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“ YA-HOO --- !! today’s curry day~! talk about lucky! ”

unoxidize.

❝ i … don’t quite understand you. you should know that’s unusual, heh — ❞

AN UNDERWORLD, OF ANOTHER SORT. he would have more enemies than friends, surely, with their temples punctured by bullets, with their slit mouths contorted into vengeful grins, with their quivering hands snaring the hem of his pitch-dark cloak and dragging him down from his throne. it is nothing reassuring.

❝ you were … reincarnated, then? the person who runs your library — i might want to meet them, someday. if what you say is true, they have a power many would covet. ❞

( i would’ve wanted it for myself, once. )

BUT DAZAI MIRRORS THE WRITER’S SMILE REGARDLESS, like the moon would to the sun — never quite as luminous, more learned of repentance than his. it is knowing that oda had warm hearths and tender arms to return to that compels his own solitude to decay further into the chambers of his heart. he contemplated more on this elsewhere, as well — searing a brand into his reflection’s uncanny eyes over the sink, the faucet still weeping, the brim still mired with rusting blood: a warning, to himself, that he is all he has left. but he shouldn’t be a narcissist. he is glad for oda. he truly is. glad, that he has nothing to atone for, save the rose-tinged years he hadn’t lived.

❝ you’re a good person, oda. you came back because you had something to protect. … that’s more than most people could say. including me. ❞

HE SPEAKS ABOVE THE CLAMOROUS TIDES that sound as applause against the cliffs, his voice more ardent than ever before as he rises to his feet. his tenacity is always visceral. it seems as if the gales that batter his shoulders would be savage enough to bear him down, this meaningless man with his fragile ankles, his undone collar, his neck bowed to his friend — but his gaze is unwavering, and in that, they might find rest.

❝ when i come here, i think until my mind can’t take anymore of my thoughts. i think that it’s selfish for me to be here, when he isn’t, when he was the one who had people who loved him and dreams that were waiting for him. … don’t you think the same? … — or do you think i’m selfish for not wanting this life? for thinking that there is nothing i owe to this world? ❞

“ s’right. thanks to them , i can live and breathe again with my pals. the library’s a nice spacious place -- got lots of company there , good food , our own rooms. ” odasaku wants it to go on forever until he can finally die a normal death from old age , but the logical part in the back of his mind tells him that he probably won’t get such a thing.

his life in the past made him realize that the world doesn’t favor him too much.

( or anyone named oda sakunosuke , apprently , given this very grave they stood before. )

a brow raises in curiosity as dazai continues , but the older doesn’t say anything -- not yet. there are a lot of questions that pour from his lips , and all of them have simple answers in the end.

but odasaku supposes that someone as brilliant as dazai osamu lets such simple answers fly right over his head , expecting everything to be as complicated as he is and how his thoughts work. in that manner , he’s something akin to a child. the writer can’t help but scoff , giving a lopsided smile to the other.

“ it’s not what you owe to the world or anyone else , dazai. that ain’t what living is. people live 'cause they owe somethin’ to themselves. you say you sit there and don’t understand why you’re still here , why you haven’t succeeded in dyin’ yet ----- that’s the reason. ”

he moves forward then , only far enough to stand right beside the grave and turn to face the taller.

“ i think oda-san thinks the same thing. he wants that for you too. ”

“ even if it ain’t now , we wanna believe ya’ll find that reason why ya keep on living , ‘cause we wanna believe in you till the very end ! that’s what it means to love someone. ”

#unoxidize #luv u

unoxidize.

❝ hmmm … if that’s what you believe, then i can’t say you’re the best judge of character, odasa — … oda. ❞

A STEP IN REVERSE. he resents himself for it. tenderness has loosened his tongue more than a shot of whiskey ever could. the single syllable of a defect is his disconsolate aching, the finest fracture in the rose-tinted glasses that masked their friendship from a world not wistful enough.

BUT PART OF HIM WANTS TO DRAW CLOSER, close enough to confront his reflection in those scarlet eyes — what does he see in dazai osamu? what does he see that he couldn’t, through his own self-revulsion, through his gaze so mired by mud?

