#anticide writes

Lou! I was torn on what to write for you, but I had Ene's help in picking an AU and you get a ficlet of the hybrids illegal fighting ring AU Lu @/ardeidae-e and I keep screaming about, enjoy ❤️

He spat globs of blood onto the ground.

The crowd in the risers continued cheering long after a victor had been declared, long after his opponent had been taken away on a stretcher held together by wood and thin cloth.

“I made it this far without anyone, and dammit I’ll keep going until I can’t anymore.”

Until he physically couldn’t anymore. Some days time went by in a blur where all he remembered was waking to a pointed needle glimmering between his eyes. Some days he remembered every agonizing minute from dawn ‘til dusk, counting the moments down until the others went quiet and the sound of shackles dragging across the floor stilled. Just to repeat it all the very next day.

“Why?” The bunk above him creaked and a head popped out from over the edge, ears twitching in interest. Chuuya reached for and touched one of his own, feeling for anything missing. He hadn’t had one of his ears clipped yet. “Everyone in here is like you and me—just trying to survive, but who’s to say it won’t be you getting dragged out of the ring next by the medics? The crowd really loves a good performance, and the best performers are those at death’s door.”

“‘Why’? So I should just accept my fate and lie down and take it? Hell no! I’m not accepting that this is the end and I can’t do anything about it.”

Dragging himself over to the closest wall and propping himself against it, he shot Dazai a glare. In the time that they’ve shared a cell together, Chuuya never knew what he was in for. Never saw him fighting. But he still looked as beaten up as all the others, sleep deprivation tugging at his reddening eyes and his mop of hair hiding what once were loose curls. Unlike Chuuya, he had a normal enough looking tail, mesmerized by the sight of it swishing around in the air side-to-side like a pendulum.

“Mm, even if you did decide to give up, I think it’s an unspoken clause that the ring won’t allow one of its best fighters to just give up. I’m not even being allowed to give up, and trust me when I say I’ve tried everything to take myself out. You have to keep going until the people say so, how miserably wonderful.”

Dazai sounded gleeful as he spoke, as if making light of their situation would somehow wash away the reality that two, sometimes more, often went into the ring and the same number didn’t come out. That this was all just a bad dream he would wake up from sooner or later. Oh, he wished too strongly that one day this would all become a figment of his imagination and he’d be back on the streets cutting his teeth out in the world again.

Surviving was all he seemed to know how to do.

Chuuya winced as he tried to sit up straight and clutched his side. The skin was hot to the touch and an angry red radiated from where teeth sank in and formed a deep bite mark. “You’ve been through it and back, huh? You talk like you’ve been here for a while now and seen it all.”

“It’s not like we’re given a choice in what we want to do day-by-day that would change things up much. Some fight, some are wheeled out to the medical ward for experimentation, some just lie in their cell all day. That’s it.” Dazai rolled over and sat up before hopping out of the bunk, landing with cat-like grace. His feet barely made a sound hitting the concrete and approaching Chuuya.

That kind of silence did not come naturally.

"Well, then, if I really ruined your life like you saym why don't you just kill me? We both know you're good at that."

hi Shannon! have this horribly delayed ficlet of 18!beast skk and corruption gone wrong <3

Evening draws its purple light across the ballroom floor.

Chuuya sits in a puddle of blood both his own and his enemy’s. There was no one to catch him falling, hurtling toward Earth this time—that person’s beaten and unresponsive right next to him with both eyes gently shut as if in a pleasant sleep and not knocked unconscious—so he crashed as the last body dropped and all went silent except for his ragged panting.

Life itself within him wants to scream and he can barely choke out a sob. It hurts all over. He counts the seconds and repeats from one to ten over and over expecting to also fall unconscious at any moment. His body’s never lasted past ten. It’s been at least a few minutes, probably a lot more, and blood continues to gush from his wounds and paint the tiles people once danced on that turned into a war zone overnight.

