#he's painting dazai crying because he never does when he was alive

[drlqra]

there's a story behind this portrait 😇

and i'm going to gatekeep that story forever <3

[diverse-hearts-a]

mallow: what sorts of things might remind your muse of those close to them? any scents, objects, sounds? (for Garth)

colorful headcanons.

@betweentwowxrlds

I could write an essay on this boy I swear - (placed under a read more for length)By ‘close to them’ - I’ll take this to mean those whom he feels the closest to/ or has everyday interactions with:

Mori: The scent of old dried blood, musky whiskey and thick cigar smoke remind him most of his father. Mori doesn’t often smoke but when he does the smell tends to just sink into his clothing and both Garth and Elise had made comments about such in the past. Objects are no doubt easier to guess - anything medical will make him think on Mori or Kyran - usually his father though. Lab coats, scalpels, red scarf (thou he owns a copy of the scarf) and white gloves remind him a lot of his father. One of the reasons he doesn’t wish to be pushed into medical is because of the stress related to memories surrounding hospitals and the like. Sounds, would just be his voice. Mori has a tone that just let’s you know that you’ve messed up somehow. It isn’t loud, or too soft, but it makes his blood run cold whenever he hears it. The sound of sharp whistling is also related but that’s because of events during the great war so most of those memories are suppressed.

Sabriel:

Soft scents such as lavender, sage and rose are scents found in most perfumes that she wears. As she spends a lot of time in the kitchens, bakery, in general, can be rather comforting for him, the smell of something freshly baking, such as bread, for example.When it comes to objects - if she’s alive then flowers, daggers and music sheets are what comes to his mind. As her ability is linked to her voice, she often can be found humming or singing simple little tunes, some that were made to fit alongside the piano that Garth was learning to play at the time.If she’s deceased - the small pink book of poetry she left behind is a treasured item that Garth protects as best as he can. Books, in general, help him to feel connected with his mother along with paints and canvas - getting his creative side from her and clinging to it tightly.

Sounds - song singing, piano and violin playing, whistles and the clicking of heels against hard flooring all come to mind. If she’s deceased though usually, he can’t really pin a sound on her - and he didn’t learn the violin as that was a hobby he started to spend more time with her.

Yumeno: (Based on @somegremlin )Due to the nature of his relationship with his little brother - the smells of blood, metal, strong chemicals, damp clothing, tears - a lot of scents that normal children should never have to be around. On the other side of the scale - brown sugar, lavender and strawberries do too, those rare days spent just hanging out without the promise of later pain.

Objects - small wooden and cloth toys that he crafts for the other - simple little toys that can fit inside the bag he wears. His little hat, stars, his doll and barbed wire.

Sounds - high pitched screaming, tiny hurried feet, crying and sobbing, the sound of fabric being crinkled between tiny shaking hands - but also children’s laughter and gentle words of reassurance. They support one another.

Chuuya: (Based on @shrimps-variety-garden )

Smells - wine, roses, smoke, leather, hot chocolate and freshly made meals. He’ll often be found wearing one of Chuuya’s hoodies when the others away on jobs etc. Objects - his hat, blankets, books, wine, glass, motorcycle, chocker, the beads they have and later their wedding rings. Things with fox-like details remind him of Chuuya too.Sounds - Singing, the sound of cars/motorcycle engines, soft hums, kisses - soft whispers, poems, ringtone, ding of a cooking timer, alarm clock.

Dazai: (Based mainly on interactions with @jxngsterunterboss )

Smells: Whiskey, blood, gun powder, smoke, chemicals, rusting metal, crabs. Dampness.Objects: Shackles, guns, dogs, knives, needles, his suicide book, bandages (please never compare him to Dazai in this department it kinda kills him).Sounds - Loud screaming, angry yelling, gunfire, a slash of a knife blade, dogs barking, fake laughter - Dazai’s voice is enough to make him freeze.

Shiro ( @whtrbbt )

Smells: Blood, rotten flesh, woody smells in general ~ in relation to the War. Objects: Rabbits, teddy bears, oversized jackets. Sounds: Stuttering of any origin ~

[wolf-nir]

astromelia — thank you, and i will miss you.

It's winter, snowflakes sail through the sky in a silent dance by the gray hall, a dance that ends in the streets of Yokohama. Dazai watches the balcony show from the Agency building, his inseparable coat is getting wet with the snow that melts, his eyelashes are lightly covered with crystalline flakes that cling to his skin like tears when he blinks.

