a playlist for my upcoming AU because i couldn't resist </3

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.

you guys think about it too much i think chuuya is just a bat in a coat

Headcanon: Chuuya being on the ceiling is never planned—it just happens.

One second, he’s standing like a normal person. The next? He’s casually upside down on the ceiling like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Half the time, he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it. Someone pisses him off? Gravity shifts before he even thinks about it. Need to get out of a conversation? Ceiling. Dazai being insufferable? Ceiling. Need a moment to process? Ceiling.

At this point, the Port Mafia barely reacts. New recruits get spooked when they realise Chuuya is watching them from above like some kind of feral gargoyle, but the executives don’t even bat an eye.

Meanwhile, Dazai has an entire catalogue of dumb jokes. “Flew too close to the sun again, Slug?” “How’s the weather up there?” “Should I start leaving food on the ceiling for you?”

One day, Chuuya’s going to lose patience and dropkick him from above.

Might make this a running series of HCs.. someone please draw feral gargoyle Chuuya on the ceiling I will love you forever...

Guy who is touch starved but emotionally repressed goading you into punching him for completely normal reasons

when will they learn that it never works

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

drunk walk home ; soukoku

synopsis : dazai osamu's last night before he leaves for good— his last night with the only one who has ever truly seen him.

author's note : my first time writing soukoku!! i hope this isn't too ooc, god knows i tried. a bit rushed towards the end because i really should study instead (and i'm not <3) read on ao3

In the middle of the night, the only lights on are the ones near the port. Flickering street lights, late offices and the glow of distant bars; artificial stars dotting the bay city. The neon colours bleed into each other once again, burning into Dazai’s vision. Everything seems slowed, as if he was struggling to catch up with a reality that was far faster than his alcohol addled mind could keep up with. The occasional auburn blur was the only thing that reassured him that his current drinking buddy was still following along, despite being near the edge of a stupor.

Stumbling through the roads and the night marketplaces, Dazai attempted to find the shortcut to Chuuya’s home, a route he knew like the back of his hand. Well, usually. Currently, he's taken atleast three wrong turns. Chuuya’s no more helpful, considering he insisted on taking the shorter way back. They took a bit too long to realize that the main road would've been shorter, but what more can anyone expect from two absolutely drunken fools trying their level best to get home. Chuuya blinks, wondering where the hell he had left his bike. He parked it somewhere, well, obviously, but when he got back his beloved bike was nowhere in the parking lot, and after a few minutes of searching it was painfully clear to him that he's going to have to try again when he can actually walk straight. He's gonna regret all those tequila shots later in the morning, but there were just some problems wine can't drown.

That is exactly why the both of them end up in this situation every time, isn't it? The lure of relief was too hard to resist, even though they both would much rather drink with anyone than each other. Leaning his arm on Chuuya’s shoulder, much to the shorter man’s chagrin, Dazai stumbled through the narrow street. The fluorescent signs that lined this road were rendered hazy by the smoke that seemed to perpetually linger in the air, and the path itself was free of any pedestrians. Empty? Good. They hardly needed trouble at this hour, not when they both barely had the coordination to tell left from right. Even with their best attempt at being vigilant, Chuuya could only manage to note how the color of his friend’s eyes seemed to mellow into a honey like hue under the glow of a signboard. An artificial glow that, for a few moments, made him look a little more alive. Even as he pushes the thought out of his head, a strange disappointment gnaws at his heart. Like he should have stared a little longer, to remember it.

All the while, Dazai tried to hold up both their weight, even though it was quickly becoming a futile attempt; arm around Chuuya’s waist, fingers curled into the fabric of the waistcoat to make sure they both didn't just topple over one another. It's not like it hasn't happened before, but he doesn't particularly fancy another night passed out over this slug in a nameless alley. Been there, done that.

“You're surprisingly heavy for such a short guy, you know, slug?”

“What the fuck did you just call me, bastard?!”

Dazai gives his best performance of a weary sigh. “Now you're hard of hearing, too? Slug.” As if to emphasize, he spells out the word in a singsong manner. “s-l-u-g!! That clear enough for you?”

“…I think I’m gonna kill you.” Chuuya spat out, trying to not grind his teeth from the sheer annoyance this waste of bandages caused him. “I hope you get the worst hangover tomorrow. I hope you're sick for days.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, while Dazai held him up straight.