“Dazai…,” he says through clenched teeth and looks down at the lifeless body of his partner, bandages soaked red and with grime. His fringe is matted and curls over his invisible eye. “I know you can hear me. You’re not dead. You…”

The bite in his voice weakens and becomes nothing. He counts down until Dazai opens his eyes and repeats the cycle endlessly like the night Chuuya carried him back to his car from the compound he was held captive in.

“Of course this was all part of my plan. What do you take me for?”

“That guy called you ‘Bandages’. How does he know you?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Worrying over Dazai was something he never did. It came easily to him when they first met at fifteen and Dazai was nothing but an insufferable waste of bandages always having a snide remark to everything. Calling him a little fairy. Telling him to keep drinking milk or else Dazai will overshoot him in height one day.

“Now, don’t get me wrong, Chuuya. I never said that I found something worth living for, I simply said that it’s worth sticking around a little longer to see what comes next. Hey, Randou was kind of weird, wasn't he? Calling people a bunch of patterns. I would've liked to pick his brain a little more before he died.”

It’s been a little over three years and it feels ten times as long as that.

He sees Dazai’s grubby hands reaching for him, covered in mud and other unknown substances threatening to stain his own suit, and a slimy voice purring in his ear with a thorny smile to match. His fingers grow cold as he loses feeling in them and a sickening warmth bubbles in his stomach. When he blinks, Dazai is nowhere to be found except on the floor still, never having moved.

“Is this all part of your plan too?” he asks the room to receive a silent reply.

He begins to sway until his back hits the floor with a thud and the air is knocked out of him, though he’s conscious of the fact that he’s still awake as he continues to breathe in and out, admiring the shattered kaleidoscope-paned ceiling ridden with bullet holes and human-sized craters. A distant door from somewhere below slams open and he hallucinates an army of men stampeding inside and up the stairs. Maybe they’re real. Maybe they’re not. His ears continue to ring from pistols fired long ago.

As it grows quiet once more, he turns his head to where Dazai lies as still as many of the dead bodies surrounding them. “Hey, get up…”

It’s pointless to waste the last of his energy on someone who hasn’t answered him from the start; he supposes he’s a fucking fool for thinking Dazai invincible like the cockroach he’s been since day one. He, too, bleeds. He, too, isn’t impervious to human error. Chuuya remembered the panic on Dazai’s face as he finished the incantation to Corruption, running toward him and reaching out to him before being blown back by the impact of gravity and gunfire colliding. The panic was so sudden when Dazai was previously confident delivering his ultimatum, as if a change of heart split his mask right down the middle.

this song makes me so sad and I love it, it's so beast skk

anyway, here you go <3

“Remind me again why I’m the one doing this? I’m no family member of his. Never was. None of us is.”

“Because he has no known living family members. It then becomes the closest living successor to perform the ritual.”

In other words, someone had to do it, and the burden fell on Chuuya, as usual.

To call him close with Dazai was such a fucking joke that he couldn’t help but smile bitterly. Whatever they had, if they ever had something more than partners, Dazai had razed it to the ground and turned it to ash with his remains.

I can’t do this.

I can do this.

If I can’t do this, I don’t deserve to lead the Port Mafia.

These thoughts flooded the forefront of his mind and he let them. Like the tide, they’d recede and go back to the depths where they came from. He took the chopsticks and ignored his trembling hand to focus on the pile of ashes laid out in front of him, bone fragments sticking out of it.

He was looking at what used to be a person.

I’m going to be sick.

No, he could do this. He went through much worse in the past: walking into the slaughter of his old friends, opening a trunk to find a dead body, the time spent tortured as a lab experiment. Dazai didn’t exist anymore. This was nothing. It paled in comparison.

If he had any sort of worth still, it was to the organization that had become his family. He hadn’t become Dazai’s underboss out of goodwill or favoritism for being his partner in the past. He knew how to lead all too well. And always against his wishes.

The pile smelled like gravel and dust. No air circulated in the cramped room. Chuuya clicked the chopsticks together a few times to test his grip, his ability to carry out this final order required of him. Even in death, he could not be left alone. If death couldn’t separate them, then nothing would.