It's a quiet day at the Agency, Kunikida is sitting at his desk, reviewing some reports without the regular impatience that overflows his movements. There are some grunts here and there — that Dazai knows about him and his lack of work, but the Doppo does not move from his desk, does not even look in his direction to complain. He feels grateful for this, for this peace he did not know he needed.

Osamu hums an old lullaby into a murmur, it's part of a past as buried as his life before the ADA, but it's less bittersweet than this not-so-distant black past. The suicidal maniac looks beyond the horizon, observing the city without actually seeing it, his thoughts are far, but there is no indication on his exterior of who they are.

Their murmured song continues, Kunikida still grunts at his desk and the rest of the Agency is empty, everyone has been home for a long time. He blinks and snowflakes pinned to her lashes loosen, melting and forming trails of tears on her serene face.

Kunikida does not comment when he hears a hitch in Dazai's breath — a sob.

x

The streets of Yokohama are all in different states of destruction, it looks like an apocalyptic landscape, much worse than when the Guild had attempted to destroy the port city. Wounded people infest the streets, some dead and others desperately trying to keep themselves alive or trying to find their loved ones.

Some children cry for their parents and other parents cry for their dead children. It is the purest definition of chaos. Dazai, along with the others of the ADA look around, but do not dare to stop what they are doing. Kunikida, Junichiro and Kenji are helping people trapped between debris and taking them toward Yosano that seems the most worn out they've ever seen. Naomi is by your side, trying to help with the burden of treating so many patients.

Dazai does not know where Ranpo is, the great detective has been missing since long before that chaos affected the city — when the victims were only a bunch of detectives with special abilities. He is almost certain that the man is safe somewhere with Poe, his former enemy and, according to Ranpo, the only one who can match the intelligence of Edogawa. At the very least, he will soon appear, so Dazai doesn’t care.

Already Osamu, well, he is walking quietly amid all that chaos, his footsteps are silent and well timed, slow, as if he were simply strolling through the park. But for those who really know you, it's easy to see the way your jaw is tense, your hands tucked tight in the pockets of your coat are a way to contain yourself, to keep a control that is too close to being broken.

At some point in his walk he thinks, I arrived too late, but he can not really get carried away at that moment. He has a mission, not that any member of the Agency has told them, but he does not really need to voice what everyone already knows. Find Atsushi.

Then he walks, observes with pointed eyes every small detail of that infernal landscape, looking for sunset eyes and silver hair like the moon. After a few alleys and corners Dazai finally finds him, lying in the middle of the street, unconscious, a pool of blood around him, bathing his torn clothes in a crimson tone that, from time to time, haunts the dreams of the former Executive of the Mafia.

“Oh, Atsushi-kun.” It is a small, half-broken whisper, only a recognition that, yes, Dazai has finally met the young man. He quickly calls Kunikida to warn him, letting the blonde know that Yosano will need to help the boy heal.

And then Dazai picks him up in his arms as if he's carrying a flower petal in his hands and not a boy who turns into a beast in the moonlight. Blood stains his bandages and clothes and Dazai can’t stop worrying about the amount. It is too much for someone so small, and it is an irrational thought, for man knows that a human being has liters and more liters of blood.

He takes him to Yosano, observes the macabre way that the doctor's ability works on the slender body of Atsushi and how everyone in the Agency sighs in relief at seeing that the boy continues to breathe.

But Atsushi just does it, breathe. His eyes — which Dazai thinks are so beautiful — never open.

x

The hospital room is clinically clean, the walls white and suffocating, the squelching of machines as the only background song beyond the boy's breathing lying on the bed, almost swallowed up by wires and blankets. His eyes are closed, his eyelashes almost disappearing between the pallor of his skin, matching the silver of his strands.

Dazai observes, memorizes and burns the image behind his eyelids, perhaps, for the hundredth time. Nothing changes. The breath remains the same, the slender fingers don’t move from its place. The detective thinks that the boy almost looks like a painting; immutable, but still full of unknown feelings.

Meanwhile, Atsushi sleeps, unaware of the world and the world.

“Today Ranpo-san shared his sweets with Kyouka-chan, I never saw the girl smile so much, you would be impressed, Atsushi-kun.” Osamu speaks after several minutes quiet, sitting in a chair on the side of the bed.

