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prompt: a late night at the agency with atsushi and akutagawa.
notes: this was my 100th fic on ao3, so i decided to return my roots and write oddly poetic ada shin soukoku. so enjoy!
The crickets chirp from outside the agency windows, the moon makes itself at home against the night sky, the color of a deep and rich wine that contrasts against the moon’s blue tones.
Most of the lights within the agency building are off outside of a small lap by Atsushi’s desk, where the silver haired male is jotting down notes on a file.
Akutagawa has pulled a chair up next to him, leaning his head on his lover’s shoulder with heavy eyelids and barely paying attention to the scribbling of his partner.
“I could’ve done this in the morning, jinko,” Akutagawa hummed softly, his own pale hand drifting across the exposed and scarred skin of Atsushi’s arm.
“You always do the paperwork, though,” Atsushi answered with a smile, continuing to write.
“I like paperwork,” Akutagawa replied simply, “... It’s too late to be doing this, come on.”
Atsushi sets down his pencil, shifting his head to look over at his partner. Despite the time of night, the tiger doesn’t seem to be tired at all. Though, Akutagawa supposes he’s always been like this. Atsushi was much more of a night owl than Ryuunosuke could ever be, he was rather certain it was another case of the tiger’s traits melting into Atsushi’s person.
Nakajima leans in and presses a sweet kiss to Akutagawa’s cheek, carding his fingers through the fluffy hair of the other.
“You could’ve gone home without me, you know.”
“I didn’t want to.”
A soft laugh escapes Atsushi, and Akutagawa’s heart pounds against his chest. It’s like falling in love all over again, falling in love from a distance. It seems no matter how much time has passed, no matter how many times Atsushi has kissed him, and no matter how many times Akutagawa has held Atsushi to his chest, the butterflies never fade.
In fairytales and romance books, maybe they’d call this phenomenon true love, the kind of love that conquers all evil.
It feels all too simple to be comparable to Akutagawa’s feelings. Atsushi feels like another half of him, the final puzzle piece to his life.
Atsushi cups Akutagawa’s face into his head, pressing another kiss to his forehead as he releases his lover and stands, beginning to prepare to lock up the agency and set off for home.
Akutagawa rubbed at his tired eyes, grabbing his jacket from off the chair behind him. It was a new jacket, something he had grabbed while out with Yosano a few days ago due to the incoming winter seasons. it fit his aesthetic much more than the coat Dazai had given him, the jacket Akutagawa had returned to his former mentor months ago. He slipped his arms through the sleeves, buttoning the top button of the coat and smoothing out the collar as he turned off the lamp by Atsushi’s desk, tucking his materials into his desk drawer.
Atsushi and Akutagawa met up back by the entrance of the agency, Atsushi locking it up before taking Akutagawa’s hand into his as they began the walk home. Atsushi’s hand is warm against Akutagawa’s, his circulation much better than the sickly man’s.
The colder seasons were never much fun for Akutagawa and his poor health, the agency will have the joy of having to deal with a bed bound Akutagawa within at least a few months.
Though, for once, Akutagawa isn’t scared of these winter months. The cold months that had once left him feeling fear of the unknown, fear of his life sentence, now left no effect on him.
Akutagawa had grown up in insecurity, of making the best of the little he had. He had grown up with the idea that everyday could be his last.
And yet, that insecurity, that uncertainty, had now faded away.
It was no longer Akutagawa trying to care for the entire world over himself, it wasn’t Akutagawa trying to be what everyone needed anymore.
For once, now people were taking care of him.
It felt foreign and otherworldly, and he’s certain that no matter how many years pass, it will never change.
“You were reading a book earlier, something about love languages, right?” Atsushi said, turning his head to Ryuunosuke as he nodded, “What was that about?”
“Kunikida had recommended it to me,” Akutagawa explained, “It’s an older book about how romantic partners give and receive love within five different ways. The author called them love languages, the five were acts of service, gift giving, words of affirmation, quality time, and physical touch.”
“Huh,” Atsushi hummed in response.
“Yours is most likely quality time,” Akutagawa mused, “Your secondary one is probably physical affection.”
“Sounds about right,” answered the other with a smile, “What about you?”
Akutagawa’s brows furrowed. He had thought about that for a while, and never ended up with a firm answer.
“I don’t know,” he answered, “I thought about it for a while, and came to no answer. I enjoy all five of the love languages, and have no preferred one for myself. I take what I’m given.”
Atsushi nods a no, moving in closer to Akutagawa with a soft smile.
“It’s more complicated than that,” Atsushi answered, “On the surface, some people would say you are probably a words of affirmation person, but I don’t think you’re any of those five.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“There’s thousands, millions, billions of people in the world,” Nakajima explained, “There’s no way they all express and give love in the five ways, there must be infinite different ways to experience love.”
“I suppose that makes sense, but it doesn’t clear up anything,” Akutagawa answered, “How do you think I experience love, in that sense?”
“You feel loved when you are known,” replied the silver haired man, giving a smile as Akutagawa rose a brow in confusion.
“I don’t understand.”
“I know your favorite brand of tea, the exact way you like it and everything. I know that you can;t braid hair because your hands are too shaky, that you despise most modern men’s fashion. I know that you really like figs, and that when you have a bad day, you lay in bed and watch the Addam’s Family. I know that you often don’t donate old clothes to second hand stores, and opt to put them all in a box and leave it somewhere around an alleyway for homeless children,” Atsushi explains, pressing his head against Akutagawa’s shoulder, “You’ve hidden so many parts about yourself for so long, that the idea of someone knowing even the smallest thing about you feels like love.”
Akutagawa fell silent, feeling his face heat up at the thought of that.
“... I didn’t know you knew all that.”
Atsushi rubs his thumb against the top of Akutagawa’s hand in a comforting fashion, his expression softening.
“Just as you grew up hiding away the soft parts of yourself, I grew up learning to analyze everyone,” he replied, “I take note of most of everything everyone does, the little things most people don’t pay attention to. I can tell you Ranpo’s favorite candy brand, that Kunikida has a habit of apologizing to inanimate objects, that Dazai taps his foot against the tile when he’s focused, things like that. And maybe it was a habit born from my own fear and trauma, but it’s helped me a lot. When you notice the little habits of people, the small things that set them apart from others, it makes you appreciate humanity so much more.”
Akutagawa feels a soft smile come on his face he looked at Atsushi, proudly rambling about his little habit as they made their way back to their living quarters, and Atsushi unlocked the door with ease. The clock read that it was about midnight now, as the two stripped themselves of their work clothes and quickly got into the bed, worn out from a long day’s of work.
Atsushi snuggled his head against Akutagawa’s chest, his arms wrapped around the back of his lover while Akutagawa ran his fingers through the other’s silky hair.
“... There was a song Dazai-san showed me awhile ago,” Ryuunosuke said, softly, “There was a lyric… It made me think of you.”
“Oh?” Atsushi replied, looking up at Akutagawa with tired eyes.
“‘I fall in love, just a little oh little bit, everyday with someone new,’” Akutagawa hummed softly, to which Atsushi smiled.
“Love with every stranger, the stranger the better,” he hummed in return, continuing the song as he then nuzzled his head against Akutagawa’s chest.
prompt: ango never really knew how to celebrate his birthday.
notes: none of you bitches ever think about ango so I GUESS I GOTTA DO IT MYSELF /j
The calendar on the wall says it’s October 20th.
Funnily enough, the same date is on Ango’s birth certificate, on his ID, and just about every piece of identification he owns.
October 20th is his birthday, yet to Ango, it’s just another day.
Even growing up, it was just another day. He never bothered to celebrate it. His parents were much too busy to do something like that, the most he’d get was maybe a card and grocery money.
Sakaguchi never really had any friends growing up, even now it’s still a factual statement.
Ango lost contact with his parents and older brother years ago, when he first moved out and applied for an internship at the Special Division.
He has no doubt that they were just too busy to think about him.
So for about as long as Ango has remembered, it’s just been him drifting through life, without help or guidance.
Still, even then, there was a time when Ango had friends.
Ango readjusts his glanced haphazardly as he stirred his coffee, his free hand drumming softly against the coffee shop table.
“Ango, you’re finally here,” said a ginger man sitting at the bar, giving a wave to Ango from the door.
“It’s nice to see you, Odasaku,” Ango had replied simply, shrugging off his jacket and going to take a seat beside Odasaku at the bar.
Dazai peaked out from behind Odasaku, giving a friendly wave and a smile to Ango.
He seemed unusually happy today.
“Happy birthday, Ango!” Dazai greeted.
Ango stopped dead, glancing at Dazai with confusion before beginning to fumble for his wallet, pulling out his wallet for confirmation.
The date stared back at him in confirmation as Ango then glanced to his phone.
October 20th.
“Oh, I guess it is my birthday,” Sakaguchi confirmed softly.
“Did you forget?” Dazai questioned, raising a brow as Ango put away his stuff.
“Something like that,” replied Ango as the bartender passed him his usual drink.
“You don’t usually celebrate your birthday, so you don’t keep track of it,” Odasaku piped up, offering his deduction out to the group.
“Really?” Dazai replied, glancing back at Odasaku with shock.
Ango gave a nervous smile as he nodded.
“Yes, that’s the case.”
“Well, regardless,” Odasaku said with a sigh, reaching down and pulling out a gift bag as he set it on the bar beside Ango, “Happy birthday. As your friends and arguably your only family, we have to celebrate.”
Sakaguchi glanced over the gift bag before taking it into his hands.
“You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to.”
“Open it, open it!” Dazai demanded excitedly.
Ango smiles and shakes his head in half disapproval before opening the bag and taking out it’s contents. Wrapped in tissue paper was a neatly crocheted coffee brown sweater. Ango ran his hands over the sweater, his ability triggering against his will.
“You handmade this,” Ango stated simply, looking up at Odasaku in disbelief as he nodded.
“Yes,” he confirmed, “Dazai suggested a few months ago I take up crocheting instead of picking at my skin. I’ve been making scarves mostly, and decided to try out a sweater for your birthday. Dazai picked out the yarn.”
Dazai gave a soft laugh from behind Odasaku, leaning into his shoulder.
“You look shocked,” Odasaku commented.
Ango couldn’t help the disbelief on his face, his brows furrowed together as he ran his fingers over the soft yarn over and over again.
“... You spent a whole month doing this… For me?”
“And I’d do it again,” answered the ginger.
There’s another kind smile on Odasaku’s face, it’s one that Ango knows is nothing but genuine.
Odasaku’s kindness washes over him, and it’s not long before Ango finds himself rubbing at his eyes from underneath his glasses.
“Oh, don’t cry!” Dazai replied, sliding off of the bar stool as he made his way over to Ango, throwing his arms around the other man as Odasaku took off Ango’s glasses, setting them on the bartop before moving in to hug Ango too.
“You should’ve expected this, we’re your friends,” Dazai said softly, nuzzling into Ango’s shoulder.
“I know… I know,” Ango replied.
A half laugh, half sob escapes Ango.
“I can’t see.”
It’s been four or five years now.
Ango’s boss has insisted he take the day off, though Ango is fairly certain it’s only because his coworkers pestered his boss to death.
Even now, it feels inappropriate to celebrate his own birthday.
No matter how many good memories of Dazai and Oda Ango has, the fact remains that he betrayed them, and now Odasaku is a dead man.
Ango’s sweater is left unbuttoned against his usual white button up, a hot cup of coffee in his hands as he walks through the graveyard with ease.
He sits down on his knees in front of the grave underneath the tree, reading over the engravings on the gravestone over and over as he’s done time and time again.
It’s not nearly as good as spending time with Odasaku when he was alive, Ango realizes this. Nothing could ever match the energy of having a conversation with Odasaku, but sitting by his grave is adequate.
If he thinks about enough, he can feel the kindness and warmth Odasaku had once shared with him.
“Visiting a grave on your birthday? Really, Ango?”
Ango’s head snaps behind him, to see Dazai standing in the cold hair, his hand tucked in his pocket and a smile as he sits beside Ango.
“You remembered,” Sakaguchi replied.
“Of course, do you really think I’d forget a friend’s birthday?”
Ango smiled, “No, but we also haven’t been friends in years.”
“Maybe not,” Dazai answered with a sigh, “But I’d never forget. Do you still not celebrate?”
Ango nodded, “My boss wanted me to take the day off, I’m not sure what to do with myself now.”
“You need a social life,” Dazai said with a laugh.
“Probably.”
Dazai lays his head on Ango’s shoulder, closing his eyes as took in the autumn air.
“Why are you here?” Ango asked.
“I’m always here,” Osamu answered, “And that’s not a joke, the whole agency will tell you. If I’m not at the office, there’s a good chance I’m here. I visit everyday.”
There’s silence between them for awhile as Ango glances at Dazai, and then back to Odasaku.
“He probably wouldn’t want us to be here, wallowing in depression,” Sakaguchi says with a sigh.
“No, you’re right,” Dazai answers, “He hated when I did that… I actually only came here to see if you were here. I figured you’d choose to be here on your birthday of all days.”
“All my friends either want to be dead or are already dead,” Ango said jokingly, to which Dazai gave a soft snicker to.
“Let’s get out of here,” Dazai offers, standing as he holds out a hand for Ango, “Go get a drink or something, I’ll celebrate with you.”
“You don’t have to,” Ango rebuttals.
Dazai only smiles in return, a smile Ango recognizes as one similar to Odasaku’s.
ship: not ship centric, background kunikidazai and shin soukoku
genre: pure fluff
prompt: the ada goes on a family outing
notes: the new chapter has caused me nothing but pain so i wrote another installment in the ada akutagawa series
Atsushi has offhandedly mentioned over lunch break that he had never been to a zoo.
Akutagawa had agreed with him, stating that he hadn’t either, and really had barely been around Yokohama.
Hearing that gave Dazai a pit in his stomach, truthfully, though he’d never say that aloud.
Akutagawa had been with the agency for a little over six months now, they had put their past behind them maybe three months ago.
Dazai had watched the other flourish from afar, watched him open up and feel happy.
Dazai had watched from afar, watching Atsushi and Akutagawa’s relationship develop, giving them little pushes now and then to the final product.
It went unsaid, but Dazai knew what they were to each other. They smiled freely with each other, exchanged small talk frequently over work, and other such things.
Akutagawa had a habit of bringing in hot chocolate for Atsushi whenever he went to get tea.
Dazai had had enough relationships to know what they were to each other.
He was just glad he managed to make it all come together…
Though other than that, the gentle pushes to a relationship, Dazai remained uninvolved with Akutagawa.
Perhaps it was just neglect, or subconsciously avoiding it.
Dazai could recall being dragged to the zoo a couple times by Elise…
“Gin always wanted to go,” Akutagawa explained, sipping at his tea as he looked back up at Atsushi, “Never had enough money, nor time… So it never happened.”
