Mojo Pin ; Leon S Kennedy

dazai's big sad wet cat boba eyes (chuuya is utterly captivated!!)

chuuya who is weak to dazai's big dark sad doe eyes

i should be studying but i made this instead

i wouldn't even care if ranpo hit me with a car ngl

that man can do anything he wants i'd just be like whatever you want princess <3

poetry in motion ; dazai osamu

dazai osamu + gn! reader — a conversation by the sea. a morning of quiet contemplation.

author's note: was feeling mentally ill at 2am while listening to lana del rey unreleased and shat this out. can be read as both platonic and romantic! this is set between odasaku's death and dazai's departure from the mafia. i hope i portrayed pm dazai well enough. listen to some ocean sounds while reading for ambience. read on ao3 here. wc: 2930 words.

The foaming blue waves roll softly on the docks, the wooden boards of the pier damp and rotted over the years, silently standing against the ocean currents. The dock workers shuffle through the shipment yard in the early morning hours, sun risen but obscured by heavy clouds. The cold, salty breeze pricks the cheeks of the brunet, leaving a pink hue wherever they gently brush. He was here to watch the sunrise, took you with him, but the hours have already passed and he couldn't tell when the inky black of the night disappeared and was replaced by the greyish blues he sees now. It's always possible to miss things even when they are in your sight the whole time— everything slips past his fingers too easily.

You are still here beside him, wires tangled between the two of you, sharing earpieces; he's never been a fan of your tastes in music, but he's beginning to get used to it. The same way you've made your way into his life; unpredictable, unwelcome, yet needed. Puffs of fog hang around the two; winter's over, but it's still very much cold. Atleast, that's what he thought when he put his coat over your shoulders. It doesn't fit him, it doesn't fit you. Instead, it hangs off the edges of your shoulders like a heavy weight, meant for someone else to bear. Not him, not you.

The song repeats over and over, but he does not feel like clicking to the next one. The endless loop of songbirds, crashing waves, featherlight melodies; there is something comforting in familiarity. Even if it is merely temporary. The sky is empty and grey, so he naturally looks down below. The spot he chose for the two of you was perfect the night before, when everything shrouded in the cold blanket of the midnight hours, playing games and laughing about silly anecdotes to distract yourselves. Even as the both of you were covered in dried blood and sitting with trembling hands from the action of the evening before; it was absurd, but ignoring reality made everything a little bit easier, if only for the little pockets of time you both had. Anything that kept you both sane, wasn't it what you both wanted?

But now the night is gone and he can look at the drop down below, legs dangling off the edge; there's a vague feeling of disappointment somewhere under his skin. It's another day under the sun where nothing ever happens. The thrill of being on the edge of death will creep again at night, but daylight hours were largely sleepy affairs; everything that was worth happening only did once the sun went down. Atleast he has the solace of being around someone he actually likes the presence of. Your eyes flit over the scene down below. The shuffle of life looks distant from this height and when you strain your ears the garbled, vague voices of dockhands reaches your ears, but it's all so far away. There's always a quiet temptation that pulls on the mind; to leave this little bubble of fragile, short lived peace and join the waking world again, to cross this height and meet life where you can feel its signs. For there's no life in the dull chocolate brown gaze that you can feel affixed to the side of your face. Still, you like his company. He's easy to be around, even if he goes out of his way to be troublesome for certain people, like a specific ginger boy you're both familiar with. There is something deliberately performative about it, however; his dramatics are for his amusement, but there is a layer of irony so subtle in his excesses that sometimes, it feels like a mockery of something. Of what, you cannot tell. Your gaze doesn't meet his, mind consumed by the tides below, edged white with seafoam and painted a muted blue by the sky. It's not because you feel uncomfortable holding his gaze, like certain other people do—in truth you've always found something unique in it, because it's only natural that when you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes back. Right now, however, you felt like any eye contact could ruin this moment, and once that happens, you both will begin the same loop that has defined this life for the two of you.

