im (legally gonna be once i move out) willis farthren and when i read say the first fun fact about yourself that comes to mind i completely blanked and forgot everything i once knew about myself
@david-watts @whereismypancake @stravinsky-naked-photos @s0wi @attackweeb @fastenyourseatbelts @itscapital @masterofmyownchaos @tilforeverfalls + anybody who feels like it
hi im the tree demon and today i didnt notice that my knee was bleeding
@lady-st4rdustt @wolfstars-genderqueer-child @tvgirl-reference7 @notaroacekazbrekker @axelmustdie @ididntprepareaname @your-fave-transmasc + anyone else sorry if i forgot you (also no pressure ofc)
🥚: probably hard boiled I guess? I typically eat eggs IN things (e.g. fried rice) so I don’t eat just an egg very often
🥩: medium rare
🥛: I only buy whole milk bc that’s what my parents bought growing up (apparently young boys need the extra fat in whole milk? Or something? And I had a lot of brothers?) and other milk tastes icky and thin to me now lol. Also I just don’t really drink milk but I like to have it around for various uses
🍷: I don’t drink :3 there is a mocktail bar in my town I visit occasionally tho
☕: peppermint tea absolutely SLAPS. Also I recently got an herbal chai type mix from a small business at a local craft fair and boy oh BOY
Tags: @beth-unico-offical @theloverislost @that-one-idiot-11 @actually-a-bread-loaf @andimissmylovergirl and open tags if I forgot anyone :D
🥛: full fat milk (low fat milk is the worst thing I have ever tasted, I also don’t like milk)
🍷: baileys cream liqueur, but the chocolate one (I don’t drink, and technically can’t drink, idk if it’s illegal tho, but is actually so yummy and I will take some of my parents if I ge t a chance)
🍷: yk those non alchololic things that come in glass bottles? The grape flavoured ones. Reminds me of white wine (I dont drink and have no intention to)
☕: Tetlys breakfast tea, peppermint or camomile herbal tea
@alw4ysc0ld2 @skepticalvoidhedgehog @imdoingitagainn @m-a-tt-i-e + open tags
🥚: i dont like eggs 😭😭 but if i do eat them itll be sunny side up with a slightly runny yolk paired with toast :) (kinda specific… eh its fine)
🥩: im vegetarian 😭 but ive eaten chicken a few times when my brother has some so i dont mind
🥛: i dont know what the different types of milk are… but i like normal milk. like the kind that comes from a cow. normal milk 😂 but i like it cold
🍷: i cant drink but i like mocktails… i love virgin mojitos
☕️: peppermint or green tea… i also love matcha and coffee! also chai with sugar!
@havefuninflorida7 @obsess-over-ink-on-dead-trees @manyfandomfanatic @decayingrosesonmygravestone @glooberousgoon @noobygg1 @xpierced-heartx + anyone ive missed im so so sorry, anddd open tags!!
a complete beast manga english translations resources list (ignore me trying to jam as many keywords as possible into one sentence)
so, i recently finished reading through the series and it was a pain to try to find all the different sources for translations, so here are the links i used if anyone else needs them.
ofc, all translations belong to the translators themselves, and the bungo stray dogs beast manga is written by Kafka Asagiri and illustrated by Shiwasu Hoshikawa, not me. please buy if you can!
chapter 1-9
chapter 2-18
chapter 11-22
alternative sources:
chapter 1 (google drive)
chapter 11-22 (text only)
let me know if any of these links don’t work, and have fun!
EDIT: as of 1/26/2022, the BEAST manga has been completed!! its been a wild ride, and i’m super sad now hhhhhh
updates to this post will be less frequent now, but if anyone has more resources feel free to lmk!! i will add them :)
𝖲𝖸𝖭𝖮𝖯𝖲𝖨𝖲 — who would've known that simple words can impact someone's life forever? as a bartender, it's been some duty of yours (on a whim) to comfort drunkards tilt their last cups... including this one red-headed mafioso, nakahara chuuya. and it all took one bad day to be involved in his life.
𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖭𝖳 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦 — alcoholism, unhealthy coping mechanisms, blood/light gore-ish descriptions, chuuya-typical swearing, unhinged philosophy, british english (again. forgot to change keyboards.), chuuya is a mess, both dialogue heavy & paragraph heavy
𝖠𝖴𝖳𝖧𝖮𝖱'𝖲 𝖭𝖮𝖳𝖤 — I am clinically insane but HAPPY BIRTHDAY NAKAHARA CHUUYA MY BOY
𝖶𝖮𝖱𝖣 𝖢𝖮𝖴𝖭𝖳 — ~2k words, not proofread
CHECK OUT WHATEVER'S DEEMED NECESSARY, OVERVIEW.
It was always around that godforsaken time of hour, 4:50 pm was when the bar you worked in—Garnet—took into full swing at fresh potential, brimming opportunities. With refined jazz music's soul-touching moods n’ devilious vibes with its firm, talk about fancy décor as Garnet's affluent atmosphere was inviting and soothe the nerves through the tops and bottoms of one's system in the body excruciatingly well. Well enough to serve as many drunken men and women alike to the point they're addicts to this one bar in particular. All of the drinks ordered are to be delievered with guarantee to be its highest qualities. Especially around 4 pm, however, is the time he would arrive. An executive from one of many organizations operating in the criminal underworld of Yokohama's heart,
Less than 29 or so minutes—You'd count—he stumbles inside of the establishment frustrated. Probably cursing at the sky and loose grip on the motorcycle the mafioso is on earlier, indubitably. His hat, European styled 'French-esque,' covers the eyes just right where it's hardly visible to almost anyone in a sharp and piercing glance at him. Red locks fall his face and he takes the front seat where... it's reasonable enough, yeah? The tall solitary stools are reserved for one bystander anyway, it's not so weird. He calls you over for a drink, for a moment, you compelled to go ahead and humble him his usual red wine, the man's favorite. Oh, no, no, no, no. Not tonight. Tonight would be different. Different in ways he acted, different in attitude, shift in scenery and oh so different when it regards your head.
For now, he orders. So focus on the high-end pay job. You'll need it... And so you listens.
All he asks for this time was tequila. Any kind—the guy added, more so like clarified in your face. Well he doesn't mind enough to tell you or must it be just inconsidered laziness? Perhaps his mind was terribly spent to coherently think a moment and specify a kind of flavour, who knows, but not you. It's not to care about. Regardless, staying none but pedantic to your silver cup and pour a bottle into it—sneak between ice cubes falls from those experienced fingers and closed the capsule in one swift move. Blink once, you're done. It's a relatively small trick you do remaining popularity from the bar's neverending list of patrons night for night. Ah, roars of a bygone moment in a burnt party. This man in question enjoys your little entertainer segment through the making of his glass but he straights up ignores you. Slump to the gloved knuckles kissing the mafioso's self cheek and not uttering another word other than making his order a minute ago.
Maybe it's one of those days.
Days that fade into a profound effect of watercolor blurs. Intangible assets or even the littlest details and parts of a day like drinking some strong canned coffee that taste reminiscent towards metal or tea. Wishful thinking the blunt and horrible mixture,
It was one of those days.
Boredom strikes you fast before you can react. Drunkards kept the tendency and reckless to tell random and nonsensical stories that mean nothing but their imagination and a stirred cup of a lone reality to a friendless bartender that may or may not be you. You never actually knew the distinguished man's name, in fact, but understanding he was a frequent. Not-so frequent no more, his appearance became more of a monthly thing. It's not like you mind anyway as tons care less on topic of it. Just hearing loops of the same old record soul-jazz music in the jamed boombox as antique as it can get and chatters distant from here you stand, the guy at front of you with an inclusive fedora usually had a bizarre tale to ramble as well, and it can't helped but be missed. Thought alongside once emptying the capsule and present the cocktail to him. A brief exchange between the eyes, when he pulls up 800¥ to the rich mahogany counter. A nod to those eyes. Brown as forest meadows, blue as pristine coral reefs, or gray as the common metal in day-to-day lives—what hell are even the color of his eyes... Curse the sweet smooth lighting that looks above the weaknesses of throats, hung on top.
And yes, that was it from interacting with him so insouciance from a seeming with the looks gentleman... For a brief minute. As you then so happen to take the cloth piece to dry your cocktail shaker the same moment he picks up his drink at last—in spite of all and needing a damn desperate refreshment after a long daytime spent handling an irrational mission. Unfathomable grumbles heard from the same young man, grasp his hand to the countertop furniture when he downs his cup, only God knows what occured to the mafioso during whatever was his relevant task. "Just a thought, you act a lot more violent today." Not by getting physical with anyone (a stranger) within approximate, that's for sure, and you're thankful since breaking up alcohol-driven fights are as hard enough. "Everything doesn't look great on your end."