“We're both getting killer hangovers, dumbass.”

“It was your idea to go drinking!!”

“You know damn well your ass can't hold your liquor. Lightweight!”

“I ain't no fucking lightweight, I kept up just fine!”

“You gave up after the second goddamn round, slug. Now get off me, I think my arm’s going to break from your heavy ass.”

Chuuya let up a little, the faint red glow of gravity manipulation surrounding him. Making himself lighter helped stabilize him in this condition. Even after he stopped leaning, Dazai’s hand didn't leave his waist, bandaged fingers curled into the fabric as they crossed the smog filled streets. “You know what, yeah, we've been walking in circles for an hour. Let's sit down for a bit.” Dazai nods at the idea, though not without a comical exaggeration. “Tired already?”—he drawls—”I thought you'd have a bit more left in you than that!” The way Chuuya’s jaw tightens and how his brows furrow? God, that's cute.

The fuck?

A few seconds after a thought so uncalled for, Dazai’s expression twists into grimace from the sheer distaste. There's no way he just thought that. Meanwhile, Chuuya had already found himself a lovely little cargo crate to sit upon, not even humouring Dazai’s taunt, sitting down on it with that annoyed expression still on his face. Dazai follows suit, and watches as the petit mafioso flicks open his cigarette case, taking out a singular stick. Just as Chuuya’s thumb moved to close the flap, a bandaged finger slips another stick out of it.

“Hey! Get your own, damn bastard.”

Dazai twirled the cigarette with practiced dexterity. “Mmm, nope.” He pops the 'p' as he says it. Maybe a good smoke would get that thought out of his head. Whatever that was. His other hand reaches into the inner pocket of his coat, fishing out a lighter. The blue flame lights the tip of the cigarette. The familiar, acrid scent fills his senses, the dim ember makes him feel oddly warm. From the corner of his chocolate eyes, he noticed Chuuya struggling with his own lighter. That old thing was clearly was out of fuel. He extends the black lighter to his cigarette, watching how it dangles idly from his mouth. “Guess you needed me anyway, huh?”

Chuuya waited for the end of the smoke stick to burn, eyes singularly focused on the light. “…Shut it.”

Dazai shrugs off the rude remark, taking a languid drag of the cigarette. A bit stronger than the ones he usually carried with him, but they hit the spot. The puff of smoke exhaled into the air curls upwards, and then fades into the glow of the green and blue signboard lights. Pretty. Fleeting. Only such a shame their youth would suffer the same fate, even if neither will realize it yet. Perhaps in Dazai’s mind, those days were already gone, for this is the last night he'll allow himself to stick to his old ways. To stick with him.

The auburn haired man seems none the wiser about his eventual departure. A good thing, for a lie is so much easier to say than the truth. It's a burden of youth to fall in pursuit of a distant, unclear dream, the promise of light; only to ignore the glow of the bridges they were burning behind them. It's foolish, Dazai knows, but it would be the only way he could bring himself to leave this teenage wastleland of theirs. To save what was remaining of this worthless life.

But what is salvation worth when compared to Nakahara Chuuya?

The small cigarette break ends far too quickly, fingers itching to light up one more, but the night wasn’t getting any younger. Neither were they getting less drunk, and if they didn’t make it home in time for the streetlights and signboards to die out for the night, it's another night falling asleep in an alley. Once Chuuya is done, he impatiently stands up once again; an extremely dumb idea. His head swirls, disoriented by the sudden movement. Instinctively his hands reach for Dazai’s shoulders, until they both stood up, looking like absolute idiots. Dazai was going to taunt him again for being a lightweight, until something caught his attention.

Tap.

The water droplet hit his head, and a quiet 'ow…’ left his pallid lips. Right. They were in the middle of rainy days. And of course the skies had to pick just the right time to cry; when they both were utterly drunk out of their minds and who knows how far from home. Two follows one, three follows two, countless does three. The downpour had begun. Chuuya let out of a groan of utter frustration, shrugging off his coat the best he could with his balance, attempting to drape it over the both of them. Their makeshift umbrella didn't do much, but it was enough for them to get home without being miserably wet. “Ugh, hold this, mummy boy.” Chuuya did not fancy being on his tiptoes for the whole journey back, and Dazai took the edges of the coat from him, holding it up over the both of them.

“Think we can make it if we run?”

“Yeah, think you can keep up?”

