[altaiiriss]

something i did for pride month!!

can you spot all the lgbt+ accessories?

in case you aren't entirely familiar with lgbt+ flags:

chuuya's hat: gay flag

chuuya's earring: genderfluid flag

dazai's hairpins: agender flag

dazai's earring: aroace flag

these are my personal hcs! feel free to share yours

twitter link

[altaiiriss]

au in which dazai is a university student and chuuya works at a music shop and occasionally performs live at some bars.

they meet during one of chuuya's gigs while dazai is hanging out with his friends; the brunet can't help but stare at chuuya's moves, the leather hugging his skin, his auburn curls bouncing freely on his shoulders as he sings. he is impressed by the energy radiating off his body and the raspy voice reverberating through the walls of the bar, and dazai osamu is rarely impressed. for someone who claims to be a self-taught guitarist, dazai surely finds him intriguing—and dazai osamu is rarely intrigued by another human being.

they start seeing each other and eventually get together; dazai is always supportive when it comes to chuuya's dream of pursuing a career in the music industry, even when chuuya doesn't believe in himself. he's not lying or pitying him—he's the first witness of the love and the passion chuuya puts into music, and each time it feels like falling in love with him all over again. after all, chuuya is the guy who brought the colours back into dazai's life.

at some point, chuuya joins a local band as their new guitarist. it's good at first—he gets to perform at bigger events in yokohama and hear people scream his name during his guitar solos. he will never admit it, but if it weren't for dazai accidentally spotting the band's poster near the university entrance, he'd still be performing alone at the store. nothing against that, but chuuya has always wanted to be part of a band and to finally be able to share music with a bunch of nerds like him feels like a dream come true.

but once the initial excitement wears off and he's able to see things more clearly, chuuya begins to notice a few discrepancies between himself and his band mates: he's been pouring his soul into this project, always showing up at practice and writing songs alone and contacting bar owners for live performances like the hardworking guy he is, whereas his mates treat the band as a hobby they turn to when they're bored. can he blame them, though? they're just university students who occasionally play together to decompress. if anything he's the one at fault—for being too passionate, too focused, too excited, too much.

no one's surprised when chuuya ends up dealing with the worst burnout of his life. well, dazai isn't; chuuya just acts like nothing's wrong and everything's right—until he's standing inside his favourite bar and the stage morphs into a prison surrounded by hungry sharks. no matter how much he tells himself to get his shit together and be grateful for this opportunity, his body won't move, a puppet in the hands of the worst of puppeteers—fear. he will never forget the worry in dazai's observant eyes, the way his toothed smile slowly fades into a frown, the 'why are you letting this happen?' written all over his face.

they don't talk about it on their way to dazai's apartment. they don't talk about it when chuuya drops his guitar on the floor with slightly more carelessness than he should. they don't talk about it when dazai asks chuuya to talk about it between wet kisses and hot touches that feel too dry and cold to be sincere.

eventually, chuuya leaves the band. eventually, he starts picking up more shifts at the music store until dazai's voice can be heard only through the voice notes on his phone. they still don't talk about it; not when they occasionally hang out separately in chuuya's bedroom, not when their bodies collide and sweet nothings that once meant everything are whispered into each other's skin, not when they spot each other at the music store's party and dazai is chatting with some guy chuuya has never seen before.

it hits chuuya all at once—the silence, the shame, the anger, the helplessness, the quiet realisation that everything is changing and he's just going with it like a mere spectator of a life that doesn't belong to him anymore.

eventually, dazai speaks up. he hopes it will be enough to shake chuuya, to get a reaction out of him—anything but this shell of what he used to be. eventually, he asks chuuya if he still loves him and the silence that follows tells him everything he needs to know—that the love between them withered a long time ago. has it ever blossomed at all? that's what dazai asks himself as he gets rid of the polaroid on his nightstand, holding onto the paper a little too firmly like that could prevent his boyfriend—his ex boyfriend—from slipping away. he wonders if the smile he's currently staring at was sincere or if it has been fake all along.