"Because it's not." Hearing him answer is one thing but surprising at the most. He straight up walks into the bar with a horrendous attitude, for one. It's common anyway so you couldn't bother being offended. The redhead twiddles his liquor, mindless to his certain state. "...Nothing is working out these days and on God I'll ruin their worthless fucking bones to wrench. Made the mafia quarters a hellscape, kidnapping assests... Our subordinates." A twitch to his fist. And if for what it's rare to see him express another emotion than plain hatred you're used to from the mafioso's old regular visits... A sudden at that, was he already drunk? Sunrise tequila isn't, and absolutely never alcohol heavy in its taste or... In a sense, the sideffects.
You lean against... Something, maybe a wall or the cabinet, it's barely clear what. You're too invested in focus at the unfortunate mafioso's unsettling words that aren't a threat to you no matter how hard you try and think it is, but ticks the sensitive mortal heart. "Right. I'm listening, I won't judge." You admit with honest. The bar—Garnet—does the speciality of master the tongue and sweet-smooth comforting conversations, this place is neutral in every way possible outside of morning law that haunts. Even when you ignored the fine gentleman, it's inevitable to end up chatting. Duties call.
He took a second to eye you first. Those bluish grays... Or was it an accented brown? Unsure what but for one thing the mafioso stared right before speaking again. "The name's Nakahara Chuuya, by the way... Call me what ya like." The red haired man, who finally introduces himself as Chuuya, says. And here is when you figured—damn—he might not tell me his name. Perhaps something along those lines... It's difficult coming up good substitutions. "Right... Let's go with Nakahara-sama." Chuuya flares a grin. Albeit the honouring referral, he felt it always was too much. As it was, don't get him wrong. When you then told the established man your own, he reciprocates the affection—or more appropriately, respect, by uttering your own family name. "All right. Well, nice to be meeting ya a bit better than before." Chuuya jokes. "Yeah, totally agree." You stiff a chuckle.
"Let's cut to the chase."
"Busy with that work of yours? Fine me the details if you need someone to listen." To all of that inconsistent rambles, you fail to add. Humbled the slow burn cliché romances—Chuuya persists to admit the tough force that his current workload brings out of him and it's wasn't usually as that until the members and men at front decrease severely from kidnaps and brutal massacres.
"Alone?"
"What, what? Whaddya mean by alone?"
"You're handling all of those by yourself. Is that it?" You flip another empty glass soak in beer to clean it from the guy next to Chuuya three stools distance.
"Consider how you had no time spared to mourn over those subordinates. It must've been ruthless in those hands."
"...Damn bastards, right? I'll tear 'em limbs apart if they even try another fight to take down more of us."
Chuuya rut tips of his fingers hard flat across the expensive wood material. Clear cut on the cool surface when it slides forward a grip—another free hand takes his glass by instinct and swallows. That's instinctive, rotten to the core in fuel for seething rage plummets the gracious heart of his. Under no terms will it survive beneath this sort of cruel pressure applied to no one but himself—anger at himself for sacrificing and throwing a piece of his own morality out the window. That he's betrayed himself for nothing. What, the painting's clear of wet colors—must it not take an effort at the slightest bit to notice? "Who the hell do they think they are, dammit!? Messin’ around and make our subordinates drop dead on the floors! Just what more do they want from us?!"
Regret that rails the skin open in bruise "They demand mafia blood, they'd get it, alright. Got it too greedy, I'll give ‘em more. One of my own splat on my knuckles for a shitty—"
"Can't you go a little easier on yourself?" Chuuya would have never thought he would be able to hear those words—fragile and genuine to pinpoint when he shivers hearing your voice—to be hung over his sore neck. "...I'm sorry, what? Yeah, yeah. No pressure." You ease the deafen silence that is exchanged delightfully... Tense. It's like the whole atmosphere were upon Chuuya's gloved hands and controlled so hard it rotates the mind. Rolls up and places a burden put inside the stomach. "But it never once was like this on our ends this sense and terrorized neverending blood lust, the organization's tag line. Fuck, like I need to get on high... C'mon, boss... We have to show them." Chuuya was of no return, the no man's crossing.
