#dezai

‘ that’s it, i’m coming in. ‘ he’s waited long enough to be let into his partner’s flat, and he’s getting impatient. he’s only scheduled so much time today for this nonsense, after all. the longer he stood outside waiting, the less time he’d have. so he lets himself in with an annoyed tch, forgoing politeness. 

first, he’ll start with the dishes. rolling up his sleeves, he gets to work. he collects all the stray dishes, piling them up in the sink. he’s brought his own bag of cleaning supplies, so he starts furiously washing dishes. next, he’ll clean up all the garbage. then he’ll clean the floors. until it’s sparkling. 

@dezai​​​ asked: “   i  trust  you  more  than  anyone  else  in  this  universe .   ” oh ...

hurt/comfort sentence starters ( not accepting )

he doesn’t want to say that trusting him is a mistake, that at his core, an all-powerful being of destruction and calamity, he is paralyzed by fear much too often . even now, it swells and bubbles underneath his skin, nearly bursting forth from his facade to be strong for those around him ( the king of sheep was for everyone in the gang . the port mafia executive is for the organization . the god of calamity is for yokohama . nakahara chuuya is for... ) . he can’t do anything, seemingly incapable of facing his greatest fear, of facing the bandaged man next to him, but all of those thoughts are swept away with the feeling of cool hands on either side of his face, gently guiding him until he can press his temple against the other’s, a silent way for him to know that dazai truly means his words . really, that small gesture is all the reminder chuuya needs for him to know that for their city, for their organizations, for dazai, he could put aside his fears if only for a moment .

to say that dazai placing his trust in him was a mistake would make both of them seem weak - dazai for making the mistake to trust chuuya in the first place and chuuya for not being strong enough to accept that trust - and despite how much he yells about hating the bandaged male, he still finds it difficult to bring down dazai’s image, to hold back the former demon executive with his problems . his fears are still there under his skin, clawing at his throat and begging to escape, but the thought of dazai running off into the woods to bite the poisoned apple to save the kingdom and fall into an eternal slumber just because his prince wasn’t there to save him frightens him more .

                𝙻𝙾𝚅𝙴     ━━     something  he  had  never  known.   only  ever  the  harsh  touch  of  hatred,   the  burning  chokehold  of  a  rage  so  potent  it  was  destroying  him  from  the  inside - out.   love  and  death  did  not  belong  together     /     or  so  they  would  not,   ordinarily.   but  here  was  someone  who  loved  death,   craved  it  with  every  fiber  of  their  being  that  they  willingly  sought  it  out.   taunted  the  reaper  by  pressed  their  own  neck  to  the  edge  of  his  scythe.   only  that  weapon  was  a  dull  blade,   rubber  and  no  ability  to  cut  through  anything.

@dezai​​  sent:  “ nice to finally meet you, takami. ”

THE CROWDED ,  BOISTUROUS ATMOSPHERE  of the café zeroes in to a needlepoint  ;  the voice of the man sitting before him  ,  the utterance of a secret name.  KEIGO TAKAMI.   a cord snaps along the ridges of his spine  ,  the widening of golden eyes akin to a deer within headlights.  how does he know who you are  ,  why does he  ?  but was he truly keigo  ,  or was keigo him  ?   the answer never arises from the penumbra and the chill of void emotion settles deep within his dense bones.  hawks  (  keigo  ? )  is stagnant.  the people surrounding their table  ,  constantly moving  ,  becomes unpresent.  it’s as if he can see himself from a floating eye  :  he is doe-eyed  ,  he is paled  ,  his mouth hangs open in loss words.  he has no idea what the fuck is going on.

it isn’t until a hand takes his own and fingers press against his pulse point that he’s grounded again.  the slump of his wings heavy and so ungluing that it yanks him back to reality.  panicked gaze moving between the hold  (  it’s so gentle  ,  as if dazai was capable of fondess  )  and the graveyard of dazai’s eyes.  truly he’s gotten himself into a bind  :  locked within a stalemate  ,  rendered powerless by touch and by voice.  he isn’t sure what makes his heart stutter the most  :   the nullifying hand or the idea of being known.  his mouth is filled with cotton and when he opens it wider  ,  nothing falls except a staggered breath and in his unearth state dazai speaks for him  :

                 ——————    ‘  nice to finally meet you ,  takami.  ’

          is he making eyes at dezai from across the room? yes, sir.

Crimson Peak Sentence Prompts | | Accepting

the questions cause a thousand thoughts to fill the girl’s mind. regrets from her time in the mafia. the blood of 35 lives on her hands. her parents she lost. she looks down at her hands. physically clean yet with such a bloodstained history.

‘ i do ? ‘ kunikida, ever naive, of course believes dazai’s lie yet again. he thinks dazai is just doing him a kindness ! he starts to reach out to touch his mouth, but he’s already being yanked down by the hair. he’s caught off guard, blinking rapidly for a moment before he relaxes into the moment. 

but it only takes him a few seconds to snap back. 

@dezai​​  sent:  “  you’re a work of art.  ”

      A DIM YELLOW LIGHT SURROUNDS THE FALSE ANGEL  ,  honey eyes bright as they gaze visorless towards the horizon.  though his focus is fixated against the lively late afternoon  ,  the footsteps behind him register with subtle flicks of his wings.  it’s unnatural to have another set of footsteps trot around his flat  ;  it’s typically lonesome.  tan walls harbored silence  ,  feathers shoot around to tidy or busy themselves and the man it belongs to lounged on the couch bone tired with a cat on his chest.  that was the reality of the number two heroes flat  ; excessive silence and bloating desolation.  dazai’s footsteps sound like bricks to him  ,  to his feathers.  it’s such a stark contrast to his normal  ,  but he doesn’t find it unnerve.  in fact it makes him sigh.  tension bleeds away from his constricted veins.

a forgotten cigarette is lifted to his lips  ;  a singular frequent vice he’s kept under wraps.  inhalation burns his throat  ,  but menthol seeping out grants an ease.  the pads of feet edge closer to the open door.  wings spread alert  ,  but flutter back to their natural resting.  proceeding silence begins to make hawks’ ear ring  ,  white noise defeating.  it’s not  typical  for dazai to be so wordless.  the man always had something to say  ,  something to pick at.  silence was often deadly.  hawks opens his mouth  ,  golden eyes shadowed by fallen bangs as he turns his head to peer over his shoulder.  the voice that sounds isn’t his own.  promptly  ,  his mouth shuts.