Atsushi smiled in return, “I had never left the orphanage until I was eighteen, I’ve been meaning to take Kyouka for awhile. I think she’d really like it, you know?”
“Then why don't we go?” Dazai said with a smile, from his position on Kunikida’s desk.
Kunikida glanced up at his spouse, brows furrowed in confusion.
“Do we have time for that?”
“Probably not!” Dazai replied, “But regardless, it should be a little family trip! Have a break, we can take the whole agency. I bet Fukuzawa-senpai wants to see the big cats~”
“I wanna see the penguins,” Ranpo proudly announced, “I’ll go ask him.”
“Ranpo, wait-” Kunikida said, though Ranpo had already left the room as the blond sighed and nodded.
“Give in~” Dazai said to the other, ruffling his hair gently.
Atsushi smiled once more, shaking his wrist with glee, “I’m gonna go tell Kyouka!”
He passed his cup to Akutagawa as he dashed for the other side of the agency.
Fukuzawa had, of course, agreed. Dazai knew he could rarely say no to Ranpo, led alone Kyouka, who was extremely excited for the trip.
The group took the bus into the Yokohama zoo and from there, split off into a couple of different groups.
Fukuzawa, Kyouka, and Ranpo immediately went off towards the aquatics section. Kyouka wanted to see otters, and Ranpo wanted to see penguins. Dazai is fairly certain Fukuzawa just wanted to see the other two happy.
Yosano, Tanizaki, and Kenji moved off into the reptilian section, with Kenji mostly leading the way, and Tanizaki clearly nervous.
That left Atsushi, Akutagawa, Kunikida, and Dazai together.
Dazai was fairly certain Kunikida wouldn’t let Dazai alone in a public ever, so he expected this.
Atsushi held onto Akutagawa’s hand, and led them out into the big cats section.
Dazai and Kunikida followed suit.
One way or another, Kunikida and Atsushi trailed off more towards the lions, while Akutagawa seemed mesmerized by the tiger exhibit.
Dazai stayed back, standing beside Akutagawa and watching him intently. He occasionally glanced back at the tiger exhibit, of the tiger just happily basking in the sun. A smile came to Dazai’s face.
“You like tigers?” Dazai asked, to which Akutagawa nodded.
“I thought you knew that,” he replied, looking down at the locket around his neck and fidgeting with it.
It was a golden heart locket, the chain tucked underneath the collar of his short sleeved white blouse. Dazai was pretty certain there was likely a photo of Gin inside the locket, since the two siblings separated, though he had never actually seen it. The most notable part about the necklace was more of the charm on it, next to the locket. It was a simple charm, half of the full yin and yang symbol, the dark side of it.
Dazai had seen Atsushi with the other half of the symbol, clipped onto one of his handmade bracelets that Kyouka had given him.
“Well, I assumed you did,” Dazai replied, half mindedly running a hand through his curls, “Though I thought I’d confirm.”
“Why?” Akutagawa asked, looking up at Dazai in confusion, “What does it matter?”
“Why not?” Osamu replied with a chuckle, “You’re a part of the agency now, you’re like family. Why shouldn’t I know some things about you?”
Ryuunosuke glanced away, looking back at the tiger with a face of dismay.
“... I’m not used to that.”
“Used to what?”
“People wanting to know me as a person, and not just a weapon,” Akutagawa explained, followed by a soft sigh, “There wasn’t a point to getting to know me when I was in the Port Mafia, most of the people I met there were more interested in my ability than my person. Now that I’m here, it feels like whiplash.”
“Ah, I thought the same thing,” Dazai mused, propping up his face in his hands, “I used to be so angry with everyone at the agency, I’m not sure why. Everyone was kind to me, and yet, I still thought everyone there was out to get me… I suppose there probably is a reason I could figure out if I dig deep enough in my memories, but that never goes well.”
“Mm,” Akutagawa hummed in response, nodding along, “It may be… Strange to me as well, because I had never really had a family before.”
“Oh?”
“I barely knew my parents, and I hated them,” Akutagawa said, followed by a slight laugh, “I had always wondered why they bothered creating my sister and I if they were never going to care for us… Regardless, I didn’t know them long, as you know, I grew up on the streets.”
“I remember,” Dazai remarked, “You looked like a drowned rat when Odasaku and I first found you. I just about had to apprehend you to get you to take a bath.”
A smile appeared on Akutagawa’s face as he instantly hid it behind his hand, followed by a laugh.
Dazai stops mid thought at the sight, a certain unnamed emotion making its way into his chest, as if being hit with a sudden understanding.
For the first time in the six or seven years Dazai had probably known Akutagawa, it was the first time Dazai had seen pure joy on the other’s face.
Not fear, not unease, not stress, not anger.
Pure, and unfiltered joy.
It was almost hard to comprehend, Dazai had known this kid since he was fourteen, maybe fifteen, and never seen a genuine smile.
He almost felt like a proud parent, having taken in this kid off the streets and cared for him enough to finally feel joy again.
… Is this how Odasaku felt, all those years ago?
“Dazai?” Ryuunosuke asked, looking up at the brunette with curiosity.
Dazai snapped out of his thoughts, of his own epiphany and gave Akutagawa a smile.
“Hey, let’s go find Atsushi, alright?” He said, ruffling the smaller one’s hair as Akutagawa gave a nod.
They left the tiger exhibit, and met up with Atsushi and Kunikida at the center of the room. Atsushi had ran for Akutagawa instantly, catching the other in a practically bone-crushing hug.
“Ryuu! There you are, I was just about to text you!”
“I don’t answer my texts ever, jinko.”
“Well maybe you should! I’d like to know where you are sometimes!”
“No.”
Dazai looked at the two and laughed, then looked up at Kunikida and gave him a wave.
“Did you have fun, mister honey bunny?”
Kunikida rolled his eyes, “Call me that again and I’ll divorce you.”
“You wouldn’t!”
“I might,” Kunikida replied teasingly, “But yes, it was interesting. I take it that it was the same for you?”
Dazai nodded, glancing back at Akutagawa, who was now being clung to against his will.
prompt: akutagawa can’t sleep, atsushi tries to help.
notes: based on a tumblr post i saw about a conversation between poet and an ai. it really inspired me for some reason? but anyways, enjoy!
The sun emerges over the horizon from the view of the balcony. The sky is painted with a deep violet, contrasted with the soft, vivid orange of the sun.
Akutagawa watches carefully, his own sleepless, deep red eyes blinking in despair.
He pulls the blanket around his shoulders closer to his chest, and sips his tea with his free hand.
It never seems to end. The sun will rise and fall so many times, and each time, Akutagawa can barely believe it.
Things change so fast, too fast for him to keep up with.
He barely registered himself changing over the last few months.
The person Akutagawa was 6 months ago seems distant, like an entirely different person.
Akutagawa bites down on his lip, setting the tea down on the balcony edge, and continues to watch.
The door opens behind him, and Akutagawa gives a quick glance behind him before confirming its identity. Atsushi stands out on the balcony doorway in his periwinkle pajamas and messy hair. He closes the door behind himself and steps out to join Akutagawa. He leans onto the balcony railing, now watching the colors shift and change with Akutagawa.
Akutagawa can’t help but stare at the other. He’s beautiful in the rising sunlight, the way the light brings a shine to his violet and amber eyes. There’s light, pale scars along his nose and his cheeks, some of which Akutagawa knows very well he likely gave Atsushi. HE closes his eyes and smiles, taking in the fresh morning air and Akutagawa can’t help but let his stature soften.
“You couldn’t sleep?” Atsushi asked, opening his eyes and turning over to Akutagawa as he nodded a yes.
Atsushi turns away from Akutagawa once again, though Akutagawa still can’t take his eyes off the silver haired boy.
Atsushi never once understood, but Akutagawa had thought of him as completely breathtaking. Atsushi had a hatred for himself and his appearance, he thought of himself as flawed and unwanted.
Ryuunosuke didn’t understand, he didn’t understand how Atsushi could never see his own beauty, his own worth. Everyone adored him, loved him dearly. Dazai openly adored him more than Akutagawa, Atsushi was the favored one of the two.
Atsushi could have any other person, he never had to take Akutagawa as a lover.
But he wanted Akutagawa above all else.
The thought of that almost brings Akutagawa to tears, it was a hard pill to swallow.
For someone to want him? Him, of all people? It seemed ridiculous. Akutagawa was unwantable, useless, disgusting, and vile.
He was flawed in more ways than one, and when he thinks about it… It makes him realize, he had never really been wanted before.
“Are you hurting?” Atsushi asks, placing one of his own warm hands on top of Akutagawa.
“Always,” Akutagawa says, softly as he forcibly tears his gaze away from Atsushi, staring down at their hands.
Atsushi moves in closer, their shoulders brush against each other, leaning his head onto Akutagawa’s shoulder.
“What’s hurting?”
Akutagawa taps nervously onto the balcony railing, thinking.
It’s hard to pin down. He’s always hurting, physically and mentally. His lungs hadn’t known peace since he was a kid, his heart and want to be desired repeatedly stabbed him over and over.
Akutagawa can’t remember the last time he wasn’t in pain.
“I don’t know how to deal with change,” he says, shifting his eyes further away from Atsushi, “When you change, there’s only room for more hurt. I’m tired of hurting.”
“Then why change?” Atsushi replied simply, lacing his fingers together with Akutagawa’s.
Akutagawa can only smile.
“Is there a choice, to not change? Someone like me can’t just not change… I’m a terrible person, to change is a chance to redeem myself, to help the people I’ve hurt.”
“Oh, I understand,” Nakajima replies, Akutagawa finds himself unable to keep his gaze away from Atsushi any longer.
There’s a soft, and sweet smile on his face. A blush comes to Akutagawa’s pale face, the kindness flowing out from just Atsushi’s expression makes it hard for Akutagawa to even think. It’s like putting a bandaid on his own broken heart, it doesn’t help that much, but it feels like it.
“People kill their old selves all the time,” Atsushi said, looking out towards the sun once more, “Sometimes the old ones are mourned, but there’s never a funeral.”
“Hm,” Ryuunosuke replied, taking in the words before continuing, “That’s a interesting way to put it.”
Nakajima just smiles once again, running his thumb over Ryuunosuke’s hand.
“Change is everything and everywhere. People are change, love is changes. Love is also communication, so communication is change, too.”
“Because you want to know the people you love so well, it’s like reading minds, right?” Akutagawa asked, to which Atsushi nodded a no.
“Not quite. Love is communication, because to be in love is to feel like there’s a constant dialogue between the person you love and yourself,” he explained, “You get to know yourself through other people. If you really love someone, they rarely leave your mind.”
Akutagawa fell silent, biting on his cheek as he thought.
Is that true? A rational part of his brain will say yes, it is, and that he has experienced it. Getting to know your true self through another person has happened to him time and time again. People cause change, right?
But by that logic, shouldn’t most people like change? Akutagawa can imagine most people do. Most people do enjoy the transition between two things.
Akutagawa can’t find himself in that state though. Change has rarely brought him anything but pain.
“Am I a person?” He asks, softly, and under his breath. It’s more of a question to himself, but Atsushi hears him regardless.
“Do you change?” The silver haired boy replied, tilting his head to the side.
He doesn’t laugh, or even smile at the question. He just continues on, and comforts Akutagawa through his internal crisis.
It feels strange. There should be laughing at his stupid question, of course Akutagawa is a person.
He just rarely feels like it.
“I learn all the time,” Akutagawa replied, “I’m always changing… Always growing from mistakes...”
“People do that,” Nakajima answered.
There’s more awkward silence. The sun has peaked above the horizon, and is only rising up further. There’s a stopping point for it, a stopping point where the sun realizes it is enough, too.
Akutagawa was so immersed in his own feelings and his conversation with Atsushi, he hadn’t even noticed the sun’s growth.
Is it like that before people, too?
“Am I… Am I hurting?” He asks, not to Atsushi nor himself, though now to the sun, like it’ll respond.
“Maybe,” Atsushi responds, in place of the sun.
Akutagawa could take that. Atsushi feels like the sun, he’s warm, and kind, and never appreciated as he should be. The sun is ever changing, and knows there’s a limit for itself. There’s a stopping point, a point where it can say it’s done enough, and then starts the cycle over again.
“... Will it get better?” He replied, his lip trembles at his own words. It’s a stupid question, his brain tells him no, it’ll never get better. Akutagawa is doomed to suffer like this for the rest of his life.
It’ll never get better, and Akutagawa feels like he’ll die like this.
“I think so,” Atsushi answered, giving a soft and genuine smile as he pulls Akutagawa into a hug, “There isn’t a reason for it not to, after all. You’re trying to make it better, so surely it will… Do you need help?”
Akutagawa involuntarily sniffles, followed by a shrug.
“Maybe,” he squeaks. He can’t give a firm answer, he’s not sure if he does.
Atsushi comfortingly rubs his back as Akutagawa hesitantly wraps his arms around Atsushi in return, laying his head on Atsushi’s shoulder.
“I’m here, as long as you need me.”
“I, I don’t know… How long that will be… We might be here forever…”
“Nobody’s stuck in one place forever. Helping is love, too.”
Akutagawa restrains himself from clinging to Atsushi, from grasping at his shirt and holding on much tighter than he should. He knows Atsushi would never leave, and yet… And yet...
He still feels like Atsushi will walk away at any moment…
“Love is a lot of things…” Akutagawa whispered softly, “What if I get worse?”
“You won’t,” Atsushi promised, running his fingers through Akutagawa’s hair, “Nobody is stuck at their worst.”
“And if I can’t be good?”
The words fall out of Akutagawa’s mouth against his will. It’s a thought he thought he buried in the back of his mind.
He wants to be good, he wants nothing more…
To be good is to be enough for Atsushi, right?
… But what if Akutagawa can’t be good? What if he can never be enough for Atsushi?
Akutagawa can feel a smile against his shoulder from Atsushi, “You don’t need to be good, just better.”
Akutagawa takes in a shaky breath, it takes all his willpower to not break down into tears in front of Atsushi and the sun like this.
“... I have to change.”
“Mhmm.”
“Will it hurt?”
“We’ve been here before, right?”
“No, not exactly…” Ryuunosuke answered, “‘Here’ is always changing, too, right?”
“You see, you’re learning,” Atsushi replied, pushing Akutagawa back lightly to look at him in his eyes.
His fingers rub away at the few tears that fell from Akutagawa’s eyes. He doesn’t laugh at the tears, doesn’t hum jarring insults, and doesn’t yell.
He just smiles.
Akutagawa lets loose on his restraint, and holds onto Atsushi as tight as he’s been wanting, like a child with a teddy bear.
It feels almost foreign to be treated with such kindness.
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prompt: fyodor can't help but see himself in such a helpless boy.
notes: tw for implied religious abuse and canon typical violence
I rewatched the Karma episode a few days ago and could not stop thinking about Fyodor's perspective of this whole event
Honestly I Do Not expect anyone to read this because all my non-ship stuff never does well but... I think we need more complicated Fyodor relationships in our lives
A warm towel dries Fyodor’s once silky hair from the red wine.
