8 Works by bitchella
Listing Works
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(GETTING REWRITTEN)
Atsushi had finally convinced Dazai to come along with him to the new popular Golden Demon Cafe.
How?
He didn't know.
But a certain fiery redhead might just make coming here worthwhile.
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poetry
a story told,
from one
who is lacking
red
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poetry written from dazais pov. read tags and author note.
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He reached the front door, putting his hand on the doorknob hesitantly, and creeping the door open. He found himself looking down, instead of forward. Sure—he was relatively taller than most people, but right now, he was looking down-down. Far down.
And really, he would recognise that face anywhere. If he didn’t he wouldn’t be a very good detective.
The name to the familiar face was Arahabaki—the “creature” the ADA had been searching for. The same one who the government was also after. The one who they needed to reach first, was currently scratching at his door like a stray animal.—
finished as of 1/3/25
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femininomenon: a phenomenon if sleeping with a man was better than sleeping with a girl
Dazai complains about her most recent hook up, leading her friend Yosano to suggest sleeping with girls instead. Chuuya doesn't expect Dazai to follow through, but she does. While Chuuya doesn't know it yet, new doors are opening all around her.
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On this day, that only happened once a year, every year; Dazai knew everything he loved would be there.
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Very short drabble I wrote for Dazai’s birthday last night at 11pm. Dazai deserves nice things so I give him nice things. Title from Crazier by Taylor Swift 🫶
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In that little container of his, a tornado sweeping through would kill him.
So without second thought, he pulled on a coat and ran.
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In other words, There’s a bad storm and tornado sirens go off. Chuuya rushes over to Dazai because he knows Dazai is afraid of storms and sirens.
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The smooth fabric of Dazai’s dress was cool to the touch under Chuuya’s hand. Chuuya was thankful Kouyou taught him the basics of dancing, because if she hadn’t, Chuuya’s hand would be sweating more than it already was against Dazai’s. Dazai glided across the dance floor majestically, with a grin, effortlessly dancing. Better than Kouyou, he’d even say.
Eventually, they made their circle around the dance floor, and they danced their way off onto the regular part of the building.
“I didn’t see her, did you?” he asked Dazai, trying to wipe his sweaty hand off secretly.
“Hm?” Dazai hummed, fixing his bangs. “Oh, she’s not on the dance floor at all. I just wanted to dance.”
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Dazai has not eaten.
Dazai has not slept.
That's all he knows, really.
Besides the fact, something is wrong.
With him.
Terribly wrong.
(january 25th-taken off anon 2 yrs later.)