“What do I pick out first?”

“The feet, sir,” a man said from behind. “The bones of the head come last. Among them, the nodobotoke is the most important bone that comes right before the head to ensure the remains aren’t placed upside-down in the urn.”

“Out of respect, right?”

“Correct.”

Chuuya suppressed the urge to scoff and dug his chopsticks into the ashes, picking out the phalanges and metatarsals, dropping them into the urn beside him with a tiny, hollow clunk. Two hundred plus bones for him to go through, two hundred plus reasons he had to hate Dazai, all failing to surface when he needed that anger the most. The anger left him long ago when he punched a hole in the wall of the very office that used to be Dazai’s and now belonged to him. When he let out a final, pent-up scream to the world.

All the missed calls. Atsushi’s pleading face for him to do the impossible.

i have a prompt for you [evil grin]

❛ worship me. until i tell you to stop. ❜ + skk (beast maybe? whatever inspires you the most 👀)

take your time 🫶🏻

Aimi! I bring you beast!skk pain and Dazai surviving and the consequences of his actions 👀

cw for Beast!Dazai's attempt

He felt warm. Protected, even. Dazai remembered hitting the concrete and drowning in a puddle face down. Too cold, in too much pain for him to process what had happened, except that everything grew dark and his body became numb. The sirens approaching from a distance meant that help was on the way, but that help came too late. He heard the wet steps of feet next to him, splashing him.

The second thing he realized was that he could see with both eyes. Harsh beams of light beat down on him, as cold and sanitary as the room he found himself in. Everything was pure white, and he knew he couldn’t have found his way to heaven—a place he didn’t belong in—so this must be some kind of purgatory.

How awful. But he knew not to expect kindness even after death.

A steady beep to his left pulled him out of his thoughts, and his eyes followed a bundle of wires hooked up to a monitor. He watched some of the numbers go up and down, followed by another beep, and thought it strange that his vitals were being monitored. He didn’t have a pulse. He wasn’t breathing. And yet he let out a shaky breath and turned his head away, the pillow underneath criminally soft as if it had been recently fluffed just for him.

Dazai stared vacantly out the window, watching rain droplets slide down it. The faint rumbling of thunder filled silent gaps until he heard a knock at the door.

Who would be visiting him? And why?

He swallowed, wincing from how dry his throat was, and tried to speak, but nothing came out except for a hoarse noise. He watched the handle turn and the door open to reveal—

To reveal someone who should still be alive. Someone who shouldn’t be here with him. His eyes widened, and he sank back against the bed with nowhere to go, limbs still heavy, and his chest aching. All the pain had suddenly resurfaced like he had been engulfed in flames, and his mind screamed where he physically couldn’t.

Chuuya approached in a swift stride, and there was nowhere for Dazai to go. He held a blank expression that Dazai couldn’t decipher, but the strangest thing about this encounter was the wine-colored scarf around Chuuya’s shoulders. The same one Dazai had died in.

“You’re awake,” Chuuya said, stopping at Dazai’s bedside. He gave a look-over of the body trapped in bed and covered in blankets before looking up at the monitor. A small, strained smile began to play on his lips, but he looked like he was trying not to grit his teeth. “It’s been a bit. They said your coma could’ve lasted a long time, maybe months or more, considering what happened. But they also said it helps for the person unconscious to hear someone talking to them because it might wake them up sooner.”

“Awake?” Dazai echoed, his eyes darting from Chuuya’s face to the faraway wall, taking in everything again. This was a hospital. He was being kept alive. How did he survive? “That’s impossible, I had everything calculated down to the moment. From the height I fell from, I shouldn’t have survived.” His voice rose in a panic and a finger came upon his lips, gently shushing him.

