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likevxnes · 7 years

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side by side (5/?)

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part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

vi. how they grew: partners, part two

The last piece of advice Yasuhara gives to Chuuya before he leaves for his long mission is this: “Have trust in that new partner of yours. He knows what he's doing.”

And Chuuya, though extremely hesitant, responds with, “alright, Yasu-san.” He doesn’t trust Dazai at all, but he does trust Yasuhara. He gets a head pat for his cooperation. Yasuhara crouches down so that the two of them are more face to face.

“Take care,” he says, placing a hand on Chuuya’s shoulder and resting their foreheads together, before standing back up. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

It’s a lie, but Chuuya nods anyways. The girls in the brothel chorus their goodbyes, while Kouyou stays silent, though Yasuhara and her exchange glances.

With one final tip of his hat, Yasuhara leaves, his coat billowing behind him like a cape.

Chuuya quickly finds out that in order to follow Yasuhara’s advice, he practically needs to condition himself into trusting Dazai, an extraordinary feat he isn’t sure he can tackle. Dazai was keen on breaking promises, on spouting out nonsense and riddles, on pulling pranks and pissing Chuuya off.

But he has noticed that on missions, Dazai always knows what to do, has hundreds of strategies zipping around in his head to get them out of any problem. Chuuya finds himself listening to the idiot more often than not during missions, something he finds unbelievably irritating.

“Trust him on missions, but don't trust him for anything else,” is what Kouyou warns him, and this he finds easier to follow. In total honesty, the two of them are around each other a lot. But the only things Chuuya knows about Dazai is the way the other moves in a fight, the way the brunet’s eyes flash before he makes a scathing remark, the cruel twist of his mouth as he amuses himself with people the way others do with pawns. And sure, sometimes he gets glimpses of Dazai’s genuine smile or a hint of true happiness in the other’s eyes, or even a glimpse of panic and fear, but they're so inconsistently shown that Chuuya has no idea what to think of them. He’s not sure what he wants to think of them.

Chuuya only wants to know the Demon Prodigy Dazai, because it’s easier to understand Dazai that way. Demon Prodigy Dazai was a true mafioso, with cold blood and tainted morals. The Dazai that shows from those flickers of light…

Chuuya doesn’t think he could ever hope to understand that Dazai.

“Chuuya.”

He stops himself from flinching at the feeling of Dazai’s breath in his ear. “Yeah, waste of bandages?” He retorts, watching as a guard walked his rounds, oblivious to the two pairs of eyes on him.

The two of them are currently hidden away in the trees, surveilling a worn down warehouse belonging to a small but increasingly more powerful drug smuggling organization that called themselves “Black Dust.” The Port Mafia took pride in managing the illegal businesses throughout Yokohama. But the Black Dust had been refusing to listen to the Port Mafia’s orders for awhile now, due to their growing power. Dazai and Chuuya’s goal for tonight is overall a pretty simple one: to leave a warning.

“You go right, I’ll go left, you meet me in the center,” Dazai whispers back, and Chuuya can practically feel the smirk in his tone.

“Why do I have to do more work?” He complains, frowning. But he’s already getting himself ready, discreetly lowering himself down to the ground, Dazai right behind him.

They quickly take action, Chuuya using his ability to make his footsteps lighter as he sprints towards the right, keeping the walking guard in his sight. By the time the guard turns around, noticing a sound in the distance, Chuuya’s already dug a knife into the man’s side. He frowns. Too easy.

His ears pick up the sound of another pair of footsteps, and he sighs. Of course Dazai had given him the longer and more harder route to take. Chuuya presses his back against the wall and waits for the guard to walk around the corner.

This guard is more alert, blocking Chuuya’s first punch with his forearm. Chuuya grins, rearing back to prepare his next attack.

The battle is over in a few seconds, ending with a forceful hit on the back of the guard’s head, but it’s enough for Chuuya to feel the familiar buzz in his veins. He plops the guards he’s taken down behind a nearby bush, before continuing on his way.

Dazai’s waiting for him in the spot he said he would, leaning against the wall of the warehouse and humming a random tune. “What took you so long?” He questions, smirking all the while, and Chuuya growls.

“You didn’t even do anything!” He huffs, forcing himself to remain relatively quiet. Being heard by someone would cause some issues.

“I made the plan?”

“A plan that involved you doing the least amount of work!” He accuses, jabbing at the boy’s chest with his finger.

“Well, I assumed that you’d be able to knock down those guards quickly, being a fighting prodigy and all…” Dazai begins, “though you were a bit slower than expected.”

Chuuya grits his teeth. “Whatever,” he forces out, mentally counting to ten, “let’s just move on.” He turns his head to the side to avoid looking at the brunet’s amused grin.

“Alright,” Dazai says, pushing himself off against the wall. “Let’s—” He cuts himself off, body tensing.

“What is it?” Chuuya asks, but Dazai doesn’t answer, grabbing his wrist and pulling harshly, almost making him topple over. “Hey—” He begins, stumbling for a minute before matching Dazai’s pace, protests dying on his tongue as he sees the other’s expression.

“We’ve been had,” the brunet murmurs, with a feral twist to his lips.

Chuuya opens his mouth to question him, but becomes cut off by the sound of multiple guns firing. He curses under his breath, wrenching his wrist out of Dazai’s grip so he can run easier. The two of them turn around the corner of the warehouse, out of the line of fire, only to freeze at the sight of a blockade of people dressed in black, all aiming guns at them. There’s a moment of electrified silence. Chuuya glances back to see that the Black Dust members shooting at them from behind had now effectively trapped them from going back the way they came. The two groups force them to back up towards the wall of the warehouse, effectively giving them nowhere else to run.

“I see we were expected,” Dazai chirps, and Chuuya notices some gunmen tense, “what a warm welcome, huh, Chuuya?”

“We’ve had better,” he retorts, though his eyes are flickering left and right, attempting to find a way to get them out of their shitty situation.

“Ah, you’re right,” the brunet says, sighing, “this is a bit of a disappointment, isn’t it…”

A man and a woman step out from the blockade. They’re dressed the exact same way the rest of the Black Dust members are dressed, but the way the crowd parts for them proves that these two hold the most authority.

The man eyes them up and down with dark brown eyes. “So these are the dogs the Port Mafia’s been sending lately. Have they dropped down so low that they're sending mere children to do their bidding?”

Normally, Chuuya would laugh at being so obviously underestimated, maybe even spit at the man’s feet, or even bite back with saying he just turned fourteen and the number of people he’s killed is already double that number. But something about this whole situation sends a rush of foreboding throughout his body; he can’t help but feel like something is about to go wrong.

“Perhaps,” Dazai responds, “but Black Dust isn’t innocent either.” He turns his head to study the area. “If you’re gonna shoot us, please do it soon, okay? This bravado you’re showing is awfully annoying.”

The man smiles darkly. “Kill them,” he orders.

“Sir,” the woman cuts in, blue eyes widening with disbelief, “they’re only children—”

“They’re Port Mafia,” the man interrupts dismissively. “That’s all there is to it.”

“Dazai,” Chuuya hisses harshly as the distinct clicking sounds of guns being readied to fire fill the atmosphere, because he honestly had no idea what the brunet is planning or if he was even planning something at all. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

“Chuuya,” Dazai murmurs, and he’s surprised at how softly the boy speaks his name, “Do you remember what we did in Chiba?

It’s as if the world slows down. Chuuya’s eyes widen, before his lips curl into a dangerous smirk.

“Fire!”

Chuuya takes action.

He slams his foot into the ground, forces gravity to push down on his body, and watches as the earth crumbles beneath his feet, knocking people off balance as a crater forms into the ground. A few gun’s fire, but they shoot harmlessly into the air, off their target.

They move quickly.

Curses and shouts fill the air. He continues to wreak havoc with his ability, causing cracks to form within the ground and knocking down whoever crosses his path. He slams his fist into the wall of the warehouse, forcing the building to collapse under itself, crushing all the supplies of drugs the organization labored over for. The two of them then quickly force their way out of the chaos, Chuuya fending off bullets as best as he can, though he feels one scrapes the side of his calf, causing him to shout out a curse. Dazai turns his head to look back at him, his face expressionless as he roughly grabs Chuuya's wrist and drags him along. He winces, but forces himself to continue running even though every step he takes causes sharp stings of pain.

Once they're a good enough distance away, Dazai reaches into his pocket and presses the button.

The warehouse behind them explodes, engulfing the area into flames. The impact knocks the two of them off their feet, even with the amount of space they put between them and the warehouse, and Chuuya begins to hear a ringing in his ears.

It takes him a moment to regain his senses. When he does, he turns back to survey the destruction they caused. There are a few stragglers who managed to escape the explosion, which Chuuya supposes is a good thing; their warning would be easily passed to the head of the organization. He turns his head to look at Dazai, making eye contact, about to say some scathing remark, when suddenly he feels the sharp coldness of what he knows couldn't be anything but a knife pressed to his throat.

It all happens within what feels like a second. His eyes barely register Dazai pulling out his gun, the sound of a gunshot causing him to squeeze his eyes shut. Then suddenly the knife on his throat disappears, the presence behind him disappearing. Eyes wide, Chuuya turns around to see the man behind him with a bullet in his head, blood splattered all over his forehead. He slowly returns his gaze to Dazai, only to be taken off guard again as he examines the other’s dark expression, eyes cold and lifeless, a look that scares most members of the Port Mafia away. But for some reason, right now Chuuya thinks Dazai looks fragile; his dark expression proves his anger, maybe even his fear.

“Oh my, that was a mistake,” Dazai says, sighing and slowly lowering his gun. Chuuya swears he can see a faint tremor in the boy’s hands. “We could've taken him back for Kouyou.”

“You bastard,” Chuuya bites out, trying to sound casual even with the revelation of how Dazai’s first instinct was to shoot Chuuya’s perpetrator in the head, “what if you hit me?”

Dazai grins, and the earlier tension diminishes a little. “But I didn't?”

Chuuya growls, not knowing how to reply. Dazai stands up, offering Chuuya a hand, which he ignores even as his calf screams at him as he stumbles his way up. He begins to limp his way back to base, keeping his head high as Dazai slowly strolls behind him, letting out another loud sigh.

“Chuuya, it’ll take us forever to go back if you walk at this pace.”

“Then go on ahead, you shitty fuck.”

“My my, do you kiss Yasu-san with that mouth?”

Chuuya whips his head around, glaring at Dazai with all his might. “At least I have someone to kiss.”

The smile on Dazai’s face suddenly becomes stiff. Chuuya smirks.

The two of them continue to walk, Dazai occasionally sighing loudly and causing Chuuya to grit his teeth in annoyance.

“I told you to just go on ahead,” he hisses out.

Dazai pouts. “Unfortunately, I can't. The last time I did that Mori bruised my ribs.”

The casual mention of abuse causes Chuuya to frown, even if he's used to it by now. A silence settles over them, the only sounds being their footsteps.

“I really saved the day though, huh?” Dazai teases, probably wanting Chuuya to take the bait.

He snorts. “Like you saved the day in Nagoya?”

Dazai laughs, a real, genuine laugh that takes Chuuya off guard.

He looks a lot nicer like that...

Dazai tilts his head, a soft smile on his face that tugs something in Chuuya’s heart. “It got us out, didn’t it?”

“Yeah, and right into the hospital room,” he shoots back immediately. The other laughs again, before they settle back into silence.

“We should give that strategy a name,” Dazai murmurs after a while, “since it's the second time we've used it.”

Chuuya would rather never use that plan again, but decides not to say so. There is something different about Dazai tonight, something kinder, and Chuuya's surprised that he doesn't want it to go away. “What do you have in mind?”

“Run, Melos,” the brunet answers almost immediately, meaning he'd probably been thinking about that name the entire time they'd been silent. He looks at Chuuya expectantly.

Chuuya scoffs. “It's alright,” he says roughly, turning away. He actually really likes the name, but he’d never tell Dazai that. “Not as shitty as some of your other names.”

Dazai grins like he's in on a secret. “If you say so, Chuuya~” He replies, dragging the vowels in Chuuya’s name in the way that he hates.

A buzz in his pocket makes Chuuya freeze in his steps, reaching into his pants pocket to grab his phone. There's a message from Yasuhara, and he quickly opens it.

You would love the bakeries in France.

He hears Dazai snort from behind him. Usually Chuuya would snap at him for snooping, but the meaning of Yasuhara’s message causes his gut to curl with fear. The sentence was a code they had made a long time ago.

Don't text this number anymore.