You're tired by this point. He can tell how you yawn every few seconds, and he knows he's kept you here for too long, but he's not one to ever feel satisfied when it comes to things like this. "Tired?" He asks flicking open his box of cigarettes and handing you one. That might just make you more sleepy, but you didn't seem to care when you took out cigarette from the box and flipped open your lighter. The blue flame lit the stick in his mouth first, then yours, and was shut with a flick of your thumb. "Kinda. You know, maybe we shouldn't have stayed up playing games all night. I think I'm gonna pass out and I can't even sleep in today, man."

"Your fault for asking for rematches for six straight hours. Your win-lose ratio is hilarious."

"I am not a quitter."

"That's right, you're a loser instead. So much better!"

"Shut it, mummy boy." You scoff, tapping him lightly on his arm with the cigarette in retaliation. It doesn't connect, but he doesn't spare a second before gasping. Though, it wouldn't exactly be the first time either of you have tried putting out cigarettes on each other. As a joke, of course. Punchline unknown.

"That hurt!!"

"I didn't even touch you."

"It's the principle of it!" He complained, resting his chin on the heel of his bandaged wrist.

"You're ridiculous, I swear. Next time, I'm gonna win."

"Wanna bet on that?"

"…No."

"Thought so." He huffed, exhaling smoke.

Petty things like this mattered little to you anyway. Even during the mundane minutes where nothing seemed to happen, you never bothered to cure your boredom anywhere else. Even when it would be so easy to point out that you really had no one better to be with, he never taunted you with it. There had grown a silent understanding between the two of you that he'd rather keep it that way. It's not that you had very few friends from a lack of trying either, but friendships in the mafia were mostly superficial. After one point, you had begun to retreat into yourself, at the very least, emotionally. It was simply the nature of things. Even when you tried to reach out to someone else and connect, it felt wrong. There was something unfit and dishonest about it, like trying to find love in a brothel.

Still, for the better or worse, you both were close friends, whether you both said it out loud or not didn't matter because where he is, there's always you not too far away.

When the silence falls again, the acrid smoke curls around the both of you in silence, dissipating into the morning air as you both watch. Once the wind begins to pick up, Dazai adjusts the lapels of the coat draped on you a little. A mundane gesture, but you appreciated it. Still…button ups and bandages couldn't be enough. "Aren't you cold?" He responds with a noncommittal hum. "Kind of, but it feels good." The ocean draft was cold, but soft. A feathery touch.

However, you'd rather not risk him getting sick, even if he would love the excuse to skip out on work. You shift the coat so that it is draped upon the two of you, the black trenchcoat enveloping the two of you. It fit better this way, you think, the weight of it not as heavy when shared. Dazai, despite his earlier nonchalance, does take the lapel on his end and pull it tighter on his shoulder. His bandaged fingers no longer tremble as much, fiddling with the beaded bracelet on his wrist instead, and the crab charm hanging from it. It's silly, but it hasn't left his wrist in years. Or yours. Underneath bandages, shirt cuffs and heavy black coats, the weight of childhood presses down with a gentle reminder. Don't forget who you were.

After all, people don't simply become anew when they grow up; rather the years build upon them like successive shells. The way nacre builds around pearls. But it always seemed to you like your shell was never hard enough for this place; every day felt uncertain, like being thrown into the deep end of a pool for the first time. Then there were the times where you felt like you could almost forget all of that, the little pockets of normalcy within the chaos. Normalcy with him. It wasn't enough, but it was enough to remind you that sometimes, it was worth it to be alive. You were only afraid that one day, it will no longer be enough. That there would be a day when your soul will be steeped in the same loneliness as his, the same mafia black that painted his life in broad strokes.

Still, you had your solace in the fact that Dazai too, seemed to be changing, even if it was in a way that was subtle for most people. He didn't seem to throw himself into death's welcoming arms as often anymore, or with the same passion. Something had changed, but you couldn't tell what it was. You didn't know how to ask, but you already knew that he wasn't going to answer. There was no explanation for it. You just knew. Looking down at the ledge, legs hanging off it, you wonder if his attempts had any merit. That perhaps you were simply desperate for any reason to hold on when you should've just given up and let go.