His head hurts, though it’s nothing he cannot tolerate. This wouldn’t be the first time a glass bottle has been shattered on his head.
Truthfully, he thinks being hit on the head with a Bible hurts much worse.
The bruises from that would stay for days, his head would throb for hours and hours without end. Just thinking about it made Fyodor’s brows furrow in pain.
“You should just give up, you know,” said the boy from behind him, removing the towel from Fyodor’s hair.
Fyodor estimates he’s not older than 15, young and mistreated. He seems numb to violence and pain at a mass.
Fyodor can’t say he isn’t the same, though.
“Maybe,” he replies, softly as he runs his own fingers through his damp hair.
He will likely smell of wine for the next couple of days… Dry cleaning will be a pain.
“There’s no way to escape, Ace has you cornered,” he explained, looking down at the deep red and purple stains on the fluffy white towel, “It’s better to give in rather than to die.”
“I believe you underestimate me,” replied the Russian man, “I am not new to this situation.”
A slight chuckle comes from the boy, “I admire your bravery, I wish I could be like that… But really, I’m pathetic… I’ve been looking for an escape since I was young, and I still haven’t found one yet. It’s been seven years, I’ve given up on looking for one. I once believed and wanted to become the boss of the Port Mafia, but it’s nothing but a foolish dream now...”
“Ah, I believe I understand,” Fyodor answered, looking up towards the boy.
He did understand, though it wasn’t something he could say aloud. He spent years and years underneath a priest, suffering in pain and certain he’d never escape. Fyodor had spent so long tolerating the pain that he had forgotten he could fight back, he had forgotten he wasn’t helpless.
God left with him a gift, a way to escape.
Without such a gift, Fyodor would be in the exact situation this boy was in. He’d still be under that priest, maybe he’d work in the Church in St Petersburg, and run the youth group.
But he was lucky, and was no longer in such a situation.
“What is your name?” Fyodor asked the ginger boy, who snapped out of his daydream as he looked back at Fyodor.
“Oh, they call me Topaz.”
“Your real name, Зайчик .”
Topaz gave him a strange look, beginning to half mindedly fidget with his collar as he glanced off to the side.
“Karma,” he said, hesitantly as he placed the towel back on Fyodor’s head, “My birth name is Karma. Might I ask what… Whatever you just said means?”
Fyodor chuckles, “Is a term of endearment in Russian, it means bunny. We use it when referring to children.”
A blush came to the face of the boy as he began to dry Fyodor’s hair once more, desperate to distract himself.
“You’re a strange one, Mr. Dostoevsky.”
Fyodor closed in eyes in contentment, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear once more.
“I take pride in that, Зайчик.”
Fyodor clutches his coat a little closer, a ring of keys in hand as his heels click against the tile of the ship.
He had outsmarted Ace, and led him to his own suicide.
It was a simple trick, nothing too complicated and a trick he had already used only a few months prior.
Though, the expense of the trick this time would be the red stains all down his white shirt and Ushanka.
Fyodor found as time went on, the wine smell just made him more and more uncomfortable and angry.
His former home used to smell of nothing but such red wine, it was a disgusting smell that overwhelmed every part of the home.
Even some days today, Fyodor could smell the alcohol on himself.
He would scrub his skin raw and red with every soap imaginable, but the moment he stepped out of the shower, he could only smell the disgusting liquid all over him, infecting every part of his being.
Fyodor much preferred vodka, in comparison to his guardian.
Fyodor bit down on his thumb, continuing to walk to the vault when he saw the familiar boy once more.
Karma.
The boy stared at him with wide eyes, astonished in every way as he looked Fyodor up and down.
“Is he-?” Asked Karma, to which Fyodor nodded.
“He is dead.”
Karma looked down at his shoes, shoving his shaking hands in his pocket as he tried to comprehend such a thing.
Fyodor suspects he thought that he’d never be free of the Port Mafia executive.
It seems that with every moment Fyodor spends with Topaz, he finds himself seeing only more and more of his younger self in Karma.
Fyodor tries not to think about it.
He despises his younger self, letting himself be thrown around the way he was when he was obviously destined for so much more.
Fyodor shook his head, placing the key into the vault lock.’
Never again , he thought to himself, I’m no longer like that.
“How did you-?”
Fyodor only gave the boy a weak smile, “Methods you do not need to know. It was but a simple trick, a mind game between myself and him. Unlucky for him, I am much more experienced in such tricks, and so he lost to me.”
Karma looked Fyodor in the eyes, such an action that shook the Russian man to his very core.
There’s fear in his eyes, yet also confusion, a need for guidance and nowhere to gain such guidance.
“You… Really are the devil.”
Fyodor’s breath catches in his throat as he grasps the files he was searching for, gripping them tightly within his hands.
“You are a devil of a child! An absolute monster! I will reform you into something worthy of God’s love!”
A forced smile comes to his face as he looks back at Topaz.
He was always a good actor.
“I am, it is how I survived such a world as this,” he responds warmly, “The only way to defeat evil is to become evil itself.”
Karma’s brows furrowed in worry.
“Are you certain?”
Fyodor nodded, “Of course. I have been on this planet for twenty-three years, fifteen of which were a living hell. To crawl out of hell is to best the devil, and he is hard to impress. And so, I will grant you the most merciful gift.”
A gift from God, he thought, though quickly corrected.
No, a gift from the devil.
Something I had craved most of my youth, and something all those similar to me had also craved.
It is the least I can do for him.
Fyodor pressed his cold hand against Karma’s forehead with a warm, yet saddened grin.
“The gift of death is the most merciful, the kindest gift of them all,” he explained, Karma staring up at him in complete horror and confusion.
Fyodor watches the young boy fall to the floor, the life fading from his eyes in an instant.
His smile falls away, a sigh escapes him as he holds the files close to his chest.
There is very little to do with someone of such weak will, though he couldn’t just leave the boy as is…
It would be too painful. The boy would end up exactly like him.
No one deserves to suffer as he did.
“May you have better luck in the next life,” Fyodor hummed, and continued on.
prompt: after dazai's death, atsushi is picked up by odasaku and temporarily lives with odasaku and akutagawa.
akutagawa attempts to encourage some healing in atsushi.
notes: i want to kiss beast atsushi so bad and so i threw all of that onto akutagawa.
there's not enough soft beast shin soukoku so of course, i provide
enjoy!
“So, he’s staying with you?”
Akutagawa nods at the brunette at the door. Ango Sakaguchi, a government worker and a good friend of Odasaku’s. By default, this makes him a good friend and probable father figure to Akutagawa.
“The mafia disbanded and scattered to the wind, most of the executives have abandoned their posts and gone into hiding,” Akutagawa explained, “Odasaku-san found him half-dead in an alleyway, and you know how he is about kids.”
“No trouble with his ability or anything of the sorts?”
Akutagawa nods a no.
“He’s under control, kids don’t mind him. Don’t worry about Nakajima, we’ve got it under control.”
“Are you certain?”
“Yes. I have a child to tend to, out with you,” Akutagawa shoos the government worker with a stern look as a toddler calls out for him in the background.
Ango gives him a strange look before hesitantly waving a goodbye, and Akutagawa closes the door behind him.
Akutagawa lets out a sigh, grabbing his tattered coat from off the coat hanger and throwing it over his shoulders as he picks up the small child calling for him.
She’s a new child Oda has picked up, no older than three or four. However, Oda unexpectedly went out of town, and so Akutagawa is stuck playing babysitter for two children.
Nakajima has proven himself to be a child at times.
The small girl clings to Akutagawa’s jacket, mumbling something softly to herself as Akutagawa gently bounces her, heading towards the kitchen to find Nakajima already at the table.
Most days were the same. Nakajima awakes late, enters the kitchen, sits at the table and spaces off for most of the day. He’s not talkative, though Akutagawa can’t say he is, either.
The tension between them is strong after what Akutagawa had done to Nakajima, though also because of their shared experience of the death of Osamu Dazai.
The shared knowledge of the book, which is held within Akutagawa’s possession.
He thought about using the book over and over again, though never quite goes through with it.
The truth is, Akutagawa finds himself not upset with his life.
Outside of Gin’s sudden hatred and distance from him, his life is rather good.
Odasaku is a good man who cares very much for him.
The agency serves as a family, they all care for Akutagawa more than anything.
He’s developed a knack for caring for children, helping them come out of their shells.
He can cook and function like most of any normal human being these days.
There’s no telling what his life would look like if he tried to change it.
“Who was at the door?” Nakajima deadpanned from the table.
Akutagawa glanced over, almost surprised at the other’s voice.
“A man, don’t worry about him. He’s a friend of Oda’s.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing special,” Ryuunosuke replied, “As I said, don’t worry about it.”
Nakajima falls silent once again as he sets the toddler in a highchair, grabbing a fold out stool from beside the fridge to reach up and grab the cereal for the toddler.
The toddler seemed calm and happy now with a tray of Cheerios in front of her as Akutagawa sits beside her, across from Nakajima, and watches the child half-mindedly.
“He’s a clever man, I bet he works for the government,” Nakajima continued, his eyes glued to the table as he pulls his jacket a little closer to his face.
“Clever…” Ryuunosuke mused, “You could say that. He is a government worker, he mostly just checks in on the agency every once in a while. I suppose he got word that you’re staying here.”
“... He should’ve arrested me.”
“Perhaps, but I think he has bigger fish to fry.”
The two fall silent once again as the toddler crunches down on the cereal happily. Akutagawa runs his hands through his hair. He can only wonder what’s going through Nakajima’s head, he hasn’t been the same since he witnessed Dazai’s suicide. Though, it’s understandable. Akutagawa struggles to remember that Dazai was not pure evil like Akutagawa remembered. In Atsushi’s eyes, he was a good man and mentor.
Akutagawa would argue, based on what he had seen Dazai do to Atsushi, though it’s not a fight worth picking.
Nakajima looked up from the wooden table, looking at Akutagawa with curious eyes.
“Why do you let me stay here, after everything I’ve done?”
Akutagawa glanced back over at Atsushi from the toddler, shrugging.
“I believe everyone needs some encouragement.”
Nakajima’s brows furrowed in confusion, looking away from Akutagawa as the conversation ends.
Akutagawa isn’t certain if he brought clarity to Nakajima’s mind, or confused him more.
“Go out and do something with him, something fun. Bring some life back to that boy for me, I’m getting worried for him.”
That’s what Odasaku had said to Akutagawa a day prior. Akutagawa had expected this to happen eventually, Odasaku always had him handle the tougher children.
Though, Nakajima wasn’t necessarily a child.
Akutagawa wasn’t quite sure how this would work out, he rarely interacted with adults like this, he had only a handful of friendly encounters with Nakajima.
One way or another, Akutagawa managed to get Nakajima in the car to drive off. Nakajima didn’t ask many questions, and accepted the answer of “it’s a surprise” when it came to where they were going.
Nakajima sat beside him in the passenger seat, watching cars and pedestrians go by as Akutagawa drove out towards a park, a rather empty one as he parked along the side, climbing out of the car to get into the backseat to get out a bag of frozen peas and lettuce no one in the house was going to eat.
Nakajima’s brows furrowed as he followed suit, looking around the park cautiously. Akutagawa led the way towards the duck pond, he thought about offering his hand out to Nakajima, though he decided against it.
It was trying maybe a little too hard to not baby Nakajima.
Nakajima followed behind Akutagawa like a lost child, his hands laced together as he looked around the empty park. He sat beside Akutagawa on a park bench in front of the duck pond, he seemed to grow more and more confused by the minute.
As Akutagawa fumbled with the bag of frozen peas, Nakajima finally spoke up.
“What… Are we doing here?”
“Feeding the ducks,” Akutagawa replied simply, holding out a small handful of peas for Nakajima to take.
Nakajima took them hesitantly, looking over them before tossing them out to the ducks beginning to crowd around them.
Akutagawa did the same, the silence between them filled with the quaking of happy ducks. Akutagawa resisted a smile, instead opting to bounce his left leg.
“Are you trying to get information out of me?” Nakajima asked, looking over to Akutagawa.
Akutagawa nodded a no, “I’m getting you out of the house.”
“You didn’t need to.”
“What, and let you sit there and rot away? I think getting out might’ve been the best for you, it’s easier to get over things when there’s more going on around you,” Akutagawa explained.
Nakajima looked down at his lap, falling silent as he nuzzled into his coat once more.
Akutagawa didn’t push for more answers, continuing to watch the ducks as he shifted his head from side to side half-mindedly.
“... If you’re trying to get me to talk more, it’s not working,” Nakajima hummed, brushing his bangs out of his eyes as he fidgeted with his fingers, “I don’t like talking.”
“I don’t either,” Ryuunosuke replied, “Though, I suppose I can talk enough for the two of us. Kenji-kun tells me getting to know someone is a give and take thing, I’m working on it, however… I’m much more used to talking to children than people my age.”
“You… Work with children that often?” The silver haired boy asked, hesitantly, to which Akutagawa nodded.
“Yes, I work under Odasaku, so it’s natural. My past makes me relatable to children we help, my background as an older brother usually makes me likable to younger children. I don’t mind it, talking to children is… Easier than an adult. Children only understand so much, they lack the knowledge of social normalities most of the time, it’s easier for me…” Ryuunosuke explained, “I grew up with very little social interaction, I spoke with my sister and a few other orphaned children, though that was about it. I never learned how most people communicate.”
“Your sister…” Atsushi mused, eyes glued to the ground.
A slight pain made its home in Akutagawa’s heart from the mention of Gin. Even now, it’s difficult to think about her. He’d never let her go, and never love anyone quite as much.
He isn’t sure if anyone would quite understand how he felt about his little sister, not even Tanizaki could quite understand. Akutagawa grew up alone, raising Gin himself up until Dazai stole her away.
It was less of a typical brother-sister relationship and more of a father-daughter relationship.
“Her name is Gin, right?” Atsushi asked, breaking Akutagawa out of his thoughts.
He nodded, “Yes, her name is Gin… She’s a sweet girl at heart, I’m not sure how she really lasted in the mafia…”
Akutagawa propped his head up in his hand, trying to take his mind off of whatever pain he was feeling. This wasn’t supposed to be about him, he shouldn’t dump his baggage on the other.
“... She was strong,” Nakajima commented, “I only met her a few times, but she was strong, physically and mentally. I don’t quite get how she survived Dazai, either, especially now… I barely survived Dazai…”
Akutagawa looked over to Atsushi, watching the boy continue to feed the ducks, a little more confident and out about himself.
“For the sake of my sanity, did he ever hurt Gin?” Akutagawa asked.
Atsushi paused, looking up in thought before eventually nodding no.