It's a small lie, Kyouka didn’t smile as she should, simply stretched his lips into something plastic and hard and accepted the sweets with too delicate hands for someone who has taken lives before. Ranpo shared his sweets with the girl just because she wanted to make the younger girl come out of her almost catatonic state.

“You would have liked to be there, I suppose. I'm sure Ranpo-san would have given him candy as well, Atsushi-kun.” Dazai speaks again, his voice soft, a whisper that only the boy could hear.

Dazai spends the night in that chair, holding a hand too hot for someone who looks dead and counting half-truths and ridiculous tales about the Agency. Stories that Atsushi should have time to learn, to laugh and roll his eyes at the stupidity of his slightly dysfunctional family.

At some point in the early morning, Dazai only watches the boy, takes his pale hand to his lips and kisses his fingers, one by one, wishing he could do this for all the days of his life and being able to be reciprocated, perhaps with a tender kiss on the lips.

In the morning he leaves, leaving behind an astromelia behind.

x

“Why does not he wake up, Yosano-sensei?”

It’s a simple question, but with a complex answer, Dazai knows well, yet he feels something like hope within himself — and it is astonished, long ago something so pure was felt by that black heart that Dazai carried within himself.

Yosano sighs, tired of something that only she seems to know and begins to explain about injuries and limitations of her ability and how Atsushi lost more than just blood. In the end, the answer is simple, hard and written in stone. Brain death.

“Oh.” It's the only thing he can answer, his eyes staring at the floor without really seeing. He repeats these two words in his sentence over and over, in an agonizing loop — brain death, brain death, brain death.

“Isn’t he going to wake up?” It's a stupid question and Dazai already knows the answer, but he still finds himself asking. Yosano watches him, a sad gleam in his ever so vivid eyes.

“I don’t know.” That's what she answers, and it's a more than enough response for Dazai to understand the meaning behind. No, he will not.

[waveswordswhispers]

Please, Come Back

Shinsoukokuweek Day Five: Feline/Hunger Games

I... Don’t know where this went.

Atsushi and Akutagawa have always stuck together growing up in District Twelve.

Both are orphans.

Both are just trying to survive.

They've always just barely gotten by, Akutagawa able to fend off bullies and people trying to steal what little they posses and Atsushi the one who is able to pick pockets and somehow find food and water for themselves.

They've been lucky, they've never been picked during the reapings and Atsushi prays it stays that way, it's Akutagawa's last year to be eligible for the reaping.

Next year, he'll be free.

They're separated because Atsushi's two years younger but Akutagawa still manages find him in the crowd, shooting Atsushi a reassuring smile as the representative from Panem rambles on.

It'll be fine.

"Now," the representative trills on her sickening sweet voice. "Let's do the boys first, shall we?"

Atsushi clasps his hands together and prays, not Akutagawa, not Akutagawa-

"Atsushi Nakajima."

Atsushi breathes a sigh of relief because it's not Akutagawa but then he realized it's him.

His knees nearly give out and he's shaking so bad he's amazed he's actually still standing and oh god, the keepers are making their way towards him, he's going to die this year-

"I volunteer." Akutagawa's harsh voice cuts through Atsushi's panic, his voice not even wavering.

The representative titters nervously, making another speech and Akutagawa meets Atsushi's gaze, his face white. Atsushi wants to sob, scream, cry because no.

Anything he tries to say gets stuck in his throat and as Akutagawa's escorted to the stage, white noise fills Atsushi's ears, vision blurring.

He doesn't even hear the female's name, he's only aware that Akutagawa's standing on the stage, expression blank, fear radiating off of him.

When the representative hefts Akutagawa's hand in the air, wishing the two reaped good luck, Atsushi throws up.

"Akutagawa!" Atsushi charges in as soon as he's allowed to see Akutagawa, painfully aware of every second ticking away from his five minutes. "Ryononsuke," he sobs, locking his arms around Akutagawa. "Why?"

Akutagawa smiles tensely, returning the hug.

He doesn't reply, just quietly holding Atsushi and they stand there, rocking back and forth as Atsushi's quiet sobs echo in the empty room.

"Chuuya and Dazai are going to teach me," Akutagawa says as Atsushi counts down to the two minute mark. "They'll teach me how to survive."

It doesn't reassure Atsushi at all, Dazai and Chuuya may have won back to back Hunger Games but Akutagawa isn't them.

He's a little gruff towards people, a little rough around the edges but Akutagawa's kind, soft and especially soft hearted.