eventually, chuuya is lucky enough to visit dazai's apartment while he's at the university library. he steps inside quietly, like he doesn't want to be heard—not that ghosts make any sounds. he picks up his toothbrush from the bathroom, alongside his body wash and his shampoo—he's never felt brave enough to try dazai's 3-in-1 products. he pushes the door to dazai's room open and the choker around his neck suddenly turns into a rope; various memories pop up in his head as he takes more steps forward—the video games they played together, the chips they ate on the bed and the crumbs that followed, the kisses they exchanged while their hands roamed freely across their bodies, all the bandages that have been carefully unwrapped because dazai always trusted chuuya, no matter what.

he grabs some spare clothes and a couple pajamas from the wardrobe—his presence inside the brunet's apartment stops at that, like chuuya never allowed himself to put down roots in dazai's life. like he longed to be lost from the start.

he glances casually, instinctually at the nightstand where their polaroid is—was—where did it go?—and for the first time since they mutually agreed to part ways, his throat locks up and a choked sob escapes his lips and a single tear cuts his freckled cheek in half and he's crushed by all the would've been, could've been, should've been.

is there a way to tell your soulmate you didn't mean to lose them? that you thought you had found your path in life but the moment you lost it you also lost yourself? that you were so terrified of them finding out you're not the same person they fell in love with anymore that all you could do was run and run and run until you lost them too? that you don't want to force your presence into their life, that you understand if they want to leave, that they can let you go if they need?

can we go back to the day we met so i can make sure we don't?

eventually, chuuya leaves the apartment just like he entered it—quietly, silently, like a specter. like he was always meant to leave and he was never meant to stay.

[nolongerlen]

not a fic, not a wip, but a secret third thing

unfiltered, uncensored, unedited 3am thoughts

tw: sh (kind of, it's just skk being skk)

Chuuya takes a last drag of his cigarette as his eyes follow the wisps of smoke trailing lazily toward the ceiling. Inhale Exhale Silence stretches in the dark room, filled with promises unsaid, questions unasked and answers ungiven. It's like he's waiting for something – like they both are – but what that something is, neither could say. Only when the light from his still burning cigarette has dimmed to a dull glow does the redhead move, reaching for a hand already stretched toward him in a move polished to perfection over countless nights just like this. And in a move no less deliberate, he presses the glowing tip to the inside of a pale wrist, completing yet another constellation of scars. No matter how many times they've done it, Dazai can't entirely suppress a wince as the hot ash makes contact with his skin, all his instincts screaming at him to pull away from the sting. But even if he wanted to, Chuuya's other hand squeezing his fingers like a vice would prevent all movement. And he doesn't want to. The initial pain is searing, a web of fire radiating from his arm through his entire body, burning everything in its way. It only takes a moment for the shock to wear off, though. For the pain to dull into a rhythmic throbbing and the heat into a pleasant warmth. Dazai turns his head to meet his partner's eyes, a simple glance the only communication they've ever needed.

thank @altaiiriss for telling me to post this🥰

[antikr1sta]

you'll never get back the time you spent on useless ruminations — a revolving door of thoughts and regrets only furthering one's distaste towards the future.

[antikr1sta]

In this life so devoid of pleasure, what would make a day feel so terribly nice?

[antikr1sta]

biting the bullet (literally)

[altaiiriss]

wip wednesday!

from an entry for a private event – set in the gay bar au verse 🍹

cw: accidental misgendering, gender dysphoria

Chuuya sets his things on the counter, mentally thanking himself for deciding against buying alcohol. He's sure the cashier would have asked for his ID—they always do because he still looks like a teenager at the ripe age of 23. It's too early for him to be accused of stealing a friend's ID without punching someone in the face.

Perhaps he should begin the torturous process of changing his documents. Perhaps the thought alone is mentally draining enough that he wishes he could sleep for the next ten years.