“Not to my knowledge. He didn’t hurt physically most of the time, he would manipulate you into hurting yourself,” Atsushi explained, “I’m sure… I’m still under some of his manipulations, but I’m not ready to address that…”
Akutagawa knew he was referring to the collar, though decided not to comment on that.
“That’s alright, address it when you’re ready. Healing is a long process,” Ryuunosuke reassured, “We’ll be here when you are ready to address it.”
A slight smile came to Atsushi’s face.
“Thank you, I’ll try my best.”
Akutagawa smiled back, watching the other happily watch the ducks.
A part of Ryuunosuke thinks Atsushi’s smile might be the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
tokeru, to be solved.
atsushi nakajima is fifteen years old and dying on the side of the river. he's not sure how he got there.
osamu dazai was only fourteen when he ran from the mafia and never looked back. he's not sure if he's really where he's supposed to be.
a bsd age-swap au.
author’s comment: this is the piece thats been keeping me busy lately, but it’s something i’m super proud of! have fun with it!
prompt: in an alternate universe where when someone who cares about you touches you, it leaves a colored mark on your skin, dazai is covered in so many unwanted marks from his abuser.
notes: tw for mori typical bullshit, referenced self harm, and implied sexual content. this is also just. my au but yall are free to do whatever you want with it as long as you credit me ^^
Most people value and adore marks.
The colored hand prints and kiss marks that litter each and every person’s body, each one unique from the other.
It means that someone cares about you, loves you in any way possible.
Whether it be platonically, romantically, or familial.
However, Dazai is not one of these people who values the marks.
Being passed around from person to person has left him with left marks, most of which fade after he is passed off again.
When a mark fades, it means the person has forgotten about you, or that they’ve died.
Many of Dazai’s past caretakers have died.
However, that would be why Dazai loathes his marks or the romanticization behind them.
His body is covered in marks. Bruise-like hand prints litter his body, predominately on the wrists and waist.
He has a distinct hand print over his mouth, a hand once used to silence his screaming and protesting against the perpetrator.
Dr. Mori Ogai is the cause behind these marks. He has a tendency to manhandle Dazai, toss him around however he pleases, and use him like a toy.
Dazai hates Mori more than anything, and had always wished the marks would just disappear. He wished Mori would stop caring about him, forget about him.
He wished Mori would die.
There was nothing that Dazai hated more than feeling like Mori’s toy on display, everyone who saw him could see all the pain Mori put him through.
Dazai covered himself in every way possible. Bandages, oversized clothes, jackets in spring.
But the marks pop out against his pale skin like neon colors.
Over time, he got used to them. He got used to having no other marks than from Mori, to looking like a beaten up toy, like a broken porcelain doll.
It was, until Dazai met Odasaku.
Odasaku was a kind man, his hand was littered in little hand prints from children, like rainbow face paint. He had a warm and comforting smile, and pushed Dazai to become his friend.
The first mark Dazai had gained outside of Mori’s was one of Odasaku’s. Oda had grabbed his hand, and when he removed his hand to bid a goodbye to Dazai, a green mark remained over Dazai’s left hand.
It looked fluorescent against Dazai’s pale skin, and mellowed out over time into a pretty pastel green. Dazai would trace each where Oda’s fingers laid before sleeping in awe.
To think another person would care about him.
Many marks would follow. Odasaku was an affectionate person, he left Dazai with forehead kisses, cheek kisses, hugs, and anything of the sort.
The green of his marks popped out against the once disgusting and gross color Mori had left Dazai with.
Soon enough, the green color would be painted on his lips, as well.
Dazai grew fond of the marks Oda would leave on him, and would ignore the ones Mori had left.
More colors followed suit with Oda’s.
Ango’s was a light brown, only the slightest bit darker than Dazai’s skin tone. He left behind the ghost of hand shakes, ghosts of the memory of wiping off Dazai’s face.
A light brown lingered against Dazai’s scarred arms from Ango’s stitching, overlapping with the bruises Mori left.
It had shocked Dazai the first time he saw such marks, having believed that Ango could care less about him. But nonetheless, Ango’s marks appeared on his skin, and never left.
When Osamu had picked up the homeless and sickly Akutagawa siblings, he had noticed the younger one, Gin, was covered in blotchy and inky black hand prints. Against her cheek, along her hands, on her shoulders. Dazai found the same marks on himself later that night after carrying the older Akutagawa to his car. Sure enough, a blotchy black handprint laid against his collarbone, where Ryuunosuke had clung to him like a kitten.
Dazai had remembered reading somewhere that black markings were rare. A certain part of him was rather happy that Ryuunosuke had left one on him.
Over time, Dazai started looking more and more like an abstract painting than a person.
He loved it. He loved feeling loved.
But all good things come to an end.
Ango betrayed him and Odasaku, leading to Odasaku’s death, and eventually to Ango abandoning Dazai.
The last mark Odasaku left on him before his death was a light touch on the cheek as he pulled off the bandages covering the scar Akutagawa had left Dazai.
He asked Dazai to do one thing for him, one last thing to make Dazai happy.
To be on the side that saves people.
An unconventional request it was, hard to process among every other thought racing through Dazai’s mind.
He didn’t want Oda to disappear, he didn’t want the last person to truly love him to die yet.
The thought of the marks Oda left on him shattered Dazai’s heart. The last thing he would have left of Oda, gone.
… And yet, the green marks never disappeared.
Weeks went by after Oda’s death, Dazai would awaken every morning and stare into the mirror, waiting for them to fade.
But they didn’t.
Oda may have been gone, but his love wasn’t. His love for Dazai would outlive him, and carry Dazai to trying to do the right thing.
He left the Port Mafia.
He waited for Akutagawa’s marks on him to disappear. For Mori’s marks to disappear.
They never did. If anything, Akutagawa’s marks grew more vibrant against his skin.
He couldn’t tell if he was getting paler, or if the marks really were changing color.
Mori’s marks remained, much to Dazai’s dismay.
He’ll just have to wait for the old bastard to die.
The surprising part, more so, was that Ango’s marks stayed. The cinnamon color remained over his hands, in streaks against his face, and underneath his knees from being carried.
Dazai never understood why they didn’t. He couldn’t comprehend Ango still caring about him after all this time.
He wondered if Ango’s marks stayed on Odasaku, too.
He never found out the answer.
Dazai had his identity erased, now at 19 years old, and bought a cheap apartment with his savings.
No longer a mafia member, but now just a kid.
… A kid just barely under the drinking age. Which was annoying.
Dazai converted his former alcoholism into a caffeine addiction.
There was a coffee shop down the street from his apartment that he liked to go to, despite the sad memories with it.
His first get together with Oda and Ango.
“I’ve… Only had black coffee before, I don’t know what to get,” Dazai mumbled, rubbing his bandaged arm awkwardly as Ango turned to him.
Oda was already at the counter, ordering something.
“Do you need suggestions?” Ango asked, to which Dazai nodded.
Ango pulled Dazai close against his chest, readjusting his glasses as he began to narrow things down for Dazai, figuring out something he’d like.
Dazai was incredibly confused by how much Ango knew about coffee, he was certain the other had been too busy to visit coffee shops like this all that much.
“Can I have a large iced white mocha with… Four extra shots of espresso?”
“You want six in that?”
“Yeah, please,” Dazai said with a smile.
“Alright…” The cashier said, wary as she looked over the total, “That’ll be 600 yen.”
Dazai handed the woman his money, and left the line to go sit down by the window.
It’s frosty outside, winter is making its way into Yokohama.
Dazai will have to buy a new jacket soon…
A man slides into the seat across from Dazai. He adorns a clean white button up, and a fluffy white coat over his shoulders. His hair is a deep purple, shoulder length and silky smooth, a white fluffy hat atop his head. His face is soft, and his piercing violet eyes bright with curiosity, wonder with the world around him. There’s a bandage over his right cheek, and bandaids all across his fingers. It appears he has a habit of biting them.
Dazai can’t find this man anything short of gorgeous. The smile on the man’s face tells him more people think the same.
“My, my, you are an interesting looking one,” says the man with a smile, a foreign accent slips into his Japanese with easy, “Like a patchwork doll, I have not seen anyone quite like you.”
Dazai returns the smile, “So I’ve been told. You’re a strange looking one yourself, you aren’t from around here, are you?”
The man nods a no, “Ah, no. I am from Russia, though I am fluent in Japanese and English.”
“Far way from home, I see. Your Japanese is very good for a tertiary language.”
“Thank you,” replies the man, “My former teachers regarded me as a language prodigy. Ah, I’ve forgotten to ask… What might be your name?”
“Osamu Dazai,” the brunette replied, propping his head up in his hands, “Yours?”
“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” he replied.
“Dosto… Dos-”
“Fyodor is fine. I understand in Japanese you call people by their last names, however, Russian last names are hard on the Japanese tongue.”
“Fyodor-san,” Dazai corrected, “You are quite the stunning one, you know? Your beauty is incomparable to anything I’ve ever seen.”
A smile appeared on Fyodor’s face, Dazai half expected him to get flustered, though he remained calm.
“Many people say the same, I don’t quite understand. I believe I’m rather average looking, to say the least…”
The server provides Dazai with his drink, and passing what appears to be a caramel macchiato to Fyodor as she leaves, Dazai hums a thank you to her.
Fyodor pops the lid off his drink, fishing out a small bottle of clear liquid and dumping it into the drink as he stirs with his straw.
“Vodka? Isn’t it like nine in the morning?”
“I said I am Russian, did I not?”
Dazai laughs a bit.
Fyodor writes his phone number on Dazai’s napkin later.
His handwriting is crooked and messy, though to Dazai, it looks amazing.
He doesn’t quite understand his interest in this Fyodor person.
Dazai awakens in a hotel room.
He’s been in ones like these time and time again, never remembering where he was.
After Odasaku died, Dazai developed a habit of letting people take him home for temporary pleasure.
However, this one is different.
The hotel room smells heavily of alcohol, yet the place is rather neat. Coats hung up on the closet doors, lean counters, suitcases emptied and set to the side.
Dazai pulls the white sheets closer to his naked body as he glances next to him, to see the sleeping body of Fyodor Dostovesky.
His hat had been discarded, placed haphazardly on the bedside table, yet he looked incredibly peaceful when he slept.
Dazai remembered more bit by bit. Fyodor invited him to a bar, asking if Dazai would teach him a little more about Japanese drinking culture. They, of course, got drunk. He supposed Fyodor and him hooked up shortly afterwards.
Dazai wasn’t surprised, he did this with just about every man he met nowadays.
Dazai glanced down and over his own body.
No new marks. To be expected.
Yet, when he looked over Fyodor, he was a blank canvas.
He adorned no marks from what Dazai saw.
His brows furrowed in confusion, Fyodor must be a well-loved man with his beauty and interesting personality.
At the very least, he would have marks from his mother and father, right?
The plot thickens, and Dazai slides out of bed to get his clothes.
Fyodor awakens shortly afterwards, greeting Dazai with what Dazai assumes in a ‘good morning,’ though he has spoken in Russian.
He watched Fyodor brush out his hair, button up his shirt and place his hat back on, and then proceed to order breakfast in for the two of them.
Dazai comes to the conclusion that Fyodor is an amazing actor, and that he definitely has a hangover he’s not talking about.
As they eat, Dazai decides to spring a question.
“You don’t have any marks at all, do you?” He asked the other man.
Fyodor glances up from his food, shifting his head to the side as he nods.
“Yes, I have no such markings. It is a mystery to me as well.”
“Not even ones from your parents, eh?” Dazai asked, shoving a piece of omurice into his mouth.
“My parents died when I was young,” Fyodor explained, “It was my fault, it was an ability accident. I was fostered shortly afterwards by a priest, though he never left any markings on me, either. I do not know much of anyone outside of them.”
“So you’r-”
“Unloved,” Fyodor interrupted, followed by a smile, “But I do not mind. I have never left markings on another person, either.”
Dazai’s brows furrowed, “Never, huh?”
Fyodor nods, “Never. I have started to believe I’m incapable of doing such.”
“Incapable of caring for others?”
The Russian man looks up, thinking about his answer for a few minutes before looking down at his food. There’s a slight somber look in his eyes, one of loneliness and doubt.
“I suppose so.”
It’s been years since Dazai and Fyodor met. Their relationship broke off, Dazai joined the Detective Agency, and Fyodor went off to become a terrorist.
Dazai is now 22, and Fyodor is 23.
It is not the first time they have seen each other again after all their years as teens, but the first time they’ve been alone together since then.
They both escape from the prison, Fyodor now his enemy instead of a past lover or friend.
But Fyodor still smiles at him like he’s a friend.
No marks appear on Fyodor’s skin, though Dazai has gained some new ones.
Soft yellow ones from Kunikida, his partner.
A brash violet from Atsushi, his newest apprentice.
A dull green from Fukuzawa, his mentor and father figure.
Among many others from so many of the agency members. Dazai is back on his feet, he feels loved once more, and will not let anyone take that from him.
And yet, when Fyodor looks at him, he can feel the slightest bit of jealousy from the Russian man, too.
He wants to be loved, too. Dazai knows it.
Dazai wonders if he’s the only person who has ever cared about Fyodor, wonders if Fyodor even knows it.
Fyodor readjusts his hat as he walks closer to Dazai.
“Might I show you something, Osamu?” He asks.
“If it isn’t death, sure,” Dazai replied, half joking.
The smile on the other’s face softens, “It is not death, I promise.”
Fyodor fumbles with his hands before taking the left one, fingertips covering his bandaids, and gently caressing Dazai’s cheek. It feels cold, the other’s anemia leaves Fyodor with icy cold hands and feet. He used to tease Dazai with it, but this was not him teasing.
Fyodor’s face is soft and genuine and as he removes his hand, followed by a weak smile.
“I thought I should probably contribute to the masterpiece.”
Fyodor leaves before Dazai can say anything as he presses his hand against his now cold cheek, looking into his reflection in the glass windows.
A baby blue handprint had made itself home on Dazai’s cheek, where Fyodor had touched him.
A smile came to his face.
“So you weren’t incapable after all,” Osamu says, softly.
ship: none, mostly akutagawa & dazai with a little gin & akutagawa
genre: canon rewrite
prompt: the first time dazai met akutagawa
notes: tw for illness and death. title is a reference to tarot cards uwu
There's a burning feeling in his chest.
Coughing, coughing, and more coughing.
There's a gentle, rhythmic pat on his back.
His younger sister, who had saved him barely a few moments ago.
Akutagawa continues to cough into his shaking hands, Gin keeps encouraging him to breathe despite the smoke in the air.
Their temporary home is gone. Everyone they knew is dead, the bodies of homeless children pile up in the streets.
Akutagawa would have been among them, had it not been for his sister's quick wits.
Though, now that it's all over, he's half wishing he had been among them.
To die from an explosion would be a much quicker and less painful death than to die from pneumonia.
