#reminder that we r duelling at dawn<3

[minusboy]

3, 4, 7, 8

hello my mortal enemy (affectionate)

3. that encompasses my style

this scene from the goya fic i think<3

The Miura peninsula is beautiful in autumn. The colours are softer this time around, more muted. Other things are different. too, because this time it was Chuuya who suggested it, a whole week before, and this time they’ve got a blanket, and Dazai has watercolors, and the wind ruffles his hair gently where he’s hunched over his sketchbook. Chuuya smokes and watches him, a complicated feeling thrumming in his chest, like a bird flapping its wings. Not for the first time, and certainly not the last, he feels like his ribcage might burst open with the force of it. Here, he thinks about offering his heart, hands soaked with blood. Have it, I insist. Indulgently, romantically, he briefly allows himself to entertain the idea that maybe they were always destined to find one another, like it was written in the stars somewhere. A fate foretold. Patroclus leaving Opus. 

7. that i nursed in a daydream before finally writing

this scene from bleeding heart dove

Four years later finds Dazai in an alleyway, staring down at a barrel of a gun on his knees, smiling as he cradles his right wrist. Any minute now. The man holding the gun seems confident that he’s got him cornered, enough that he’s completely forgetting to check his surroundings. He clearly did not get the memo that there’s a vicious dog currently off the leash. The thought makes him chuckle. ”What’s so funny?” ”You should be careful with that,” Dazai says idly, clicking his tongue, goosebumps rising to his skin as the air vibrates with tension, a change in gravity. And there he is- his delightfully violent guardian angel, ascending on them like such from seemingly out of nowhere, grinning wildly as he kicks the gun out of the man’s hand, the red glow of his ability surrounding him like a halo. He exacts his divine justice while Dazai watches, mesmerised. And finally, Chuuya turns around and smirks at him, flashing sharp canine teeth. He wipes the blood from the corner of his mouth, like a fox after a fresh kill, his gloves discarded now, knuckles raw. “What’d I miss?” he asks, extending a hand for Dazai to take, pulling him on his feet.

8. that i hurt my own feelings to write

again from the goya fic

”Why am I not getting better? I’m doing everything right aren’t I?” he asks. Suddenly, it feels like someone’s dragging a knife in a jagged line across his palm, right on top of the old scar, bleeding all over the delicate white fabric, and the pain makes the edges of his vision go white for a moment. He chokes on his next inhale, digging dull fingernails into the meat of his palm. ”Why don’t I… does it still…” ”Stop,” Dazai commands gently, covering his fingers with his own, making Chuuya flinch. Dazai gently pries the dress from his hands and carefully sets it aside on the table, his movements delicate and quiet, never taking his eyes off him. And suddenly Chuuya hates how he can touch him so easily. Like he isn’t taking him apart and painfully putting him back together every time like some grotesque version of a matryoshka doll.

send me numbers !