#but ugh

[babyonwire]

Every time I remember that the painting lie went fully unaddressed and that they used an abused and traumatized gay child's feelings to prop up a failing heterosexual couple and that Stranger Things might be the only piece of media in existence to go to great lengths to painstakingly set up the Cyrano trope but to not end up paying it off and give Cyrano his destined happy ending I start seeing red and have to gnaw on the hem of my shirt to calm down again

[claypigeonpottery]

sold

[bi-the-wei]

Soooooo I bet you can't tell what I finally got around to watching~

[symphany]

weakexcuse4weakexcuse

[iceinherheart-kissonherlips]

for years we'd thought that Gaiman is just a cool good guy who's on tumblr to keep in touch with his fans and help them, while in fact he very well could've used this place to look for new victims

[bibunnysworld]

Watching Merlin for the first time and idk how I haven’t found this sooner. Merlin and Gwen? Kiss. Morgana and Arthur? Kiss. Merlin and Arthur? Kiss. Gwen and Morgana? KISS PLS GOD or just everyone all at once challengers style

[generationalcrow]

SOULMATES?

dazai doesn't have much to give, does he? but he gets by. and you take whatever he can give.

warnings; short and bittersweet. no warnings

༝༚༝༚

what the rest of yokohama isn't aware of, is that when dazai returns home from late missions— or sometimes from doing things he'd rather not talk about, he traces the word devotion into the curve of your spine.

and maybe no one needs to know that. you've caught him a couple times, the tip of his finger still cold from the chill outside against bare skin and causing goosebumps to erupt. you've never called him out on it, and he never brings it up himself. sometimes it feels too nice and tender to ignore the half truth he presses into your skin.

because this is dazai. and while he shouldn't really be devoting anything that left of his character to anyone, let alone someone like you; he will sacrifice a small piece of himself. dazai might not be able to devote himself fully to you, but he will always make sure you have something of him.

it's nights like this; the windows are open due to how hot and muggy the air feels. even with the sun being down, sweat rolls down the curve of your chest, making your skin feel sticky even after the shower you took an hour ago.

you lie on your back and watch the ceiling fan spin while dazai sits on the edge of the bed, setting his alarm for work in the morning (even though he will snooze it until the last possible moment). yokohama seems alive— you can hear the city beating with life outside your apartment window.

"do you think we'd be soulmates in every universe?"

it's a silly question to ask him. something you saw online you thought he'd play along and give you something unserious and full of theatrics.

dazai pauses for a beat. one of his legs is now swung up onto the mattress, the other still settled against the floor. he taps a few more times on his phone before he chuckles a little— the sound light and almost delicate. "no," he responds after a moment, tilting his head to catch your reaction.

you only lift an eyebrow at him. you've learned by now to wait before jumping in with a response— these pauses of his were performative, much like anything else he does in his life. a smirk curls at the corner of his mouth as he watches you silently demand for him to continue— with just a simple look.

"i don't think there would be a universe where you wouldn't despise me," he continues now his other leg swings up to join the other atop the mattress. "so the answer is no, my love."

he leans back against the headboard as if he doesn't need to explain further; and in his mind, he doesn't feel the need to. he's come to the realization by now that it was not him taking a chance with you, but it was you giving him a second shot.

"i don't think i'd hate you, osamu," your lips purse, but you end up scooting closer to him on instinct. close enough for your bare skin to stick to his. he lifts a hand to brush some loose strands that stick to your temple— a touch so gentle you wouldn't be sure if you felt it or not if you didn't watch him do it.

"then you, bella," he hums, his voice now a lower register as the curtains move with air that does not help with the humidity of the room, "are horribly misinformed." he shimmies further down on the mattress to lie side by side with you, shoulder to shoulder, meeting your speculative gaze with a charming little grin of his own.

maybe one day he'll learn to stop deflecting. he just hopes you don't give up on him before he learns how to.

© generationalcrow . please do not copy, translate, repost, or feed my works to ai .