The port town is a little more lively in the morning now and the sounds that characterize this life still ring in your ears, though it is distant. Painfully so. When you look down at the drop below, gaze over the wooden dock and the turbulent waves, there is a strange thought in your mind. A sort of distressing temptation, some sort of a call that makes you want to close the distance that separated you from the rest of humanity. It appears out of nowhere, but stays in the back of your mind. A siren call to the ground that you don't dare answer. You pull your legs up and rest them on the concrete, slightly away from the ledge. His eyes follow the movement, but he says nothing of it. There was no explanation for it. He just knew. He does the same, placing his legs on the ledge instead of letting them dangle, an arm around your shoulders. "Dazai, can I ask a question?" Your tone was softer, less aggressive than it was during your banter. "Yeah, what is it?"

You extinguish the lit cigarette on the concrete. "You ever get that weird feeling? A temptation to fall? Not wanting to, but the thought feels…"

"…Compelling, yeah. Why do you ask?"

"I don't really know. I don't think I want to die. Sometimes I'm not sure of that either."

Dazai hums, a noncommittal sound. You've been changing lately too, this he knows, but not yet enough to truly consider such a solution. He knew you, how you seemed to still have some sort of a hope for living; a meaning that seemed to be lost on both of you but very much there. He had thought that the nature of death and unbridled vice that gripped the mafia would be enough to give him a reason to live, but some days, he feels a sort of unfounded jealousy towards you. That though you seemed to not know your reasons, you never realized the futility of your existence. Not in the same way he did. In that sense, your presence here felt out of place, discordant; sometimes he thinks if he shouldn't have dragged you down with him.

Eurydice, after all, is not supposed to follow Orpheus to hell.

But this story is all upside down and inside out, wrong in its very nature; meant to evoke a certain disgust in whoever witnessed it.

Even God would turn away.

"It's just a thought. You don't want to die." Dazai remarks, uncharacteristically sincere for once.

He wonders, how long will you hold onto that dying light in your eyes?

"Yeah. I mean, I don't think I do. It's just… living is so exhausting."

"And it's so easy to die, isn't it?"

You nod quietly, but don't agree with him entirely. It is easy to die, especially in the mafia, but you won't willingly seek it. The permanence of death still terrifies you, and you're not that courageous. You don't want to face the devil you know. You'd rather sit here on the ledge with the one you do.

"Maybe. But sometimes it feels worth it to be alive. And I don't want to miss that."

"Even if it's tiring and meaningless?"

"… For now, yes."

The look in his eyes has changed, softened to one of resignation, and it scares you. Even when you are looking straight at him, you can glean nothing from his eyes. You could vaguely guess what a person usually thought of by their expression. But he was different, he always was different; the times when you could tell what he felt merely off a glance were gone a long time back.

"I guess we can't see eye to eye on it, then."

He wonders if there would ever be a day where you start seeing what he sees; if there would be a day you'd come home with your hopes crushed and he'd be able to say something stupid like, I told you so.

He didn't know if he wanted that day to come.

Swallowing a lump in your throat, you observed his far off expression for a few more seconds, before looking away. The question that leaves your mouth feels jarring, without any proper forethought that can soften how rough it feels on the tongue. But it's not your fault there's only one thing you could think of at the moment.

"…Do you think people who can't understand each other can be friends?"

"Understanding or relating? They're different things."

That threw you in for another loop. The worst part was that you didn't even know. You know your friend's sorrows, you know the emptiness that runs through him more than anyone— yet you could never truly piece where it started and where it'd end, nor could you feel it in yourself. No matter how much you wished you could. "Either."

"I think… people should atleast be able to understand each other when they're friends, no? You can't really care about someone you know nothing about. Relating isn't that important, though."

"… Are we friends, then?"

The moment's silence is heavy between the two of you as Dazai thinks over your words. Were you his friend? Here, in the morning light, under the same coat, wearing matching crab bracelets? Maybe you are his friend, but he wonders if he knows what friends are even supposed to be like. You're not like Odasaku or even Chuuya, though with the latter he has a complicated relationship, yet could still call his friend sometimes. You two were close, but he was not blind to the very fundamental differences between the two of you. The chasm of hope that separated you. A space that'd only grow wider once he leaves, and he knows he has to. Still, for some reason he feels compelled to take your hand and hold it lightly in his. Are we friends, then?