“Any day, slug.”

Without hesitation, they were off with their mad dash in the rain. Stumbling once or twice over the curbs, they barely managed to keep the same pace so that they could still be under the coat’s canopy. Chuuya could feel the raindrops hitting his back, and Dazai’s bandages were damp already. They didn't know when they got back to Chuuya’s place; perhaps they should have tried this earlier instead of walking around like bumbling fools all over the place. Dazai set the drenched coat down once they were in the building; gravel streaked steps to the elevator. The two were out of breath, panting, realizing a bit too late that maybe it was a little stupid of them to run off with that kind of reckless abandon when they were drunk and tired.

Once they caught their breath, the ring of the elevator bell indicated that they'd reached their floor. Now they just had to hope they had the right number. 322 — yeah, that's mine.

Chuuya fumbled with the keys in his pocket, attempting to figure out which ones worked with this lock. Vision glazed over, the ridges looked far too blurry; hands clumsily undoing the lock. One of the keys worked; fifth try was the charm. The shoes were kicked off, flying to god knows what part of the living room; the two drunken idiots stumbled in. Dazai didn't hesitate without collapsing right there on the couch, although his friend seemed to atleast have a bit more sense to get himself a glass of water. Not like it mattered that much anyway when thirty minutes afterwards they were both puking their guts out, crawling out of the bathroom like zombies from a b-rated horror film. All those shots were definitely a bad idea, and they were feeling it. If reading minds were possible, one would find that they could only think the same thing.

I’m never drinking with shitty Dazai again!

I swear, this is the last time I get drunk with that hatrack!

And it was true for it was indeed the last time they did drink together.

By quite a bit of effort, they managed to reach the couch once again. Legs over chests and arms over heads, they fit in the most uncomfortable way, but they did manage to not fall over. “Get off me, you're heavy!” Dazai whined, and in truth, he would've shoved him off if he could tell where his hands ended and where Chuuya’s began. “Shut up, I want to sleep!” Perhaps he was right for once, maybe sleep would do them well. With an annoyed grumble, his bandaged fingers settled to curl themselves into the auburn locks that tickled his neck, legs tangled on the velvet sofa. Gloved hands reach to turn the light off.

It was no easy to ignore his thoughts in the dark, not when the silence festered thoughts of his eventual departure; the uncertainty that will grip his life for the days ahead. Perhaps if it weren't for that man’s final words, the promise he drew out of Dazai, he wouldn’t be so willing to upend this life. He wouldn't have even considered saving himself.

So, when we ask once again, what is salvation worth when compared to Nakahara Chuuya?

It is worth a promise. One that must be kept.

Dazai’s mind drifts away once this resolution is made. The symphony that plays in the space between the waking and the asleep is the soft breathing of the man beside him. Focusing singularly on the nearly inaudible sound, looking at the back of his eyes, he allows himself to feel the moment for a final time before he gives away to sleep. Trace away the weave of the fabric that makes the back of his shirt, feel the soft strands that sometimes pricks skin, take note of the sleepy mumbles that leave Chuuya through his dreams. And before the subtle sensation fades, his mouth opens to form the words he feels he must say or they will rend apart his mind forever.

“...I think I’m gonna miss this.”

the day after i killed myself ; dazai osamu

trigger warnings; suicide mentions, possibly ooc dazai.

author's note; first time writing literally anything on tumblr. haven't even finished bsd, so i'm sorry if this may turn out ooc. let me know how it goes. wrote this while half asleep as fuck in a warm sunny afternoon fuckkkk

Gloveless hands anxiously wrap around one another to grasp at a warmth that isn't there. The wind leaves behind a color of life on the cheek, a little mark of the stinging night. The world had stopped moving for the time being, yet there is an impending feeling of something to come. Something will happen tonight. He just ignores the vague feeling and continues on, walking on the narrow sidewalk. The steps on the pavement and the sound of distant cars is drowned out by the music currently playing in his head, the lyrics blurring the thoughts that flit past.

Now, Dazai should've been home countless hours before. And he was, if only for a moment, but as soon as the clock had started inching into the small hours of the night, there was a growing sense of restlessness he simply couldn't live with. The smoke tinged air of the room wasn't enough, the open window overlooking the street wasn't enough, and even now on the open road there is something uneasy under his pulse begging him to run off; it isn't enough.