Only now was the effect taken an increased toll in his pressured veins—a hyper adrenaline. Flushed cheeks in a second, this lightweight... The brand of tequila used ain't that high of a dosage. You sigh and prevent his hand, a grasp, a gentle grasp, delicate balance contrasts the punch of curled up fingers unforgiven to cross. You're never this nice. What's the change, difference, had he manage to enter in your world compare to all the other ignorant, arrogant, and self-centered men who dares to step in a heaven of no responsibility guarantee? Chuuya asks exactly that, what are you doing, why are you doing... This. You can't answer since there wasn't a reason to begin with. That's proper. "I don't know," You shrug. "I just wanted to if it seems right. It's all in the eyes, I can see it, you think this is right." Strangers but close enough to be familiarized with one another and state confident what you drawled, word for word. Chuuya blinks. Scrunched eyes, that sort of stuff in questioning manner. "Y'er actin’ as if y'know what to do with me."
"No, I don't."
"You really don't know?"
"I don't know anything. I don't know lots of things, why is it of such, how's the possibility and so on... I don't know people, I don't know life other than the fact it's lived in by our own perspectives and views of the world."
"If you ask me, I still don't know what is right."
"So you're spewing word vomits?"
"I think they mean something. I'd like to believe it does."
"In the back of my mind..."
"It always will."
"Well if that ain't the most romantic thing I've ever heard in this bar." Chuuya didn't mean it. It's unclear between joking or unseriousness, it's just how it's understandable that a man, mafioso, redhead, gentleman... Some random guy in your life by the names of Nakahara Chuuya said it. You sigh, played eyes. "I feel sorry if you haven't been flirted on yet." Taken pity route, worst idea ever, and yet you say so without fear. And Chuuya responds not-so much accordingly at the sassy comment. Or what he hears, processed, and thought of, at least... "...For granted, I should be the one who remarks that." He scoffs. "Sure, touché to that."
...
He's passed out on the countertops.
Saliva on the corners of Chuuya's lips, nasty—with folded arms in angel's rest.
And there you were staying until 6 am sharp. Are you then obliged to wake the man up already to closing time.
Now, was there anything special to this in particular is the question! Well, of course, no. It's been a thousand or so millions of time had this scene been ever recreated poorly. Without vomit, thankfully, as Chuuya groans initially from the sobbed pain that chokes his throat and mouth whole in burns, pooling his stomach hurt and completely dry as if devoid of some any sort of separate feeling. In the meanwhile, you serve to prepare free coffee to the low tolerant. No charge out of primary or boss's guidelines? No clue other than you're ordered to do so by a much more seasoned bartender... He's out of the picture, don't think about him with the entirety of that heavily trembling heart. Instead think of the man, Chuuya, who's lost his mind to the bet of glass. A sigh... "Hey." You call. A flick of that finger against the core of his forehead if anything hadn't happen yet. "Garnet's closing, sir. Get up... This'll leave a mark on my damn paycheck." If the business didn't love cutting corners.
Although the peace written on the facial features to Chuuya's looks stopped a bit of motif in those veins. Guilt to misery left to no imagine. You caress the free strands rust of ginger soft browns, mixes of ash oranges. That should've land on his face then stick. For how long, who knows, but for how long will you keep this up... "...Hey, wake-up, sleepyhead." You smooth-talk. Much more serene for effort and, well, timid to scare the guy awake. Until there was a slap to the counter, twice, and last third time. Attempt to shaken the mafioso awake finally. Wouldn't work in the end, unfortunately... "What to do then?" Smacking him is a horrible suggestion. You groan, defeated. Using your foot to fetch the stool behind you then sit. Hand to knead his hair a little longer more and more so.
It's calm,
Inviting,
Smells of rotten aftermath and terrible tips of whisky, liquor, spilt barrels and empty cups that linger in the air,
It's still peaceful regardless.
Peaceful... Being like this, the most rarer days. In rebel to the late nights in casual Yokohama.
You sigh, dug into those sleek fingers and enjoy the silent show at okay because not every time is this ending up a week-to-week occurrence. Not risk the paycheck cut...
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...
Make sure that everything went according to his counterpart's plan.
Leave.
The most important part: do not cross paths with Chuuya.
But when he spots ginger hair and a tacky hat from afar, it's only a matter of seconds before he's pinned to the ground, a familiar knife pointed at his throat.
