#killmoral

        dazai is no stranger to MISSING WORK. sometimes he’ll be hungover. sometimes inspiration for a poetic suicide will strike. sometimes he just doesn’t want to go... but today, the anniversary of ODASAKU’S DEATH, is the only time he’ll ever take a rostered day off. the elderly florist’s eyes are always so apologetic when she hands over his usual bouquet. he hasn’t spoken of what it’s for but if her mother tongue is that of flowers, the white lilies must translate to something worthy of her CONDOLENCES. 

        the walk to the headstone by the sea is a familiar one, but there is something unusual about the view that waits for him. below oda’s grave is ANOTHER BOUQUET. crouching down to examine it, dazai observes that the flowers are fresh; albeit a bit dishevelled... as if they'd been dropped in a hurry. his lips twist into a wry smile.          ❛    for a mole, you ought to be better at covering your tracks. it might get you KILLED.   ❜

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banned

SOFT INTIMACY MEME / Not longer accepting / @killmoral

🌺 - Put a flower in my muse’s hair

A day of getaway. Yes, it was a getaway. It was a day of work from which Dazai took Ango away from the city. They were in the field. Dazai always remembered Ango's complaints about his short vacation. He wanted to help him so that he was not stressed so long, so he wanted to take him to a quiet place.

And he did it.

The detective was sitting on the ground surronded by a field of flowers, looking forward. He yawned, he was falling asleep slowly in that place. It was boring, but comfortable. He was waiting for Ango, he insisted that he not look at him and keep looking foward. By surprise, he noticed that he put something on his head. He blinked, took out his phone and looked at his reflection, seeing that he had put a flower on it.

   “ that’d be nice ,  wouldn’t it ? “  he replies with a soft tone ,  watching as oda made friends with the cat in the bar .  the three of them meeting up like this –––  it was something dazai never expected .  an executive ,  government agent ,  and a low tier mafia member ;  it sounded like the beginning of a joke .  bandaged hands push down the ball of ice in his drink ,  then takes a sip .

   “ let’s hope nothing happens . “

An intruder of red, dressed in black, slipped into Ango’s apartment as if he belonged. Perhaps he has done this before? Or was too comfortable. Or maybe, his mood was soured by a certain bandaged idiot. Either way, the mafioso noticed the agent in his own home and swiped the cigarette from his hand. Chuuya took the used drag and brought it to his lips, savoring the flavor which tainted his lung. A slow death he craved during stress, favoring the smoke which expelled from his lungs over fallen and gray hair.