He isn't a killer.

Atsushi feels his tears stop, he's almost exhausted but he pulls away a little, to uncurl his hand, revealing the small bracelet he's always worn on his wrist, the silver threads twined together with tiny tigers molded into the bracelet.

"Here's your token," he chokes out and Akutagawa shakes his head.

"I can't take it, it's the only thing that you have from your family." Atsushi grabs Akutagawa's hand regardless, slipping the bracelet around his wrist.

"It's always brought good things to me one way or another," Atsushi replies, letting his hands drop when he takes a step back. "I hope it does the same for you."

Akutagawa's expression is unreadable but he surges forward, pulling Atsushi into another crushing hug and Atsushi feels tears forming in the corner of his eyes again.

"Please," Atsushi murmurs as the door opens, tears still falling, not willing to let go quite yet. "Please, come back."

Akutagawa dips his head down and Atsushi's not sure whether he did it in the heat of the moment but he kisses Atsushi, kisses him hard and grasps Atsushi with all his strength.

"I will," he whispers, tone full of determination and what else he says is cut off as the keepers rip Atsushi from him and drag him out, the doors closing with a finality.

Atsushi watches Akutagawa get onto the train from a distance, he can't bring himself to say goodbye directly to Akutagawa and he can only lift his hand to wave, his arm weighing so much more than it really is.

Akutagawa lifts his hand in return, silver glinting on his wrist and Atsushi bursts into tears, not caring about how he looks in the front of everyone else.

He feels like he's missing a piece of himself.

He probably is.

With Akutagawa gone, there's no one stopping anyone from beating Atsushi up and taking what he managed to scavenge to survive but at least Yosano takes pity on him, letting him stay in exchange for helping her out at her clinic.

Atsushi watches the small television Yosano has dutifully, watching, waiting, searching for any sign that Akutagawa's doing well.

When Akutagawa finally shows up on he screen, he's dressed in black with red streaking out from behind and Atsushi realized those are flames, Akutagawa is literally on fire.

He looks untouchable, fierce, and regal.

He looks well.

It's a short appearance, barely five minutes long but it's enough to give Atsushi some solace.

The next time Akutagawa makes an appearance on screen, it's for the interviews and when he strides onto the stage, there's the certain confidence he has that has always awed Atsushi along with another more dangerous feeling.

His designer has done a good job again, a suit that accentuates his figure and compliments his unusual hair colour and makes him especially handsome, more so than usual. Atsushi can hear the crowd whisper among themselves as he takes a seat, face set in a polite, cultured smile that he must have practiced for hours in order to master because Akutagawa's smiles are always awkward, funny, warm and soft.

Atsushi dislikes this smile. It's not Akutagawa.

Akutagawa answers all the questions cordially, playing along easily and Atsushi can tell he's already gaining popularity with the crowd.

It's good in a way, more sponsors to help him when enters the arena but it also paints a bigger target on Akutagawa's back.

As Akutagawa gives his last reply to the standard questions with a flourish, the interviewer leans forward, pointing at the bracelet on Akutagawa's wrist, glinting in the bright lights of the Capitol.

"That is such a pretty thing," the interviewer trills. "From your parents?"

Akutagawa smiles, his mask cracking a bit as he shakes his head. "No."

"Significant other?" the interviewer teases, leaning back, giving the crowd the typical 'we've discovered a secret' look. The crowd lets out pleased shouts.

Akutagawa seems to ponder for a second and he tilts his head, staring at the camera.

"Of sorts."

The crowd goes wild and Atsushi flushes, clapping his hands over his head as Yosano raises a questioning eyebrow.

"You've got some explaining to do," she sings jokingly but Atsushi knows she's kind to enough to not press.

Akutagawa concludes the interview gracefully and disappears.

Atsushi only has time to turn on the television for a short moment because there's been an outbreak of sickness that has overrun the clinic but he catches sight of Akutagawa's score.

Nine.

Almost perfect.

Atsushi's glad.

The day the games start, Atsushi's sitting on a chair, watching the screen with bated breath.

As the platforms rise up, he sees Akutagawa tensed up on the one furthest from the camera.

The horn signifies the start of the games and right way, it turns into a bloodbath.

Akutagawa grabs weapons, a backpack, anything he can get his hands on from the Cornucopia.