"What kind of disgusting ability is this?" the man above him barks, words filled with venom.
"This is not an ability." Dazai states, calmly.
"Don't you dare imply you're him," the knife brushes against his throat, a sharp vessel for the man's rage. "Boss died. Threw himself off the Port Mafia building."
Dazai swallows. This Chuuya looks different from the one he has known for seven years.
He's not as vibrant. He doesn't shine as much he does.
He looks like he almost gave up on living.
"Chuuya—"
"You have no right to say my name, you fucking imposter."
"Please, listen," he pleads. Damn, he doesn't like this Chuuya. "I am Dazai, just—not the one from this world. Not the one you knew."
"And what the hell is that supposed to mean?" Chuuya questions through gritted teeth.
"I came here from a different timeline," he explains, careful, "I do share some memories with this world's Dazai, though."
"If you truly are Dazai," the name burns like liquid fire on his tongue, "then you must be a pathological liar as well. Why should I believe you?"
Dazai smirks. This Chuuya is a ticking bomb and he's ready to light his fuse.
"The first time he made love to you," he chooses his words carefully—they had sex plenty of times, but making love was new to them—"he told you he lov—"
Chuuya's fist meets Dazai's cheek.
It's painful, but Dazai didn't expect anything less from him.
"How the fuck did you come to this place?"
"I take it that Chuuya believes me." he grins, satisfaction making its way across his face. "It doesn't really matter. Let's say my ability comes in handy sometimes."
His Chuuya would have laughed at him. Probably told him he's a pain in the ass.
This Chuuya stays quiet and just... walks away?
Dazai's brow furrows.
"Where are you going?" the brunet asks, still sitting on the ground.
"I got nothing to say to you. You can go back to your fucking timeline." he snarls, that gloomy look plastered on his face.
"My, my, holding me accountable for what my counterpart did?" Dazai singsongs in his usual cheerful tone.
The next second he's avoiding the knife thrown at his head.
"I'm giving you one last warning," he growls, and Dazai swears he sees a reddish hue where Chuuya's brown eye should be. "Go. The fuck. Away."
"I just want to talk. About everything."
"You said you're not him, hah? Then you're nothing more than a stranger to me."
"I can explain why—"
"I don't care!" the ground shakes, courtesy of Tainted, but doesn't move beneath Dazai's shoes. "If he truly cared he would have told me about his fucking death plan instead of hiding everything from me!"
A long silence follows.
"Five minutes," Dazai pleas, "and I'll explain everything. Then I'll go back to my world."
Ten minutes later they're in the Port Mafia building, more precisely in Chuuya's office, which previously belonged to Dazai.
The detective glances at the empty chair and he can see it—the ghost of his counterpart, legs crossed, and the redhead standing fiercely on his left, covering his blind side.
There's something terrifying about it. A bond that was way different from the one he shares with his Chuuya; an unmatched level of trust and intimacy.
Imagining himself as the Port Mafia boss is making him sick to his stomach.
"I don't have all day," Chuuya complains, arms crossed. "Go on. I'll listen."
Once Dazai is done talking, the tension in the room is palpable.
"Why," Chuuya mutters, gripping the red scarf hanging over his shoulders, "Why didn't he tell me? Why did he send me on that fucking mission in London? I could have saved him."
"That's the point." Dazai sighs. "Saving him wasn't part of the plan. It would have ruined it."
"So ruining my life was the safest option, hah?" he scoffs, bitterness seeping through his words.
"You would have done the same for him."
'Yes', Chuuya wants to scream. 'Yes, and the fact that he prevented me from doing it keeps me awake at night'.
"You know," the redhead begins, breaking the silence, "I sensed something was off. At some point I realised we weren't on the same wavelength anymore. He treated me like shit then almost worshipped me as if his life depended on it."
"I guess you have figured out why."
"Yeah," the realisation burns the back of his throat. "He tried to detach himself. To make it easier for both of us."
'But he couldn't' is left unsaid.
"I don't know what you do to us, Chuuya," he blurts out, his mouth talking on its own, "It's terrifying."
He finds it easier to be a little bit honest with a Chuuya he's never going to see again.
If it makes him a coward, he doesn't care.
The redhead remains quiet and Dazai spots a myriad of emotions in his eyes.