All I see is Beast SKK in your prompts Rosie... sorry for another <3

Lou!! as promised, here's 1,188 words of 18!beast skk and the aftermath of them fighting Mimic/Gide

He thinks of afternoons spent with Dazai—his boss, his ex-partner, his ex-promise—as business. Dazai is a man whose interest could be bought not with money, but with playthings that interested him. Transactional, in every sense of the word, and Chuuya’s been his plaything since the first few weeks they had met.

And like with all playthings, there will come a time when their owner grows tired of them. Or they simply grow up. There’s nothing new or exciting or fresh about their relationship anymore; the spark is gone. A candle snuffed out. But Dazai has yet to toss Chuuya in the trash and move on to the next thing.

Chuuya thought like this once when he was sixteen or so, and after two betrayals too many by people he had called his friends. Dazai’s had one foot out the door for as long as he could remember, a briefcase under the bed packed and ready to go at a moment’s notice.

He thought like this because, as he sits on the floor covered in blood both his own and his enemy’s, he remembers all the empty promises made to him by others over the years. A detective with his hand out, ready to show Chuuya the light. A band of losers—he called them then—the Flags, a group he could find a home in when he struggled to adjust to the mafia. The Sheep: a group of kids all around his age and all homeless, worn down by the rough streets and slums, counting the blood money they had made by the campfire and sleeping with knives. They had fed him, kept him alive, and made use of him, and now they were all but a distant memory.

The only constant in his life is Dazai now. Someone fickle and commitment-avoidant, who’d do anything including hurting himself, to not promise Chuuya anything like others had.

Twice he’s hurt himself to not say that word. They’re eighteen now, teetering between life and death, surrounded by corpses. Chuuya remembers back then when Dazai had stabbed himself to force Corruption. It left him with no choice when Dazai could no longer walk and Shibusawa was hot on their heels, destroying every pillar they had tried to hide behind.

This time is slightly different.

“You’re such… a damn idiot sometimes,” Chuuya forces out. Every breath feels like it’s his last, like his own lungs are drowning him. But Dazai is alive despite how ghostly pale he looked and how cold his skin was to the touch. If he wasn’t, then he couldn’t have nullified Corruption.

One more corpse means nothing to him when he sits in the middle of a graveyard that used to be a grand ballroom, the stench making his stomach turn.

If Dazai dies, then he has to explain how it all came to this. He has to explain how Dazai knew Mimic and Gide would be here. He’d have to explain why Dazai’s blood is on his hands, and why he’s nothing more than a murderer. That thought stings only because this is not him. Corruption makes a wild animal out of him and he doesn’t want it, but Dazai’s always forcing it out of him. He crawls forward with the last of his strength and lifts Dazai’s head onto his lap. It falls limply.

He’d had to explain why he killed his own partner.

❛ my heart scares you and a gun doesn’t? ❜

skk? beast skk? surprise me 👀

hehe hi Aimi!! as expected I have 983 words of beast!skk shortly after Dazai becomes boss

“The Port Mafia boss who clawed his way to the top of the organization after assassinating the previous boss to become the most feared man in the underworld is scared of my heart,” Chuuya says with a wry smile, finger wrapped around the trigger. His hand trembles, and the gun starts to shake.

If Chuuya shot him, it would be by accident.

He’ll never fear a gun—not when it’s in the hands of the one person in the world he trusts the most.

His own heart scares him some days, when he wakes up gasping for air or thinks about all the memories they’re losing to time. When he sits at his desk and reflects on the other versions of them on different sides, still managing to be partners as one fights for good and the other lives by evil.

A gun is predictable. It can shoot to kill. And a heart is everything a gun is not.

“Your heart is both a weapon that can kill you and everyone around you and also save you.”

Where his beats blood through his veins, Chuuya’s is not so simple—it’s scarred over and struggling. It’s suffered through countless deaths and carries long-lost friends within it. In this world, it’s only happened once to him.

This is now the second time Dazai’s watched the same people die. The second time he’s witnessed Chuuya captured and tortured for the sin of wanting to be like everyone else. Chuuya’s heart is not used to this pain; it’s raw and fragile. Dazai’s is hardened. It’s never known friendship or love in this world. It aches for a reality that he can only dream about. He knew those terrible days would come when they were younger and still could not prepare himself for the screams that continue to haunt him to this day.