Biting his lip, Chuuya responds with:

What bakeries do you recommend?

Dazai’s still looming over his shoulder, but Chuuya’s sure by now the other has figured out that this isn't a normal conversation. Chuuya shoves his phone back into his pocket and begins to walk. He isn’t expecting an answer.

They make it back to base at around three in the morning.

The rest of the walk back had been filled with nothing but silence, Chuuya worrying about Yasuhara the entire way and Dazai surprisingly not starting any sort of bickering. Mori isn’t waiting for them, so they head straight to their rooms, exhausted and ready to sleep. Chuuya doesn’t say anything when Dazai makes no move to enter his room, instead following Chuuya to his.

“Why’d you shoot?” Chuuya asks later, when they’ve both washed away the blood on their skin, Chuuya haphazardly wrapping the wound on his calf up. Chuuya’s now wearing one of the yukatas Kouyou insists he wears to sleep. Dazai’s dressed in shorts and a long sleeve shirt. Both were now lying on Chuuya’s bed, curled towards each other like parentheses, a blanket covering both of them.

Dazai doesn’t answer right away, shifting his body and causing the sheets to rustle. “I don’t know,” is what the brunet eventually says. His tone is bland and empty.

Chuuya frowns, but doesn’t reply. Instead, he closes his eyes and focuses on listening to Dazai’s breaths, on the slightest brush of the skin of Dazai’s knees against his own. It’s only when it feels like hours have passed does he feel the need to say something.

“Dazai,” he calls out quietly, knowing the other is awake.

“What is it, hat rack?”

Chuuya hesitates, before saying, “if it was you, I’d shoot, too.”

A few days later, Kouyou knocks on Chuuya’s door and hands him a letter with a knowing smile. Eyes wide, he opens it in rush, feeling his whole body shake with relief when he sees Yasuhara’s stiff handwriting.

My dearest Chuuya,

Sorry for the scare. The phone was becoming too risky. The address listed is where you can write to me.

Sincerely,

Yasuhara

P.S. There is too much food in the U.S.

He laughs. Short and straight to the point as always. He quickly grabs paper to write a letter back.

“He’s doing well?” Kouyou asks, looming over his shoulder. She reads Yasuhara’s letter over his shoulder and scoffs. “Tell him he should be working and not gaining weight over there. And once you’re done, Chuuya, come to the interrogation room.”

His stomach twists. He’s been starting his training for “interrogations” with Kouyou, watching her and the girls force out every single piece of information out of a poor victim’s mouth. “Yes, ane-san,” he answers.

Kouyou still picks up on his uneasiness. She sighs, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Chuuya, you must realize that this is what we need to be. For people like us, there is—”

“No room for light ,” he finishes for her. “I know, ane-san.”

The two of them turn fifteen.

There has already been talk of Dazai becoming an executive, a touchy subject for Kouyou, who has been a candidate for a while. So has Yasuhara, but he’d never really seemed to care about his ranking.

Though hard to admit, Chuuya knows his partner is more than capable of being an executive—it’s been two years after all.

It’s been two years of missions, of spilling blood and bloodlust smiles. Two years of wounds and battle scars, of anger and arguments and hurtful words.

It’s also been two years of sleeping in Chuuya’s room after missions, of strategies and inside jokes, of quiet laughter and secret smiles.

Chuuya realizes that when they are alone, Dazai is different; he is more mellow, more open, less empty and dark. He’s more playful, teasing Chuya constantly but never teasing to hurt. It is...a lot more fun to be with Dazai when he is like this.

When they are not alone, however, Dazai can be cruel; he uses the right words to get under Chuuya’s skin, displays Chuuya’s insecurities and rips them apart in front of him, hides his expressions behind a faceless mask. Chuuya hates this Dazai. Sometime this Dazai appears when they’re alone, when they begin to argue over things, and Chuuya says something that somehow causes Dazai to reinforce his walls tenfold.

It’s a weird combination, this Dazai he enjoys and this Dazai he despises, one he's not sure how to deal with. But Chuuya realizes that he's done what Yasuhara has asked; he trusts Dazai, wholeheartedly and foolishly. He trusts the Dazai he sees when they're alone in Chuuya's room, laughing softly at his own dumb jokes. He trusts the Dazai he sees smirking to himself as he's stained in blood, aiming a gun at an enemy. He trusts the Dazai that stands lost in thought as whatever happens in that brain of his strategizes and predicts the life around him. He can hate Dazai as much as he wants, but the result is still the same; he’s seen too many things and has left his life in Dazai’s hands too many times to not trust him.

He writes all of this to Yasuhara. Soon he realizes that all he seems to write to Yasuhara is things about Dazai, before realizing that in every letter Yasuhara sends to him, there’s always a question about Dazai or about Chuuya’s previous mission, or anything that would prompt Chuuya in talking about Dazai in some shape or form.

It’s currently early morning, and he’s in the middle of writing a letter that had somehow turned into an essay about how all the things Dazai does pisses him off, when Dazai walks into his room without knocking.

“Writing love letters?” The brunet asks mockingly. Chuuya leans over the piece of paper to block it from Dazai’s view. Dazai had actually slept in his room last night, as usual, but had disappeared when Chuuya woke up, which was also quite common. The two of never mention their late night escapades anyways, but sometimes Chuuya wonders why the other feels the need to leave.

“Why are you here? I’m training with Kouyou today,” Chuuya replies gruffly, shoving the letter into a drawer.

“Trying to improve your pathetic attempts at torture, I’m sure,” Dazai shoots back, smirking at Chuuya’s growl. “Anyways, Mori called us down, so it’ll have to wait.”

“A mission?” He asks, unable to hide the eagerness in his tone.

The grin Dazai gives him is more of a corrupt twist of the lips. “We’re going overseas.”

#side by side #bungou stray dogs #fanfiction #soukoku #nakahara chuuya #dazai osamu

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likevxnes · 7 years

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you were my new dream (2/5) (skk Tangled au!)

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part one

Chuuya screams.

“Fuck,” the redhead curses out, still aiming the frying pan in his hands to the figure lying face down on the ground. “Fuck fuck fuck. Shit. Fuck. What the fuck am I gonna do?” He babbles, voice increasingly rising in volume.

Akutagawa, who was currently resting on Chuuya’s shoulder, flicks his face with his tail. Calm down, idiot.

Chuuya takes deep breaths, forcing himself to calm his racing heart. The man hadn’t moved from his graceless position on the floor—Chuuya supposes that he’d knocked the man out. He steps closer, leaning over the man to take a closer look. “Is he dead?” He whispers, and in response, Akutagawa crawls down his arm and onto the floor, walking close to the man’s face to listen to his breaths. He makes eye contact with Chuuya, shaking his head.

Chuuya breathes a sigh of relief, tilting his head to the side as he studies the man. Mori’s stories of bad men with sharp teeth and the terrible things they’d do if they found Chuuya race through his mind, sending the fear he’d recently dissipated storming back through his heart. Biting his lip, he uses the pan handle to move the man’s lips out of the way, his heart rate calming once he sees normal teeth. He frowns. So Mori wasn’t completely right…

The man’s disheveled dark brown hair covered the side of his face, blocking it from Chuuya’s view. Chuuya hesitantly uses the handle of the frying pan to move the hair away, not wanting to touch the man.

Huh.

The man was…kind of handsome.

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#tangled au #fanfiction #soukoku #bungou stray dogs

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likevxnes · 7 years

Text

side by side (4/?)

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part one | part two | part three

v. how they grew: partners, part one

After their wonderful visit to Kouyou’s, Dazai spends the next three days searching information on Chuuya. He finds things he already knows, like the boy’s past with the trafficking organization and the possibilities of the boy being taken from his home. He also finds that upon waking up in a Port Mafia bed, Chuuya didn’t remember a single thing about what happened to him. That his memory loss was written off as trauma. That despite the fact there’s a chance Chuuya had valuable information on the trafficking organization, Mori had decided to let the boy go.

It’s suspicious, and Dazai doesn’t really like it.

His new goal then becomes searching for ways to make Chuuya get his memories back. But all he finds is treatments that can help, but not cure, and that’s not what he wants. He wants Chuuya to remember. He wants Chuuya back.

Before he can find out more, Mori kills the Boss, and Dazai watches as blood splatters and stains the room. And then, the worst of the worst happens: Chuuya becomes assigned as Dazai’s partner.

Dazai thinks that the world really must hate him. He never seems to be able to get the things he wants, which in this case, was less Chuuya because the Chuuya he knew wasn’t alive anymore. Though he supposes that this was more of Mori’s fault, as the man seemed to be planning this for a while.

It’s a sudden change. Chuuya moves out of the brothel and into the dorms at base—much to Kouyou and Yasuhara’s despair—in the room just two doors to the left of Dazai and across the hall. They now trained together, learning the way the other moved. Kouyou still came by often to help train Chuuya alone while Dazai stuffed his mind with Schelling and Kissinger and sometimes books about the brain and memory loss when Mori wasn’t looking.

But being with Chuuya is strangely painful. It’s wrong, it’s different, it’s not what Dazai wants and he hates it. He hates Chuuya; he hates that the redhead has forgotten him, hates that the redhead doesn’t care for him, hates that he’s now Dazai and not Osamu, and he hates that he isn’t significant enough in Chuuya’s life to even be remembered, when he himself had devoted so much of his pathetic life to Chuuya. So he becomes mean—he teases Chuuya relentlessly, makes comments that he knows will sting, smiles and laughs at the boy’s struggles while his feelings contort into something sinister. Because the only thing that seems to be the same is the way Chuuya’s eyes flare with fire when Dazai sets him off.

In the back of his mind, Dazai knows he's just using twisted ways to cope, but he doesn't really care. He's angry, among a few other things, and what makes it worse is that Chuuya hasn't even asked about that night yet. He hasn't asked what happened the night Dazai burst into his room, hasn’t asked why Dazai thought they knew each other, hasn’t even mentioned it. Is he so unimportant to Chuuya that the redhead doesn't even bother to ask?

“Dazai, are you even listening to me?”

He turns his head to meet a sapphire gaze. The two of them are in the training room, Dazai lying on the ground staring up at the ceiling while Chuuya sits cross legged next to him. There’s a weariness that is obvious in both of their bodies; they’ve been roughly trained these past few weeks, as if in preparation for something. “Nope,” he chirps with a smile, and watches as Chuuya growls and grits his teeth.

“Ugh, I hate you so much,” he grumbles.

Dazai laughs. Good. “As do I, Chuuya. In fact, I wouldn’t even do a double suicide with you.”

The redhead crosses his arms. “What even are you,” Chuuya mutters to himself. Dazai studies the boy’s face. The fatigue in his body seems to make him more mellow, makes his temper less likely to snap.

“Hey, Chuuya, why do you always wear that hat?” He asks.

The redhead gives him a suspicious look, but answers anyways. “Yasu-san gave it to me.”

Dazai immediately rescinds any previous thoughts of Chuuya looking cute in that hat. He feels a flash of something he’s not used to, something green and murky and too close to jealousy. “It’s ugly,” he states, and holds in a groan when Chuuya aims a hard punch right into his gut. “That wasn’t very nice, Chuuya…” he pants out as he curls onto his side.

“It’s not ugly!” Chuuya huffs, “Yasu-san got it for me in Europe, it’s one of a kind.”

The murky green feeling in him grows. “Probably because it was so ugly—” he moves just in time to avoid another barrage of Chuuya’s hits, snickering as he sits up. “You only like it because you have a crush on Yasu-san~”

Chuuya turns as red as his hair. “Sh-Shut up! I don’t! Don’t say his name like that!”

“Ah, I get it, is it a special nickname for you to use only?”

“No!” Chuuya screeches, the flush on his cheeks spreading down his neck.

“Chuuya loves Yasu—”

The redhead roars with flustered anger, tackling Dazai and making him land on his back with a loud thud. It turns out to be an impromptu wrestling match, with Chuuya spouting off insults and Dazai goading the other on.

The result is Dazai being pinned onto his back, with even more bruises than before. He’ll admit that Chuuya’s probably a better martial artist than he is, but Dazai always worms out victories with his head. He grins at Chuuya’s still red face, at the fire in Chuuya’s glare, his smile widening when those eyes narrow even more in anger.

“I don’t have a crush on him!” the redhead denies hotly, breathing hard from exertion. He turns his head to the side angrily, seemingly trying to calm himself. “Yasu-san saved me,” Chuuya explains after a few moments, voice more sober, “he saved me from the people who stole me. Even though I don’t remember anything about my past, I’m forever indebted to him.”

