Lily-Iris 🪻(2)
@hibiscesque
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The inverse of latent untruth.「21 | they/them | 🇬🇷🇮🇹🇺🇸 | SKK angst + humor ficwriter」Despite popular belief, I am not Twt user @longing_lily . 💔
Minors DNI w/ NSFW
Joined November 2022
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Hi, call me Lily-Iris! I write about fictional idiots falling in love on painstakingly slow timelines in my free time. 💝
✧ AO3:
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✧ Priv:
@byeacinth
More ⤵️!
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"... and here we observe a Chuuyus slugisis in its natural habitat. We're going to have to proceed with caution from here, because when they get angry they secrete a DISGUSTING slime—"
"Dazai," Chuuya interrupts, so, so longsufferingly. "Why do you have a video camera?"
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"We never really talked about it," Dazai says one day.
He keeps his voice light. Casual. Doesn't look up from the expense report from the ADA's latest abroad mission he's pretending to write.
"Talked about what?" Chuuya asks.
"Me leaving the Port Mafia."
(Me leaving you).
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SKK who start calling each other pet names to mock each other but then it accidentally gets SO serious.
3 times Dazai and Chuuya use pet names as a weapon + 1 time things get a little too real
••••
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"Yo, fetch me a pair of chopsticks, Fido!" Dazai calls, pressing a hand to
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// TW self-harm
Chuuya didn't know. Or at least, that's what he tells himself. Because the other option is that he saw it, saw the bandages and the thick clothes and the way he reacted when Chuuya hit him, the way his eyes burned slake and tranquil at the
Girlypops, as I am in the mood to take out all my emotions on my favorite characters this week, there's another thread incoming. Now that I've figured out how to do threadfics I've gone drunk w/ power, but don't worry they'll probably slow down soon 😅
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Grieving!Chuuya in bed for days, listless and blank after the gravity of what happened during the events leading up to Guivre finally sinks in and Dazai taking care of him.
••••
Chuuya falls, boneless, into Dazai's arms. Dazai braces himself and then scoops him into
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"Dazai's the big spoon" this, "Chuuya's the big spoon" that, well, I think they sleep hugging. Heads buried into the other's shoulder, so close that they can feel each other's breath misting against their ear, knowing their partner is alright bc they can SEE them safe and sound.
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AU where university student!Chuuya, who’s too focused on graduating college in three years to save himself money and juggling three jobs to even have friends, let alone romantic relationships, has one of his few and far between days off interrupted by
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I had a conversation with
@_naheeeeeda
abt floriography and we got onto the red camellias in this iconic picture. So I wanted to talk about that a little bit, and (over)analyze what I feel it means abt their relationship. Asking "Does SKK is gay?" obviously, but not just that.
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Anyway thinking abt how Chuuya tries to stay mad at Dazai for leaving the PM but considering it too long makes him think of Murase—and eventually he decides if nothing else but to honor his memory, he can’t truly stay mad at Dazai; human, human, Dazai, for going into the light.
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Scenario where 17!Chuuya gets a sudden blast from a past he thought he'd forgotten for good and Dazai is forced to confront it... and how much he cares about Chuuya.
••••
When Dazai had turned on a bad Frankenstein remake after he'd invited himself into Chuuya's home, his
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Tell me why I found this when I was going through my Canva projects looking for an older version of my résumé. Tf was I ON 😭😭
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I never understood the appeal of this trope until I read Tenfold by dgalerab. That scene where Dazai calls Chuuya “Nakahara” bc he doesn’t remember his name and Chuuya breaks and lashes out bc the Dazai he knew had NEVER called him that still haunts me
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leave. Kunikida, Yosano, you owe me ¥1500. Anywayyy BYECHUUYA!" The front door slams shut.
"Fuck this," Chuuya mutters, rinsing off the orange and then biting a huge chunk out of it. "All these years later and that guy is still exactly the same."
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"No," Dazai replies meekly, looking a little bit like someone had just pissed in his cereal.
"Good," Chuuya says sweetly. "Enjoy your lunch."
••••
(I have things to do places to be rn but I'll add part two sometime tonight! Teehee thanks for reading. <3)
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"Yeah," Dazai says quietly. "I guess I am."