❝ an afterlife, you say … — such a thing was never appealing to me. ❞

WHAT A RUTHLESS THING IT WAS, TO HAVE FAITH. he wonders, arms entangled around his knees, pinstriped sleeves furled to his elbows: if he would witness more than nameless destitution beyond his final breath, if he would finally reach the silhouette he had chased after all this time, staggering, knees buckled, ankles scarred by thorns. surely, he was not someone worth waiting for. but, perhaps, if he could meet him one more time —

❝ you talk like you’ve been there already. ❞

( so he laughs. so he pillages the loneliness that has steeped in his lungs. )

❝ … but you won’t be joining him any time soon, right? not if i can help it. you can’t die before me! it’d be a shame to my name ~ ❞

odasaku snorts and rolls his eyes at dazai’s defiance. a common similarity between the two dazai osamu’s he knows continue to pile up to the point he might as well be spending time with the same person twice. ( in a way, isn’t he though? ) he goes silent for a moment, staring at the grave before them, eyelids lowering a bit with a solemn expression.

he’s not the odasaku this man knows, it’s only expected he won’t be given the same name. even if he understands, there’s a tinge of disappointment nonetheless.

no no, now’s not the time to be thinkin’ about yerself, sakunosuke!

“ it actually ain’t too bad! kinda the same as livin’ but ... you can see the people you had to say goodbye to, and ta those you couldn’t. the only bad thing is waiting for them to come up. ”

he pauses, turning his head to give a lopsided smile. oh right, might as well clear things up first --

“ actually ... i haven’t got the chance ta tell you yet, dazai, but my job ... the library i work at ain’t a normal library, ya see. ” odasaku starts, looking down at a gloved hand he lifts, clenching it tight enough it hurts just to make sure he can still feel the PAIN of being alive. “ a lil’ over 60 years ago, i actually died. before dazai, before ango, from a case of tuberculosis. i was a real bad smoker back then, honestly. ”

sometimes he swears his lungs are still corroding on him, that one day he’ll choke on his own blood again ; that he’ll have to leave dazai and ango to fend for themselves all over. no matter how positive he is, the worry is always there in the back of his mind.

“ -- but like ya say, i’m definitely alive right now. the person who runs that library has a special power ... to bring back writers back to life, so long as they fight for them against an enemy trying to erase the last thing that us writers have. our works are our legacy, but someone ... someone’s tryin’a taint those works an’ people forget about us. ” the man laughs then, a bit wry. “ i don’t have much about myself that’s great aside from my writing, so ... i want to protect my books -- and my pal’s books too. ”

“ no worries though, i ain’t gonna go anywhere! i promise ya, i ain’t gonna die before you. someone’s gotta make sure y’live a decent life and keeps ya outta trouble, dazai. ”

#unoxidize #im gonna die

inmaculati.

red hair is something strange among the japanese – when he’s called out amongst the crowd, oda knows that it’s with him. so he turns towards the source of the voice, rust colored eyes falling on the braided brunet that’s just a few steps beside him.

there’s something about that person that is off – something he cannot put a finger on, but is definitely there. could it be that they’ve seen each other before?

no, that can’t be it. someone dressed that peculiarly would definitely stick around in oda’s memory for a long time. and that accent ( kansai-ben, an accent he could recognize a mile away ) is hard for anyone to forget ; it brings memories of simpler, happier times.

times long gone, so there’s no need to think about them. ⎡ yokohama is a bit confusing, even for natives. what do you need help with? ⎦

wow -- lucky!! he met someone willing to help him out! looks like the city isn’t so bad after all , huh?

“ aw thanks , i appreciate it , onii-san!! ” the writer takes another glance at the paper in his hand , grinning a bit sheepishly before offering it out and pointing with his free hand. “ i’m tryin’ ta look for a book store ‘round here for some supplies where i work ... we ran out , and it’s my turn to bring it all back , yanno? ain’t never been to yokohama before. ”

well , whoever let him go out on his own was foolish to begin with.