Dazai stiffens. He feels something seize his heart in a vice grip. “Yasuhara saved you,” he deadpans, a thousand thoughts surging through his brain at once.

Of course.

Chuuya frowns. “Yeah, he did. That’s what Kouyou says.”

“I see,” he muses, and even he can tell the tone of his voice is frigid. Chuuya’s frown deepens.

“What’s your deal?” He snaps, obviously sensing something wrong.

Dazai feels himself distancing, feels apathy swallow him whole. “I just didn’t realize my partner was this stupid,” he states, “do you really think Yasuhara saved you with goodwill? That he and Kouyou actually care for you? That Yasuhara didn’t just save you because of the benefits you’d give to the Port Mafia? Even with all the things they make us do? My my, Chuuya, how unbearably naive you are. It’s disgusting—”

He feels a sharp, stinging pain on his right cheek, and it takes him a few moments to realize Chuuya had slapped him.

Animosity is present in every angle of the boy’s body; his muscles are tensed, his eyes burning with hatred, and the expression the redhead wears is absolutely feral. Dazai feels his lips curl into a smile that drips with blood, with immorality, with all the things the Port Mafia is known for.

“Oh? Did I make little Chuuya angry?”

Chuuya’s gaze practically smolders his skin. The redhead grits his teeth, before abruptly getting off of Dazai, standing up. “I’m leaving,” he hisses out, “you can go fuck yourself.”

And Dazai should stop, he really should, but he’s always been keen at getting the last word. “What a big word for a naive little boy.”

Chuuya doesn’t answer, but he knows that the boy heard him due to the sound of the redhead’s footsteps stopping for just a moment, before continuing in a more brisk tempo.

Dazai stays where he is, staring up at the ceiling, laying down on the training room ground that’s covered with blood stains.

“Just let me die already,” he says with a laugh.

“I can have that arranged.”

He doesn’t even flinch. Just blankly turns his head towards the sound. “It was about time you came out of your hiding place, Ane-san.”

Kouyou steps out from the shadows, elegant as always, her expression cold. She doesn’t even seem bothered that Dazai knew she was there the entire time. “So you realized.”

“That Yasuhara took Chuuya’s memories?” He prompts, sitting up and giving the older girl a grin. The revelation buzzes within him, a blend of too many feelings that he can’t exactly name. Because of course, of course Chuuya wouldn’t forget about him, they just took Chuuya away from him. He feels a malicious resentment stew underneath his skin towards Yasuhara, a feeling so intense he doesn’t know what to do with it. He relishes in the minuscule stiffening in Kouyou’s pose from his statement. “Hey, how about you two give Chuuya his memories back?” His voice is overly cheerful, but stains the air with black. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough fun manipulating him?”

She looks down at him with what some people may call haughtiness, but Dazai knows it is simply complete confidence in her worth, even with her immorality. “I’d say you’re the more manipulative one here,” she shoots back. “What you said—”

“Was not completely true,” he cuts in, smile deepening, “but it was true enough, wasn’t it? Erasing his memories only made it easier for him to devote everything to the Port Mafia…an easier puppet for the two of you to control.”

“That was not our intention,” Kouyou argues, but doesn’t deny anything else. She turns her head to the side, looking off to the distance.

He tilts her head at her. “But it happened anyway,” he chirps, “I really hate people like you and Yasuhara, you know? You feel bad, but you’re not going to stop.”

Kouyou raises an eyebrow in interest. “You’re saying a person like Mori is better?”

“Mori has never felt sorry for any of the things he’s done.”

“And neither have you?”

Dazai laughs. “Ane-san, you know the answer to that already.”

Kouyou doesn’t respond. The way she holds himself makes Dazai realize the small mannerisms Chuuya has adopted from this woman; the way his poise radiates confidence, the way he looks elegant even when slamming fists into his enemies, the way he addresses other people—he so obviously got it from her. He supposes the only thing the redhead didn’t adopt was Kouyou’s calm temper.

“Yasuhara sees the memories he takes,” the girl states, after a few moments of silence.

There’s a pause. Dazai stops himself from tensing up and giving himself away, even with the feeling that all the air was just sucked out of his throat. “Oh? How interesting.”

“He saw you. With Chuuya. You two have met before.”

He knows what Kouyou’s implying; that he cares about Chuuya, that the two of them were close and dependent on one another, that he’s hurt that Chuuya was taken away from him. He laughs, the kind of laugh that makes people wince from how unhappy it sounds. “You should give him his memories back,” he says, a warning in his voice, “before I really get angry.”

He sees Kouyou straighten. “Perhaps you should tell Yasuhara that,” is all she says, and with that, she leaves, not bothering to say goodbye, not that Dazai was expecting it.

“Hey, ane-san,” he calls out, just as the older girl reaches the exit. She pauses her steps, but doesn’t turn around.

“Don’t tell Mori about this, yeah?” He says airily, but the threat in his voice rings out like metal clashing against metal.

“I was never planning to,” Kouyou responds, and surprisingly, her tone is awfully genuine. “Yasuhara wouldn’t, either.”

After his confrontation with Kouyou, Dazai immediately goes to Hirotsu, because Yasuhara is off to who knows where and the old man has a habit of letting information slip to him. Though he supposes he's the real instigator of said habit. He likes Hirotsu; the man always speaks in polite tones, even when insulting someone, which Dazai will admit happens often enough during their exchanges. But the man also is a good listener, taking every word spoken to him into consideration before forming a response. Dazai knows that Hirotsu doesn’t really understand him, but respects him nonetheless.

So Dazai goes to him. But of course, Yasuhara’s abroad, out collecting information on organizations in the west, not expected to come back for a while. For years, maybe, according to Hirotsu.

“A favor for the new Boss,” Hirotsu says, “that’s about all I know, I’m afraid.”

And so life continues.

Chuuya doesn’t speak to him for a good month. Dazai knows that the boy is probably somewhat over Dazai’s words by now. Though the redhead is quick to anger, he usually doesn’t stay angry for very long, depending on how angry he actually got, but Dazai is exceptionally good at pissing Chuuya off. In the end he attaches a tripwire to the doorway of Chuuya’s room after the boy falls asleep, attaching a note to the floor that said the words, “Even though you’re so close to the ground, you didn’t notice this? You must be really stupid.”

The next day he’s woken up by a loud thud and the sound of someone slamming his door open.

“I’m going to kill you,” the redhead snarls, face red with anger.

Dazai yawns, making the other grit his teeth in annoyance. “Chuuya, it’s rude to enter people’s rooms without knocking you know?”

He gets a bruise the size of a baseball on his back. They begin talking again. And whenever he sees Chuuya talking to someone on the phone with a smile on his face, he pesters the other until Chuuya snaps at him and tells Yasuhara goodbye because a “worthless, suicidal idiot was existing.”

Life goes on.

They continue to train together, and soon, take missions together. Dazai had already been on missions, had accompanied Mori a few times. He's killed people, has ordered people to kill people, and found himself numbly unaffected. In their first mission, he’d expected Chuuya to hesitate to shoot the three bullets in their target’s back and break his jaw. Instead, the redhead pulled the trigger with a vacant expression, his hands steady, the look in his eyes strangely vibrant and focused.

“I know what the Port Mafia does. I know what they want me to do,” Chuuya explains later, when Dazai pushed and prodded, “I’ve already accepted that.”

But when they got back to base, the redhead still spent fifteen minutes washing off the blood he’d accidentally gotten on his hands, scrubbing until his skin was red and raw. The next day, he sees Chuuya wearing gloves. He doesn’t question it.

Life moves on, and Dazai finds that a rhythm has been established between them. One filled with bickering, with insults and malice, with syncing thoughts and movements, with knowing looks and smiles covered in bloodlust. Dazai wants nothing more than to break it, to step away and watch everything crumble to dust. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to go through this again. He hates this.

And yet, he still finds himself spending time with Chuuya, finds himself noticing things he’s already noticed before and things he’s never noticed until now.

He’s already noticed the habit the redhead has with tucking his hair behind his ear when he’s uncomfortable. He’s already noticed the little glance to the side the other always makes when he lies. He knows when the boy’s smile is genuine, has remembered how to tell.

But he never noticed the blaze in the other’s eyes as he takes down enemy after enemy, has never noticed the other’s cruel, wild smile in the middle of a fight that he finds oddly appealing. He’s never realized that Chuuya loves to fight, loves to smash his fists against faces and stand in front of piles of bodies while glowing with the pride of victory. He’s never noticed the respect Chuuya gives to his superiors, always acting grateful, always speaking politely.

It’s a weird combination, this past and present Chuuya, one that he’s not sure if he wants to deal with. But, like with all things concerning Chuuya, he finds that he has no choice in the matter, with Mori insistently pushing the two of them together. Not to mention the two of them have an irritating habit of bumping into each other—Dazai had once tried to hide from Chuuya, only to find the boy in the places he thought the redhead would never go to.

“What are you doing here?” The redhead had screeched at him. “Since when have you ever hung out in the lower levels?”

He’d scowled, and said, “well, I was trying to avoid you—”

“What? I was trying to avoid you!”

And then there are those moments in which Dazai feels this yearning, and it's those moments that scare him the most. They are always the little ones, like the flashes of Chuuya’s smile and laughter, like the way he’ll say Dazai’s name in soft, trusting tones, like the way he refuses Dazai’s company even if he wants Dazai to stay.

Somehow, they begin to develop a routine in which after missions, Dazai would walk into Chuuya’s room and the two of them would bicker like there’s no tomorrow, or laugh at jokes and references no one else would understand, or plan out excruciatingly detailed plans for future missions.

Today, Dazai’s sprawled on his stomach across Chuuya’s bed, head resting in his palms, much to the redhead’s distaste. Chuuya’s sitting next to him, cross legged and hugging a pillow close to his chest.

“How about we call that one Shame and Toad?”

Chuuya frowns. “Where’d you even come up with that?”

“See? No one would expect anything if I suddenly shouted it out!”

Chuuya flicks the other on the forehead, rolling his eyes at Dazai’s exaggerated pout. “They’d expect that you were insane, maybe, but I guess people do that anyways.”

Dazai gasps. “Has Chuuya’s insults been improving?”

“Shut up,” he huffs. “I guess Shame and Toad could work.” He studies Dazai’s expression. “You really get a kick out of planning these things, don’t you?”

“Hmm?” Dazai hums, grinning, “it’s fun when it’s like this.”

Chuuya frowns at the statement but doesn’t push. He shifts his position so that he’s now lying down next to Dazai, on his back. “What did you mean, that one night?”

Dazai stiffens. He forces his expression to stay impassive. “That one night?”

Chuuya tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “You know, that night where you burst into my room. You said you knew me, right?”

“Did I?” He replies airily, though he feels as if someone had gripped his heart in a steel vice. He’d been wanting Chuuya to mention something for weeks, but now that it’s finally happened he realizes that he’s now more scared than ever. How on earth could he explain this to Chuuya? That he’d traced the bruises on Chuuya’s wrists with what some people would dare say was affection, that he’d made promise upon promise to the redhead, that Chuuya was something that made him want to live again?

He can’t.

Things are too different now.

And if Mori were to ever find out about this, about Dazai’s weakness, surely nothing good would come out of it.

Chuuya scowls, turning onto his side so he can look Dazai in the face, and the realization of how close they are hits Dazai square in the face.

“Don’t play dumb,” the redhead hisses, before his face softens into a more calm expression. “I guess I just wanted to say that if we did know each other, I’m sorry I forgot.”

Being impassive isn’t working. He feels his heart start to pound, from the small distance between them, from Chuuya’s words, and he desperately pulls on a different mask. “Oh my, Chuuya’s actually a softie at heart—”

Chuuya nails him in the stomach, making him gasp out in pain.

“Shut up!” The redhead retorts, now turning his back towards Dazai. They begin to bicker again, moving back into more familiar territory, making it easier for Dazai to breathe.

Life presses on, and Dazai continues to fall into the rhythm he has no interest in playing.

#AYYYE I'M NOW CAUGHT UP W/ AO3 NOW YO #so yeah tis the most i've got for now #hopefully i can update this fic regularly #side by side #soukoku #bungou stray dogs #nakahara chuuya #dazai osamu #dachuu

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likevxnes · 7 years

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you were my new dream

For @onikushita! This was for skk valentines ^_^

Tis a Tangled AU! The idea was given to me by my mom @star-tear

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This is the story of how Dazai dies.

Though, in actuality, the story isn’t about Dazai at all, but a short, fiery redhead named Chuuya. Technicalities, technicalities, whatever. The statement is still true.