Breaking his gaze and staring back down at his expense report, he decides Kunkida needs sideburns.
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Dazai, for his part, positively beams at Chuuya. "The better to videotape you with, my dear," he mocks, gliding forward until the camera is right in Chuuya's face.
"I'm serious," Chuuya presses, beginning to scowl. "Who are you planning to send this to? WHY are you filming me?"
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There is silence. It is not tense, and that makes it worse. Dazai does not let his grip stiffen around his pen, continues to doodle a picture of Kunikida with a big, bushy mustache.
"Do we need to?" Chuuya asks eventually.
Dazai's pen halts over the frame of Kunikida's glasses.
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Chuuya breathes in, and then takes a long, slow breath out. He knows Dazai is up to something, but honestly, it makes him feel twelve pounds lighter to hear that he's actually interested in eating something remotely healthy.
"Sliced or peeled?" he asks.
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Instead of answering his question, Dazai, being the left-handed monkey wrench he is, dives into a complete non sequitur.
"You know, I'm kind of hungry," he informs Chuuya, infuriatingly serene smile never leaving his face. "I could really go for an orange right now."
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For some reason, this makes Dazai grin even wider. He abruptly turns the camera around to film himself. "I told you!" he crows at the screen. "I told you, and none of you would believe me!"
Chuuya knows better than to ask at this point. "Sliced or peeled?" he repeats instead,
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"That doesn't erase—" Dazai starts, but Chuuya swiftly interrupts him.
"You're here now," he asserts, much more firmly this time.
Dazai can't help himself any longer. He glances up at Chuuya. Who apparently hasn't been looking up from the book he's reading either. Dazai can
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"That's what I'm asking you," Dazai returns levelly.
He is a mere speck in a boundless cosmic wasteland, he reminds himself. This encounter isn't even a blip on the universe's radar. 13.7 billion years, and this is a five minute encounter. Five out of ~7.20072 quadrillion.
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narrowing his eyes to let Dazai to let him know that he's still highly unimpressed with whatever this latest scheme is.
"Peeled," Dazai chirps enthusiastically, shooting Chuuya a big thumbs up. Chuuya merely rolls his eyes in response, pushing out of his chair and getting up to
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That's 0.00000000000069437501% of existence. Statistically null. Insignificant.
So where is this sense of gravitas coming from? The ADA really has made him go soft. Christ.
"You're here now," Chuuya tells him then, sounding exactly as lackadaisical as Dazai has been feigning.
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"Dazai," Chuuya interrupts. "When I get back over there, you're going to tell me what the hell you're doing with that camera, and then you're GOING to eat this orange."
"Whoopsie-daisy," Dazai says, and Chuuya hears the sound of abrupt footsteps. "Looks like that's my cue to
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Chuuya scowls, crossing his arms. "You'd better be careful," he warns. "If you antagonize a dog too much, you may end up with a jaw-shaped hole in your arm."
Dazai positively BEAMS at Chuuya, abandoning all pretenses of being beleaguered.
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go, in fact, find Dazai an orange.
He nabs one from the fruit bowl, deftly peels it over the trash can, and then walks over to Dazai, pulls one of his hands off the video camera, and then shoves the orange into it.
"Here," he says emphatically, frowning and crossing his arms.
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While he's fishing through the trash for the orange, he hears Dazai talking to the camera again.
"This," he says, "is why you should never doubt me. The Chuuyus slugisis is an enigmatic creature, but I am very familiar with its ways and customs—"
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If there's one thing Chuuya's good at doing, it's recovering quickly, however. So he cocks a smug smirk and slips two fingers under Dazai's chin to push him up into eye contact.
"You're welcome, /baby boy/." Chuuya murmurs, pressing his mouth so close to Dazai's ear that
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"So you're admitting you're a dog?" he trills, resting his chin on his hands, Mori-style, and leaning in. The resemblance is unsettling enough to give Chuuya pause. Just as Dazai had intended, Chuuya's sure.
"That's not what I meant and you know it!" Chuuya retorts.
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"Thank you," Dazai sings cheerfully, and then unceremoniously lobs the orange back and tosses it into the trash can across the room.
"What the hell?" Chuuya demands, racing over to grab it out before it gets dirty. "That's such a waste of food!"