Chuuya’s eyes are wild, and he wears a feral smile. It’s the last thing his enemies would see before being blown to bits, and now that it’s trained on Dazai, he feels a strange ache in his chest.

“What do you want me to say? That you won? Congratulate you for killing the last person standing in your way?” Chuuya’s voice wavers, and the gun falls to his side. “Well, good-fucking-job. You won, Dazai. And no one’s gonna applaud you for doing what we all knew would happen one day.”

This is what Dazai fears of Chuuya. He’s a sweeping maelstrom of tragedies and bottled-up emotions, and Dazai has found himself in the eye of it, waiting for the calm as he braves the storm that is his partner.

Everyone’s either gone or dead. The last person in Dazai’s way is gone, off to live undercover as part of his plan. To Chuuya, Mori might as well be dead.

He closes the distance between them before Chuuya has a change of heart and shoots. He’s accepted dying as something inevitable in the near future, but he does not want to die by a hateful bullet and look upon what he’s done to Chuuya and what he’s taken away from him. His other self couldn’t have predicted the events that unfolded when they were teenagers, but here, he has no excuse to pave his world with death just to let one man who doesn’t even know he exists live.

❛ just do what you’re told. like you always do. ❜

this is over 1.5k words oops... but ANYWAY, ABRAM. look at the monster you created. you've unleashed this ungodly fox!chuuya hybrid experiment thing

cw: blood, injuries

As the window rolled down, he clamped a hand over Chuuya’s mouth.

“I told you to quit it, Chuuya,” Dazai said lowly, turning his attention to a man standing just outside on the sidewalk by their car, eyes obscured by a pair of shades. “Now shut up, or they’ll hear you.”

That warning wouldn’t stop Chuuya. Dazai knew so. So long as they were stuck in the backseat of a Port Mafia vehicle, Chuuya struggling against Dazai’s grip and kicking and gnashing his teeth against the hand on his mouth, they had everything to lose and nothing was in their favor.

Not to mention that he was in enemy territory. He shouldn’t be here. The warning alarms blared in his mind the moment he hauled Chuuya over his shoulder and set his limp form down inside before getting in himself. The driver had shot him and the mafia’s unconscious executive a curious look that flickered between concerned and knowing. He looked ready to speak, and Dazai cut him off with a ‘Go. Now,’ before any questions left his mouth.

That got people killed. And he wasn’t in the mood after the frankly stupid shit Chuuya had gotten himself into. This wasn’t Chuuya’s fault, but it didn’t stop him from clenching his jaw with silent pressure. He knew who to point the finger at. Six years ago Chuuya had some of the best days of his life and some of the worst ones within weeks. He had it all, and had it all taken away.

Chuuya would never escape his past as an experiment, it seemed. Sometimes Dazai harbored the belief that the world should burn for what its people have suffered through. N dying once when they were younger wasn’t enough. That was a mercy the man didn’t deserve.

The arm he had around Chuuya’s middle tightened. A crushing hug against him. He heard a wheeze against his palm, as if the air had left Chuuya’s lungs for a moment, and he stilled for a few seconds.

“Greetings, sir,” the man in black greeted with a nod, bowing at the hip. He remained at a distance, unmoving, but Dazai felt the eyes behind those sunglasses on him, studying him. “Terribly sorry to have to stop you, but this checkpoint leading down to Yokohama Port had recently been put up due to increased surveillance on behalf of the Ministry of Home Affairs.”

Dazai heard a muffled sound against his hand and tried to block it out. It sounded like panic. That was the last thing he needed, let alone Chuuya. “Right, so I’ve heard,” Dazai answered coolly, leaning back against the car door, blocking the sight of Chuuya’s beaten, bloodied figure. He flashed a strained smile, and the man did not react. “You don’t sound very sorry at all, but you’re just doing your job, even if it means that you’re wasting my time. Now, what is it?”