“ i’d be mighty thankful if ya could help me out in findin’ the place. i’ll make it worth your while , i promise! ”

#inmaculati

in his last life , he smoked cigarettes. it was a terrible and addictive habit , he knew it was , but he saw himself as one of the people who was above the consequences of using such things. what was the result of that carelessness? an early death , his life mourned by his best friend who blamed others because he couldn’t accept what had happened.

now in this life , his body isn’t strong and has its days. he ignores it , tries to pretend he’s fine , paying more attention to others.

that’s a terrible habit of his too. he pays attention to others a bit too much --

hence as to why he can’t ignore the sound of coughing, a body bent forward and a hand that grips to a brick wall as if his life depends on it. odasaku can’t even begin to , instead disappearing from the main street and into an alley.

‘ hey , bro , are you okay? your coughing sounds kinda -- ’ and when he sees red , he stops.

@mujonainu.

#mujonainu

mininephthys

Bungou to Alchemist + tumblr text posts: Nakahara Chuuya edition.

#tbt.#UUFHUHHHIGVKKJKGVKG SHIT

yakousei

bungou to alchemist icons of some of my fav boys~!

#tbt.#SHOOTS MYSELF IN THE FOOT #LOOK AT H

jinseiron

gdi tumblr don’t kill my picture again

#THE BOYFRIENDS YEYEYEEHHAHAHYEHEYHAHA #tbt.

hangdok

#I STARTED CRYING LITERALLY #OHGHDJKGVNKJDG #LOOK AT THE BURAIHA BOYS #THEYRE SO HAPPY!!!!! LOOK AT THEM!!!! BOUNCY LITTLE BIRDS!!!!!#TBT.

yep, he can’t read this map for heads or tails ... so much for letting him go alone on this trip without someone a bit more cautious of their surroundings like miyoshi, huh? crap ... and he still hadn’t gotten the supplies the librarian requested either. a hand lifts to rub at his head as he stares down at the paper, soon finding himself freezing as a taller man walks past him.

----- ... huh. that was a weird feeling.

whatever! he needs the help, so why not.

“ hey, mister with the red hair ! mind helpin’ me out a bit ? i ain’t never been ta yokohama before ! ”

@inmaculati | sc.

#THIS ISN'T AN EDITED ICON YET BUT WHATEVER #inmaculati

venusive-blog

lms for a starter wee

new autoplay! weeee

#it's such an oda/.zai song for me so im *gun cocking noise for 10 hours*

lms for a starter wee

mileycyrusplaylist

Visit Original Link

#hoedown throwdown.#say hello to my audio tag

unoxidize.

HE IS HERE TO REMEMBER, AND TO FORGET. the footprints that tarry behind him on the shore are so minute, impermanent — erased with the single stroke of the tides. they are nothing like the wounds whittled into the rifts of his recollection, the mourning that saturates every shared smile, every toast to the lighter days. his gaze draws even with the horizon, that ashen flatline of an overcast sun, and lingers for what seems to be an eternity; barely breathing, almost intoxicated with that blank slate of sky. in that moment, he is a hologram, and any venture to reach him would be cast aside as intangible skin.

❝ if that’s so, then writing is more kind than anything i could ever do. ❞

( oda had been more kind than he could ever be. )

❝ but then again, i supposed he cared. he cared for the people whose lives he wouldn’t take. he cared for five orphans who had lost their families to the mafia’s schemes … ❞

( he cared for me. )

❝ i thought it was foolish, back then. ❞

HE IS NOT ALONE, but he kneels by the grave regardless, bows his temples to the weathered stone.

❝ what do you mean, talk to him? — he’s … right here. ❞

“ ya sell yerself way too short , dazai. ” well , that’s not exactly surprising. odasaku can cross compare all the similarities between this one and the one waiting for him back at the library. they’re both quite the pretty things , but they don’t actually see it themselves. they hide their innermost thoughts because they don’t want to be vulnerable or a burden to those they care for.

i wish you could see the worth i see in you ; the worth that guy definitely saw in you.

the writer falls silent to look at the younger , study his expression and etch it into his mind as he kneels before the grave. he doubts that dazai is praying -- he doesn’t seem like the type.

----- ahh , right , he hasn’t told the detective yet about his situation.