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tell by the way his eyes are minutely shifting in position that he's genuinely reading. His posture is relaxed, his face phlegmatically unconcerned.
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"That's what you said though," Dazai points out, relentless in his pursuit of victory. "You VERY CLEARLY intimated that you were a dog."
"Put away the goddamn dictionary and talk to me like a man," Chuuya demands. "It was a METAPHOR. I know it was one. You know it was one.
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SMACK! The shoe hits the opposite wall, crushing the ladybug and leaving a lovely boot print on the wall before flopping onto the floor.
Chuuya throws his hands up into the air, cursing whatever god decided to give him the biggest manchild known to humankind as a partner.
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Dazai's face is ripening to a BEAUTIFUL shade of red. He opens his lips, presumably to speak, but no words come out, him only able to mouth pathetically at the open air.
"Problem, Dazai?" Chuuya asks with a chaste, modest, oh so innocent smile.
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his breath mists against the shell. He makes sure to let his lips ghost libidinously across his skin before he pulls away.
A choked noise quickly becomes audible. Chuuya glances at Dazai's face a moment later and his suspicion is confirmed: it had come from him.
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That goddamn ladybug on the wall knows it was one!"
When Dazai proceeds to lean down and unlace his Oxfords, Chuuya makes sure his befuddled stare is damning enough to send a shiver down Fyodor Dostoyevsky's spine.
"The hell are you—"
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his head as if the very action of speaking is laborious and dramatically leaning back in his chair.
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Hi. Before I go back to my HW I would like to leave a friendly reminder for the timeline that topping and bottoming has nothing to do with your personality. It is a sexual preference. No amount of analyzing BSD will tell you whether Chuuya is a top or bottom because the (1/2)
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"You're fucking insufferable!" Chuuya complains. "You always need to get the last word in, don't you? That was not only unnecessary but goddamn ridiculous! We've known each other for eight years now and you STILL—"
Chuuya snaps his mouth shut. This is exactly what Dazai wants.
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he emerges victorious with a pair. Once he's returned to the table, standing in front of Dazai with his arms crossed, he shoves the chopsticks in his direction.
Dazai takes them with an absolutely charmed simper. "Why thank you, Prince Charming," he coos.
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Spluttering, Chuuya almost loses his grip on the chopsticks before Dazai deftly snatches them from his hand and snaps them menacingly in his face. It's redolent of the savage maws of a crocodile, at least in Chuuya's mind.
(Perhaps it being Dazai who wields them is biasing him).
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This is his GAME. Watching Chuuya blow a gasket is probably creaming his corn in all the right places.
"You know what?" Chuuya says. "Alright. You want chopsticks? I'll get you some goddamn chopsticks."
He stalks into the kitchen and fishes around in the utensil drawer until
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Sorry I vanished for like three days I will respond to tweet replies and DMs soon but ANYWAY thinking abt a marriage of convenience SKK AU where Chuuya is a French citizen (still Japanese his family has just been in France for a few gens) who wants a green card and Dazai
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It is honestly so embarrassing that the first thing non-BSD fans are going to think when they see anything related to our fandom now is, "Aren't those the spam fic assholes?"
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And for a moment, everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.
(This is a part of a fic I'm probably never going to finish, so I figured I'd share it here! It was actually originally fem!SKK, so if you see any accidental "she"s, that's why. Thanks for reading! :))
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Dazai stares at him. He stares at him for so long that Chuuya—and don't laugh at him for this—starts to think that maybe time has frozen.
He takes the hand. Because this is their revolution.
(And they all lived sappily ever after! The end! Thanks for reading! :))
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the air, beginning to walk toward the bathroom. It's an impressive feat considering Chuuya weighs about twenty pounds more than him.
"Eew," Dazai complains as Chuuya's head lolls into his shoulder. "I can smell your dick sweat from here. You so reek. You're lucky I'm here to fix
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his head into Dazai shoulders.
Dazai feels his own arms hesitantly. Testing them, studying them, deciding what to do with them. And then he does not say another word. And then he hugs Chuuya back.