Dazai supposes that the story actually starts with a man.

This man was named Mori Ougai, and he had a little girl he adored. Her name was Elise, and she had silky blonde hair that ran down her shoulders in perfect waves. She had the looks of an angel, is what everybody said when they saw her.

She was also dying.

Keep reading

#tangled au #fanfiction #soukoku

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likevxnes · 7 years

Text

side by side (3/?)

read on ao3

part one | part two

iv. Where they were, part three

Dazai wakes up with a terrible crick in his neck. He flutters his eyes open, and realizes his neck hurts because he was still in the same curled up position as he was last night. He sits up and rubs his eyes. He stares at the strands of hair on his pillow for a moment, the result of his incessant, harsh tugging last night, before grabbing at it with his hands and sliding off his bed to put them in the trash.

He takes a quick shower, knowing that Mori will come for him soon. He’s just finished getting dressed when Mori knocks on his door.

“Mori-sensei,” he greets cheerfully once he opens the door.

Mori is not amused. He figures that the man is still pissed off about his clumsy performance during training yesterday. “Let's go,” the man orders, turning around on his heel and walking away before he even responds. Ah, so he really was still mad about yesterday.

Dazai sighs, but follows the man anyways. As they weave through the dimly lit hallways, Dazai frowns as the man takes a turn that leads them away from the training rooms.

“Where are we going?”

It takes a while for Mori to answer, the only sounds being their footsteps. “To Kouyou’s” he says eventually, “there is business we need to do.”

A sense of foreboding covers him like a fog. Did Kouyou tell Mori about his visit last night already? “Business?” He inquires blithely, voice dripping so much sugar it’d make people cringe. “Mori-sensei, I thought your tastes in women were much younger.”

Mori stops his movements. He slowly turns around to face Dazai, and the smile on his face is overly cheerful, like a clown’s. “Dazai-kun. You don’t want to make me more angry at you than I already am.”

He smiles back, though inwardly, he wants nothing more than to run away. Did Dazai’s terrible fighting yesterday really bring this intense anger? Or did Kouyou really tell Mori already that he snuck into her brothel?

The rest of the walk is in silence. The idea of seeing Chuuya again sends a harsh panic throughout his body, and he feels himself shut down. Feels apathy grow within him, feels it protect him.

Kouyou greets them with a fake smile. “Welcome, Mori-sensei. Dazai-kun.”

She barely glances at him. He supposes that this meant she hadn’t told Mori yet, which he finds confusing but also beneficial, so overall it doesn’t really matter. Unless she was waiting for the right moment, that is.

They move into the back room, where a table is set for tea. Yasuhara is there, but sitting in the back corner, giving them the evil eye. He inwardly rolls his eyes.

“Ah, Yasuhara,” Mori greets, “I’m surprised you’re still here. Aren’t supposed to be on a plane heading west by now?”

“My flight’s been delayed,” is all the blond offers. Mori’s smile grows even more stiffer.

Of course, Chuuya is there at the table, sitting down with his hands gracefully resting on his lap. Dazai's stuck between wanting to scream or cry. He does neither. The boy eyes him curiously, before averting his gaze. Dazai stares unabashedly. The redhead’s wearing that strange hat again, and though he thinks he looks cute in it, he'd rather have Chuuya’s hair out in the open.

A red flush begins to spread across the boy’s cheeks. Ah, so he noticed Dazai’s staring. The redhead raises his eyes to meet his gaze, glaring daggers, and Dazai finds himself smirking in response due to how familiar the situation feels. The amount of times Chuuya’s given him that same look bordered on the millions.

But he doesn't even remember...

“Chuuya,” Kouyou says, after they've all situated themselves at the table, “this is Mori-sensei and his student Dazai-kun.”

So Kouyou’s really acting like nothing happened last night at all, still avoiding eye contact with him. He raises an eyebrow, but expresses a smile nonetheless.

“I remember,” Chuuya says, and Dazai feels a shock shoot straight into his heart, but it quickly fades into disappointment when the redhead continues with, “it’s nice to see you again, Mori-sensei.”

So Mori had known Chuuya was here all this time, had even met him before. And Chuuya remembered Mori and not him.

His thoughts dissipate into nothing but clouds the moment those blue eyes turn to him. “And it’s nice to meet you, Dazai-kun.”

Memories of the redhead greeting him as Osamu flicker through his brain. He wants to leave. “Just Dazai is fine,” he says after a pause.

Mori gives Chuuya a pleased look. “How has your training been?”

The conversation begins to blur, Dazai hearing nothing but faint murmurs. He slouches in his seat and rests his head on his palm, disregarding Kouyou’s disapproving look. He has no interest for forced pleasantries or in Mori’s plans, even if Chuuya was in them. The redhead didn’t remember him, didn’t care about him, so he didn’t see why he should even bother.

“How about a demonstration?”

Those words catch his attention.

“W-What?” Chuuya stutters.

“Of your ability,” Mori continues, and the phrase sends Dazai’s mind into a frenzy, ability, Chuuya has an ability—“I’m interested in seeing what you can do now.”

Chuuya pauses, taking a moment to think before opening his mouth to answer.

“This is hardly the place, Mori,” Yasuhara cuts in, before Chuuya can speak.

“Ah, you’re right, Yasuhara-kun,” the doctor says, clapping his hands together. “Outside, then? Oh, I know,” he continues, “how about a match with Dazai-kun?”

All eyes turn to him. He glances over at Chuuya and feels a tingle surge down his spine when their eyes meet. He feels a wave of resentment, of anger, of hurt rush within him, and decides to twist those feelings into a weapon. When he grins, it’s bleeding with menace. “Sounds fun, Mori-sensei.”

The air in the room chills at his statement. Kouyou is openly frowning, while Yasuhara’s expression darkens with anger. Only Chuuya seems unaffected, nodding his consent and standing up from his seat.

“Are you ready?” He asks the redhead, once everyone is outside, the two of them facing each other. They are fighting in the area behind the brothel, where they'll mostly be out of sight from passerby.

Chuuya takes one look at his smug face and snarls at him. “Are you?” He quips back, and suddenly he's right in front of him, arm pulled back to punch Dazai’s face.

He manages to dodge, inwardly surprised at Chuuya’s power. The boy moves confidently, each attack initiated with focus and cold blood, and he finds himself blown away at this side of Chuuya that he’s never seen. Chuuya's carved and molded himself into a fighter, into a mafioso, just like Dazai has.

He continues to dodge, knowing his fighting skills aren't subpar. Chuuya aims a kick at his side, and he ducks away just in time, hearing a loud crack behind him. He turns and realizes the boy had slammed his foot into the wall of the brothel’s shed, and now a dent lined with cracks surrounds the place he hit. His eyes widen.

It's his ability, he thinks to himself, feeling a smirk filled with adrenaline spread across his lips. To think that Chuuya had an ability all this time…though he supposes Mori wouldn't be interested in the boy if it weren't for his ability.

He studies the boy's movements in an effort to understand what his ability is. It was obvious that the redhead was using his ability quite freely in order to fight, so if Dazai nullified it the battle would be over quite quickly. He watches the way the boy's steps seem grounded, the way the boy’s jumps are quick and high, the way his attacks hold more force and power than expected. Dazai continues to dodge, only making punches and kicks when necessary. Frustration begins to line each and everyone of Chuuya’s attacks. The boy becomes sloppier, more predictable with his strikes, all the while making it more easier for Dazai to dodge.

“Tired?” He baits with a simper.

Chuuya fumes. “Of course not,” he retorts, before charging at him with all his might.

Dazai moves just in time to grip the boy’s wrist, and watches the redhead’s eyes widen as his power leaves him. He pulls the boy forward, knocking him off balance, spinning them around so he can pin the boy on the ground, pulling the boy’s hands behind his back.

“Get off me,” he snarls, wriggling around in an attempt to shake Dazai off.

Instead of complying, Dazai leans forward to talk softly into the boy’s ear, feeling his smile sharpen at the boy’s flinch. “Don’t you want to know what just happened now?”

“I want you to get off,” Chuuya barks, moving with a sudden surge of strength, and suddenly now Dazai’s being pinned to the ground on his back. Chuuya’s hand rests on his throat. He blinks up at the other, studying the gleam in the redhead’s glare, the dark smirk the other wears, and the way his hair hangs from his head, almost brushing Dazai’s cheeks due to the fact the boy has leaned forward so that their faces are only inches apart. He feels his throat tighten up. Even stained with mafia black, Chuuya still glows brightly.

“Now that I think about it,” the redhead begins smugly, “I do want to know what you did earlier. Would you mind telling me now?”

Dazai grins. “Only if you tell me what your ability is first.”

“Gravity manipulation,” the boy answers easily, moving his head back, allowing more space between them. Dazai suddenly feels as if breathing became way more easier.

How suiting, he thinks to himself. Of course Chuuya’s ability was gravity manipulation; was Dazai not pulled towards him since the very beginning?

“And you?” Chuuya prompts, releasing his hold on Dazai and standing up. Taking his opportunity, Dazai kicks his right leg, knocking Chuuya off his feet and back onto the ground with a harsh thud.

He stands and places a foot on Chuuya’s chest, smiling smugly down at Chuuya’s enraged expression. “I nullify any abilities with touch,” he answers. “You know, you should really depend on your ability less. Then maybe one day you’ll actually be able to hit me.”

An angry flush begins to spread across Chuuya’s cheeks. It’s a look he hasn’t seen in forever.

He hears the sound of someone clapping, and turns to see that it’s Mori, looking eerily cheerful with that blank smile of his.

“My, what a show,” Mori chirps, signaling Dazai to let the boy sit up, “you’ve obviously come very far, Chuuya.”

Chuuya doesn’t say anything, just stands up and gives the man a polite nod. He’s so obviously pissed off beyond relief. Dazai wants to burst out laughing.

Mori turns towards Kouyou. “Thanks for the tea. This visit has been very enlightening.” He looks over his shoulder to glance at Dazai. “Let’s go Dazai-kun.”

He follows the man, but not before giving Chuuya a cheerful wave, chuckling at the other’s hateful expression.

Ah, it’s still fun to rile him up.

Chuuya decides right there and then. He really hates Dazai Osamu.

Once the pair is out of sight, Chuuya hesitantly turns to face Kouyou. He grimaces at her glare. “Ane-san…”

“Your footwork was sloppy,” she begins sternly, “and you let your frustration get to you. How many times have I told you to keep a clear head while fighting? Not to mention you ruined the shed.”

Chuuya opens his mouth to speak, but the words die on his tongue when Kouyou lifts a hand to silence him. “Dazai was right, you were relying on your ability too much. See this as a lesson on why you shouldn't. Be prepared to spend the next few weeks training your body only.”

“Yes, ane-san…” Chuuya mutters, lowering his head, already used to Kouyou’s stern lectures. A forceful pat on the back takes him off guard, making him stumble forward, and he pouts at the offender. Yasuhara just gives him that soft smile of his.

“It was a good battle.”

He flushes, while Kouyou sighs, though her expression is a lot more light hearted than before. “You’re spoiling him,”she chastises, opening her umbrella to shield herself from the afternoon sun. “I need to go back to base for some business. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Interrogation?” Yasuhara asks knowingly, “who are you bringing?”

“Aiko,” the girl answers, smiling darkly at Yasuhara’s grimace. “It should be a quick session.” She looks down at Chuuya. “How about you go fetch her for me?”

He nods, moving towards the back door.

Yasuhara glances at Chuuya’s retreating figure, before asking, “the trafficking organization?”

“Yes,” Kouyou answers. “You should really get going, Yasuhara. Don’t you have people waiting for you in Europe?”

“There is no point in leaving now,” Yasuhara says. “Didn’t you hear the Boss’ most recent orders?”

There’s a long silence, before Kouyou answers. “You’re right.”

Three days later, Mori is made Boss, with Dazai as witness.

Chuuya had only met the previous Boss once. Kouyou had taken him to base in order for him to pledge his loyalty. The man was old and sickly, and didn’t even seem to register what was happening when Chuuya blankly murmured the words he was supposed to say. He’s not upset over the man’s death, and it seems like a lot of other members feel the same way, including Kouyou and Yasuhara. The previous Boss had been known for being insane; everyone was just waiting for him to die, and now he conveniently has.

But Chuuya knows he doesn’t have a full grasp of the situation. There’s a tension in the air that’s making the black smoke that surrounds this place even thicker than usual. The fact that Yasuhara never bothered to leave as if he knew this would happen proves that something is amiss.