But he's thinking too much. The brunet is certain that this kind of mundane insanity is simply because he has nothing to do at the moment. As soon as he would find a distraction, it’ll leave again. He's realized the absence of people brings about more thoughts than his head could keep in, as if to make up for the empty space outside of his body. A small message ping distracts him from his thoughts. Kunikida’s message, an attempt to check up on him. Some were still back at the Agency, settling affairs for the next day. His partner was one of them, though he would probably complain that his perfect sleep routine was thrown all out of order. Again. The message is responded to with a click of the button, a sticker of a cat sent in response. Such boring details don't deserve any merit on a night like this.

And it was so beautiful, too! The flickering lamplight shines over the glistening asphalt, city drenched in the afterglow of an evening rain. Dazai hums the song playing in his ears. Although that doesn't ease the feeling either. He wondered what felt more wrong, the absence of feeling? Or an overwhelming amount of it? The unexplained sensation remained in the back of his mind.

Dazai often avoided reflecting about his life. Atleast, about the things that lay under the surface. When he began to revisit the past, his new life started to look like something of a shiny new veneer painted over rust. The corrosion of the soul is all that’s left, and it is still fragile. But when he thought of the present, a lingering weight would still linger there somewhere between his ribs, a sensation that felt so physical for a feeling that should only exist in his mind. Burden.

But there is a third feeling; realization. Somewhere between sleeping and waking, in the instant where the flame burns the tip of the cigarette and creates the first ember. In the times when he catches himself smiling at a joke, whether someone else's or his own, and then suddenly becomes acutely aware of this short lived happiness and at that transitional moment he's already lived through the memory of that joy.

Then, it's gone as soon as it came by.

The idea of life is something fleeting, really. He's aware of the fact that for a man that covets death so much, there always seems to be a convenient excuse for him to continue on living. This paradox isn't lost on him, and the answer is so painfully simple, he knows. But for a while, he will continue to think otherwise. If only for those fleeting moments when he could feel life through his bandage wrapped fingers, the times where he was hit by the realization of this very obvious yet forgettable fact; yes, I exist. But standing on the edge of a bridge right now, looking down at the drop; he felt far too much. Suddenly so aware, without warning, without explanation. There is something tempting about such great heights, a siren call. The distance makes one feel so painfully full and empty at the exact same time; the chill in his bones no longer a product of the weather but that of an acute awareness of distance. He reaches out with one hand as if testing, if it makes him feel any closer to being human.

For there has always been something separating him from the rest of the world. Somehow this outstretched hand feels comforting. And when the song in his ears rises to a crescendo, he cannot help but want to close that distance, unable to resist the calling of that warm void. His eyes see that the ground is empty, yet at this instant he feels realization again. An acute awareness of life. As his leg dangles over the edge, the emptiness in his hands feels like it has been replaced by something.

And when he falls, it's not with purpose, but with natural ease. Falling as one does into a comforting hug, the air that whips through the strands of chocolate brown hair chilled, chest warm as it anticipates the coming embrace of death. Just this once he does not fight, even subconsciously, the depths that his body falls into. The neon lights melt into blues, and all bleed together to form a single, comforting hue. Black. The color of the void that called his name with such affection.

The next morning at home remains uneventful. When the sun hits, the empty cigarette boxes remain on the coffee table, the ashtray that lay next to it a dry memorial of a life lived far too long. At the Agency, it is quieter than usual. A lingering feeling of emptiness takes too much space in the room, though no one knows what it is yet.

When the lifeless body washes up ashore, his lips remain curved in a certain complete happiness, as the cellphone in his hand buzzes with calls never to be answered again. Perhaps in the pain that he leaves in his wake, he'd find meaning.

soooo uhh aside from the current chuuya + soukoku requests, I've been wondering whether i should write a part 2 of poetry in motion tumblr link here but this time continued in the ADA. the dynamic will remain fairly the same (can be read as platonic or romantic). the ending led up to it so i thought it would be fitting to write a follow up and after exams i might have the energy to post a little more + continue my fyodor series.

also have been thinking of eventually making a taglist (hopefully??? i'm sort of new to posting fics on tumblr)

i like to think chuuya's eyes do the cat thing where if you look at them in the dark they look freakishly red instead of blue

upside down chuuya with terrifying blue flash eyes for the realest bat vibes

i can't art for shit so i made this on my phone with my sausage ass fingers