(Thank you for reading! :))
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The day this fandom stops being so pressed about mischaracterization seems farther and farther away by the second. I want to ask a genuine question: how, exactly, does it cause you harm if someone “doesn’t acknowledge Dazai’s growth” or “makes Chuuya too angry”? (1/3)
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you before the neighbors catch a whiff and call an inspector to condemn your apartment."
Chuuya can't muster up the wherewithal to say something cutting in return, so he simply thumps Dazai's back with a weak fist, burying his nose into his shoulder-length waves. His hair, dry
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first connection of the blow all the way down to the final, disgusted shove, and ignored it.
And Chuuya is a lot of things. A good person isn't one of them, just as much for the word "person" as the word "good," but he looks out for his people. He'd do for them—well, just about
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a student who wants to, in his words, “Kiss death on the mouth and get sucked into her bottomless stomach!” and has somehow procured the gun to do it with. Ipso facto it somehow becomes Chuuya's responsibility to talk him down, as much as he's tempted to leave him to "kiss death"
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and frizzy, has the faintly sweet, musky scent of drug store shampoo. The smell is overwhelming after days of smelling nothing but him own sweaty blankets, and he closes his eyes and twists away.
Dazai sets him down on the toilet and Chuuya immediately curls into himself. His
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Chuuya him toothbrush, will he brush his teeth?" Chuuya bats away Dazai's hands and buries him head deeper into him torso. Dazai pauses for several moments, and if Chuuya didn't know any better he would say that he was hesitating over his next words. "Will Chuuya let me brush
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(He wonders which one Dazai is, when he can't sleep at night. He's decided that Dazai's too much of a goddamn fucking unicorn to be bound by any normal person's reason.)
He knows Dazai is going to find out that Chuuya knows eventually. No, he knows that Dazai ALREADY knows and
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anything. That's where the quandary comes in.
The quandary that he knows is the reason he ignored those deep, dark, hungry eyes, and the clothes, and the bandages, and the fact that he was a walking, talking advertisement for insert every antidepressant company ever here.
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his teeth?"
If he had the presence of mind to do so, his cheeks would be growing red and he'd be kicking Dazai's teeth in right about now. As of present, all Chuuya does is let out a protesting groan.
"I wasn't really asking," Dazai tells him. "I was just letting you know. I'm
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only way to know would be if this man actually came out and SAID he was a top or a bottom. I swear I see ppl in bottom Chuuya writers’ inboxes every day giving them crap when there is absolutely zero canon argument against him being one. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk. (2/2)
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brushing your teeth. Cry to your mommy about it."
The shadow disappears and Chuuya hears rustling noises by the sink as Dazai presumably prepares his toothbrush. He returns after several moments, grasping the sides of Chuuya's legs and pulling them down to the ground. Chuuya
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"I'll wash your hair, but I'm not going to wash your body. The last thing I need is you filing a complaint with Mori about me touching your no-no spot. I don't want a #/MeToo scandal getting me fired; executive life is pretty cushy, yknow? Come on, up and at 'em, Chuuchuu.
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head is stuffed between his knees so he can't really see, but he hears the metallic shink! of the faucet turning on and a sudden gush of running water.
Chuuya feels a shadow fall over him, and suddenly Dazai is kneeling in front of him, hands cupping Chuuya's knees. "If I give
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the next time he looks down at his hands and sees Albatross' blood drying on them again. And then, toothpaste is not the only liquid dripping down his face.
"Gross, slug slime is coming out of your eyes," Dazai complains, but he is gentle when he thumbs away his tears. "I'm
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get on with my life and not get implicated in whatever crime you committed to get a gun in a country where they're illegal."
(This is the first part of the first chapter of a fic I'm writing. It's called The Plural of Human Beings. I'll continue this later! :))
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His strokes are rather gentle, considering it's Dazai. Gentle enough that Chuuya can't be bothered to fight what he will surely look back on as a humiliating experience later. His mouth foams with spearmint-flavored bubbles. He lets his mind drift. It drifts, and drifts, and then
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Because, see, the person he's talking about? It's—
how does he put this?
It's Dazai.
Yeah. You understand his problem now.
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And the thing is... Dazai doesn't exactly KNOW that Chuuya knows. Chuuya had kind of sort of maybe peeked under his bandages while he was unconscious after getting pistol-whipped in the head by a rival gang member for running his mouth, and so on and so forth and what have you.