"Yeah, I think we are." He answers, with a small smile on his face.

Ultimately, he didn't think any of it mattered. For the better or worse, after all, the both of you were together. Your faint, content smile at the confirmation makes him feel like it wasn't wrong to say it.

"Really? Well, that's good enough for me."

He had the urge to retort back with another quip, something that would derail the conversation and steer it back towards the usual banter; something familiar and easy between the two of you. However, this time, he doesn't follow through with it, instead stewing in the temporary discomfort that comes with sincerity. For once, he feels like being honest with you, even if it means not punctuating this heavy silence. Letting the sounds of the waves and the faint music in the shared earphones be the only voice in his ears. You seemed content with the same, still sitting by his side and sharing the coat, pinky fingers interlinked loosely.

Perhaps you did not need to understand his sorrow or feel it as your own, and he does not have to understand your exhaustion and hope for the future. Everyday is all anyone can ever have, and if these days were a little more bearable like this, there was no reason to deliberately cut this off. There is a passing thought; that perhaps in the coming days, when he finally decides to leave this teenage wasteland for good, he could take you with him. After all, where he was, you weren't too far away. If fallen angels exist, so do risen demons, and perhaps this time, Eurydice will make it back to the surface; for this story is all wrong, and that's alright.

let the light in ; chuuya nakahara

chuuya x gn! reader

author's note: i got a hang of tumblr formatting??? kinda??? i will make a master list soon. i hope this isn't too ooc. read on ao3 here!!

warnings: none, just fluff and mild angst at some points! i'msonormalaboutchuuyaiswear

“Come on, let me in.”

The soft voice at his door catches the young executive’s attention. Before Chuuya gets up from the couch and puts down his glass of vintage red on the coffee table, he’s already braced himself for hearing whatever inane reason you'd be at his door this late. He’s managed to successfully ignore all your calls and texts like he usually does, but it certainly doesn't fool you. Because you can’t sleep and neither can he. Once again, he realizes the futility of his efforts to keep you away.

Truth be told, you weren't a bad person. You didn't invoke his temper as easily or as often as other people did, and you were capable when you worked alongside him. There was an ease of being about you; something that he could eventually catch himself falling into time to time. You wear at him like a harsh current does to a rock by the side of a river. The veneer of nonchalance chips away more and more the longer he allows himself this companionship. And he's aware of this weakness; it feels so out of place when he is usually so assured. But no gravity manipulation can make this heart lighter.

Not when your face reminds Chuuya of a life he's already left behind. You were there when he spilled his first blood, you are here now, and he cannot find it in himself to push you out completely. As much as he likes to think he's above these sentimentalities, nostalgia still finds a victim in him; wrapping itself around his mind in his unsuspecting moments till he could no longer discern between himself of the past and him now. You make the poor guy feel the burden of his past failures too often.

Feel too much, too, for that matter.

You try with such enthusiasm, too. Despite the fact that over the six…or was it seven years, his life and yours have been turned upside down and inside out. There are some people who feel like they have been frozen in time somehow. With you, he feels like he can stave off the rot of his current life just for a little bit. A dangerous thought. He wants to stick a knife in your neck sometimes. Would that make him stop thinking so much? Or would his past still trail him around in the form of your memory?

It's a quarter to one now.

The door unlocks.

“What is it now?” This annoyed tone sounds forced out of his mouth. Strange, he never had any issues with it until you come into the room.

“I couldn't sleep!”

“Clearly.”

“You know what? We should go out for a drive, Chuuya, it's the perfect time!”

“Like, right now?”

“Yeah.”

“…You're serious?”

“Are you coming or not? Quick, I don't have the time!”