“There’s been an incident on the outskirts of the city involving special ability poachers.” Fishing around inside his jacket, the man pulled out a badge with a photo and name attached, the surface of it glinting under the sun’s harsh rays. Detective. Dazai’s eyes fell upon the title, ignoring the man’s supposed name. His blood ran cold—he knew that a subdivision of the Ministry of Home Affairs was the Special Division for Unusual Powers. The government as a whole was not to be trusted between the Hunting Dogs and unethical research projects that birthed something unholy like Chuuya.

From the corner of his eyes, orange-red ears twitched and flattened. A fluffed tail thrashed between them, against Dazai’s leg, the anger palpable. Chuuya was losing his patience. He also wouldn’t be alive right now—or worse—had Dazai not found him when he did. Chuuya’s suit was torn along the arms and legs, blood oozing from wounds that smelled strong and caustic like chemicals.

from the non-human prompt list. preference for kitsunezai as always but anything that inspires you is great! take your time 🍑

hi Laugan!! I know I saw your prompt inspired me to write Lost Little Lamb, but I wanted to give you something else in addition to taht because this prompt had my brain running in circles with ideas tbh

have 1440 words of kitsune!Dazai/human Chuuya and hooking up gone wrong, but it's too late and Chuuya's in too deep

The thing in the attic stirs and grows restless.

It’s been two weeks since Chuuya began hearing sounds up there. Two months since he began hooking up with Dazai after they met on a dating app. And it’s been two days since he got a good night’s sleep.

Whatever it is, it sounds alive and beastly, making scratching sounds against the floor and walls like an oversized rat that made his home its own home. Things haven’t been the same since he had met Dazai—an odd, if charming man who didn’t know how to flirt or hold a proper conversation if it hit him upside the head, but his strange mannerisms and terrible jokes were enough to get Chuuya into bed.

He sits on the edge of his bed scrolling through their conversation, dozens and dozens of messages going back days and up to a week ago.

I can’t come over today, sudden business meeting got me, oops! — 7:36 pm

I just now saw your message, napped for longer than I expected. How about tomorrow? — 2:46 am

I have to do a bunch of cleaning, I don’t think you wanna come over and see how messy it is. Socks lying around isn’t very sexy — 9:10 pm

Chuuya scrolled through excuses after excuses from the last few days. Dazai had complimented his place, his choice of decor, and his bed, and it felt like he knew everything about Chuuya while Chuuya knew just the clothes that Dazai wore on his back and what he did for work. Thunder rumbles in the distance, and he listens to the sound of rain hitting the window. It fills him with a deep sense of want tonight, to be close to someone, and the most recent message from Dazai was that he could not come over tonight. He was out.

Out doing what?

The weather’s terrible, and when Chuuya looks up, he sees faraway cars down below with their fog lights piercing through the night. A chill runs up his spine, and he tosses his phone aside. It’s so quiet he can hear himself think, can hear the wind picking up outside, can hear the floorboards upstairs creaking if he listens hard enough.

A deep sigh leaves him and he gets up to stretch. He’s resigned himself to another restless night of little-to-no sleep. This is how he and Dazai met—two lonely souls who bonded over insomnia and the itchy, compelling need to get up and do something. Meeting in the dead of night was convenient for both of their schedules, but he does not understand what Dazai would be doing at this time and in this weather, if not coming over.

The weather sucks ass tonight. What’re you doing out? Getting drunk? — 10:29 pm

It’s his fault for never responding to Dazai’s last message, but he knew not to expect anything from yet another excuse. Did he even want a part of their little thing anymore? Did he not have the guts to tell Chuuya to his face that he wanted to break it off? This leaves a bad taste in his mouth, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance. Being bad at conversation also meant that Dazai was incapable of being straightforward. Every word had a double meaning. His every response was carefully curated like he was playing a game of chess that Chuuya wanted no part of, and it made things frustrating.