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"My silly petit mafia," he says to Chuuya, and his voice sounds positively light and it's fucking CREEPY, for that voice to be coming out of that face, "Nothing can help me. I went beyond that long ago. But it's sweet that you're trying. No one's done that in a really long time."
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He doesn't even know his favorite food. So yeah, it's fair.
At least, that's what he tells himself. He's been telling himself a lot of things these days. He—of course he knows what self-harm is, he'd lived with kids who had suffered beyond most people's imaginations for the
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Dazai's face. Chuuya's mask cracks.
"You use me," he realizes lowly, trying so very hard to keep his voice even. "You use me to hurt yourself. That's what you were doing right now. You were trying to get me mad enough to bust you up."
Dazai shrugs. Doesn't deny it.
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my agency enough to think that maybe I'm smart enough to REALIZE when I'm being used and that MAYBE I wouldn't like it?"
THAT gets a reaction out of Dazai. Chuuya watches his lackadaisical expression pop like a fucking balloon.
"It's not the same thing," he insists.
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Or something like that.
It was only fair. Dazai knows everything about Chuuya thanks to Rimbaud and Verlaine, yet he's shared nothing of himself with Chuuya in return. Chuuya doesn't know Dazai's religion, his political views, anything about his family.
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almost topples forward but manages to save himself at the last moment.
"Chin up, buttercup," Dazai says, and when Chuuya doesn't comply he pushes a thumb under his chin and does so himself. Then, he unceremoniously shoves Chuuya's toothbrush into his mouth.
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Dazai beams at him.
"You're so WEIRD, Chuuya," he repeats, but it's so enthusiastic, so earnest, that Chuuya can't even bring himself to be insulted. "This is the WEIRDEST reaction anyone has ever had to me cutting. You're such a freak."
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"I wouldn't—Chuuya, I wouldn't..." Chuuya studies him, the wide eyes, earnest in a different way entirely than he usually sees.
That settles Chuuya's fire, a little bit. "I know you wouldn't," he says quietly, and when Dazai perks up he continues, "Don't get the wrong idea. I'm
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certainly, but healing? Wholeness? That's not of this world. It never will be.
The only way Dazai could ever be helped would be if he left. And Chuuya knows Dazai well enough to know that it would take a whole fucking lot for that to happen.
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"Do you know how INSULTING it is," he demands, fists clenching and heart bippity-boppiting and burning, burning hot, "that you're wielding me like a fucking gun? You always give me a choice with Corruption, but clearly that means jackshit since apparently you don't even respect
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"Such is the life of an injury connoisseur," he mourns, but he doesn't sound very fucking mournful. He sounds like he finds this funny, actually. "I get bored making my own art sometimes, Chuuya. Sue me if I want a pretty blue bruise or two to break up all the red."
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"Oh good, you didn't go far enough up to see the burns," Dazai says airily, and then he has the nerve to begin whistling a little ditty.
"You BURN yourself to—" Chuuya starts, but then he interrupts himself. "No, you know what. I'm not going to sit here and let you say things to
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is just waiting for an opportune moment where it would be advantageous to whip out this knowledge. He probably even knows that Chuuya knows he knows. He's just letting Chuuya sit and stew because that's Dazai, and that's what Dazai does.
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shoulders.
"Wait," Chuuya complains, "don't get shampoo on my ends! Stop that right now!"
Dazai chuckles, grabbing fistfuls of Chuuya's hair and holding them before him like a proud cat with a chunk of dead bird to present to its master.
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evil of humanity for most of his life. Some of them needed an outlet.
Not everyone does it for the same reason, he's found. Been told. Some do it because they're so numb that even pain is better than the bleak, liminal emptiness they're cursed to. Some do it because they suffer
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tan line stripping across Dazai's face, his right eye looks entirely ordinary.
"You're so weird," Chuuya complains. "Of course you'd cover a perfectly good eye."
Dazai pulls open his eyelid between one finger and flicks at his eyeball with the other. Chuuya physically cringes,
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from the opposite problem and the emotions wash away with the blood. Some do it as a cry for help, because they've never been taught the healthy way to ask for it.