“ well , he is , but i mean ... his spirit. you know , his life in the world after this. ” though , to dazai , perhaps the idea that there’s another life after this one might not be too pleasant. unfortunately , odasaku isn’t the type to pull punches ; he’s an honest guy , through and through.

“ that’s what i meant , is all. talkin’ ta oda-san on that side. got ta see my dazai and ango again when their time came for them too , after all. ”

#unoxidize

unoxidize.

❝ transparent? … what part of me? ❞

HE HAD NEVER THOUGHT OF HIMSELF AS TRANSPARENT. transparency was the stained and splintered windows through which oda had seen the last of the crimson light. transparency was the river he had drowned himself in, pockets full of stones, that had endowed him to more compassionate arms.

( both of them had saved him once and never again. )

❝ odasaku … i always thought he was strange. ❞

SOME OF HIM IS STILL PERPETUALLY TRAPPED IN THAT ROOM: the second hand of every clock quivering in place, the blood not yet corroded on his palms, the only friend he had in this solemn, savage world still breathing, just barely, against his chest. he rejects his own escape.

❝ he was someone who refused to kill. even in the mafia, where blood is sure to stain your hands if you want to survive. he wouldn’t pull the trigger on another human being … and there were many times where i did it in his stead. ❞

IT WAS TORTUROUS, how he sifts the tenderness from his throat, how every word is grafted into a flatline, how no measure could ever be enough for an anesthetic to his grief.

❝ he wanted to become a writer. he would always say that a man who takes lives … cannot write about lives. ❞

you’re transparent because you forget you’re human , you forget that you have emotions no matter how much you bury them down or grind them under your heel.

--- that’s what odasaku wants to say , but he won’t. he knows better than to try and challenge any DAZAI on the topic of feelings , lest he be given a long argument over something someone refuses to acknowledge.

instead , the writer merely listens , staring at the grave they stand before and the lilies that quiver from the ocean breeze. he drinks in every word like his favorite whiskey , lets it sit on his tongue to ensure he doesn’t miss anything. moments pass when dazai’s response finally falls into dead silence ...

and then , he laughs.

“ guess i one-up’d other me in that department. ” at least one of them became a writer. “ but he ain’t wrong , dazai. i believe that too. to be a writer is to create lives , to bring people together and sometimes even make entirely new worlds, yanno ? "

“ heh ----- when i finish my job for my boss , i’ll have to talk ta this odasaku about his writing ! ”

#there it is BINCH #unoxidize

unoxidize-archive-deactivated20

❝ … why are you here? ❞

A WREATH OF LILIES, A CROWN OF THORNS. barefoot, boots dangling from his hand by the laces, he wades across the ivory sands. there is a single, secluded grave at the cliffside: 織田作之助, the harsh lettering reads, the name of the man who stands beside him, the name of the hollow chiseled into his heart like the scorch mark of a cigarette. his words almost drown themselves in the subsiding ocean tides. they are benthic, bittersweet.

❝ you must have followed me, once. i didn’t think you’d notice. ❞ ⋮ @venusive.

venusive-blog

he's died once before.

odasaku can say with certainty , without his usual pride , that the experience of dying slowly from disease is not something he'd like to relive. death , in general , is something he doesn't wish to make light of ... and perhaps , for that reason , he puts so much effort into the works that fall under such a criteria. life and death are topics that are woven into everything that surrounds the very meaning of ' existing ' ...

sometimes, existing under such circumstances is difficult. sometimes it's ironic -- just as it is right now , for he stands before a grave that is not his own , but bears his very own name right down to the last letter.

" ... i might not look it , but i pay attention to things. you're more transparent than ya think sometimes. " odasaku answers at last , but he dares not turn his head. instead , his head bows with a smile. " didn't know what the other odasaku woulda liked , but since he's kinda me , i figured i'd get some lillies. "

( his favorite , of course.

humility , devotion , restored innocence after death. )

you really are a lot like my dazai.

" -- hey , dazai. " he speaks up again after letting his words settle , turning to look at the brunet who has his gaze focused solemnly on the grave. " this odasaku ... what kind of person was he ? "

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country boy shake it for me