Hurt, anger, sadness, longing.
"Am I happy?" Chuuya suddenly asks, "In your world."
"Are you happy in this one?" Dazai asks back, unsure.
"You want me to say 'yes' so you can feel better about all the mess your counterpart left for me to deal with? 'Cause I won't."
"This is the only world in which Od—"
"I know." he stops him. He doesn't want to hear that name again. "I just wish he talked to me instead of making all decisions on his own as if I didn't matter a damn thing to him. I guess I was useful as his strongest weap–"
"Don't." Dazai interrupts him, his voice firm. "You've never been a weapon. Not to him. Not to us."
The silence that follows eats them both alive. Talking to this Chuuya is filling Dazai with uneasiness for some reason he doesn't understand.
Seeing him so empty, inevitably similar to himself, makes him uncomfortable.
Does his Chuuya feel the same? Is he hiding all that resentment as well?
"Well, this took more than five minutes. I'll leave as I promised." he announces, suddenly unable to stand in that room anymore.
"Wait." Chuuya calls, his voice unsure.
He walks to Dazai until they're facing each other.
"I have one request. Then I'll let you go."
Dazai knows where this is going. That's why he didn't want to meet this Chuuya in the first place.
"Can I..." the redhead hesitates, "Have one last kiss before you go?"
Dazai's heart aches for the first time in ages.
"I'm not him." he states, voice flat.
They stare at each other's eyes, lost in the moment, and Dazai barely registers the way Chuuya is delicately pushing him against the desk until he's sitting on the black surface.
Neither of them dare speak, for any word would ruin the sacred religiousness of the moment.
Chuuya slots himself between Dazai's legs, bringing their bodies impossibly closer, and his hands reach for his scarf.
He removes it, his movements painfully slow, and Dazai swallows as the red cloth is placed around his shoulders.
Dazai's throat wobbles.
Chuuya's vision blurs.
Dazai feels seen as the redhead's eyes wander all over his face, scanning every feature so that he can store it in his mind until the last memory of the two of them fades.
A gloved hand reaches for Dazai's bandaged neck, caressing the fluffy brown curls, and Dazai's arms instinctively circle Chuuya's waist.
Would his Chuuya be mad at him if he found out?
"A Port Mafia traitor from another world, wearing his precious scarf... He would be feral." Dazai mutters, the forced proximity making him dizzy.
"He owes me." is all the current boss of the Port Mafia says, his eyes fixated on the detective's chapped lips.
His right hand comes to rest on the left side of Dazai's face, covering his eye, and their lips finally connect.
The kiss is tender, almost heart-shattering—it's nothing like the ones he shares with his Chuuya, and it's surely way different than the ones this Chuuya used to share with his counterpart—and yet its bitterness is suffocating.
This life wasn't designed for them, Chuuya thinks, but for now he'll just pretend his former boss is right in front of him.
It can't hurt more than it already does anyway.
Dazai pulls away first, fully aware that the longer this lasts, the more it's going to hurt, and Chuuya heaves a shaky breath in return.
He tries to keep the ghost of his former Boss close to him, but all his efforts are pointless against death.
"I'm going now," Dazai announces, placing the red scarf back on Chuuya's shoulders.
'It doesn't suit you at all', he thinks.
The detective twirls a ginger curl around his finger before walking away. "Take care."
"You will come back, will you?" Chuuya asks, both hopeful and hopeless, and Dazai wonders if this is how his Chuuya felt when he left the Mafia after Odasaku died.
Dazai smiles, quietly. "No. I have no right to be here."
"Always leaving me behind, no matter which universe you fuckers come from." Chuuya mocks him, but he speaks in loneliness. "Go, before I kill you."
"You wouldn't, neither of you." he replies, smiling to himself. "He's doing fine, by the way. Has gone through a lot, but never once lost his colours."
'You're both too good for us and that's why you'll never fully stop hurting', he thinks.
They steal one last glance at each other before Dazai finally disappears behind the door.
got tagged by @labratdogheart and @advanced-thanatology ty both!! 💕🐛
Last song: I Love You Too by Ezra Bell
Favorite color: yellow in concept, green for objects, light blue for clothes
Last book I finished: not including books for school, Radio Silence by Alice Oseman
Last movie: genuinely cannot remember :( last letterboxd log was for Bodies Bodies Bodies though
Last TV show: Anne with an E! (rewatching with @seductivelychurnedbutter)
Sweet/savory/spicy: sweet!