He knows all this. He knows this, but to this day, he can't understand it for the life of him.
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Don't be a baby."
Chuuya almost cracks a smile at the joke about Mori but doesn't quite manage it. Reluctantly, he pushes himself up and grabs the cloth. It's already soaped up. He holds it to his nose. Lavender.
He doesn't do the best job of scrubbing his body, but Dazai seems
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label, his eyes narrow. "Who puts rosemary in shampoo?" he demands. "That's disgusting."
"No more disgusting than your three-in-one shampoo-conditioner-body wash combo. Do you know how bad that shit is for your hair?"
Dazai scoffs as he squirts a glob of shampoo into his hand
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inhuman body ever do anything it was supposed to?—Chuuya's eyes start stinging.
He hates a lot of things about Dazai, but he hates the way he carries resignation more than anything else about him. His eyes get so lifeless. It's like staring into an empty opaque jar.
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Chuuya pauses. Clears his throat. Glances away. He can't look into Dazai's eyes for this part. He doesn't want to see what's there. "You... you hurt yourself Dazai. That's kind of big."
"It is," Dazai agrees, sounding so... resigned, and of course—because why would his stupid
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expecting to hear the sound of his nail slicing into flesh, but instead hears a dull plink!.
"It's glass, genius," he tells Chuuya, staring at him unimpressedly.
"Oh," Chuuya says eloquently.
"Yeah, 'oh,'" Dazai agrees, and then the eye disappears from view when he begins
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to be satisfied because he takes the cloth away and then reaches for something at the foot of the tub. It's one of Chuuya's mugs.
"Seriously, you're going to use a mug as a pitcher?"
Dazai grins at him. "So he speaks."
Chuuya scowls. "To tell you that I have an actual pitcher
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tips it over to gently cascade over Chuuya's hair, Chuuya stays in place. The warm water soothing over his itchy, unclean skin is an almost meditative experience. "I suppose you have a point. I'll rephrase that then: that's a fifth-date kind of question. Take a guy out to five
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still really pissed at you. But also—and I swear to God if you say a word about this to anyone later I will deny it and then start a rumor that you watch kitten videos in your free time to destroy your reputation as the Demon Prodigy—I'm worried about you.
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Chuuya quirks an eyebrow. "Thank... you?" he says confusedly.
"You're welcome!" Dazai says cheerfully. "Now come on—I'm going to go pick out a chick flick and we're going to watch it and if you want to yell at me about feelings stuff again you have to wait until it's over."
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Rolling his eyes, Chuuya pushes his hair out of his face. "Please," he says with a scoff. "You throw people under the bus for sport—you have no problem kissing and telling."
Laughing softly, Dazai picks up the mug again and scoops up another cupful of water. This time, when he
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nice dinners and make him feel real special and then I'll tell you."
Chuuya flushes. "As if, jackass."
Dazai laughs lightly. "Then I guess you don't get to know." His gaze turns to the bottles littering the lip of the tub. "Which one of these is shampoo?" he asks.
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in the kitchen. That's my favorite mug. You're going to break it."
"What's life without a little danger?" Dazai says airily, before unceremoniously dunking the mug in the tub and pulling out a cupful of water to dump over Chuuya's head. Chuuya tries to duck, but that only causes
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Chuuya's breath gets a little heavy in his throat. "We're going to talk about this again," he says. "You can't keep doing... that. But not right now."
He holds out a hand to Dazai. "Come on," he says, cocking a grin he hopes is cocky but is probably as cool as mashed potatoes.
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Though he recovers quickly, he's very aware that Dazai hadn't missed his reaction. Therefore Chuuya can't play dumb.
It's a good thing playing dumb isn't his style.
"You're talking about the cuts," he says, level, meeting Dazai's gaze deliberately phlegmatically.
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Chuuya wants to disagree. He wants to tell Dazai that he's not beyond saving, that no one is, that there are better things in his future.
But then he thinks about the life people like him and Dazai lead. There's no true joy to be found in a life like this. There's satisfaction,
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the water to splash across his face, landing in his eyes.
"Fuck you!" Chuuya complains, splashing blindly at Dazai as he tries to wipe the soapy sting from his eyes. He only stops once he hears Dazai begin breathlessly spluttering.
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