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a reminder . . .
It takes a little bit of skill to feel while holding your ground. To let yourself be hurt without drawing any negative conclusion to your self-worth. To be okay with being in pain, the discomfort of shame and embarrassment, guilt, knowing your fragility in every intimate moment you know, wrapped in the knife you'd occasionally take your heart out with, in the cage that you had been calling your home.
You don't have to run away. Not because you're stronger, or that somehow you can now. But because feeling all of this will never, ever be evidence that you are somehow lesser. We have hurt ourselves enough.
I scream into the void. No one answers.
No one: Me: committing auditory assault and failed seduction while performing a pathetic bruno mars concert in front of my mirror
I know I am selfish and presumptuous. But can you live for me today? Can you smile for me today?
I.
The best things in life:
The feeling of your lips on my forehead every time I’m not expecting it.
Your soft laughter in the empty street at night, our shadows from the streetlamp, intertwined.
How large your hand is, clasped on mine when you’d lead me through a busy crowd.
The bridge of your nose, without the glasses, in my sheets.
II.
The worst things in life:
That lost expression you always have whenever I hurt you.
The passing of days full of remembering things I failed to give you what you gave to me.
All the flowers and trinkets on my table that remind me of a time we were still okay.
And all the draft of stories I’ve only realized I was writing about us all along.
III.
The things in life:
You.
Me.
Us.
Here.
CHUUYA HADN’T SLEPT for more than a week.
Tachihara knew because everyone had been keeping tabs; it was a better distraction to check if the redhead was okay than to question why he wasn't. Every theory seemed truer and more horrifying than the last, an average man would puke. They opted to settle on trivial things like if he had eaten and how much, if he touched his wine or if he laughed this week.
The reports didn't look good.
The right hand of the Demon Boss usually could be found by his side but there was a new organization that sprung up in Yokohama underground with enough threat for Dazai to send his partner, the half of Double Black to the party. And as any rational member of the Port Mafia would do when their superior who could barely stand got sent to mission that was obviously a trap, Tachihara, Hirotsu and Kaji, along with some of their underlings had followed Chuuya to the mission site, only for the redhead to order everyone back to the headquarters.
The mission, written in the special parchment reserved for the bosses of Port Mafia, with the Demon's signature handwriting, was for Chuuya to eliminate the enemy organization.
Alone.
Unaided.
Going so far as to threaten Chuuya with the death of anyone who would help.
There was also a note below that Dazai wouldn't be able to come to nullify Chuuya's Corruption, but he was free to use it if he wanted to. The letter ended up torn, stamped down, shot, blown up with an unholy amount of lemon bombs, and for good measure, buried the ashes in dung like they would do to Dazai after this was over.
a god's punishment - Chapter 1 - gods_and_demons - 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs [Archive of Our Own]
“Child, I can offer many things, all can be yours.”
There was no change in the boy’s features. “What is it?”
“A life of immortality and strength, with abilities no one can surpass. You can use them to protect the ones you love.”
“Can it bring him back?”
No, it cannot. The tiger tried again. “A Book that anything written on it can turn into a reality. It will be yours, and will be attuned to you and your power. With it, you can do anything.”
“Can it bring him back?”
No, it cannot. It was already too late. The tiger tried again. “The power to move through universes and time, access every memory and knowledge that the Book is connected with.”
“Can it bring him back?”
The tiger thought for a moment. “No, but the Book follows this world’s rules to a degree, and while he would die in the same age and disease, he would be there.”
“In every one?”
“Yes.”
“Then I shall meet him, and befriend him, and love him in each one.”
The tiger hesitated. “You will lose him in each one, child.”
The boy shook his head. “No. I will have him in each one.”
He heard mutters of “Dazai's whore” thrown around before he left the bar, one of the lighter phrases of how the underground described his relationship with the boss. Chuuya had refused everything at first but his efforts were futile, as with everything. In a way they were right.
Oh, how Chuuya just wished they were right.
But love was too fragile for both of them. Love entailed each other's happiness. They were each other's misery.