But Chuuya’s already made the Port Mafia a part of him. It’s in the way he moves, in the way he fights, in the way he easily catches and throws a knife. It’s in the way he hugs and cares for Kouyou and the girls in the brothel even if he can smell the scent of blood on them, even if he can feel the hidden weapons they hide in their sleeves, even if he knows that they’re capable of dragging pain out until their victim spills their life secrets. It’s in the way he admires Yasuhara, who comes home with nothing but a higher kill count and guns.

Chuuya has already accepted these things. So this time, he murmurs the pledge cautiously, but loyally and sincerely.

Kouyou pledges with a dangerous sneer on her face, her eyes lit with knowing. Yasuhara follows suit, but his expression is blank.

When Dazai pledges, his tone is frigid, and he speaks almost in a monotone. There is insincerity dripping from every word he speaks, yet Mori, or Boss, Chuuya supposes, simply smiles in response. The brunet doesn’t even acknowledge him when he walks past him, and Chuuya feels a spark of irritation settle underneath his skin. He doesn't understand Dazai at all. There are times where he’d look soft, almost vulnerable, like when he told Chuuya to just call him Dazai, or when he’d burst into Chuuya’s room. There are times where the boy is mischievously smug and cheerful, like at the end of their fight yesterday. But then there are times where the boy is terrifying, dark eyes soulless pits with no mercy for anyone who stands in his way. And there are other times, like now, where Dazai is nothing but a bandaged doll, where he's empty of any emotion and only gives out a blank stare.

Chuuya wants nothing to do with Dazai, but he can’t help but feel curiosity towards the other. Why was it that the Dazai that burst into his room that night seem so different than the one in front of him now? Where was the Dazai that insisted the two of them knew each other and seemed distraught that Chuuya didn’t remember, that seemed human?

Chuuya wants nothing to do with Dazai, and has been told countless of times that he should want nothing to do with his past.

But in the end, what he wants doesn't matter. The next day, Chuuya’s summoned to Mori’s office with orders to bring all his things. When he enters the office, Mori is sitting behind his desk, resting his elbows on the wood. Dazai is sitting in a chair in front of the man, and Chuuya feels a sense of foreboding creeping over him.

Chuuya wants nothing to do with Dazai, and has been told countless of times that he should want nothing to do with his past—

“I’d like to welcome to you two to your new partnership.”

—but he has a feeling that he’ll never be able to get away from Dazai Osamu, no matter how hard he tries.

part four

#bungou stray dogs #soukoku #fanfiction #side by side #ALMOST CAUGHT UP TO AO3 HAHA

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likevxnes · 7 years

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they’ll find us side by side (2/?)

Trigger warnings: Dazai, self harm, suicidal thoughts, mentions of child abuse

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part one

iii. Where they were, part two.

Dazai’s ten, when he first meets Chuuya, huddled in a back alley, red hair covering his face and hiding his eyes.

To be honest, it's the color of the boy’s hair that catches Dazai’s attention; he doesn't care much for other kids left alone on the streets. He's seen enough of them, is one of them, and always had trouble sympathizing with others anyways. He begins to walk on, already bored with the situation.

But then the boy looks up, blue eyes shining in the dim lighting like twin moons. It's a stare that's itching for a fight, that's ready to take on the entire world, that's burning with the desire to live. He's never seen a look like that so strongly on anyone before. He fails to understand how anyone could want to live so badly, when all he wants to do is die.

“What's your name?” He hears himself asking.

The boy stares at him, his look turning sharp, untrusting. Dazai kneels down so they're facing each other on more equal ground, reaching into his pocket to grab the apple he'd stolen from the farmer’s market this morning, and offers it to the other.

The redhead’s eyes widen, the suspicion in them softening. He tentatively reaches out his hand.

How naive, Dazai thinks, but for some reason it bothers him less than usual. He pulls it back, smiling at the other’s look of betrayal, at the way those blue eyes turn quickly into sharp daggers that glare at him with all his might.

“Your name?” He asks airily, his grin widening at the other’s look of surprise that quickly morphs into a scowl.

“Nakahara,” the boy bites out, aggressively snatching the apple from his grasp. Dazai’s attention is immediately caught by the ring of purple bruises surrounding the boy’s wrist.

“Nakahara…?” Dazai trails off, raising an eyebrow.

“Why does it matter?” The redhead shoots back, but gives in after a few seconds under Dazai’s stare. “Chuuya,” he mutters, turning his head away. “Nakahara Chuuya.” He takes a bite of the apple, the crunch sounding louder than it seems due to the quiet alley they're tucked away in.

“That’s a big name for someone as tiny as you,” he jibes, inwardly laughing at the other’s expression. This boy is strangely pure despite the miseries his life has clearly given him.

“Shut up!” He yells, “I’m not tiny!”

“If you say so, Chuuya~”

“Quit acting like you already know me!”

He just hums in response, moving so that he's sitting next to the other boy, raising his left knee and resting his arm on it. They sit in mostly silence, shoulders barely touching, the only sounds being the crunching sounds of Chuuya eating his apple. He can feel Chuuya sneak glances at him, and when he turns his head to meet his gaze, a knowing smirk on his face, the boy flushes, quickly averting his gaze.

“What’s your name?” The redhead eventually asks, eyes focusing on his hands.

“Dazai Osamu,” he chirps, leaning his head back to rest on the wall of the building behind them.

“Then...Osamu?” Chuuya questions, apparently having the decency to ask someone what they preferred to be called, unlike Dazai.

Before he can answer, a shout resonates into the air.

“Chuuya!” A man calls, his tone drenched with menace.

He feels the other stiffen beside him, before hurriedly standing up, tucking the hair away from his face. “I’m sorry, I need to go. Thanks for the apple,” the redhead says almost frantically, not even turning back before running out of the alleyway.

Dazai finds himself coming back to the same spot the next day. He feels strangely hopeful to see the boy again. He’s not exactly sure why, but decides it doesn’t matter.

Chuuya’s there, dressed in a faded long sleeved shirt and shorts, red hair still all over the place. He looks at Dazai with wide eyes when he sees him approach. “You again,” he mutters.

“Me again,” Dazai replies, smiling as he moves to sit next to the boy again. “How are you today, Chuuya?”

The boy frowns at him. “Okay, I guess,” he answers, voice dull, “and you, Osamu?”

Dazai almost corrects him. He’s not Osamu, hasn’t been called Osamu in the longest time. The name reminds him of brighter times, times that do not suit who he is anymore. But the way Chuuya says it, voice dripping with innocence, makes Dazai change his mind at the last second. “Okay too, I guess. Kind of hungry, but I don’t want to search for food.”

“Lazy idiot,” Chuuya bites back, and he only smirks in response.

They continue to talk, bickering back and forth. Dazai finds that he loves to rile Chuuya up, enjoys the way those blue eyes flash with indignation. He finds that he likes the way Chuuya’s curls flare around his head like fire. He finds the bruises on Chuuya’s wrists and ankles strangely mesmerizing. He wants to know more of this boy, and it surprises him. It’s been a long time since he’s been interested in anything.

So he continues to come back, day after day.

Each time, the two of them would talk, would bicker, until a voice would call for Chuuya and the boy would hurriedly leave.

“Why do you hide out here every day, Chuuya?” Dazai asks one day, watching as Chuuya wraps his arm up in bandages to cover the scrapes that lined his arms and legs. Yesterday, he had found a sharp rock and felt a morbid fascination in rubbing it against his skin and watching wounds form. Chuuya saw his wounds and fussed over him the entire time they were together, in that silly, aggressive way of his, practically threatening him with the fact he’d treat his wounds tomorrow.

The redhead pauses in his actions for a moment, before continuing again. “Papa gives me free time every day to go outside. I like to go to places where he can’t find me.”

“Papa?” He questions, tilting his head.

“Not really my Papa,” Chuuya explains. He carefully ties the knot of the bandage before continuing. “He just tells me to call him Papa. He takes care of me.”

Dazai doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gently grabs Chuuya’s wrists, ignoring the other’s protests, and traces his fingers against the purplish ring surrounding Chuuya’s wrist, touch so soft it’s almost like a kiss. He feels something dark within him emerge, a voice that says how dare someone do this to his Chuuya.

Another time, Dazai comes to their meeting spot to see Chuuya in tears. The bruises around his wrists look darker than usual. His lip is split and bleeding. His left eye is stained purple. There are spotted bruises around his neck, that look too similar to fingerprints.

“Chuuya—”

“It’s okay,” the redhead cuts in. He looks pitiful, arms wrapped around himself and tears pooling in his eyes, yet he still makes an attempt to comfort Dazai. Though he’s not sure if Chuuya’s comforting him or Chuuya himself. “Papa just gets angry sometimes. He doesn’t mean it.”

The redhead’s voice sounds blank, devoid of the usual passion Dazai’s come to associate with him. It reminds Dazai eerily of himself. He doesn’t like it.

“That’s stupid,” he says bluntly, kneeling down so he and the other are face to face, and Chuuya glares at him.

“Haa? What do you mean?” He bursts out, and Dazai is relieved because the fire in the other’s eyes is back.

“Chuuya, when someone hurts you, you should get angry.”

The boy stares at him with wide eyes. “I...guess.”

The dark feeling in Dazai grows, engulfs him like thick, black smoke. He studies the boy's face, glares at the bags beneath the other’s eyes and the bruises littering the other’s skin. He moves to his usual spot right next to Chuuya, wrapping an arm around the other and pulling him close, so that his head rests on Dazai’s shoulder.

“D-Dazai?” Chuuya stutters, squirming in an attempt to get away.

“Sleep,” he orders. “You look tired.”

Chuuya freezes, his posture stiff before he eventually relaxes. “Okay,” he murmurs reluctantly, adjusting his position to something more comfortable. Dazai ends up resting his head on top of Chuuya’s. He listens to the other’s breathing, to the way it eventually evens out as the the redhead falls to slumber, and finds his eyelids getting heavy.

The sound of a voice yelling Chuuya’s name is what wakes him up and makes him realize that he was asleep in the first place. He turns his head to find Chuuya still peacefully asleep, hair covering his face. He gently tucks it behind the boy’s ear.

“Chuuya,” he says, shaking the other’s shoulder, finding himself smiling at the other’s groan, despite his earlier mood. “Your papa is calling.”

The word papa quickly wakes Chuuya up. He abruptly raises himself from Dazai’s shoulder, almost stumbling in his haste to stand up. Before he leaves, though, he turns back to give Dazai a quick smile. He feels his heart stutter.

“Thanks, Osamu.”

The most memorable memory Dazai has with Chuuya is one that is surprisingly quite happy.

“Chuuya, let’s play a game,” he proposes, only to have the other give him a wide eyed look.

“Huh?” The redhead questions, “what stupid stuff are you going on about now?”

“Well, I saw Chuuya stare at the kids playing together by the farmer’s market yesterday.”

“...Quit following me. You’re creepy.”

He places a hand on his heart, faking pain. “Chuuya’s so mean...I just wanted to make sure he got home okay.”

The day he found Chuuya wounded and in tears, Dazai had followed the other boy, watching as he met with his so called Papa, who was apparently a man in his late thirties, the tips of his black hair turning gray. He studied Chuuya’s stiff posture as the man placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder, leading him through the streets of Yokohama. He watched as the man bought ice cream for the redhead, as if in apology for his earlier actions, and the surprised, bright smile the boy gave to him.

Dazai has never hated anyone more.

“Whatever,” the redhead retorts, shaking Dazai out of his thoughts. “Still creepy.”

He hums. “Let’s play a game, Chuuya.”

The other makes a dismissive sound. “What game, stupid Dazai? I don’t know any.”

Dazai blinks. “I don’t know any either,” he says playfully, grinning at Chuuya’s incredulous look.

“Then why did you bring it up, you stupid freak?”

“Let’s just make one!” He cheers, clapping his hands together. He stands up and offers a hand to the other, who grumbles but takes it. “How about we pretend that I’m a prince and I need to save you, the princess.”

“Why am I a princess?” Chuuya shrieks, face flushing with anger.

“Well, you’re tiny like one, and your hair is pretty.”

Chuuya splutters, mouth opening and closing as the red on his cheeks becomes a deep crimson. “What—Sh-Shut up!” He shouts, aiming a punch at Dazai’s face, which he smoothly dodges.