He tries to ignore the scanner's irritating beeping, mind already thinking about getting home, taking off his jacket and spending the entire day doing absolutely nothing. He's allowed to laze around on his day off if his job basically consists of drinking and partying all night, right?

"Happy Women's Day, miss," the cashier says warmly as Chuuya stops in front of her. She reaches under the counter, then extends a delicate branch of mimosa flowers toward him, a bright smile adorning her face. "Would you like to add 500 yen to your total and a make a donation to…"

Chuuya blinks once, twice. He stares at the flowers, bright yellow staining his vision.

Miss.

His gaze fixes somewhere past the cashier's hand, unfocused, until the lady's voice turns into static noise. He nods once, not fully aware of what he's agreeing to, and the lady smiles enthusiastically at him, a scripted smile she has already offered to all the women before him.

The word doesn't hurt at first; the ache makes its way through his chest quietly, subtly, like his mind is not letting the word in, blocking it out before it can properly settle.

Happy Women's Day, miss.

He's supposed to accept the flowers, pay for his groceries and leave. Throw a smile in there. Possibly two. Accept, pay, leave, smile. Accept, smile, leave, pay. No—accept, pay, smile—

"Girl, she's talking to you." an old lady mutters beside him, making sure her annoyance is heard loud and clear.

"Uh—Yeah," Chuuya mumbles quickly, too quickly. He reaches into his wallet mechanically, pulling out his card and tapping it against the reader. He stares at his hand—it looks weird, unfamiliar, like it doesn't belong to him. Like it's permanently stained with blood. But whose blood is that? Is it his or is it hers?

[altaiiriss]

wip wednesday!

from the gay bar au 🍹 – chapter 3

Dazai nods eventually, shifting slightly as he searches for his brown lighter inside his pockets, long fingers brushing past coins and candies before finding it. He holds it out without really looking up, expecting the guy to snatch the small object and give it back a few seconds later; instead, he steps closer and bends slightly, cigarette waiting between his lips.

"Do you mind?" he asks, though he doesn't leave Dazai much of a choice as he leans in.

The brunet hesitates for a fraction of a second, then flicks the lighter. The small flame wavers between them, painting the other guy's face in a faint amber hue—Dazai takes in his sharp features, the confident smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, his unwavering gaze.

He swallows as the tip of the cigarette finally glows orange. The guy inhales then straightens immediately after, exhaling a thin cloud of smoke away from Dazai. "Thanks."

"No problem." Dazai nods quickly. He stares at the crêpe in his hand, suddenly not hungry anymore—not that he was hungry to begin with. His stomach ties up in knots as the smell of milk cream and smoke intrude his nostrils.

"Cool bag," the guy adds, gesturing lightly toward Dazai's shoulder. "Where did you get it?"

Dazai glances at it like he's suddenly remembered it exists. "It's a gift from a friend." he explains, staring at the peculiar cat design printed on the fabric of his tote bag.

He remembers unwrapping it on a Christmas morning from a few years ago as Yosano stared at him excitedly.

"A gift, uh?" the guy smiles, taking another drag of his cigarette. "Looks good on you."

There's something in the way he says it that feels like a boundary that was never established has been crossed. The grip around Dazai's crêpe tightens without his consent.

"Thanks." he mutters, too quickly. He can feel his friends' eyes burning holes through his skin.

[antikr1sta]

first time i’ve successfully drawn a hat (i think)

[antikr1sta]

red shadows

i don't know which one was better (⁠๑⁠•⁠﹏⁠•⁠)

[currune]

[t-rexzz]

yawns

[antikr1sta]

“…He fished out the crumpled carton of cigarettes from the jeans he was wearing the day earlier, pulling one out and sitting down at the small table next to the window. He took a sip of coffee, burning his lower lip, deciding to let the drink cool down a little...”

more ego death brainworms :)

[thaidoodles]

long day at the office

[pazuie]

for the record i hate him dearly he's just lucky this turned out good

[mayhem1-27]

|| Chuuya Nakahara ||

[yanderejudas]

who am i?