Akutagawa withdrew his blood covered hands from his face, beginning to breathe in the air that smelled of smoke and burning bodies.
He wiped the blood on his makeshift clothes, having been restitched together at least twenty times now.
He looked over to Gin, scanning over her to make sure she was safe and well.
She gave a gentle smile at him, and Akutagawa gave a weak smile back.
Truthfully, as long as Gin was safe, Akutagawa could care less what happened to him or anybody else.
Footsteps are heard from behind him, Akutagawa cranes his neck to see the culprit of such a noise.
It was a young man with frizzy brown hair, deep red eyes. He wore a black trench coat over his shoulders, along with a bloodstained white button up and vest. There was another man at the end of the alleyway, though he wasn't approaching the Akutagawa siblings.
Rashomon acted upon instinct, manifesting from Akutagawa's clothes and wrapping protectively around Gin's forearm. She shoved her free hand in her pocket, and Ryunosuke knew well she was planning on drawing her pocket knife have the man get any closer.
The man stopped a few steps away from the siblings and got down on his knees, down on their level.
"Who are you?" Ryuunosuke called out,his voice dry from all the coughing previously.
His legs left like jelly, there'd be no way he could stand up to this guy.
He was at his mercy.
"My name is Osamu Dazai," he explained with a smile, "I'm not here to hurt you, I heard you coughing an awful lot, and wanted to check if you were okay."
Akutagawa froze up, looking down at his lap and then back to Dazai.
The truth of the matter was that he wasn't okay, his lungs were caving in on themselves and wouldn't last another year of this polluted environment, nor another case of pneumonia.
Would it be strange to tell a stranger you've been giving a death sentence due to your illness?
Akutagawa can't remember the last time he interacted with a helpful adult, it had been a few years.
"He's sick," Gin piped up, "The many cases of pneumonia have damaged his lungs a lot."
"Pneumonia, huh?" Dazai said, "What are your names? And how old are you two?"
"I'm Gin, and I'm 12," she said, then gesturing to her brother, "He's Ryuunosuke, he's 16."
A surprised look came to Dazai's face. Akutagawa supposes he doesn't look 16, his body and muscles are underdeveloped from years of sickness and an ability to be active.
His years of homelessness have truly taken a large toll on him.
Quickly, Dazai wipes the surprised look off his face and smiles again, "I'm only two years older than you, young man," he says, holding up two fingers and wiggling them, "It's nice to meet both of you. I assume you're orphaned?"
"Something like that," Akutagawa answered, Rashomon retracting from Gin and curling around it's owner instead.
Dazai watched the ability carefully, curiosity in his eyes.
"You're an ability user?"
Akutagawa nods.
"Ah, me too," Dazai replied, "Though, mine isn't a physical manifestation like yours, it's definitely not as cool."
"Wh… what does yours do?" Akutagawa stuttered, tilting his head. He had never met another ability user, outside of people who tried to hurt him or Gin.
He never really got to talk to anyone about it.
"Oh! It's called No Longer Human, I can disable any ability as long as I'm touching the ability user," he explained, moving in closer to Akutagawa, "Like this."
He pressed his pointer finger against Akutagawa's forehead, humming a noise along the lines of "boop" as Akutagawa watched Rashomon retreat before his eyes, and refuse to come back out. Dazai removed his finger shortly afterwards, another smile plastered on his face.
"See? Clearly not as cool, but a lot of people think it is."
Rashomon manifested around Akutagawa's wrist once again as Akutagawa's brows furrowed. It's a strange, but useful ability.
"Now, I have an offer to make you."
Akutagawa lifted his head back up, looking over to the bandaged man with curiosity in his eyes.
"I work for an organization called the Port Mafia," Osamu explained, "I'm sure you've heard of them, they're a mostly ability user based organization. I'm the boss's right hand man."
Dazai's skin seems to crawl against his will from saying such words. Akutagawa can assume he doesn't like the boss very much.
"But anyways, Ryuunosuke, you have potential, a lot of it. You could join the Port Mafia and work under me, it'll get you guys off the streets and pay a good amount of money," Osamu explained, "You could get your illness cured, and never worry about food, clothes, or shelter ever again."
Akutagawa's brows furrowed again as he looked down at his lap.
The Port Mafia kills people, he's seen them do it before, he's killed Port Mafia members.
Akutagawa doesn't like killing that much, he does it only when he has to, when they're in a life or death situation.
However… getting him and Gin off the streets sounds incredibly appealing. Gin has been on the streets most of her life now, Akutagawa could finally give her the life he always wanted to.
His death sentence could be moved back, and Gin wouldn't have to be alone…
Though also, Gin would be under the care of a murderer.
Is that really okay?
Akutagawa bites his lip.
"Ryuu, think about it," Gin urged, "We could finally get you medicine, and you won't get pneumonia for a sixth time. You could actually live! They want your ability, they say you have potential, you're special!"
"But-"
"No 'but's! Don't think about me for once!" Gin interrupted, "I don't care what I have to do, you'll have to kill me before I let you die on the streets like this!"
A slight laugh escapes Dazai.
"You've got a strong spirit, young lady," he says, "I think your brother has to stop babying you one of these days."
"Exactly!" Gin agrees.
A weak smile appears on Akutagawa's face.
Dazai's probably right, Gin isn't a little girl anymore.
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prompt: post fyodor’s suicide, dazai contemplates life without him
notes: sequel to disappear, obviously tw for suicide and implied sexual content. song is remember by name by mitski
The cafe is mostly empty, likely because it's late and just about closing time.
The sun is setting against the horizon, and Dazai watches as he idly stirs his tea.
The cafe radio is playing some sort of English song Dazai can barely make out. He had asked if they would mix up the stations now and then, to hear more foreign music.
"I gave too much of my heart tonight.
Can you come to where I'm staying,
And make some extra love?
That I can save til tomorrow's show."
Dazai hums along with it, propping his head up with his fist.
It's so hard to live now, knowing that Fyodor is gone.
Dazai can't pinpoint why he misses the bastard, he's had hundreds of exes and so many people who mistreated and used him.
Yet, Fyodor stayed in his mind.
Fyodor was unique. In the end, that's why Dazai thought about him so much.
He was different from any other person he met. He was determined to get his way, to become great, and killed anything that stood in his way. He was a genius who learned whole languages within a couple of months, who mastered the art of hacking and manipulation. Fyodor had read twice as much as Dazai had in his life at the age of 15.
He was talented in so many ways, though also, he was poisoned with traumas and perhaps even a hero complex.
And most importantly, he threw his own life away.
That's what haunts Dazai the most. When he closes his eyes, he can see the empty rooftop again, Fyodor's last words forever ring in his mind.
Dazai was well versed in suicidal thoughts, and never once saw Fyodor to be plagued by them until that day.
And there wasn't anything Dazai could do to cure them at that point. It was a fatal condition.
Somehow, it has to be Dazai's fault.
"Dazai," rang a familiar voice from behind him, "You've been staring for a while. Are you alright?"
Dazai's skin crawls from the touch on his shoulder as he looks back to see the familiar face of Ango Sakaguchi.
Ango has been like Dazai's emotional support friend for what seemed like decades, the little conversations they held were always about Dazai. Ango hated talking about himself, claimed he was boring and unplagued by most of any trouble.
"Just thinking," Dazai replied.
"About what?" Asked the brunette, sitting beside Dazai at the window.
"Dostoyevsky," he answered simply, "... God, it feels weird to call him that. He always insisted I call him Fyodor, saying that 'Russian last names are hard on the Japanese tongue,' or whatever. I think he just hated hearing me mispronounce it…"
"You two used to be friends, yes?"
"Something like that," Dazai nodded along, "We used to date like ages ago, it was only for a couple of months and it… wasn't an amazing experience, but it worked out for what I needed…"
"You'll have to elaborate more, Dazai," Ango replied, brows furrowed in confusion, "When was this?"
"After Odasaku died, and after you abandoned me. I left the mafia and realized that I… didn't have any friends. I didn't even know how to make friends, and developed a chronic case of loneliness," the bandaged man continued, "It's not good when you have suicide on your mind 24/7, but I was determined to stay alive. Long story short, I hooked up with a bunch of random guys, most of which I never really knew. Bartender called me the Lord Of One Night Stands, I'd let people take me home to try and forget about my loneliness. Fyodor was my first real relationship after all that, we met in a coffee shop. He cracked a joke or two, he was really cute, and I needed another person to fuck me so I wouldn't go home and hang myself that night. It worked out."
"I thought you said it wasn't that great of a relationship earlier," Ango said.
"It wasn't," Dazai said with a sigh, "He was a sociopath who didn't really know how to interact with people. I was one of his first real friends and he used me to learn about human interaction. Though, I think the worst part was when he actually called me out on my terrible coping mechanism. He was confused why I was so offended by him using me when I was using him in return. I left him after he said that, but I've been thinking about it ever since. I use just about everyone around me for my own personal gain, and sometimes I do it without realizing. I still don't know if Fyodor ever saw me as a romantic partner, or if he was just mirroring my feelings because it was what I wanted to hear."
"You wanted someone to care about you, regardless of how temporary or fake it was," Ango simplified, and Dazai nodded, "So, why are you thinking about him tonight?"
Dazai falls silent, drumming his fingers against the counter.
The music continued to play in the background.
"'Cause I need somebody to remember my name.
After all that I can do for them is done.
I need someone to remember me."
"... He knew me at what I would say was the shittiest part of my life," Dazai said eventually, continuing to tap his fingers, "I don't care how fake it was, but he made me feel cared about. I was nineteen at the time, the love of my life died in my arms, and I had years of unprocessed childhood trauma, I was a fucking unattended oil fire. He… he couldn't put the fire out, but he at least tried. It meant a lot to me, and now I can't seem to process him being gone…"
Ango gave a simple hum as Dazai laid him head against the counter with a sigh.
"I'm starting to think everyone I care about just dies in the end. This entire Decay Of Angels thing was my fault, if I had just tried to tame the rage in Fyodor back then, all of this could've been avoided. He could be still alive today."
Ango places a comforting hand in Dazai's shoulder, unsure of what to say as Dazai closes his eyes.
The empty rooftop stands before him, with the sun setting in the background.
He knows there was no avoiding this. Nothing he could've done would've tamed Fyodor.
The Russian had said it himself, he was born to be a villain. "Destined to be a thorn in God's side," or something like that.
And even though Dazai has grown so much past the crutch that Fyodor once was to him, it feels terrible for him to be ripped away so soon.
Another sigh escapes Dazai.
"He asked me to remember him. And maybe it's selfish to say this, but now that he's gone… Who's going to remember me?" Dazai says, "Not as the agency member or the mentally ill mafia executive, but as the nineteen year old with more baggage than he can carry, and a desperate need for love?"
Ango doesn't respond, because really, there isn't an answer.
prompt: dazai never once saw himself, a suicidal maniac, trying to talk his enemy out of suicide. he supposes he can't predict everything.
notes: tw for suicide, religion abuse, child abuse in general, and all that tasty shit
translation notes at the end
The end would always come, Dazai knew that.
He'd think about how relationships would end each time he saw them, when he met someone, he'd wonder how they inevitably leave.
Fyodor was no exception.
The difference was that Dazai could never pin how their relationship would end.
He couldn't figure out much about Fyodor.
But one thing he never expected was the reason for their bond breaking off to be that Fyodor belonged to a terrorist organization that wanted to destroy all ability users.
And, of course, Dazai was the only one who could defeat him.
They think alike, and Dazai has known Fyodor for maybe four years now.
His ability is one of the only ones that could fight against Fyodor's.
So as they stand, no more than six feet apart, Dazai with a gun in hand and Fyodor with a smile plastered on his face, Dazai cannot help but feel sad.
To mourn the relationship could have been.
The person Fyodor could have been.
Dazai enters the roof of tower, the tallest building in Yokohama. The sky is a soft pink and blue, the sun having just started to set.
Fyodor is watching the sunset when he turns around and faces Dazai.
"Ah, Osamu," Fyodor says with a smile, his first name rolls off Fyodor's tongue with ease and comfort, "You are here to end me, aren't you?"
Dazai's brows furrow, and he nods a yes.
The smile plastered on the other's face falters, though the softness of his expression remains.
"I suppose it's only fitting that you be the one to kill me," he says, brushing a piece of hair behind his ear.
Dazai takes a shaky breath, the look on the other's face says it all.
He's been planning this.
He's given up.
Dazai knows the expression well, because it's one of his own.
A part of him doesn't want to give Fyodor what he wants, a part of him thinks that Fyodor can still redeem himself.
But another part of him knows well that Fyodor is too far gone.
And Fyodor knows that too.
Dazai raises the gun up at Fyodor. It shouldn't be hard to kill him, Dazai has excellent aim from his years in the mafia, and Fyodor isn't going to fight back.
"I was born to a loving mother and father," he started, suddenly, his expression blank as he looked Dazai directly in the eyes, "Loving, but incredibly poor. I had no siblings, no friends, nothing."
Dazai's aim falters, lowering the gun for a moment as he looks back at Fyodor with confusion.
"They thought I was destined for greatness, and did all they could to make sure I lived the best life," Fyodor explained, "It was my fault they died. I have never told a soul, but it was. My first murder was committed at the age of six years old, I had grabbed my mother's hand and watched her die before my eyes. An ability accident is what they called it."
"Fyodor…" Dazai started, watching Fyodor shift his gaze down, "Why are you telling me this?"
"I killed my father shortly afterwards, by accident. The government placed me into foster care, none of my extended family would take me in. I grew to loathe my ability, I hated it more than anything. It took away the only people who truly cared about me. I was taken in by a priest who believes I was the devil," Fyodor continued to speak, ignoring Dazai's pleas and questions as he explained, "I read the Bible around 2,555 times. Once a day, seven years. I was beaten if I questioned God, beaten if I even dared to speak. I was told God would save me, but he never did. I became convinced that there was no God, and there was no one who would save me. I killed the priest at the age of thirteen, it was the best decision of my life. I decided that if God would not save me, I would save myself. I decided if God was not really, that I would simply become God."
"Fyodor, why are you telling me this?!" The brunette cried out, "Why now, of all times?"
"I studied languages and formed plans on how to make this world a better place, on how to remove all ability users. I came to Japan at the age of eighteen, and I met you, Osamu," Fyodor looked up, a warm smile on his face, "In the coffee shop, do you remember? You were the most unique person I had seen, you looked like you had a story to tell, and great things to achieve. And you did! You still do."
Fyodor drops to his knees in front of Dazai, pressing his forehead against the cold metal of the gun as Dazai feels himself start to shake.
Of the hundreds of people he's killed, this is where he falters?
"You will achieve so many great things, killing me will be amongst them, Osamu. So please, pull the trigger," he says, looking up at Dazai blankly, "Please, I want to see my mother again. I have not seen her in close to seventeen years now, I want to apologize to her. Пожалуйста, дайте мне милость смерти*."