It's a good thing that he isn't completely buzzed from the wine he was drinking yet, because your request leaves no room for disagreement, even if it’s a question. An exasperated sigh leaves his lips, a muttered curse following soon after. “Fine! But I’m in charge of the music.” It makes no difference, most of the good songs he knows were your favorites at some point of time. You held him down and made him listen, and as much as he acted like he loathed the whole ordeal, the tunes wouldn't leave his thoughts be no mater what. He picks up the car keys off the table, not bothering to pick up anything else save for his hat.

This had become something of a routine. You would always bother him at odd hours, though you were a rare sight at daytime, doing god knows what. The redness in the whites of your eyes, and the way you would rub at them every now and then indicated that you were exhausted, yet you insisted on these outings. It was the typical condition that came with their work; he was no stranger to sleepless nights himself. But with you, he finds himself actually concerned. The exceptions he makes for you feel unreasonable. The effect you had on him was just as confusing. Chuuya wonders if you just do that to him or if everyone is subject to the mental damage you cause him just by being around him.

Consciously, he knew there was no use dwelling on these thoughts. For the better or worse, your lives were fundamentally intertwined. Not by narrative choice, but by sheer persistence. He remembers what you said to him once. When he asked you why you were coming along with him, you only said, “because I’ll go wherever you go, obviously.” You refused to elaborate when he asked you to explain why. You acted as if this was an objective truth, like it was the natural state of things. As if in every scenario possible, you would've done the same thing. He called you an idiot for it, still thinks you are. Because Chuuya cannot understand why you stick by him, or more importantly, why he allows you to.

Even then, he has to reluctantly admit to himself that he’s glad for it. You remind him of his past failures and naïveté, but you also remind him of the concept of home. The last tether to his past is you, and he wouldn't allow anyone to sever that imaginary cord. Despite how much he hates it, you still hold a part of him he would have otherwise lost touch of. The pain felt easier to get through when it was shared. Maybe this was just what friendship was. It was elusive to obtain, but once you have it; whether by accident or on purpose, you have to cope with it for the rest of time.

You walk ahead of him, and he keeps up with your pace. Unlike him, you were aware of how you felt on a level that was nearly painful; instead of fuzzy, bittersweet feelings of nostalgia, you felt the lashes of time and it’s wear with pointed certainty. You were your own witness to the degradation of your morality and soul. You felt it chip away piece by piece, and saw the wear in the mirror. An experience that broke you from inside out, creating a new person out of the debris.

You hold onto the remains of a past you can't remember, and in this folly you have ruined yourself chasing something that had never existed. But perhaps that was the reason why you didn't let go of Chuuya in particular. He was tangible, within your grasp; not necessarily a constant, but by your own design you've made him one. You've made out of him a friend you trusted with your life, and that trust shows in every action, every laughter, everytime you show up at his door at some weird hour of the night. You know it annoys him, but he lets you. In a strange way, you test him again and again just for the sheer satisfaction of being assured that yes, he wouldn't turn you away.

The walk to the car was fairly short. He got in the driver’s seat, waiting for you to follow suit and started up the ignition. The port town was especially beautiful at midnight, the late night lights of the wharf reflecting in the distant ocean. The sky is dark with no sign of light, all veiled by the smoke that lingers in city skies. All the stars that were meant to exist in the sky were here on the ground, in the lights of offices working late or streetlights flickering for the convenience of nightwalkers.

“Are you really gonna play that? Eh…”

“Hey! It's a good song, okay?!?”

“Debatable.”

“You’re literally the one who made me listen to it!”

“Did I really, though?”

“You-”

“Shut up! I think I just saw an ice cream place a little further up.”

After an excruciatingly long wait of watching you pick an ice cream out of the array of colors, you both were finally out in the open air again. The cold air pricks like needles. It wasn't even the weather for ice cream, but your habits were incorrigible as always. When you inevitably start sniffling, he could only manage a pointed comment about how you never learn. He would've given his hat to you if you asked. It's frustrating that you never do. Things never go the way they play in his head, and it infuriates him. The ride to home feels infinitely long. Taking the highway was an unnecessarily long route, and yet it was the one he took everytime whenever he was driving with you.