Relationship status: 🐋🐠🐟🦐🫶
Last google search: "gogurt"
Looking forward to: going to a state park soon :)
the thing says "tag ten people you'd like to get to know better" but i dont know that many people so @seductivelychurnedbutter @ddiospyross @maxfischer98 @floor-archivist @chocochococoffee @katy-belacqua @ace-has-cupcakes @encryptidarchivist
last book i finished - i actually do not remember what book i finished last but i'm currently reading annihilation by jeff vandermere (doing a novel study for it)
last movie - it was either dead poets society (again) or my best friend is a vampire (again). robert sean leonard either way lol
last tv show - severance
sweet/savoury/spicy - savoury
relationship status - with my lovely boyfriend @ghost-of-a-person <3
last google search - "occlupanid" (look this up the website you will find is one of the best things on the internet)
looking forward to - being in a shakespeare play this summer!! oh and graduating i guess
ten people i want to get to know better (no pressure) @saturnisfallingdown @dnpformsprings @spooky-cryptid-friend @gardenofradiostatic @bitterbloodkiss @izzythedemigod @rainy-weather-supremacy @bloodied-metal-pipe @dirt-and-wyrms
Thank you so much for the tag, @blue-eyed-bug! It was nice learning more! ^^ (Didn't have the time to write it down before, but here it is)
Last Song: Pharmacist - Overdo$e (I listen to anything from phonk, to dark pop, to classical music, to indie rock, etc., depends on what I'm doing)
Favorite color(s): black, and all the colors on the "cold" spectrum - green, blue, purple, indigo
Last book I finished: "The Mask of Ra" by Paul Doherty
Last movie I watched: "The Professor and the Madman" (2019)
Last TV Show: Ooofff, I haven't watched any series in a long time 🤔 (I can find the patience but not always the time) I watched a few episodes of "The Sandman" on Netflix, I also watched "Carnival Row" last year, the whole thing
Sweet/Savory/Spicy: Why, sweet of course!
Relationship status:
Last Google Search: Egyptian Mythology Deities
Looking forward to: Writing more poetry, reading more books, experiencing more things out of the ordinary, challenging myself, my trip to Rome, Italy later this year
People I'm tagging 🤔 I'll also cheat and tag 7 instead of 10, for whoever wants and if they want: @tooyoungtobesadder @bigender-nightmare @itsapurplething @ex0skeletal-undead @depressedzee @nonexistence1199 @7starry7eyedpoet7
Favorite colors: Black, white, grey, pastel blue, vintage brown
Last book I finished: The Dead Souls (Nikolay Vasilyevich Gogol)
The last movie I watched: Spirited Away (rewatching it after a long time and Studio Ghibli films always makes me weak in the knees... the movies are so good🥹)
Last TV show: uh....tbh I didn't remember:')
Sweet/savoury/spicy: sweet (or savoury? idk I'm into both)
Relationship status:
Last Google search: chemical formula of the reaction between metals and nonmetals (nah i could never get along well with science)
Looking forward to: finishing all the drafts I'm keeping from last year to now😭 and also continuing with my art wips:3
People I want to know better:
No pressure tag (i cheated!🤗) ▪︎ @yappingyappjng , @beyond-the-red , @saoirseyun , @literatureloverx , @osamucide , @crumbledtoast , @tumbler-rambler
Finally have the courage to tag people in now i'm scared helpppp🙈
The ship is so real, I mean, what?? rivalry for more than 7 years always ends up in two people being gay and denying their homosexual tendencies together.
(the same was applied for soukoku. IT'S THE FUCKING SAME THING)
I really like revisiting the earlier chapters after reading the newer ones because it helps give new perspective on the earlier interactions of these two.
The way how Hanako speaks to Yashiro, even from the beginning of their partnership, is so cute and sweet in a way I don't know how to explain. Sure, he's definitely still a jerk at times, but the general manner in which he interacts with her makes me smile like an idiot.
I like how he's not even angry or too upset with her, he's simply like, "Stop the cap. Just fess up and I'll help."
dailybridgerton
andulkaphoto
titsay
stormborns
snowghoul
blakekathryn
gracieabrams
sugurugetos
yousharknotpass
prguitarman
ellievsbear
gamechangershow