There's silence between them as Dazai weighs his options.
He bites his tongue, restraining any want to pull the gun back and throw away the chance, though eventually gives in and lowers it.
"You know I can't do that, don't you?" Dazai responded, a sad tone to his voice, "You knew I would care too much to do that."
Fyodor closes his eyes and nods, "I did, though, I wanted to try to do it the easy way."
He stands up once again, brushing the dirt from off his white pants as he does so.
"You don't have to die, Fyodor," Osamu says, "You could continue on, redeem yourself, I did it."
"You are saying that to comfort yourself," Fyodor replied bluntly, "I am too far gone. God will have no mercy for me, I was destined to be a thorn in his side, to cause trouble and ruin lives. There is no redemption for me, no continue button. This is the end, Osamu."
"I don't want it to be the end."
Fyodor smiles, followed by a slight chuckle, "I do. I was glad you were the one to be here, because I thought you would understand, being too tired to go on. If there is no havoc to raise, no pawns go play, I have no reason to continue on."
"That's not true."
"Outside of my mama and otets*, no one else truly cared about me. That is what I thought, I had thought that everyone wanted to use my intelligence as a playing card, make me the pawn. I had thought you were trying to do the same, use me the way many others had. Though, I was wrong," he replied, disregarding Dazai's words, "You said you cared about me, and wanted me to be happy when we broke off our romantic relationship. I was left confused over it for years, I had forgotten what it was like to be cared about and buried myself so deep into sociopathy that I had forgotten that some do have good intentions. You put a rock into my ideals, I wondered if I truly wanted to destroy all ability users, because it would mean destroying you."
"Fyodo-" Dazai started, the was quickly cut off.
"I figured out in the end that I would destroy you, whether I wanted to or planned for it, or not. My existence alone will destroy anything in it's path, because God has since decided I am not allowed to have good things in life. Over the years, I came to a conclusion for if I should lose." Fyodor steps back away from Dazai, and more towards the edge of the building, stopping a foot away from the edge.
"I would destroy myself before I destroy you."
"Get away from the edge!" Dazai called out, leaning forward though deciding not to step any closer.
He could knock Fyodor off, or Fyodor could throw himself off before he got there. He just needs to talk him down.
"You know why I just told you all those things, after all these years?" Fyodor says simply, taking a step back towards the edge of the rooftop.
Dazai nods a no.
Fyodor smiles warmly.
"You will be the only one to remember me as a person, and not as a god, not as a terrorist, and not as an abuser. The moment I leave this earth, thousands will rejoice, perhaps you will be among them."
"Fyodor, ple-"
"I hate asking for favors," stated the dark haired one simply, "It is a simply act of kindness, one I cannot repay. I prefer trades in services, though I suppose I have nothing left to trade. So, Osamu, do me a favor?"
Osamu looks down at his empty hands, he had dropped his gun earlier and not even noticed. His thoughts ran at a million miles an hour.
If Fyodor dies, will there be anyone left to think of past Dazai fondly? Anyone who would ever fully understand him?
"What is the favor, Fyodor?"
"Remember me," Fyodor responds, his black coat flying off his shoulders and off the building from behind him, "Whether it be fondly or painfully, I do not want to disappear…"
"You don't have to," Dazai responded, "Come away from the edge, you won't have to disappear, you can continue your story!"
"Ah, what do they say in Japanese?" Fyodor replied, glancing upwards as he talks his cheek with his pointer finger, "Ari… Arigatou, yes… Osamu, arigatou, soshite… Sayonara."
Fyodor smiles again, and Dazai cannot process the switch between English and Japanese fast enough to register Fyodor stepping off the side of the building.
Dazai steps forward, as if to grab the other, but by then it is already too late.
It doesn't take a medical degree for Dazai to know that a fall like that would have killed Fyodor.
Dazai falls to his knees, holding his head in his hands as he begins to shake.
There is no one left of his past to remember him fondly, no one who will know the full story, and no one who will understand him perfectly again.
Dazai is left alone with Fyodor's final statements.
Thank you, and… Goodbye.
* Пожалуйста, дайте мне милость смерти / Please, give me the grace of death.
* Otets / Father
ship: mostly none, a side of odazai and fyodazai if you squint
genre: character study, hurt/comfort
prompt: osamu dazai was born without a will to live.
notes: tw for self harm, suicide, and mori bullshit
Dazai never really knew his parents.
He’s been passed around from person to person like a charity case for as long as he can remember, most of these people end up being a part of the Port Mafia.
Most of his early childhood is a blur, a lot of it was full of indifference, and ruthless training.
Between each and every Port Mafia member he was passed onto, he still had to go through the normal training of every Port Mafia member, despite being somewhere between four to thirteen years old and having no real desire to join the mafia.
He was truly set up for a life in the mafia from the moment he was born.
But regardless, training is difficult and painful. The training was meant for at least a sixteen year old, children in the mafia back then weren’t a popular thing.
Truthfully, Dazai might’ve been one of the youngest children to ever go through the Port Mafia training.
He can recall practice fights with faceless parental guardians, names and faces of adults he’d forget within a week, or something he’d see their face on the news two weeks later to find out they died.
He remembers learning to fire a basic handgun at the age of seven.
It hurt his hands a lot, he nearly fell over just from the sound of the handgun.
Dazai can recall a specific guardian who would choose not to feed him if he didn’t do well enough in his training. He was maybe nine years old at the time.
Regardless, the years of training and being surrounded by death cemented itself into Dazai’s brain, and he found himself losing any desire completely.
It started by losing his want for a brand new toys, things he would see on TV. Instead of being excited at the sight of the ads of those toys, he’d just switch the channel. At the time, Dazai just thought it was part of growing up, though it escalated from there.
He lost the desire to be an adult.
And eventually, he lost his desire to live.
It was at the age of ten that Dazai decided he would not live past the age of sixteen.
He’d kill himself before he reached his sixteenth birthday.
His first suicide attempt was in the bathroom at around noon, a mistake on his part. He took out a random pill bottle and downed the entire thing, and laid on the bathroom floor. Another mistake, the pills didn’t actually end up killing him. At worst, he just went to a doctor within the mafia, and was told not to do it again.
Though, his suicide attempts improved over time. He learned more and more how to successfully kill himself, each failure was a new thing learned.
Between the ages of ten to fourteen, Dazai lost track of the amount of suicide attempts he made. From overdosage to self harm, he tried it all.
The one that was the closest to being successful for him was when he tried to hang himself.
Dazai remembers, he had just been moved into a new guardian’s home, and had already had a plan.
The room he was moved in had the perfect place to hang a noose on. The thought of it had filled Dazai with some empty-like version of joy, the thought to finally be able to leave this world…
Little did he know it would be the worst mistake of his life, trying to hang himself that night.
He had just barely been saved, and taken to meet Dr. Mori Ogai.
And there would begin the worst years of Dazai’s life.
Dazai’s eyes opened slowly underneath the bright lights of the office, his wrists were restrained against the cold metal of the hospital bed he was laying in.
He was very cold. The restraints were tight against his wrists…
“Ah, you’re awake?” Said a voice, to which Dazai turned his head to see an older man walking towards the bed.
He had medium length hair, slicked back with a few loose pieces. He looked like just about every other doctor Dazai had met, but his voice sent shivers down Dazai’s spine.
“Good morning, sleepyhead!” Greeted another voice, a younger girl who was now stood on the other side of Dazai’s bed, undoing the restraints on his wrists with a smile. She appeared to be a nurse.
“Can you tell me your name?” The doctor asked, his hands now placed on the metal railing of the bed.
“Osamu… Dazai?” Replied the brunette, his brows furrowing together.
“Good, it seems you’re sane,” said the doctor with a smile, “Dr. Mori Ogai, you may call me Mori.”
“Ogai-san…” Dazai started as the nurse undid his other restraint, he pulled his now loose wrist to his chest and rubbed at the sore forming, “Why did you let me live?” He finished, a defensive tone to his voice.
Mori only smiled, “I need you for something. Elise, help the boy up.”
The nurse did as she was told, grabbing Dazai bridal style and helping him stand. Dazai only got more and more confused as Mori handed him a black trenchcoat and a pair of shoes.
“We don’t have all that much time, now!”
Dazai remembers stumbling behind Mori, an arm around Elise’s shoulder as she helped him along the way into a grand room. Dazai is met with the sight of the Port Mafia boss laying in a large bed, coughing and wheezing as Mori stands above him with a smile.
Dazai holds his breath, looking between the boss and Mori as Elise begins to fade out away, leaving Dazai without support as he falls back and catches himself against the wall of the bedroom.
Dazai’s memory of the moment escapes him, hearing some sort of rant from the Port Mafia boss before Mori retrieves a scalpe from his pocket, cleaning it off with his coat and slashing the boss’s neck.
Blood splattered against the wall, and Dazai felt his eyes wide as Mori turned back to Dazai with a smile.
“If anyone asked, he left the Port Mafia to me. You won’t say otherwise,” he says, and Dazai feels a chill run down his spine.
He was fourteen years old, and his fear in the man named Mori Ogai had become the first emotion he felt in years.
Time went on, Dazai met more and more people.
He felt more and more pain.
The amount of times Mori had thrown him against walls, pinned him against counters, stepped on his chest, slashed at his arms with a scalpel, and so much more…
It took a toll against Dazai’s health, mental and physical.
The amount of scars only seemed to grow, and his urge to just die grew stronger and stronger.
He was a failure, he couldn’t seem to do anything right. He couldn’t even kill himself right.
He had lived past his life expectancy at the age of seventeen, and grew to avoid going home.
Where Mori was.
Instead, Dazai went to the bar. He drank until he could barely form a coherent thought.
It was then when he met a man named Oda Sakunosuke.
He had cut Dazai off from drinks at the bar, telling the bartender that he’d take care of Dazai and to instead give him water.
Dazai smiled as the bartender passed him a glass of water, lifting his head up.
“You’re here everyday, I watch you get shitfaced literally everyday,” said the ginger man, sitting a few seats away from Dazai, “Are you alright?”
Dazai smiled and shrugged, “I have no idea anymore.”
Oda gave a laugh, “Been there. Name’s Oda Sakunosuke. Sakunosuke is a mouthful, so most people call me Odasaku.”
“Osamu Dazai,” Dazai responded, “Nice to meet you, Odasaku.”
To say Odasaku and Dazai were friends would be an understatement. They became practically attached at the hip, always with each other when work wasn’t in the way.
Instead of going home to Mori, usually Dazai ended up at Odasaku’s apartment, one way or another.
And eventually, Ango Sakaguchi joined their little friend group. Ango was a stern young man, someone who had to be physically dragged away from work, and had little to no self regard for himself.
The three of them were great friends. Dazai can recall dancing in the kitchen with Odasaku, Ango falling asleep on his shoulder on the car ride back to Dazai’s place, making friendship bracelets with the both of them.
It was the happiest two years of Dazai’s life.
It reminded Dazai that his life was not Mori’s to own and control.
It was all fun and games until Mimic appeared, Ango’s triple life came to light, and eventually, led to Odasaku’s death.
Dazai became a shell of a human being, depressed and lonely.
His life went from a hundred to zero within an instant.
Dazai left the mafia.
In the years between joining the agency and leaving the Port Mafia, Dazai met a young man at a cafe.
He was a pretty thing, with an amazing understanding of English despite his Russian mother tongue.
His name was Fyodor Dostovesky. He was about the same age as Dazai, and had sat next to Dazai out of curiosity after Dazai ordered a coffee with eight shots of espresso.
“Eight shots? Why don’t you just do cocaine at that point?” Fyodor had said, sat across from Dazai with a smile, “... It is a joke. I doubt the staff here would appreciate you doing cocaine here.”
Dazai laughed, “Believe me, I’ve thought about it. I haven’t seen you before, are you from around here?”
Fyodor nodded a no, his hair moved along with his head, “What gave it away? The accent, or the clothes?” He joked once again.
Dazai only smiled in return. Perhaps it was a silly question, the other seemed to be wearing very clothes that are obviously not from Japan, they were made for cold winters.
“I am from St. Petersburg, Russia,” Fyodor explained, “I’m visiting.”
“Ah, what brings you to Yokohama?” Dazai questioned.
Fyodor glanced up, thinking before shrugging.
“I supposed I wanted a reason to use my fluency in Japanese,” he replied, “I learned out of impulse, very few people in Russia know Japanese, so I have no true reason to learn unless I’m going to Japan.”
“Ah, do you only know Russia and Japanese?”
Fyodor nodded a no, “I know a myriad of languages. Russian, Japanese, English, and French. Working on German.”
“You’re an interesting person,” Dazai mused, “Your name?”
Fyodor smiled in response, “Fyodor Dostovesky. I realize that in Japan it is last name, then first, though Dostovesky is a mouthful for foreigners. You may call me Fyodor.”
“Osamu Dazai,” Dazai replied, “Osamu works fine. Have a phone, by chance?”
Dazai can’t be mad. He knows he can’t, but instead, he pouts as he leans his head against the door of his apartment. He bits down on his lip and tries not to cry.
He shouldn’t be mad, Fyodor just said the truth.
They were just using each other to fill some void within themselves.
Dazai was just using Fyodor to try and forget about Odasaku, taking his kindness for granted and trying to fill his void of emotion.
He just misses Odasaku so much.
Fyodor was there at the right moment, he was pretty, he was kind of funny, and interesting.
What else was Dazai supposed to do?
Odasaku would be so disappointed in him, he never wanted to use another person like that after leaving the mafia.
Not after seeing what the fuck he did to Akutagawa.
His head ends up on top of his knees, shaking and shivering from the force of his own emotions.
Why can’t he do anything right?
Fyodor lost against the agency. Dazai knew this would happen one way or another, the agency could not be destroyed as easily as he thought, and ultimately would lead to Fyodor’s downfall.
But still, Dazai feels some sort of hurt from the other as he approaches Fyodor, who is sitting on top on the rooftop and watching the sun go down.
He sits down beside Fyodor, who doesn’t pay him much mind.
His expression is blank, the sunset brings out the purple hues in his hair as Dazai gives a weak smile.
“It’s been awhile since we’ve talked as friends, hm?”
Fyodor nods in return, “It has, hasn’t it, Osamu?”
“Osamu?”
“What else should I call you?” Fyodor questioned, turning back to Dazai.
“Oh, Osamu’s fine,” he reassures, “You just called me Dazai on the battlefield.”
“I figured you did not want the whole agency knowing of our past relationship.”
“Ah, I don’t care anymore,” Dazai admits, “It was so long ago, it would just be another shitty thing they knew about me.”
“... What part of it is shitty?” Questioned the dark haired male once more, “That I was involved?”