Eventually, they do end up playing pretend, on the terms that if Chuuya’s a princess than he’s the one saving the idiotic, worthless prince. Dazai laughs but complies. It ends up being shockingly fun. It’s almost scary. The way Chuuya smiles at him, his eyes filled with love for life, with an eagerness to be alive, despite the bruises and scars on his skin, makes his heart stutter and lungs compact. It’s as if Chuuya’s emotions rub off on him, seeps into his skin and bones, makes him feel like he has something worth living for.

Dazai realizes that he can never let Chuuya go.

He will do anything to protect his reason for living.

A week after their game playing pretend, Chuuya doesn’t show up at their usual meeting spot. When Dazai first get’s there, he isn’t that concerned. He’s arrived at their spot before Chuuya hundreds of times before. He sits down and waits.

Chuuya doesn’t show.

He doesn’t show the next day either. Or the next. Or the next.

He fights down the panic in his chest. Turns it to a dark, twisted determination to find the other boy, instead. He goes to the house he knew Chuuya was being kept in, only to find it empty. He asks people on the streets that know things, never taking no for an answer. He’s always been good at getting what he wants. He knows how he looks, a dark, eerie boy wrapped in blood stained bandages, with a willingness to kill, and uses that to his advantage.

He finds out that Chuuya’s Papa was not Chuuya’s guardian at all, but a man who dealt in human trafficking. He’d been keeping Chuuya to himself until a high buyer offered a good price. He was found dead in an alleyway with a potential buyer the day Chuuya disappeared.

“Probably the Port Mafia’s doing,” the old lady who gave him this information muttered. “I’m not sure where the child is, I’m afraid.”

So Dazai wanders. He walks from street to street, in back alleyways, where no one will give him a second glance. He often forgets about the need to eat, and finds himself only stealing food when his body begs him to. He becomes thin and pale, bandages weathered and worn. He finds himself sinking back into the place where he was before, where nothing matters, where everything he sees is nothing but a distraction from his own head.

One day, he wanders too far.

“Hey, kid,” a man calls out gruffly, “get outta here.”

He lifts his head to stare at the man, dressed in a dark suit, other men dressed in a similar fashion behind him. “Will you kill me if I don’t?” He asks, smiling at them.

Something shoots out at him. He’s not even sure what it is, before it crumbles before him, barely brushing his skin. He blinks, unfazed. This isn’t the first time this has happened. Dazai knows about abilities, about people with “gifts” but he also knows that even those people can’t seem to kill him.

Another attack comes. Dazai realizes it’s metal, probably being flung at him from some ability user who hasn’t bothered to show himself yet. He reaches up to touch the metal bar with his fingers, watches blankly as it falls to his feet.

“Stop,” a voice calls out, and everyone turns to face the newcomer. There’s a man, with shoulder length black hair, dressed in a white coat that reminds Dazai of doctors. He’s always hated doctors.

“Boy,” the man calls out to him, and that’s all the warning Dazai gets before a demon appears before him, holding a sword.

Dazai tilts his head to stare at the looming figure above him, watching as it moves it's arms to swing down it's sword. For a moment, there's an intense feeling of eagerness, a stream on thoughts whispering "Maybe this is it." As intense as the moment is, it's also very fleeting. He sighs and raises his hand to meet the sword being struck down on him, watching as the demon dissipates into smoke.

“Hmph,” a girl huffs, stepping out of the shadows, dressed in a golden kimono, peach hair twisted back into an intricate knot. Dazai assumes the demon belonged to her.

“Kouyou,” the man greets, and when the man smiles, Dazai realizes that he and this man speak the same language, hiding their darkness beneath a smile and empty stare. “I didn’t even see you back there. Interesting, isn't he?”

“An ability nullifier,” the girl muses, studying him. “Interesting indeed.”

The man stares down at him, grin still on his face. “Boy,” he begins, “my name is Mori Ougai. Would you like to join the Port Mafia?”

Dazai smiles, tilting his head at the man. “It doesn’t matter what I’d like to do,” he states, “you’re going to make me join even if I don’t want to, right?”

Mori’s smile turns cruel. “Smart boy,” he says, “then, will you follow me willingly, or am I going to have to chain you up?”

Dazai pauses. He supposes that the Mafia was a place where emotions ran wild, where people fought to survive, where there was no good or bad, just the need for power. Where the need to live is strong.

He’s reminded of blue eyes and red hair.

Maybe this place can give his life some meaning.

“I’ll follow willingly,” he answers, already moving.

Dazai’s thirteen when he sees Chuuya again.

To be completely honest, the redhead barely crosses his mind anymore. Now, Dazai’s life was filled with brutal training sessions that left him in swathes of bandages, casts, and sometimes (like today) crutches, books about war strategies, and blank smiles that hid more emotions than a genuine smile expressed. Now, Dazai’s already drenched his hands with blood, has caused pain for others with apathy.

So when he sees hair the color of fire and eyes that used to blink at him in his dreams, he barely registers it, only hears Mori’s clipped, “Good morning, Kouyou,” and her equally passive aggressive response. It’s only when he’s already passed him does the realization hit him square in the face, and he turns around, hobbling on his crutches, to see those same eyes staring back at him.

Dazai forgets to breathe.

Because Chuuya’s here, dressed in strange, formal clothes, wrists devoid of any bruises. Chuuya’s here, alive and safe, staring back at him. He suddenly feels the need to scream out, to run and reach the other boy.

But then the redhead turns away to look at Kouyou, who seems to be urging him to move, and Mori and Q are giving him strange looks, so he turns around as well, following them with his heart beating spastically in his chest.

The entire day, Dazai is unfocused and clumsy, thoughts still clinging to the fact that Chuuya’s here, has been so close to Dazai this entire time. Mori calls him out on it, when he’s coughing up blood onto the floor of the training room, but doesn’t do much about it besides telling him to waste someone else’s time if he’s going to act like this, heels of his boots echoing in the large room as the man leaves Dazai on the ground bleeding. He supposes that the man had used up all his kindness towards him for the day this morning, when he had removed Dazai’s cast on his leg with strange gentleness, and stated he was good enough to walk around and train.

He groans as he sits up, wincing at the pain, but his mind is already coming up with at least three hundred different ways to meet with Chuuya again. He stumbles back to his room, leaving a trail of blood on the way there. He supposes since Chuuya’s with Kouyou the boy probably lives at the brothel and not at the Port Mafia base like him. Once he gets to his room, he scowls at the sight of more strategy books on his desk, cursing Mori underneath his breath as he patches himself up.

He decides that sneaking in at night is probably the best option. Kouyou probably won’t let him in; she’s always looked at him with a disapproving gaze. So all he needs to do is find which room’s Chuuya’s room and sneak in during the hours where the brothel is the busiest, where Kouyou probably won’t notice him slip in.

It’s a pretty easy process. Dazai walks out of headquarters the moment the sun sets. By the time he gets to the brothel, business is in full swing. He walks over to the back of the building and spots the back door. It’s locked, as expected, but he picks the lock easily, opens the door cautiously and grins when he sees that the back room is unoccupied, the girls busy with their customers. He slips in and gently shuts the door behind him, before hurrying up the stairs.

He’s met with a long hallway lined with rooms on either side. Going about on a whim, he opens the first door to the right, and almost feels like laughing when he’s right.

Chuuya’s at his desk, papers resting in front of him, but at Dazai’s entrance, the boy had quickly turned around, only to stare at him with shock, before sharpening his expression into a glare.

“It’s you,” he says, and Dazai’s hit in the face with nostalgia, is immediately reminded of a boy’s voice saying “You again.”

“It’s me,” he replies cheerfully, grinning at the redhead, glad he can finally take a good look at him. He looks different yet still wonderfully the same. Now, he wears a strange hat on his head that Dazai thinks is sort of cute. His hair is longer and curls around his face. He’s taller, almost Dazai’s height. But the fire in his eyes that attracted Dazai in the first place, the burning desire to survive is still present in the redhead’s entire body.

Chuuya frowns. “What are you doing here? How did you even get in or find my room?”

“Would you believe me if I told you I guessed, Chuuya?” He replies, smile widening.

The redhead stiffens, eyes narrowing. “How do you know my name?”

He freezes. The whole world seems to shift. The smile he’s wearing suddenly feels wooden. “What are you talking about, Chuuya? Of course I know your name. Oh, wait, did you think I’d forget? It has been a while, after all.”

“What are you talking about?” Chuuya shoots back, standing up from his chair. He positions his body in way Dazai knows that the redhead’s preparing himself for a fight. “I don’t even know who you are.”

Dazai feels something bubble up in his chest, something thick and murky. “Quit messing around, Chuuya,” he says, but he’s finding it hard to keep the smile on his face. “It’s me, Dazai Osamu.”

There’s no way that—

Chuuya suddenly looks uncomfortable, tucking his hair behind his ear, an action so unbelievably familiar it makes Dazai’s heart stutter.

There’s no way that he’d—

“I’m sorry,” the redhead murmurs, and he really does look sorry, sympathy present in every angle of his face, “I don’t—I don’t remember.”

There’s no way that he’d forget about me, right?

The feeling bubbling in his chest begins to swallow his heart, begins to explode within him. He realizes that the feeling is panic, that it’s desperation. He clenches his hands into fists.

There’s no way there’s no way there’s no way—

The door opens, shocking them both. An older boy Dazai knows to be Yasuhara Yoshihiro, the Memory Manipulator, stands before them, staring daggers at him. The distraction is enough for Dazai to regain his composure. He finds himself smiling at the older boy, mask sliding back into place.

“Yasu-san,” Chuuya says, and Dazai scowls inwardly at the nickname. Since when did Yasuhara become close to Chuuya? To anyone?

“Dazai,” Yasuhara begins, voice deep and demanding, “what are you doing here?”

“I was just leaving,” he answers cheerfully. He flounces out of the room, feeling Chuuya’s eyes on him. He runs into Kouyou on his way out, responds to her glower with a grin, and calmly walks out the door. The walk back to base is strangely short, as if Dazai took three steps and found himself in front of the entrance. Dazai feels himself walking in a daze, feels a numbness swallow him up whole.

It’s only when he’s inside his room, the door tightly shut, does Dazai allow himself to fall apart. To topple over onto his bed, to curl up into a ball and clutch his head in his hands, gripping his hair so tightly he feels some strands falling out.

He doesn’t remember me.

"Anything I would never want to lose will be lost. It is given that everything that is worth wanting will be lost the moment I obtain it. There's nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life of suffering."

part three

#side by side #bungou stray dogs #soukoku #fanfiction #i am slowly transferring this over to tumblr so uh yeah #sorry if you were expecting some new material lmao #if anyone is reading this at all LMAOOO

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likevxnes · 7 years

Text

based off of this post by actualferid I’m sorry if it sucks, I just couldn’t help myself. And I don’t know how TV shows work, so if this is inaccurate I apologize.

if you know me in real life please don’t read this because idk it would make me feel less insecure

also, let’s pretend they have the same names as their characters, okay, I wasn’t creative enough to make new names

you can read it on ao3 here

He’s running. Sweat drips down his temple. His heart races.

“Guren!” Yuu screams, willing himself to move faster. He can see the vampire before him, raising his sword. Faster, Yuu urges himself, he was almost there–

The sword sinks into Guren’s chest. Suddenly everything’s in slow motion. Yuu watches in a daze, as blood stains the ground. “What…” he trails off, eyes widening, chest trembling. “You fuck! What do you think you’re doing to Guren?”

And then it’s almost as if time speeds up, because now he’s surging forwards, sinking his sword in the vampire’s chest, glaring at the vampire’s face, and he–

He bursts into giggles.

Keep reading

#fanfiction #mikayuu #owari no seraph

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likevxnes · 7 years

Text

Summary: Minho and Thomas talk about Newt (and some other things) in Paradise

**Spoilers if you haven’t read all the books

“What do you think he’s doing now?” Minho asks. “That shuckin’ shuck-face.”

Thomas shifts around uncomfortably, grief easily notable in his eyes, and for a second Minho feels kind of bad for picking at the wound. But it fades away easily, because he’s an overall asshole and when he hurts, he wants someone to hurt with him. And the one thing that keeps him awake at night, the one thing that keeps him from being happy is the fact that he’s in paradise and Newt, his best friend, isn’t.

#fanfiction #minewt #the maze runner

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likevxnes · 7 years

Text

if they’re searching for us, they’ll find us side by side

read on AO3 here

i. Where they are now.

This whole battle has gone to shit.

Chuuya curses as he barely manages to hold off an array of bullets. He sees Akutagawa in the corner of his eye, Rashomon splayed out around him, surrounding the boy like a protective, moving cage. He’s not sure where Kouyou and Yasuhara went, but he’s assuming Yasuhara was somewhere less chaotic and more suited to his abilities. The Black Lizard is behind him, and he can hear Hirotsu’s stern voice calling out orders.