A dance only they understood.
fragile - gods_and_demons - 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs [Archive of Our Own]
Nakahara lingered, and with a heavy sigh full of unspoken words, turned to leave. Gin thought of something stupid, and discarded it.
But went ahead and did it anyway.
The executive’s back touched the wall with a thud, and his chaffed lips tasted of blood and cigarettes, just like Gin had always imagined. She felt Nakahara hold her with a certain distance, and slowly surrender to her, his hands on her hips gripping so hard the bruise would be the only proof it ever happened.
The kiss was soft, languid, an act of submission, not to her, but to any force outside of him, as Dazai had trained him to. She felt him break under her lips and hands, not of desire, but hopelessness, of who he was, of what he can never have, of tying himself to someone that would never appreciate his attention.
Gin, unfortunately, was the same.
They broke apart, breathless. The redhead chuckled, the rumble of his chest under her hands sent a strange flutter straight to her stomach, leaving her dizzy.
“That was unfair.” There was a ghost of a smile in his lips.
“I never said I played fair.”
The smile. The smile, bright, wide, finally came. “No. You never had.”
a god's punishment - Chapter 1 - gods_and_demons - 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs [Archive of Our Own]
"Me" living
I find people, their creations, and any extension thereof, positively and inherently disgusting and ugly. This admission is very important, as I have yet to find any admission of mine so worthy of hate and belittlement as that, and in admitting so, I have asserted myself and made myself known to the world.
I, also, have an inherent drive to find beauty, and create beauty in areas without it. This takes inhuman effort, to look at such disgusting world and try to find a reason why it is beautiful. This drive, I find over the years, is “me”, and it gets a little bit easier, but not simpler, to do so over time.
My life can be summarized then as this: I wake up in tragedy, find the world abhorable, feel that small voice that says, “you’re here for a reason, maybe there is something beautiful beyond this, you just have to stay at it a little while longer.” I stay, and indeed find small moments worth taking into account: smiles of children, public transport drivers laughing, my mother’s own cooking not because it’s tasty but because she tries. A trivial work done right, the smell of coffee, the soft echoes of afternoon rain, and a random moment of spacing out and remembering, “oh, I am here. I am doing this thing called ‘living’”. In this I find humility, and on most days, that’s enough to forget that I ever wished I didn't exist.
On some days, the world is unforgiving, and no amount of pretty words can unmake it so. On those days, the drive is still there, still clinging to the hope that there is something beautiful. I find pleasure in proving the voice wrong, as the reality is unpleasant as it always has been.
But the voice is right, even on those days that the world is disgusting. Because the beauty, I find, lies in my own inherent drive to find it. Why is this fragile little soul who had been hurt beyond measure still trying? I then found myself living, not to prove her wrong or right, but because I had found no other force powerful enough to stop her. So on those days I surrender, and find myself creating beauty despite, or because of, the tragedy, if it means making her right one more time.
The recognition of this dichotomy is important, because being called kind and beautiful and good has never sat well with me. I am a bad person trying to do good things. It is in my trying that I find the world beautiful, that I find people kind, and that I find myself worthy. Forgetting or gaslighting myself that the world isn’t disgusting only puts me in unspeakable unease. This also allows me to forgive myself on the days I can’t find anything of value in this world, as that only means that I’m just seeing the real picture of it without any reason to be upset, because it is what it is.
So as long as I live, I shall find the truth in its ugliness. As long as I live, I shall find the beauty despite it. And in this trying, is “me” living.
Akutagawa set a breakfast tray and poked Atsushi's cheek whenever he dozed off. By half the meal he got tired of chewing, so Akutagawa finished it and washed the dishes. Atsushi sat and waited until Akutagawa joined him in bed, now without his black coat.
Atsushi liked him like that, the blood-soaked armor taken off, revealing white, soft ruffles wrapping a calm, confident interior of a man that trusted Atsushi of his vulnerability and later, something more.
Something Atsushi was trying to be worthy of.
universe 6426007 - gods_and_demons - 文豪ストレイドッグス | Bungou Stray Dogs [Archive of Our Own]