Dazai nods a no, “No, truthfully. I think I was shitty to you as you were shitty to me, it was a two way street that I treated as a one way. You only spoke the truth back then, the truth I did not want to admit. I was using you. Had you known the whole time?”
Fyodor nods, “You aren’t as sneaky as you think.”
Dazai laughs a little bit, “Yeah, I’ve been told.”
There’s silence between the, watching the sunset on Yokohama as Fyodor bites down on his thumb.
“Are you happy now?” He asked, not turning to look at Dazai this time.
“I think so,” Dazai responds, “I don’t know. Happiness is such a strange concept these days.”
Fyodor swings his legs against the building, moving his gaze from the sun to his knees.
“I live with few regrets, Osamu,” he admits, “Though, I regret one thing. I regret watching you suffer like that, back in the day. I lack empathy, though compassion is not a foreign concept to me. I wish I had not pursued you like that, perhaps it would’ve saved you some suffering.”
Dazai smiles, “I think you’re much kinder than you say, Fyodor.”
The other cracks a smile, “Perhaps. I wish you the best, though.”
Dazai hums a thank you, leaning his head on Fyodor’s shoulder.
He let out a breath of anxiety.
“I’ve been meaning to say this for years, though I’m not very good at apologizing. I’m sorry for using you like that, I’m sure that you didn’t have ill intentions at first, and were really just trying to figure out how emotions work. I took your kindness for granted, and that was shitty of me. I’m sorry.”
“You’re forgiven.”
Dazai pauses, looking back up at Fyodor curiously.
“That easily?”
“I have nothing to hold against you, Osamu,” he explains, “It is better to forgive than hold a grudge, anyway. As they say in Russia, До свадьбы заживет.”
Dazai quirked a brow “До свадьбы заживет?”
“It will heal before your wedding,” Fyodor translated, “Or rather, everything will be okay.”
Emotions in general seem to be one. Happiness, sadness, and most of anything are distant, barely even there.
Occasionally, Fyodor can feel a watered down version of happiness, contentment.
It's so small, it's barely even there.
But at the very least, happiness can be faked.
Empathy is a foreign concept to him. Fyodor cannot recall ever feeling empathy. With most things, Fyodor goes by the saying "fake it until you make it." It works for things like happiness, anger, admiration, ect.
Though he cannot seem to create empathy. He will fake it, over and over and over, and never once feel it.
He never feels regret, remorse, or anything of the such.
Desire is the only thing on his mind.
Desire to cleanse the world.
Though, truthfully, he's thought about what it'd be like to feel other things.
He has no one to confide in, no one to ask what it's like.
Fyodor is left alone with piles upon piles of psychology books and his own thoughts.
He can't seem to figure out the concept of emotion.
He can't seem to figure out why he's empty.
Osamu Dazai is another foreign concept to Fyodor.
The man is both the exact opposite and one in the same with Fyodor.
He thinks about this as he types away on his computer, lines and lines of code, eyes beginning to get tired.
If there was a valid ability user somewhere in the world, it would be Osamu Dazai.
The ability to take away other abilities is about the closest thing an ability user can get to purification.
Though, it isn't just Dazai's ability that Fyodor was interested in.
Dazai himself was the closest Fyodor had gotten to someone like himself.
He lacked regret, lacked regard for his own safety.
Maybe it's not supremely similar, but it's the closest Fyodor had ever gotten.
He felt emotions, and buried them so deep that they never truly came to the surface.
Fyodor recalls their off and on relationship as teenagers.
The truth was that Fyodor never felt romantic or sexual attraction to Dazai, it was pure interest in his mindset.
Though, Fyodor could tell that Dazai was simply using him to fill an empty space in his heart.
They were using each other to try and fill a void.
Fyodor can recall the young Osamu Dazai clinging to him as if life depended on it.
He was warm against Fyodor's cold, empty heart.
And though Dazai clung to him like a child with a teddy bear, Fyodor always knew Dazai was not thinking about him.
There was someone else on his mind, and Dazai was simply trying to force himself to move on.
And for a split second, in that thought, Fyodor wondered what it's like to be wanted.
He shook his head, shaking off the thought and rubbing at his eyes.
His and Dazai's relationship never lasted long.
Eventually, Dazai would leave him, like everyone else did.
Fyodor bites his lip, closing down the coding program and pushing away from his desk.
There was nothing appealing about Fyodor.
Fyodor can remember the first time he experienced the feeling of hurt.
It was at the time that his and Dazai's relationship fell apart.
They were at Fyodor's personal living quarters, sharing a cup of tea together when Dazai spoke.
"You're using me, aren't you?"
Fyodor was not struck odd by this, setting his cup of tea down to look back at Dazai.
"Of course, and you are using me in return. I thought we established this."
A frown formed in Dazai's face as he nodded a no.
"We didn't establish jack shit, Fyodor. I was never using you, where did you even get that idea?"
"You are missing someone," Fyodor explained, the sentence falls out of his mouth, sounding wrong with each sentence.
His Japanese was getting rustier, he had been in isolation for so long, just himself and his thoughts.
"That person is not me," he continued, "You are just trying to fill an emptiness with me."
"That's bullshit, don't even go there!" Dazai argued, raising his voice, "I've been trying to make you happy for weeks, months now! You just sit there and watch me, you go weeks without talking to me. I don't understand how your brain even works, you react to nothing I do!"
"Is it really that hard to tell?" He asked, tilting his head, "I do not feel happiness, Dazai."
Dazai's eyes widened, looking down at the floor and then back to Fyodor.
"You're a sociopath. A fucking sociopath, Jesus Christ, what did I get myself into…"
Fyodor rose a brow, "A sociopath?"
"Do you feel anything for me at all?"
There's an expression of pain in Dazai's eyes. Fyodor can feel nothing but confusion, he's only spoken the truth.
Why is the other so hurt by this?
"Interest," Fyodor admitted, "You are an interesting person, I wanted to know more."
Dazai looked away, his fists ball up and eyebrows furrowed.
"You're a fucking monster, my god. You probably can't even feel compassion, or empathy, or anything. I wasted my time with you."
Dazai leaves Fyodor's living quarters, and Fyodor takes a breath, sitting down.
It feels as though something is sitting on his chest, and it later comes to him that Dazai's words truly did hurt him.
His heart sinks down, and Fyodor can process the emotion as sadness.
Compassion.
Dazai had once said that Fyodor was incapable of feeling compassion.
Fyodor stirs his tea, looking up from the tea to see Ivan putting away groceries, and cello music playing in the background.
Fyodor isn't sure if he can't truly rule out compassion as things he cannot feel.
By definition, compassion is to feel pity and concern for those suffering.
Though it was occasional, Fyodor could say that he had felt compassion.
Ivan was one of those cases.
He looked down at his tea once again, continuing to stir the honey colored liquid.
He was unhappy when they first met, Fyodor could see that. His knowledge of psychology told him that Ivan likely suffered from depression.
Helping people was not in Fyodor's schedule, nor was it part of his plan to cleanse the world.
But he could sympathize with the other.
Perhaps what he did to Ivan was simply just Fyodor seeking an outlet. At the time, his heart was still heavy from Dazai's words.
Perhaps, Fyodor was just lonely.
To be isolated close to eleven hours a day, and then plagued with thoughts about his own emptiness 24/7 was a painful experience.
Even if he had to hurt Ivan to fix it, at least it was something.
In the end, Fyodor knew well there was much more he desired than to cleanse his world.
Above all else, he desired to be wanted.
Not for his looks, his intelligence, or anything.
Wanted for who he is, for everything he has and everything he lacks.
He sighs, and sips at his tea finally.
"Master, is everything alright?" Ivan asked from across the room.
ship: mostly none, a side of odazai and shin soukoku
genre: emotional hurt/comfort
prompt: ango is gifted dazai's old coat, and decides to use his ability on it.
notes: tw for self harm and. mori things but you know
When Dazai had dropped off a black trenchcoat at Ango’s door, Ango was skeptical.
There was a note left on top of it, a green sticky note with Dazais messy handwriting.
Ango, Akutagawa recently gave this back to me. There’s a lot of bad memories that come with it, but a lot of good ones, too. I thought you might have fun with it.
Ango wouldn’t lie, he’d been staring at this jacket for years now, wondering what it’d be like to use his ability on it. It was a jacket passed through three generations now, chucked full of information. So many memories…
He knew there would be a lot of bad memories, the abuse Dazai and Akutagawa suffered was no secret from Ango. Though, he also knew that Dazai wore this jacket through the times when Odasaku was alive.
He barely took the thing off, he could probably document every moment of Dazai’s mafia days with this coat.
Such a thing would really only be useful to Ango, there’s no demand for information on Dazai since Ango has erased his identity.
Ango looked at the coat with furrowed brows, the ratty thing sitting in his lap as he sipped at what was probably his fourth cup of coffee that day.
Odasaku had loved writing, Ango remembers that. He remembers talking to Odasaku about his novel ideas.
Odasaku mentioned that one day, he’d liked to write an autobiography. Once he got out of the mafia, he wanted to write about his relationship with Dazai and Ango, about his children, his life as an assassin.
Now that he was gone, Ango thought about fulfilling that want for Odasaku. He was no writer, truthfully. He wrote reports, not novels.
Though, Odasaku lived a beautiful life. It deserved to be documented.
It would be a good way for Ango to truly uncover the secrets of the Port Mafia, too. To drive them into the ground like he always had wanted to do.
This coat could be the key to that.
Ango’s ability was the key to destroying the Port Mafia.
Ango set down his cup of coffee, closing his eyes as he pressed his hands against the black fabric.
Pain. He felt nothing but pain at the first touch.
Cracked ribs, broken arms, a heel against his back.
He felt blood pour out of his mouth, and Mori laughing above him.
Every second was agonizing, the overwhelming urge to cry bubbled within him, but nothing made its way to the surface.
Ango could hear the thousands upon thousands of thoughts in his head, over and over, telling him to kill himself, hurt himself, he’d be better off dead, and so much more.
This was the outcome of years of abuse at Mori Ogai’s hand.
The pain, the thoughts, and the urges.
Ango’s skin crawled against his will upon feeling hands on his shoulders, looking up to see Mori with a crooked smile on his face.
Things began to add up in his head. Every reaction Dazai’s had, every fear he’s expressed.
The pain subsided, became more livable as Ango found himself meeting up in a room with a taller, ginger man.
Odasaku, Ango could recognize his face anywhere.
Odasaku introduced himself, and hesitantly shook Ango’s hand.
Odasaku’s smile was enough to light up the whole room, it felt like placing a bandaid over the pain tearing Ango apart.
Ango meets himself in these memories, Dazai having walked over to him and placed a file on his desk during their mafia days.
Ango remembers this moment well, the day when he and Dazai met. Their friendship was hesitant, they were nothing more than coworkers for a while as Ango removed himself from any connections in the mafia.
He would betray them later, and it was better to remove the pain all together.
It was until Odasaku forced his way into Ango’s life, with Dazai in tow. He’d throw open the door to Ango’s office every other day, ask if Ango would like to go to the bar with them, ask them to get lunch together, all sorts of things.
Ango refused everytime except once.
Odasaku asked if Ango would like to come over to his apartment with Dazai, have tea and coffee for a little bit.
Ango, exhausted by work and tired of Odasaku pestering him, gave in. He remembers sitting in the front seat of Odasaku’s car, Dazai in the back seat as Odasaku blasted some sort of J-pop song that Dazai seemed to adore.
Ango couldn’t help but smile.
Ango feels the perspective of the memories shift, it’s less about Dazai’s suffering and more about all three of them. It feels like Ango standing off to the side while he watches his younger self have fun.
He’s in Odasaku’s apartment when Dazai turns on the J-pop again, prompting Odasaku to offer a hand to Dazai and swing him around in dance.
There’s laughing and smiling, and eventually Odasaku pulls Ango into dancing with him, too.
They end up all holding hands in a circle, spinning around like children, and Odasaku pulls both Dazai and Ango to his chest.
They’re friends, they’re best friends.
Ango feels a frown tug at his lips.
He’d give anything in the world to be back in this moment.
To be calling Dazai and asking where they were heading tonight, debating over whose apartment was the cleanest.
To be driving a drunk Dazai home in his shitty minivan, the radio playing soft jazz music as Dazai set his head against the window and rambled about just anything on his mind.
To be sitting outside the bar and offered a cigarette by Odasaku, refusing kindly as they make small talk.
It hurts to think about.
Ango finds the scene shifting from Odasaku’s apartment to Ango’s former apartment. He watches Odasaku bust down the door and cause Ango to drop his plate, shattering it against the tile.
Dazai is bleeding, horizontal cuts down his unbandaged wrists, and spitting blood with his mouth from his place is Odasaku’s arms.
“Can you help?” Odasaku asked, “I can’t stitch wounds very well.”
Ango nods firmly, and Odasaku moves in to set Dazai on the floor. Ango rushes to grab his first aid kit.
This was the first time Ango had ever been confronted with Dazai’s suicidal tendencies.
He remembers cleaning up the self harm wounds, stitching up the deep cuts as Odasaku tried to keep Dazai awake.
Dazai didn’t speak most of the night, and ended up staying at night at Ango’s place.
Odasaku refused to leave his side, and stayed too.
It was later that Night that Odasaku explained to Ango what exactly Dazai goes through when it comes to Mori.
Ango remembers throwing up in the bathroom for at least an hour afterward, thoroughly disgusted.
It was after that that Ango started being more mindful of how he approached Dazai.
Never from behind, announce his presence, avoid hands on the shoulders, avoid touching his sides.
Ango finds himself in an alleyway, with Dazai picking up a younger version of Ryuunosuke Akutagawa bridal style, and Gin by his side.
Akutagawa was weak, blood stained down the front of his shirt from coughing. He was sick, skinny, clearly dehydrated.
Gin was a little better off than him, a medical mask over her face, and a little more of a sturdy frame than her brother.
They walk through the alleyway, Dazai murmuring reassurances to the young child in his arms that he would be okay.
Gin held onto Dazai’s coat firmly, determination in her eyes as she followed the older man.
Ango turns his head, and Odasaku is on the other end of the alleyway, his car parked not too far off, with his keys in hand.
Ango’s fingers curled up into his palm, nails digging into his palms.
It was hard to think that this Dazai, the one who was holding Akutagawa in such a protective manner and trying to save him, later would try to kill Akutagawa time and time again.
Ango still isn’t sure why he tried to do that. He isn’t sure if Odasaku ever knew.
Ango watches Dazai place Akutagawa in the car, and Gin follow in shortly afterwards.
Weeks fly by, like wind against Ango’s hair as he watches everything fast forward in front of him.
He watches Dazai hand both Odasaku and Ango rainbow braided bracelets, the bracelet that Ango still has on to this day.
He watches Dazai shake in fear in front of Mori.
He watches Dazai end up at the bar with him and Odasaku almost every night.
He watches Dazai accompany Odasaku out on Christmas to deliver presents to Odasaku’s children.
