when i really should study

conundrum. (arranged in haphazard rondo)

In lieu of soukoku episode release & soukoku week, I decided to post a soukoku fic at last ヾ(´▽`;)ゝ

tl;dr: An introspective overview of Dazai and Chuuya’s relationship over the years, told in five brief parts; from childhood, to the Dark Era, till the very end; and me postulating the ending of BSD encompassing much angst and tragedy.


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- table of contents -

i. The Worst Day Ever
ii. The Scariest Day Ever
iii. The Absolute Worst Day Ever
iv. The Happiest Day Ever
v. The Worst Day Ever

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i. The Worst Day Ever

There wasn’t really anything that happened between them.

“I’m Nakahara.”

“Name’s Dazai.”

“Your face pisses me off.”

“As does yours.”

“I’m glad it’s mutual.”

Perhaps it’s meant to be. Their first look at one another left a sour aftertaste at the back of their tongues, like the revolting bitterness of herbal medicines. It’s strong, it’s repugnant, it’s also inexplicable – arising as naturally as the Sun from the east. The French use the saying, “le coup de foudre”; perhaps between them lightning struck too hard, and the nasty burn that it left behind sizzled on for many years to come.

It’s not like Chuuya can ever forget that day – he even went on to elegantly coin it with a name of utmost sophistication (‘The Worst Day Ever’). It’s as if he is forced to endure the taste of cheap, oxidized beer; the odious gaze of those black eyes from across the room left in him a prickly sensation of disgust, coupled with the urge to flee at once.

Not that he could. “Now, lads, no fighting,” instructed Kouyou, her tone motherly. Her eyes shot him a knowing look, and Chuuya understood the threat that came beneath that beaming visage. “The Boss insists you lads be cordial.”

“How ‘bout no.” Chuuya mutters, eyeing the other boy suspiciously.

“My sentiments exactly,” says the boy with a subdued glower.

Kouyou’s smile only widens to terrifying proportions, and she says nothing, turning to grin at the man standing behind the young boy. It is the boy’s caregiver, Mori; a figure whose role paralleled hers to Chuuya. The man shrugs, amused.

Meanwhile the boys are engaged in their own interaction of silent looks, scrutinizing one another with disdainful contempt; between them stood a battlefield of sheer eyepower and pride, alongside equal prowess of detestation flung at one another carelessly like spears, hitting all but their target’s unyielding ego. Neither relents. Neither triumphs either.

Their stalemate is abruptly broken when Kouyou, with her heavy kimono and large traditional umbrella, steps in regally between them, the slight smile of her face both mystifying and alluring at once. Both boys are halted, and turn their gaze towards her subliminal beauty in stunned wonder.

She turns to each of them, tossing charming glances through half-lidded eyes – enrapturing them with the exquisite sheen glimmering in her eyes. She grins. Mori watches on, respectfully amused at Kouyou’s wit.

“Orders are orders, lads,” says she, emancipating an immeasurable amount of matured charisma.

The two boys dumbly nod, eyes fixated and enthralled like the bewitched; unquestioning.

It is only much later that Chuuya realises what he had agreed to, and groans in unfathomable regret and angst at perhaps the worst command of all time.

Keep reading

Fanart I made of Tina when I really should have been studying for finals. I think a lot of people probably feel the same way as I do since I see so many new fanfics/art online. We can’t help it…

Feel free to message me to talk about FBAWTFT and HP. (=3=)/ <3

When Hamlet was young the uncanny resemblance between his father and uncle sent shivers up his spine, like spiders crawling upwards, and biting between the divots. His young mind is reasoning that it is only normal, that if he were to have a brother they would very much look like carbon copies of each other(he might even be able to pin the blame on them —— if no one could tell them apart, who could be certain except the two of them?)

This master plan devised, Hamlet waits for a brother that never comes; until he asks the queen with as much subtlety as possible, her fingers tangled in his hair. There is only one of you, because when you stirred inside me there was no one else.

And then he learns the true reason behind the uncanny resemblance of his father and uncle. Of course they look alike darling, they’re twins. his mother explains with all the sticky sweet kindness that she would loose in later years, and Hamlet turns his face towards where his uncle and father are tracing maps with their equally slender fingers.

His father taps the cup with his finger twice before taking a sip, his uncle once.

Seasons later, when revenge was the motive of his return —— blinding him to everything but his own pain(Horatio stepping on his heels —— still trying to take care of Hamlet in hopes of saving him). When all he could see was a play unfolding with an unavoidable end —— had he been looking closer, he would have seen the man who wore his father’s face tap the cup twice.

haunted by something still alive || Eliot C. || inspired by (x) & (x)

anonymous asked:

I regret not going through your blog before because holy fricky frack your writing is so amazing like wow you is talented so very talented and like even your little lovely posts and your fics!!! and everything honestly is so perfect and adorable your writing is out of the world top notch and I am always in awe and in love and especially right now when I should really be studying but I still feel like reading going through your posts and canons make me very happy and just very happy thank you xx

Oh my gosh you lovely person you! Gah that is sooooo sweet. Omg. You’ve seriously made my day! 💖

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13 aug ‘16; term3week7 [34 days to exams!!] oh man how long has it been since i lasted posted??? I have been really really busy lately (and i think i’ve been saying the same thing for every post lol)

But hey i ran 8km during my school’s sports event a few weeks ago!! Never in my entire life that i thought i could actually run long distances 😁😁 i want to keep training cuz my goal is to reach a pace of 6:30/km 😄
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“The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.”  

I know this is kind of a deep thought to have while downloading mods for Fallout 4, but

I’ve never been a fan of this idea of erasing the character of something by reverting it to a “brand new” state? I like it when things are care-worn. I like to know that (like people) something has had a life, and bears scars and tears and hurt for it - not because those things are enjoyable, but because they’re necessary? Because they’re simply a part of being part of or living a life of any experience and consequence whatsoever?

For a couple of years now I’ve been a real fan of this concept, “kintsugi”. It’s the practice of repairing broken cups and dishes with gold. It’s the idea that something can be broken and can still be beautiful - more beautiful, honestly - for it. For having been through something rough, but having the strength and patience to heal.

So don’t give me a brand new coat or face for Nick, or the old pre-war Codsworth. They’ve both been through too much for that, and it seems almost disrespectful to erase so much of someone’s history. Give me a rag and some hot soap and water, a sewing kit, a sander and a working laundry. It’s pointless to hide something that is so a part of our history, but nor does that mean we have to languish in the filth of our mistakes. We tidy up the best we can, and move forward, and, eventually, we may even find it in ourselves to heal our scars with gold.