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sunshine-burnt · 4 months

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I Do Not Like Your Hat

Summary: Dazai always did hate Chuya's hat.

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Some days, Dazai Osamu wished he was never born. Some days, Dazai Osamu wished he was dead. And some days, Dazai Osamu was okay with living.

This was not one of those days, though.

Dazai Osamu did have to admit that his days seemed to be getting brighter. No longer was he constantly hounded by the sins of his past nor was the tune of the suicide song playing in his mind. His desire to commit double suicide was slowly lessening (though his hunt for a beautiful maiden had yet to cease), and he did not find the arms of the river quite as comforting as before. Finally, to everyone's surprise, he had even started coming to work on time. Whether he was productive during the day was still up for debate, though. All in all, Dazai was seeing improvement.

It scared him.

Running, lying, fighting, that was all in his blood. And even if it was not there naturally, he had spent enough time being injected with violence and the need to die for his entire life. He was a criminal, a demon sent straight from hell, a monstrous sinner (and a lost child attempting to navigate adulthood). Dazai Osamu had no right to live, no right to happiness.

And today, these thoughts had driven him from work and family, from some foreign brightness back into the embrace of a not-so yet all too familiar darkness.

The alley he strode through brought him little peace, tortured screams echoing in his mind. Blood dripped from every nook and cranny, and if he ran his hand over the wall he would witness that non-existent crimson staining his palm. He saw bullets embed themselves into innocent, clean flesh. The air reeked of death, a friend Dazai could never leave behind.

So lost in thought, the brunette man missed a piece of a shared past and found himself stumbling into the wall. The brick was rough against his palms, and the uneven asphalt bit into his knees through his pants. He scowled, turning to catch sight of an accessory he had always hated.

It was that dumb slug's hat.

Dazai pushed himself against the wall, glaring at the pork pie as if it had personally offended him. The ugly, little hat stared right back at him, growing more and more unsightly as the silence stretched on. Disgust worked its way onto his face, memories of a certain red-haired man resurfacing. Damn that bastard. Why'd he have to leave that nasty thing right where he was going to be? What was the world scheming today? Well, whatever it was, he didn't like it. Still, something pulled him to his ex-partner's topper.

The world of yesterdays rushed over him, and he was left victim to the recollection of the days following Odasaku's death.

Mori Ogai was too much. Too violent, too deceitful, too cruel, etcetera, etcetera, the list went on infinitely. Well, not infinitely seeing as there were far too few words to describe that horrendous man. Osamu could see that clearly now. His escape to the 'good' side would soon be upon him, and he wished to take no remnants of his mafia days with him. Nothing other than the mark of death, of course. It was not as if he could wash himself of that branding so easily. What a pain fleeing the Port Mafia was going to be.

Snoring interrupted his thoughts, and his gaze was directed toward the slightly noisy man resting in his bed. It had been a long, hard week, and Dazai hadn't had it in him to kick out the slug, a change he hoped the other would never notice. Indeed, he had been getting softer and softer on his fiery partner as the months had passed, and when his rusty haired friend had left him, Osamu had been able to express his grief to him.

Nakahara Chuya continued to slumber peacefully, a rare treat for him.

A silent sigh slipped through his nose, and he resisted touching the man's calloused palms with his own, both drenched in unseen blood that was not stoppered at the wrist. He wondered, briefly, at telling Chuya, at convincing the other to come with him, at searching for forgiveness together. Death was also a heavy weight on the ginger's mind (Osamu knew this well enough after seeing him drink once a mission was finished). It could be nice, just the two of them, fulfilling Odasaku's wishes. Saving orphans, guiding the lost, all things that that strange man had been so good at, so devoted to. And maybe, just maybe, they could both be rescued, they could both find salvation.

Dazai Osamu was not an idealist, though.

Nakahara Chuya, his partner in crime, was just that. His partner in crime. He was bound to the Port Mafia, swathed in chains of brainwashed loyalty and threatened with praise. He was the organization's dog, always at Mori's beck and call, always eager to prove himself. The red-head's chance at freedom had been stolen from him years ago and, ironically, that damned thief was Dazai Osamu himself, the demon prodigy preparing to desert.

Osamu caught sight of an especially hideous item resting on the nightstand. The hat, a gift of Mori's, tempted the arsonist within him. He was already planning on feeding his coat to the flame, why not toss the slug's accessory too? He glowered at the pork pie, yet another bond that tethered Chuya to the organization. The stupid thing meant too much to his partner, a representation of the mafia claiming to be his home. And that dumb boy had accepted that dumb assertation. Dazai hated him for his choice, but it was not as if he could do anything.

He was, after all, the one at fault.

Nakahara Chuya knew something was off. The air of the penthouse was just barely saturated with something musty, something familiar. The smudge on the left most window seemed a little larger than it had been yesterday, and the softness of the carpet had been disturbed. The red head narrowed his eyes, pinpointing the wooden coffee table. Someone had been in his house. Chuya crept forward on silent feet, that eerie red glow, which signified his power, surrounding his lean figure. Carefully, he rounded the white couch and focused on the item left on the glossy surface.

His hat sat innocently before him, no sign of another's touch to be seen. A relieved sigh exited from his lips; he had been looking for the damn thing since sun down of yesterday. Chuya lifted the pork pie, eager to feel that comfortable weight on the crown of his head yet again when a small slip of paper fluttered out from the hat's opening. Curious, he picked up the note and opened it to read.

"For the dumb slug. I thought you couldn't go anywhere without your brain. -D.O."

Dammit, Dazai.

#BSD #bungou stray dogs #soukoku #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #dazai x chuuya #angst #character study #humorous ending

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nattousan · 7 months

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found this reel from RoscoMcClelland and he was even funnier in the comments

#og post #comedy #trans humor #slugs #trans stuff #reposting bc i needed to trim the end :p

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stuckinapril · 6 months

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lived my whole life in guilt bc i thought i was responsible for people's feelings. newly realizing that other people are responsible for their feelings and reactions, even if they make it seem like i'm the problem. a lot of the time it really has to do w them and their own emotional regulation. i can't keep thinking i'm not allowed to have space bc of other people's insecurities. like i literally refuse to dim myself. other people are responsible for their feelings just as i'm responsible for mine.

#like i'm always gonna operate from a place of kindness but i've had to deal w so many people who're bad at communication/confrontation #which led me to think i'm the problem #that i deserve to be given the silent treatment or dismissed disregarded belittled etc #that's j not true. i'm far from perfect but i think so few people deserve that kind of reaction. and my biggest revelation is i do not #even if people want to make me think i do / that their reaction is justified / that i'm a burden etc #my biggest problem is i humor people like this for too long bc it's been normalized behavior to me #does this make any sense to anyone. it's the end of the year and i'm reflecting on so many things #p

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cat-cosplay · 4 months

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