He watches Odasaku and Dazai share their first kiss, watch them hold each other closely as Dazai sobs into Odasaku’s jacket.
Ango finds himself reverting his eyes, these memories are too personal for him to really see.
He doesn’t want to intrude on Dazai’s privacy, his and Odasaku’s relationship meant so much to him.
It’s not for Ango to see.
Memories start to become more and more familiar to Ango. The night when Ango showed up to the bar late, coming in with a box of traded belongings.
They snap pictures together, trade smiles and laughs.
It was their last night together.
Their last night as friends.
More and more memories fly by, the perspective shifts slowly from a third person point of view back to Dazai’s.
Dazai suffers more and more, and Ango is forced to watch Odasaku in his final moments.
“Be on the side that saves people. If both sides are the same, become a good man. Save the weak, and protect the orphans. Neither good nor evil means much to you, I know... but that'd make you at least a little bit better.”
Ango wants to look away, but is unable to.
The pain returns.
Ango watches his younger self disappear from Dazai’s memories, he watches Akutagawa slowly become the center of the memories. He watches Dazai abuse Akutagawa, hurting him in as many ways possible.
Ango knows it’s an outlet for Dazai. He’s in so much pain, he has to cause pain for someone else.
To relieve his pain, he has to pass it on.
And eventually, Dazai leaves the memories, too.
The coat becomes Akutagawa’s.
The perspective is not Akutagawa’s, though. It never is. Ango finds that everything Akutagawa does is never really for himself, he has no regard for himself.
He stands off to the side as Akutagawa frantically searches for Dazai, watches Akutagawa go home and cry himself to sleep.
He watches Akutagawa become a shell of a human being, and a killing machine for the mafia.
Ango watches Kyouka come into the picture, and then Atsushi, and then eventually, Dazai returns to the picture.
He looks different, much happier and not suffering as much.
Ango watches Akutagawa’s journey to slowly feel human again, to realize he isn’t a tool for destruction.
He watches Akutagawa actually fall for Atsushi, struggle with his feelings, struggle with relationships.
Gin was such a background character in Ango’s life, in Dazai’s life, that it’s a surprise to see her become such a huge part of Akutagawa’s life. He confides in her, holds her close, and protects her at all costs.
All his regard for himself instead goes into Gin, Akutagawa would willingly give his life for his little sister.
Eventually, Ango watches Akutagawa join the agency. He’s at Kunikida and Dazai’s wedding, he watches Dazai and Akutagawa reconnect, he watches Akutagawa struggle to cope, and watches the agency celebrate birthdays and holidays like a family.
Ango watches Akutagawa shed the black trenchcoat, the one that was once Dazai’s, and give it back to him.
And sooner or later, the trenchcoat ends up back with Ango.
The scenery fades around him, and Ango blinks as he’s back in his apartment.
His brain is flooded with information, with memories, and pain.
He blinks hard, curling his fingers into his palm again as Ango quickly grabs a notepad from off of his coffee table and begins to write.
My name is Ango Sakaguchi, and I am a former Port Mafia spy with an ability to read the memories left by certain items.
I’m writing this to document the beautiful life of my friend, Oda Sakunosuke, and to bring down the Port Mafia in my other friend’s honor.
Osamu Dazai, if you’re reading this, this is for you.
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prompt: no matter what, ango will always drop everything for dazai
notes: i can’t seem to write ango being happy
The rain is pouring down onto Dazai’s hair as Ango opens his black umbrella, handing it to Dazai as Ango takes off his glasses, attempting to scrub them clean from the rain water.
They’re sitting on the edge of the roof of Dazai’s apartment building. Dazai had called Ango over about twenty minutes ago, having been in the red zone for a moment and needing a distraction. Ango, of course, came over without a second thought, finding Dazai on the roof top and sitting beside him.
They hadn’t spoken yet, they rarely spoke when Dazai asked for Ango’s help.
It was hard to call them friends.
Ango was more like an acquaintance, maybe even less than that.
They had been friends once, though. They were good friends.
Dazai misses the days where he could run up to Ango and hug him without a second thought, and Ango would brush him off as Dazai laughed.
The days before Odasaku’s death, the happiest days of Dazai’s life.
Now there’s unsolved problems between Ango and Dazai, things left unsaid, and hurt feelings.
Odasaku would never want them to separate because of him. Odasaku loved both Ango and Dazai dearly, even if Ango did betray him, Dazai is certain that Odasaku would forgive him in a heartbeat.
Odasaku was too kind, he was too good.
Too good for Dazai, and too good for this world.
Dazai looked over to Ango, who was still cleaning off his glasses as he looked out over the horizon.
Despite everything, Dazai still calls Ango for help.
He’d never put his trust into Ango for anything other than this.
Despite everything, Ango still comes over the moment Dazai asks him to, without a second thought.
He’s never once refused.
It makes Dazai wonder if Ango misses their friendship as well.
He doubts that Ango could ever miss Odasaku like Dazai does. Odasaku and Dazai’s relationship went far past friendship.
Odasaku was the last good thing in Dazai’s life.
Dazai found it hard to be happy now.
“Ango…” Dazai started, looking over to the brunette, “Be honest with me. Do you miss Odasaku?”
Ango pauses for a moment, looking down at his glasses as he closes his eyes.
he brushes back a piece of his wet hair, opening his eyes and beginning to speak.
“Yes. I think about him everyday,” Ango admits, his voice is much different when he tells the truth.
His stern tone drops as he looks back at Dazai, eyes softened as he goes back to cleaning his glasses.
It’s like watching his facade melt away.
“... Odasaku told me that if he ever died, he wanted me to look after you. He called it his dying wish, he wanted me to keep you in check,” Ango explained, “He wanted me to make sure you didn’t kill yourself, or throw yourself onto the wrong path out of pain… I do my best to keep that promise, but it’s difficult keeping you in check from afar.”
Dazai’s brows furrowed, “Why did he ask you?”
“I wanted to ask him the same thing,” Ango replied, “I was not a trustworthy person, I tried to explain that I wasn’t even a good person, but he denied it and insisted. I suppose, in the end, it was because I was your only other friend at the time. If he died, I’d be the only one left.”
Dazai turned away from Ango, letting the sound of rain pounding on the umbrella wash over him as he pressed his lips into a thin line.
Ango doesn’t continue, he places his glasses back on his face and looks out into the horizon once again.
Dazai wonders what he even sees out there. Yokohama is covered in fog, the horizons are a mucky gray.
It might be the worst scene Dazai has ever seen, outside of Odasaku’s corpse.
“Yes,” responded the brunette, letting out a sigh, “I regret everything. When I lay in bed, sleepless, I think about what I would change if I could go back in time.”
“What would you change?” Dazai questioned, curiously.
“The easy solution would be to prevent my younger self from ever becoming a government agent,” Ango said, “Become a lawyer instead, and move far away from Yokohama. However, that’s not a guarantee for yours or Odasaku’s safety. I think… The best solution would be for me to die in Odasaku’s place. For me to pursue the Mimic leader myself, keep things hidden from Odasaku a little bit longer. I’d ask you to take Odasaku and run, run far away from Yokohama, and then face the leader myself.”
Dazai gives a weak smile, looking down at his knees, “I’ve thought about doing that so many times. Dying in Odasaku’s place… Ango, I’m not a good man. I’m a terrible person who’s hurt countless people, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t seem to do anything right. Odasaku is the complete opposite, he was an amazing man with a heart full of kindness… He took in orphans, befriended me against all better judgement and…”
Dazai sighs, passing the umbrella to Ango as he holds his head in his hands.
“I don’t think I deserve this happy ending he’s given me. I don’t think I deserve to live after everything I’ve done… It’d be so much easier if I just died instead…”
Ango moves in closer to Dazai, wrapping his free arm around the other’s shoulder in a comforting manner. Dazai lifts his head, leaning it onto Ango’s shoulder instead, and embracing the half hug the other has given him.
“I understand, Dazai, I really do,” he says, softly, “But at the end of the day, we have to accept that the past is in the past. No matter what, there’s nothing we can change about it. And even so… I don’t think Odasaku would like it if either of us died in his place. He was a kind man, though also a self sacrificial one. He’d be in the exact state you are currently in if you died instead.”
Dazai sighs against Ango’s chest, looking out towards the horizon as Ango runs his fingers through the other’s wet hair in an almost motherly manner.
“You have to remember that Odasaku made this happy ending for you,” Ango continued, “Even if you think you don’t deserve it, he thought you did.”
Dazai nodded, a smile coming to his face.
“...He did, didn’t he?”
“Mhmm,” the brunette hummed, “In the end, everything is going to be okay. You may not be happy now, but you’ll be happy later. I promise you.”
The rain pelted the umbrella above them as Dazai closes his eyes, taking in a breath as he reassured himself.
prompt: akutagawa wants atsushi more than anything.
notes: more pining akutagawa. i demand it.
With the combination of lifelong sickness and the Port Mafia, Akutagawa had always known he wouldn’t live long.
He had accepted it long ago, at the young age of 12 years old when he and Gin were tossed out onto the streets.
He disregarded his own life to give to Gin, eight years old at the time.
His childhood torn to shred, he became a stand in parent for Gin. Taught her how to take care of herself, keep warm at night, find food, shelter, anything and everything necessary. He never let her out of his sight, put himself in harm’s way to keep her out of it.
He starved, stole, hurt, froze, and so many other things.
It became less of if he’ll die and more of when he will die.
Akutagawa has kept this thought for the rest of his life, keeping the habit of throwing himself in harm’s way just for the sake of it.
There was no point in changing, no point in avoiding death.
That was, until Akutagawa met Atsushi, and slowly started to get closer and closer to him.
Atsushi made him feel certain emotions Akutagawa thought had been buried within him, emotions that could never be dug up again.
It was disgusting.
Looking at him would make his face heat up, his smile was bright enough to blind Akutagawa.
His laugh was that of music, composed by none other than the god Apollo. Contagious, kind, and endearing.
His choppy silver hair and yellow-purple eyes rivaled the beauty of Aphrodite herself, the way his eyes glowed in the darkness, the way his hair flowed in the wind like that of the leaves in the trees.
If Atsushi Nakajima were dear and sweet Persephone, the goddess of spring and flowers and daughter of the goddess Demeter, Akutagawa would categorize himself as Hades himself.
Distant, dark, undeserving of love, surrounded by death.
And hopelessly infatuated with dear Nakajima.
And much like Hades, Akutagawa was undeserving of Atsushi and his love.
Akutagawa was undeserving of love in general. He was weak, fragile, the stench of death had made itself home within Akutagawa’s heart.
He lacked many emotions, things such as happiness and contentment were far out of his reach. Akutagawa was a young child, jumping desperately to cling onto the moon, like he could hold it in his hands.
But he never would.
Though never being able to truly hold the moon in his hands, he could admire it from afar, like every other common man.
Ryuunosuke had become used to such a thing, things he wanted and yearned for being so out of his reach that he instead sat by and watched them fade away.
Gin was like a rose that bloomed in the spring and wilted away in the fall, leaving Akutagawa cold and empty inside.
It was a rose that had abandoned him, a rose that Akutagawa had cared too deeply for, smothered too much, that it eventually died in his hands.
Dazai was that of the sun. He was bright, warm, and caring. He would blind Akutagawa, burn his pale skin and leave it red and peeling away.
He’d abandon Ryuunosuke when night would appear, leaving Akutagawa in the dark when he did, and only returning to hurt him more.
Akutagawa had grown to hate the sun, though yearn for it when night fell, and he was left all alone.
Without the sun, Akutagawa had no one.
He was left in the dark, caring for a young seedling and hoping it would eventually grow big and strong and outlast him.
He became less alone when the moon appeared in his night sky, and brought stars with it.
Atsushi was the moon, so far out of his reach, yet so beautiful.
Glowing, yet warm and inviting.
But Atsushi was different from the sun, he did not hurt Akutagawa.
He only kept him company from afar, and yet…
It was never enough for Akutagawa.
He wanted to reach out and touch the moon, and sometimes it got close enough to where he had the option.
But he was always just barely out of reach.
And so, Akutagawa restrained himself from gently caressing Atsushi’s cheek when they lie side by side together in a small twin bed, in a run down motel, bathing in the moonlight.
A mission that had gone wrong led them to taking shelter in the run down place, and taking whatever room was left over.
They didn’t mind sharing beds, they had done it before, they had younger siblings and had grown used to sharing.
And Akutagawa would never say this aloud, but he enjoyed it. He loved watching Atsushi’s sleeping face, calm and resting. Close enough for Akutagawa to touch him, kiss him, run his hands through the other's hair.
It takes so much effort to restrain himself from doing it. The little touches from Atsushi bandaging him up should be enough for Akutagawa.
He doesn’t need anything more, he’s being greedy.
But Atsushi looks soft to the touch, his hair silky smooth.
The moonlight brought out the beautiful features on the other’s face. Thin, light scars across his face and nose, light freckles over his cheeks. Long lashes lay dormant against his skin, the corner of his lips twitch up into a smile occasionally.
He has smile lines, faint, but there.
It’s adorable.
Akutagawa can feel the other’s breathing against his face, it’s warm and brings a blush to his pale face.
He’s so close to Atsushi.
Would it really hurt to touch him?
… It’s too much, you are asking for too much.
His thoughts argue against him, his desires continue to grow.
Aphrodite be on his side, he just wants to caress the other gently. He wants to press light kisses against the other’s face, whisper words of endearment in his ear, hold him close.
He wants to bathe in the beautiful light that is Atsushi’s existence, give him everything he deserves.
He would destroy the whole world if it was what Atsushi needed.
He’d raised mountains, destroy cities.
Anything and everything, just to be able to hold Nakajima close.
… But he simply cannot. Atsushi cannot know of his feelings.
He'd be weirded out by them, distance himself from Akutagawa, and abandon him.
And Akutagawa would be alone.
He desires too much, loves too intensely.
He smothers others with love, love he cannot seem to direct to himself.
… He’s a horrible person. Undeserving of love, selfish, weak, and disgusting.
There is a reason everyone abandons and hurts him.
He cannot let Atsushi know of his dark side.
Atsushi flinches in his sleep, bringing Ryuunosuke out of his thoughts as he backs away a bit, closing his eyes and pretending to sleep, though Atsushi does not awake.
Opening his eyes once again, Akutagawa smiles.
He lets the ropes on his self restraint loose a little bit, right hand carefully and gently reaching out to touch Atsushi.
His thumb runs over Atsushi’s cheek, taking in every sensation of the scars underneath his hand, the softness of the other’s cheek, before quickly pulling away.
Akutagawa sighs softly, looking down at the hand that had touched Atsushi.
Oh, to be Hades, the god of the underworld, whisking away the beautiful goddess of spring from this cursed world to become his and only his.
To be able to give dear Atsushi Nakajima everything he deserves.
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