Chuuya glares at the chaos that’s in the center of everything, at the ability user who brought the Port Mafia down to its knees. He watches as the ground crumbles beneath the woman’s feet, watches her hair flare out around her as if she were underwater.

Their ammo is running low. Everyone is beginning to get tired. Dazai is nowhere to be found.

They aren't going to make it.

He feels something itch inside of him, something dim and somber. Something tainted. He feels images flicker through his brain, sees purple bruises, hears a child’s laughter, sees an apple in a small hand’s grip, sees Corruption snarling at him, and suddenly everything makes sense.

“Ah,” he mutters to himself, releasing a small chuckle, “I get it, now.”

He begins to take off his gloves. He registers someone calling out to him but decides to ignore it.

“O Grantors of Dark Disgrace,” he says softly, “do not wake me again.”

Immediately, it comes, baring its jaws at him, surrounding him in a menacing murky fog. Everything fades away to a deathly silence.

He lets the darkness take him.

ii. Where they were, part one.

When Chuuya wakes up, in a bed with silk sheets and the smell of flowery perfume, he doesn’t remember a thing.

The doctor’s an older man with black hair and dark eyes, along with a smile that reminded Chuuya of a doll’s. Eerily empty. “What do you remember, boy?”

“Who are you?” Chuuya asks, gripping the blankets piled on his lap, and he's surprised at the scratchy tone of his voice, as if he hadn’t had anything to drink in weeks. “Where am I?”

“Mori Ougai,” the man answers, “I’m a doctor. You’re in a brothel owned by the Port Mafia.”

The pause after the man’s statement makes it feel like the words he said held some sort of significance. But Chuuya just frowns, staring at the man blankly.

He repeats himself. “What do you remember?”

Chuuya thinks, closes his eyes and tries to recall, but the only thing he sees is plain darkness. For some reason, the fact that he can’t remember anything doesn’t seem to send him into a panic. Instead, it makes him feel strangely numb and distant, as if everything happening right now was just a dream.

He tells the truth. “I don’t remember anything.”

The doctor’s eerie smile quickly fades into a frown. “You don’t remember anything? Not even the men who took you?”

He blinks at the man, his fingers beginning to fidget with the blanket he has spread across his lap. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He feels like he has done something wrong, but he doesn’t know what it is.

Mori’s frown deepens. He stands up, and turns away. A girl follows him towards the doorway, and the two of them begin to talk in hushed voices.

He hears the doctor say things like trauma and suppressing unwanted memories to the girl dressed in a kimono that reminds him of pink roses. But the words don’t really mean much to him. Instead, he focuses on the boy sitting at his bedside. He seemed to be about the same age as the girl, a good few years older than Chuuya himself. He wore a hat that covered his blond hair, so light it was almost white, which was twisted back and away from the boy’s face.

“Qui es-tu?” He forces out, throat feeling like sandpaper. The sound of his voice catches the attention of everyone else in the room, and they stare at him with wide eyes. He curls into himself from self-consciousness.

Wordlessly, the boy hands him a glass of water, which Chuuya accepts gratefully. The girl moves to sit next to him.

“Je suis Yasuhara Yoshihiro,” he answers. The look he gives Chuuya is surprisingly kind.

Chuuya glances over at the girl, who seems to catch onto the question hidden in his eyes. “Je suis Ozaki Kouyou. Ou Ane-san.”

“Ane-san…?” He murmurs back, moving to place the glass he has in his hands back on the nightstand next to him. He feels strangely numb. “C’est différent. I’ve never heard of that before.” He feels his self-consciousness rise even more when everyone flinches in shock again. “What did I do?”

“You mean...you don’t notice?” The boy, Yasuhara asks, tilting his head at him. Chuuya frowns, shaking his head. “You’re switching between speaking French and Japanese.”

Chuuya scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion. He blankly stares at his hands, which are now folded neatly in his lap. He studies the ring of bruises that circle across each wrist.

“What is your name?” Kouyou asks, making Chuuya look up to meet her gaze. “Do you remember that?”

“Nakahara Chuuya,” he says, surprised at how strongly and surely the answer comes to him. “My name is Nakahara Chuuya.” He moves to take another sip from the glass of water on the nightstand but accidentally knocks the glass over. Chuuya squeezes his eyes shut, preparing himself for the loud sound of breaking glass.

It never comes.

He hesitantly opens his eyes, only to have them widen in shock at the sight. The glass of water is suspended in midair, hovering off the ground, the water frozen in mid splash.

“Is that you?” Yasuhara asks, voice soft.

At the question, the glass begins to tremble. Drops of water drip down onto the floor. “What?” Chuuya asks shakily, glancing around at the shocked expression Kouyou wears and the look of interest in Mori’s eyes. “I can’t—je ne sais pais—”

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Yasuhara murmurs soothingly, “just stay calm. Focus.”

He nods, bites his lip, and tries. He doesn’t understand how he knows what to do. He barely registers the glass moving to place itself gently back onto the nightstand, the water following it and slipping back into the cup.

“Good job,” Yasuhara praises, the same time Kouyou says, “Well done, Chuuya.” His face flushes at the praise, but the frown still stays on his face. He is more confused than ever.

“How interesting,” Mori states, making everyone turn to look at him. He smiles that doll-like smile again. “I’ll leave him to your care, Kouyou-kun. I’m excited to see him fulfill his potential.”

Kouyou smiles back, but it is a different smile than before, one that matches Mori in its emptiness. “I’m sure you are, Mori-sensei.”

Chuuya adapts to his new circumstances well. Though he supposes since he had no memory of any other life than this to begin with, it wasn’t really that difficult.

The girls at the brothel pamper him, rub and squish his cheeks till he whines, giggle at him and stroke his hair. At first glance, some of them seem awfully shallow; but at night, when customers come, Chuuya can see the cunningness and wit in their eyes as they sneak every important piece of information out of a poor fool’s mouth, and he knows about the knives hidden in their sleeves that they use to take out men and women in the confines of the private rooms. Kouyou teaches him things about beauty, about elegance, but also about knives, fists, and blood. She teaches him how to harness his ability. He learns how beauty can be a weapon, here.

He spends a lot of time in Kouyou’s room. Usually, they do things in silence, simply enjoying the other’s presence. Kouyou’s often writing something on her desk, while Chuuya flips through picture books, because he doesn’t know how to read well yet.

“Why am I here?” He often asks, “what happened to me before this?”

It takes lots of attempts before Kouyou gives in and answers him. “You were taken from your country by bad men. Yasuhara saved you. You’re here because this is a better place for you.”

But Chuuya knows the place he’s in isn’t a safe haven. It isn’t necessarily better. He hears whispers of it throughout the brothel, hears Port Mafia and anxious whispers about a Boss. There is something dark here, a black smoke that wafts through the air, that smells like blood and makes it difficult to breathe.

Yasuhara visits infrequently and erratically. Kouyou always asks him how his mission was when he comes, to which he consistently replies with, “A bit too long.” Though his visits are a bit rare, when he comes, he spends the whole day at the brothel, from when Chuuya wakes up to when he goes to sleep. They usually spend the whole day together; Yasuhara speaks french to him, plays with him, trains him. He tells stories of his missions. He lets Chuuya wear his hat. Chuuya finds his respect for the older boy increasing with every visit that comes.

“Yasu-san,” he begins to call him, and the first time he did Kouyou raised an eyebrow at him, making his cheeks flush with heat.

But Yasuhara doesn’t even blink at the nickname. That’s another thing Chuuya likes about him; he takes everything in stride. Nothing seems to throw him off.

When Chuuya wakes up to the sound of commotion happening downstairs, he quickly jumps out of bed and rushes out of his room, almost tripping on his way down the stairs.

“Yasu-san!” He greets excitedly, the coos at his display from the girls making his cheeks heat up.

Yasuhara stops his conversation with Kouyou and turns to smile at him. It’s a small, crooked, one-sided smile; everything about Yasuhara is faint, but impactful. He’s still dressed in his mission clothes, his white coat billowing behind him and white hat resting on his head. “Good morning, Chuuya. Did you sleep well?”

He nods eagerly, and the smile on Yasuhara’s face widens by a margin as he pats Chuuya on the head. “Good.”

“Chuuya,” Kouyou begins, tone stained with scorn, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face, “Yasuhara and I were still talking. Go upstairs and get dressed. You have the whole day to spend with Yasuhara.”

“Yes, ane-san,” he mutters, turning around and running up the stairs. He walks into his room, which had stayed pretty plain the past year he’d been living in it, the only additions being a pile of books and his clothes. He’d just finished brushing his hair when he hears a knock on the door frame.

“I brought breakfast,” Yasuhara says, outer coat now gone, holding up a brown paper bag. The scent of croissants fills the air and Chuuya grins, only to falter at Yasuhara’s stare.

“What is it?” He asks, hands reaching up to his hair, “is my hair sticking up again?”

“No, no,” Yasuhara reassures, “there’s just something missing with your outfit today.”

“Missing?” He questions, frowning at the thought that Yasuhara didn’t like the way he looked.

“Yup,” the older boy says, and the small smile on his face just makes Chuuya more confused. “Close your eyes, mon cher, I can fix it for you.”

He does, because he trusts Yasuhara almost more than anyone, even though the wrinkle between his eyebrows deepens with his confusion. His eyes flash open when he feels something being placed on his head.

“Since you always take mine, I thought it’d be better if I gave you your own.”

Chuuya reaches up to take the object off his head, a smile curving his lips as he sees what it is. He runs his fingers over the hat, playing with the beads attached to the ribbon that wrapped around it. He places it back on his head and beams.

Yasuhara laughs at his expression, kneeling down so he and Chuuya are the same height. “I’m glad you like it. Now, what do you want to do today?”

When Kouyou enters Chuuya’s room, it’s late at night and the boy’s already deep asleep, Yasuhara sitting in a chair right next to his bed. She watches as Yasuhara strokes the boy’s hair away from his face and leans down to place a chaste kiss on his forehead.

“How long are you going to spy on me, Kouyou?”

She just laughs. “As long as you allow me to spy on you,” she replies, moving further into the room. She eyes the hat Chuuya clutches in his hands. “Honestly, I’d rather you not encourage Chuuya to take on your outlandish tastes.” Yasuhara just grins. She sighs. “I’m jealous. Chuuya adores you, and not me, the person who takes care of him every day. It’s only because you don’t see him enough to scold him.”

The faintest smirk appears on Yasuhara’s face. “He loves you, Kouyou.”

She makes dismissive noise. “He may love me, but he’s infatuated with you.”

Yasuhara’s cheeks become stained with light pink. “We trained today,” he says, changing the subject, “he’s getting really strong.”

The statement dampens the earlier carefree mood. Being strong in the Port Mafia only meant more danger. “A bit of a fighting prodigy, isn’t he?” Kouyou comments airily, “He’s two years ahead of my eleven-year-old self.”

The other hums in acknowledgement. “I met Dazai-kun yesterday.”

Kouyou moves to sit at the foot of Chuuya’s bed. She folds her hands on her lap. “What did you think?”

Yasuhara sighs, rubbing his hands on his face. “That this sort of life suits him,” he murmurs. “A big contrast from our Chuuya,” she agrees. “But Chuuya is good at making himself belong in places he shouldn’t.”

“Mori wants the two of them to meet,” the blond informs, his tone oozing disdain.

“I expected so.”

“You’re going to go through with it?”

Kouyou pauses, collecting her thoughts before answering. “Mori may be questionable, but his passion towards the Port Mafia is genuine. He has plans to take us out of the chaos the Boss is causing.”

The boy laughs bitterly. “You mean he’s going to kill him.”

The smile she wears turns sharp. “I mean, he’s going to be the next Boss, so we should tread carefully with him, for now. It will be better for us if we are in his good graces.”

“Tch. We’ll just be playing into his game,” Yasuhara scowls. “But I’ll trust your judgement, Kouyou.”

“As you should,” she replies, standing up. “I’ll be going to bed now. Feel free to stay as long as you like.”

“Goodnight,” Yasuhara says, attention already diverted towards Chuuya as the boy shifts in his sleep.

Kouyou makes her exit, but pauses in front of the doorway. “Are you ever going to give Chuuya his memories back, Yasuhara?”

A crushing silence follows. Kouyou turns her head to see that the other hasn’t moved from his position, but his posture is stiffer and more tense. It reminds her of a wooden doll.

