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Cold-Blooded

@shamelessperfectionhideout

sad reader | 22 y.o. | she/her
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shamelessperfectionhideout
satoruschapstic
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satoruschapstic

Is it too late for this young sinner to get baptized?

His scars were scattered across his body, yours were hidden deep inside. He was fiercely striving to die; you were desperately trying to live. He laughed at your naivety, you reproached his indifference. But you came together. Somewhere in the middle of the chaos you had created yourselves. pairing: port mafia leader!osamu dazai x gn!reader content: angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of suicide (c'mon it's dazai), mentions of guns, mentions of alcohol a/n: wrote it for my precious @shamelessperfectionhideout as a reason to smile but we both end up crying, i'm so sorry my love <3 also i'm extremely sorry for all the inaccuracies, i haven't read manga nor have i watched anime but i'm getting there! hope y'all enjoy <3
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shamelessperfectionhideout

IT'S HERE Y'ALL

I CRIED A FUCKING RIVER

THANKS, HONEY, FOR THIS MASTERPIECE 🥹💛

shamelessperfectionhideout
perfectnightmaree
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devilsskettle

the thing about “meaningless gore” is that even when it’s apparently not intellectual enough for so many people, it forces the viewer to confront the fact that they are just meat, they are mortal, they can and will eventually die, and pain is part of the human experience that unfortunately none of us will escape experiencing at one point or another. life is both horrifyingly fragile and surprisingly resilient which makes existing in a body a fraught experience regardless of whether we want to acknowledge that or not. “to watch a horror movie is to know that something bad is going to happen. to have a body is really the same thing.” anyway that in and of itself is plenty to grapple with and if a film decides to only deal with that, i don’t think it’s less valuable than any other theme a film might address 

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devilsskettle

also the blood is fun <3

shamelessperfectionhideout
bsd-bibliophile
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bsd-bibliophile

...I still wait for someone. Who on earth am I waiting for? For what sort of person? Maybe what I’m waiting for isn’t a human. I dislike humans. No, I fear them. When I meet someone and indifferently exchange such greetings as ‘How are you?’ or ‘It’s become cold,’ greetings I don’t want to make, I somehow get the unpleasant feeling that there is no such horrible liar in the world as I, and I wish I were dead. Also, the other people, too, are unduly wary of me and use diplomatic speech which tries very hard to be harmless and inoffensive, and relate their pompous, false feelings. As I listen to it all, I find their petty cautiousness deplorable, and the world becomes more and more unbearably odious. Are ‘people in the world’, I wonder, creatures that spend their whole lives greeting each other in stiff, formal patterns, being cautious about each other, then growing tired of each other? I hate meeting people.

Dazai Osamu, “Waiting”