The Careers get to work, gutting anyone they can confront but Akutagawa avoids them, slipping off into the woods, seemingly teaming up with the tributes from District Ten and the male tribute from District Eleven.

Atsushi loses count of how many tributes die that day but he's so, so relieved Akutagawa's not among them.

It's a quick but brutal game, tributes dying daily from both other tributes and the Arena itself.

Akutagawa's been trained well, it seems that Chuuya and Dazai both upheld their promises to train him well and he's raging through anyone who challenges him almost unopposed, save for the Careers who obviously have more honed combat skills than he does.

Atsushi cringes every time Akutagawa has to fight, can barely keep his eyes on the screen when Akutagawa gets hurt, and he has, only to be saved by medicine from sponsors.

Akutagawa's lost most of his group except for one other, the male tribute from District Eleven and even he's quickly mowed down by the last remaining male Career from the Third District, leaving Akutagawa and two others.

For days, Akutagawa groups with the remaining two tributes and they play a cat and mouse game with the Career, constantly moving and setting up traps in hope of killing the Career without direct confrontation with no avail so far.

Atsushi's afraid that they'll have to take more risks as the situation becomes more dire and the Capitol hungers for more entertainment.

Finally, when the all the remaining tributes and Akutagawa are cornered to a small space within the arena due to the controllers burning sections but there, the other two tributes and Akutagawa fight desperately for their lives, the career cutting down one with ease while facing more resistance from the last tribute from District Nine and Akutagawa.

Atsushi screams when the Career stabs Akutagawa in the stomach, Akutagawa just a second too slow to dodge the attack.

The Career lets Akutagawa fall to the ground and turns on the remaining tribute, raising his sword menacingly.

The tribute, Tachihara Michizou, Atsushi thinks he's called, stands his ground and somehow manages to kill the Career but sustains fatal injuries as the Career falls.

Atsushi thinks that'll be no winner this year until he realizes that only one cannon has sounded, which means only one tribute has died.

Which means Akutagawa is still alive.

It's a waiting game now, to see who dies first and honestly, it's not looking good for either one but Atsushi selfishly wants Akutagawa to live.

Akutagawa's eyes slide shut first and that's when Atsushi lets out his first real cry of anguish and the cannon sounds a second later, thinking Akutagawa is gone but when Yosano shakes him fiercely, demanding he looks at the television, he sees Tachihara's eyes wide and unseeing and realizes Akutagawa's the surviving one.

He cries tears of joy, burying his head into his knees and Yosano pats his back understandingly until he's calmed down.

Akutagawa's coming back.

It's a while before Akutagawa gets back, presumably time for healing his injuries and for whatever closing ceremonies the Capitol has for the victor but Atsushi's filled to the brim with anticipation when the train appears.

He hasn't had much time to check the television so he doesn't know how Akutagawa's doing but he's excited to see him again.

Chuuya gets off first, sighing tiredly, his red hair a mess, signalling he's just woken up. Dazai's next, his flippant attitude apparent as he waves carelessly at the crowd, grabbing Chuuya by the wrist and tugging the shorter man towards their shared residence.

Akutagawa finally appears, looking slightly gaunt and exhausted but when he spots Atsushi, his face lightens up right away.

Atsushi runs towards him but Akutagawa walks slowly, almost as if it pains him to move and he stops halfway, whipping out a handkerchief and coughing violently into it.

When he stops, he whisks the handkerchief away as fast as he can, but not before Atsushi spots the blood on it.

Atsushi halts and finally looks at Akutagawa carefully.

There's an air he can't quite describe around Akutagawa, one that's familiar though and as Atsushi ponders, glancing at Akutagawa's eyes that hold a haunted look, he's struck by how similar Akutagawa holds himself.

He holds himself like Dazai and Chuuya.

While they may have won the games, Chuuya and Dazai often saw themselves as murderers none the less, even if it was for their own survival and they carry the weight of the lives they have taken on their shoulders everyday, hanging over them like a cloud.

Although Akutagawa is back, Atsushi suspects a part of him is lost among the death, blood and terror that he suffered through and he might never be the same again.

Physically and mentally.

Atsushi smiles shakily and Akutugawa takes the last few steps and embraces him.

"I'm back," Akutagawa murmurs, his voice cracking.

Atsushi closes his eyes and wraps his arms around Akutagawa, mindful of Akutugawa's wound and squeezes gently.

"Welcome back," he replies, pressing his head into Akutagawa's shoulder. "Welcome back."