“You found out,” he murmurs, turning his head to look at her. A dark smile spreads across his lips.

She chuckles. “Oh please. I knew almost right away. It wasn’t that hard to piece together considering I know of that ability of yours. And I’m sure Mori’s realized it by now, too. Maybe he knew it right away, but decided to play along and name Chuuya’s memory loss as trauma.”

“You give him too much credit,” the boy chastises.

“Maybe,” she agrees, before shooting back, “but you underestimate him.”

“You don’t understand,” Yasuhara responds, voice raising, “you weren’t there. You didn’t see him being degraded by those scum and then think that it was normal—”

“I’m not angry with you,” Kouyou cuts in, raising her voice to match his. She turns her back towards him again. “I understand why you did what you did. But we can’t keep protecting him anymore.”

And with that, she leaves, the silk of her kimono billowing behind her.

“Chuuya, be a good boy, now.”

“Stop it! Get away from me—”

Yasuhara quickly moves to the commotion, only to freeze at the sight. There was a young boy, with hair the color of fire, struggling against two men, who were grabbing at his clothes. The distinct bruise marks around the boy’s arms and legs makes Yasuhara realize that these men must’ve been part of the human trafficking organization that the Boss has been wanting to take down.

“I don’t want to!” The boy wails before he’s pushed over on his hands and knees.

Yasuhara feels himself move, body preparing itself for combat.

“Leave me alone!” The boy screams, and suddenly the ground beneath them begins to crumble, the men collapsing onto the ground. Yasuhara stumbles, feeling as if the air around him had become more thicker and heavier, pressing down on his shoulders and making it hard to move or breathe.

The boy stands tall, looking eerily calm in the midst of the destruction. His blue eyes harden as the men in front of him begin to struggle to breathe under the oppressive force.

The coldness in the boy’s eyes doesn’t disappear until the men have stopped breathing.

And then suddenly, the boy stumbles back, as if shaken out of his bloodlust. The air immediately feels lighter. “I—I didn’t—” His body begins to shake, and he drops down to his knees, “I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry Papa—”

The boy begins to sob.

Something in Yasuhara breaks.

He moves, quickly catching the boy’s attention, and the boy shies away from him, eyes filled with fear.

“It’s okay,” he says softly, “I won’t hurt you.”

“I didn’t mean it,” the boy repeats, his voice trembling, “I should’ve listened—”

“No,” he cuts in, surprised at the passion in his voice. He inches closer. “You have done nothing wrong.”

His statement makes the boy look at him with wide eyes. “I...haven’t?”

“Not at all,” he reassures and holds out his arms. “Come here, mon cher. I will make everything better.”

The boy does.

Yasuhara wraps his arms around the child and erases everything.

part two

#side by side #TRYING TO USE THIS BLOG MORE NOW #soukoku #bungou stray dogs

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likevxnes · 9 years

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mikayuusweek Day 5: Shinigami AU

Read on ao3 here

Hope you guys enjoy!

The first time Mika meets Yuu is when the boy’s twelve.

“I have an assignment for you,” Krul says, eyeing him. “Your target’s a young boy. He should die before he graduates high school.”

Keep reading

#mikayuu #owari no seraph #fanfiction

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likevxnes · 9 years

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mikayuusweek Day 2: Traveling au

Read on ao3 here

Wow, I’m actually participating in something? (Sort of.)

I saw traveling au and immediately thought of a road trip au…

Mika sighs, as he feels Yuu poke at his sides again. “Yuu-chan, go to sleep.”

The poking continues, though, and Mika groans as he forces his eyes to flutter open. Yuu’s face is only a few centimeters away from his, eyes glowing in the darkness.

Keep reading

#mikayuu #owari no seraph #fanfiction

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likevxnes · 9 years

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MIKAYUUSWEEK (July 26- August 1, 2015) is a 7-day celebration of shipping creativity. Show your love and support for Mika & Yuu through your own creations, including (but not limited to!) gifs, graphics, picspams, fanarts, fanfics, cosplays, fanvids, meta and fanmixes!

The theme for MIKAYUUSWEEK is based on the ethereal Archangels. We know that not all of you are familiar with this, so to accommodate everyone, there will be three types of prompts.

Option A: Key words describing or symbolizing a particular archangel

Option B: Simple prompt inspired by the archangels

Option C: Alternate Universe Options

You can choose either options or combine them together.

Day 1: Archangel Michael

Option A: Protection, courage, truth, integrity

Option B: Mika’s Day

Option C: Police Officers AU

Day 2: Archangel Rafael

Option A: Healing, sweet, loving, kind, gentle

Option B: Chummiest/funniest Mikayuu moment

Option C: Traveling AU

Day 3: Archangel Gabriel

Option A: Strength, adopt, visions

Option B: Yuu’s Day

Option C: Messenger AU

Day 4: Archangel Jophiel

Option A: Beauty, laughter, creativity

Option B: Mikayuu + Childhood or Childhood memory

Option C: Artist AU

Day 5: Archangel Azrael

Option A: Grief, comfort, suffering

Option B: Mikayuu + pain

Option C: Angel of death (Shinigami) AU

Day 6: Archangel Sandalphon

Option A: Hope, prayer, harmony, light, bright, vibrant

Option B: A song, lyrics or quote that reminds you of Mikayuu

Option C: Musical AU

Day 7: Archangel Chamuel

Option A: Freedom to be able to express themselves

Option B: A free day

Option C: Fandom crossover

The prompts were created as a guide. If you have trouble with them, you are free to come up with something of your own! Be creative! Be different! Use the tag #mikayuusweek in the first 5 tags of your post to make it easier for us to track and reblog your contribution.

Check the rules before you participate! Send us a message if you have any questions. We would be extremely grateful if you help us spread the word by sharing this post. Drag your friends into MikaYuu hell with us!

#I think I might participate?#not all the days though #probably two or three out of the 7 lol #prompts

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likevxnes · 9 years

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Oops. I Nico di Angelo’d.

Read on fanfiction here:

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10761200/1/You-ve-Found-Yourself-A-Hero

You’re young, and you’ve found a hero. He stands before you in all his glory, sea green eyes flickering brightly. His sword glows in the moonlight, bravely facing the manticore. He’s your dreams come to life, a true MythoMagic hero. The son of Poseidon! Cool!

You watch in awe, with maybe a bit of fear mixed in, as the hunters and half-bloods fight. You feel butterflies in your stomach.

Keep reading

#pjo #fanfiction #nico di angelo #percico #one sided though lol #Percy Jackson and the olympians #percy jackson

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likevxnes · 9 years

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Read on fanfiction here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10840310/1/Crashed

He’s speeding down the road. The rain falls down heavily, slicking the streets. You want to tell him to slow down, but you won’t. You just grip the sides of the car seat until your knuckles turn white. You stare at his tense jaw, at the glow of his eyes that remind you of an ocean storm. Even when he’s angry at you, you can’t help but think he’s beautiful. He’s all you ever wanted. He’s speeding down the road, and he’s all you ever wanted. You’re selfish. You won’t tell him to stop.

You start to wonder how it became this way. At first everything was so gentle: light kisses, flushed skin, shy smiles. Every movement filled with sunshine. But now he’s speeding down the road, the rain blurring everything around you. You can’t help but think you caused this. But you won’t let him go, you won’t tell him to stop. He’s all you ever wanted.

The car spins out of control. Tires screech, and you do, too. Glass shatters. You’re jerked forwards and pain springs up in every place of your body. You hear a terrible crack, and when you turn your head you see the ocean storm in his eyes settle. Crimson drips down his temple. You stare at your hands interlocked with his. In the end, he still chose to hold on to you.

You wail, and the rain pours down harder, but it won’t wash his blood off your hands.

You should have told him to slow down, before everything went out of control.

#gruvia #fairy tail #fanfiction #drabble

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likevxnes · 9 years

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Spoilers for The Death Cure (just in case) Read on fanfiction here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10861346/1/Please

Thomas realizes that he’s a bit of a stubborn, curious, annoying person. But he knows that he has to be a Runner. He can feel it.

“You’ve got to stop talking about this Runner stuff, Tommy,” Newt says, frowning. The two boys were currently sitting near each other at the bonfire, shoulders touching. Thomas stares at the way the fire light makes his eyes and hair glow bronze.

“But-”

“Shuck it,” Newt cuts in. “Just let it go. Please.”

And he does, surprisingly. —- He quietly slips out of bed and into the bathroom. He splashes his face with water and stares at himself in the mirror, at the bags that plague his eyes. Teresa was gone. Tomorrow, they were going to start Phase Two, whatever that was. He turns his body, craning his head to see if he can see the words printed on his neck.

To be killed by Group B.

He feels a bit hollow. The only thing inside him right now is a need for revenge.

“Shouldn’t you be in bloody bed right now?”

Thomas knows who it is immediately. He’s memorized the sound of his voice, has come to rely on the person speaking to him greatly. “Shouldn’t you?” he replies softly, turning his head to the figure who stood in the doorway.

Newt walks over to him and gently places his hand on his shoulder. They stare into the mirror, at their matching weary eyes. Newt is a bit taller than him, Thomas realizes, but it’s such a small difference it’s barely noticeable.

“Tommy, let’s go to buggin’ sleep,” Newt mutters, “Please.”

And suddenly he feels himself filling up, a warm feeling buzzing through his bones. He doesn’t feel hollow anymore. Thomas raises his hand and gently places it over the hand Newt has on his shoulder. He lets it fall almost immediately. “Alright,” he says, and the pair walk into the room in silence. —- He isn’t exactly sure how this started, but he’s starting to like where it’s going. Newt’s lips feel dry and cracked, but he’s pretty sure his feel the same way. He doesn’t want to question anything anymore, because this feels good, and he hasn’t felt good in a long time. His hands are shaking and Newt’s trembling beneath him. There’s sand everywhere, in Newt’s hair, in his own, in their clothes, but neither care.

They break away, gasping. Thomas’s blood burns at the way Newt’s cheeks are flushed, at the way his eyes stay closed. He places wet kisses along the blonde’s neck, at the spot right below his ear. His hands slide underneath his shirt.

“Thomas,” Newt breathes, tugging at the other boy’s shirt, “Tommy. Please.”

A small chuckle escapes Thomas as he complies. “Sure, darling,” he teases, “anything for you.”

“Shuck it,” Newt retorts, but he’s gasping. —- “Tommy, slim yourself.”

At first, Thomas doesn’t really understand, he doesn’t get how Newt could stay so calm, doesn’t get how he could force a smile on his face. Newt’s name still echoes through his head, the first shucking name on the damn ‘not immune’ list. But it can’t be him. It can’t be Newt the one he’s held and kissed. The one he can’t lose. He can’t lose anyone else, he can’t-

But there it is again, in Newt’s eyes. Please.

So he says, “If you’re cool with slowly going crazy and wanting to eat small children, then I guess we won’t cry for you.” He smiles and it stings.

He feels hollow again. —- Thomas glares at the envelope, at the blankness. He finds it overwhelming. Blank on the outside but on the inside, there could be anything. He slides it into his pocket cautiously.

“Now look me in the eyes.”

He thinks back to the days in the Glade, at the bonfire, the way Newt’s eyes glowed bronze with a good enough amount of happiness and light. (He isn’t naive enough to believe that Newt, or anyone, really, was extremely happy in that place.) Now though, his eyes are dark and tired. Pained.

“You swear to me that you won’t read what’s inside that bloody envelope until the time is right.”

And he swears, staring at the boy’s trembling frame that screamed please. —- They’re on the Berg, and they hold each other tight. The only thing they can do is keep the other as close as possible, until they can’t anymore. —- “Get out of here!” Newt yells, arms trembling as he aims his gun. —- Please. —- “Do it!” Newt shouts.

“I can’t!” Thomas says, voice trembling. He glances at the way Newt’s body shakes, at how he holds the pistol to his forehead, at his wild eyes. He realizes now that he was wrong. Newt was never really close to happy at all, was he?

“I hated that place, Tommy. I hated every second of every day.”

And he has a selfish thought. What about him? Did Thomas make him happy? He thinks of Newt’s smile on that one night in the Scorch. He thinks of Newt’s playful little kisses, of his reassuring touches.

“Kill me!” Newt yells, and Thomas feels tears stream down his cheeks. When Newt’s eyes soften, he knows he’s done for.

“Please, Tommy. Please.”

He pulls the trigger. —- “Sure, darling,” he teases, “anything for you.”

#the maze runner #newtmas #fanfiction #the maze runner trilogy

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