When you both get back home, he's hit by that strange spell again. A lack of thoughts and a tongue restless for words, checked by his dry throat. For whenever the air isn't filled with senseless chatter, gunshots or music, that is when he feels truly weak in front of you. The comfort of being around you shifts to something uncertain and bitter in the early morning hours. When you ask to stay the night like the usual, he can no longer find the strength to refuse. It was clear that no matter what the both of you did, at the end of the day, what waits for him is a helplessness so foreign to him even with his frequent encounters with it.

The weariness is built into their bones, and by the end of the day when they both are tired of this endless charade, you both end up in the same place as always, hopelessly entangled in each other’s lives. Perhaps on another night when you cannot sleep and come to seek him, he will let himself get willingly caught and put an end to this chase. Pushing away the curtain, letting the light in, and look to find you there where he left you.

watching a tutorial on how to ride a bike just to write this fic on god the brainrot is real

made an astarion playlist with songs that actually remind me of him because i'm mentally ill about this man

i want to write a fic for him inspired by disintegration (the cure) so bad </3

I don't think so, sweetie!

Dazai’s gonna chase you… dressed as a bush!?

is it too early to kms

also yeah he'd probably make playlists for his friends and never be able to share them and just get reminded of a friend he couldn't be with everytime he hears his songs

him and dazai probably had a shared playlist from pm days to avoid fighting over the aux too and once he left it's just nvm im gonna take myself to the psych ward

low effort hcs : what music would bsd characters listen to?

everyone puts mother mother and tnbhd in dazai playlists but i can't stop thinking about how this guy would probably love 70s city pop. likes number girl and betcover!! as well. rotates between like five songs he's just obsessed with all the time.

he also feels like the exact type of mf to listen to the smiths and now it's canon in my head. 'there's a light that never goes out' is HIS song im convinced.

akutagawa is the kind of guy who would listen to visual kei. everyday that malice mizer is not on spotify he loses it a little. would also love classic goth. bauhaus, the cure, sisters of mercy, he likes all that shit. probably started with old panic! at the disco, it's that emo -> goth pipeline fr.

in my head chuuya loves rock. likes deftones but would be put off by the screaming. probably fucks with soundgarden, maybe sonic youth, rhcp, nirvana, alice in chains, the velvet underground. it just is the vibe to me. but most of all, i think chuuya would like jazz. chet baker, coltrane, miles davis. likes physical media and would spend a bit too much on records. listens to ultraviolence on occasion, i don't make the rules.

look me in the eye and tell me ranpo wouldn't love shibuya kei. lamp, pitcher56, 800 cherries, satellite lovers, roundtable ft nino. just the sort of music i could picture him listening to. would also love bossa nova. would listen to laufey. once again, i don't make the rules.

fyodor dostoevsky listens to only three kinds of music: symphonic metal, classical music and gregorian chants. this is true and real and you should believe me without question. i think he'd like opeth quite a bit as well. fyodor is also the kind of mf who hates when people refer to baroque or romantic compositions as 'classical'. Yes, he has the eras memorized. disgustingly skilled with most instruments. heard liszt play firsthand.

masterlist ; all orders.

𐙚🧸ྀི — BUNGOU STRAY DOGS !!

order no. 1. the day after i killed myself ; dazai osamu

order no. 2. let the light in ; nakahara chuuya

order no 3. heart to heart ; dazai, kunikida, atsushi

order no 4. drunk walk home ; soukoku

order no 5. poetry in motion ; dazai osamu

SERIES

.⋆♱ infinity aria — fyodor dostoevsky

synopsis: two souls inexplicably intertwined, only for one to kiss death again and again, and for the other to stand witness. throughout the lifetimes, he watches you seek him out, curiously watching you seal your fate.

۶ৎ • prologue

 𐙚🧸ྀི — RESIDENT EVIL !!

order no. 1: mojo pin ; leon s. kennedy

i like to think chuuya's eyes do the cat thing where if you look at them in the dark they look freakishly red instead of blue

upside down chuuya with terrifying blue flash eyes for the realest bat vibes

i can't art for shit so i made this on my phone with my sausage ass fingers