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chuuyas-favorite-wine · 3 months

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Soukoku at 3 am

Chuuya: *On his way to break down Dazai's door after he texted 'I love you' at random when it's 3 am thinking he's gonna khs.*

Dazai: *Grinning when Chuuya arrived.* So you do care about me~

Chuuya: *Is now mad that Dazai made him come all the way from his apartment for nothing.* Go to hell and die!

#bsd #bungou stray dogs chuuya #chuuya nakahara #bungo stray dogs dazai #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #soukoku #3 am shit #random

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creatingnikki · 2 months

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3 am and you're sitting on the kitchen floor and you keep your phone aside and everything is silent and you realize that this is the first time in a week that you've had silence alone. Have you missed it or have you been avoiding it? A bit of both, always a bit of both. It's been a while since you made spaghetti and it's March already — the moon has missed you (and other lies to hide your irrelevancy). twenty seven is old enough to not repeat a mistake for the third time and yet young enough to say fuck it and do it anyway. there's not much I know now, there's not much I want to know. I just want to be on the beach when the days are gorgeous and eat food without my body hating me and read books that speak to parts of me that can't articulate for themselves. I just want to hug my friend and make my mother smile and write a few lines that will be understood by someone somewhere. It's still these very things. It's always been these very things. Even at 27 when I'm sitting alone on the kitchen floor at 3 am. Especially then.

#spilled ink #writerscreed #poeticstories #writers on tumblr #poets on tumblr #3 am thoughts #3 am ramblings #3 am feelings #3 am shit #late night thoughts #late night #late night ramblings #spilled thoughts #growing up #27 #spaghetti #creatingnikki

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love-letters-i-never-sent · 2 years

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chocxy-prince · 3 months

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family photo :3

a 3 am drawing because january sucks and i can’t take my own advice

if my handwriting is too small here’s what it says:

This is for you @cupcakestreets :3 and @forabitig for credit

drawn because i can’t sleep and have a very terrible habit of never taking my own advice. (in this case telling people to go to bed)

Family photo!! Dark choco, cacao, and twink boy vanilla

by v’s feet; grippers…

by his hat: short twink

i’m def gonna @ my child kris since i know they’ll go bad shit over dark choco silly…

@kristxt

i like how this came out generally though!! choco’s pose was really good (was originally gonna be cacao holding little choco, but to be honest i just went with the latter.)

let me know what yall think!!

please reblog so i can see tags if you use them :3!!

#i call pure vanilla twinkie #im not mentally stable #3 am shit #please help #pure vanilla cookie #purecacao #dark choco cookie #dark cacao cookie

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ghostmikexdd · 8 months

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Ticci Tobyyy!!

Hey yo, I haven't been here in a while, I didn't know how to post or what to post, but here I am, I brought Toby's art, I've been working really hard on it, like most of my drawings with backgrounds and stuff, but still, I'm trying to promote my art and if you don't mind, please subscribe to my instagram, ghost_yukiro, it'll be a pleasure and I'll be very grateful to you as it's just a little bit away from 400 subscribers, yuppies.

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hatetolove-lovetohate · 2 months

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Is it stupid to be sad over being the author but never the muse? I just want someone to write about me the way I write about my fictional characters

#writing #writeblr #writers and poets #writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #3 am feelings #3 am nonsense #3 am ramblings #3 am shit #3 am thoughts #writers #author #always the poet never the poem

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accidentalslayer · 3 months

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#3 am thoughts #3 am ramblings #3 am feelings #3 am shit

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pretty-oooodd · 10 months

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✂ AND WE'LL DANCE ALONE TO THE TUNE OF YOUR DEATH.

Notes: a little thing I wrote at 3 am instead of sleeping. Better with this song in the background. Remember that English isn't my first language, and I write to improve my skills and for fun!

Characters: Fyodor Dostoevskij, reader.

Genre: angst I guess?

Tw/cw: fem!reader, Fyodor being a bit ooc I think, major character death, fever-dreaming, slightly religious themes.

One step to the right, another one to the left.

Their feet barely touching while the rest of their bodies seemed to merge into one.

Two steps backwards, one forward.

Her head on his chest, her hands one on his shoulder, the other one tightly interlocked with his fingers.

A quick spin.

No words left their mouths, but the beating of his heart alone was enough. Piano notes came from somewhere in that dark ballroom. Only a few, shy, dying candles lit the death-stenched atmosphere.

Fyodor's other hand rested on her hip, guiding her through the soft music.

-You hold me a bit too tightly to be the one that killed me.-

Words sweet like sugar and her kisses, yet sharp as his knives, echoed in the ballroom together with the music. Still, she didn't dare to oppose his touch and he didn't dare to push her away.

-Maybe I regret doing so.-

His breath flew through her silky hair, like a fooling caress made by a way too sly wind.

-I find it hard to believe.-

She chuckled, but her laugh wasn't crystalline like before; her chest didn't tremble like flowers by the wind anymore. She was just clinging to Fyodor's body, like a stiff, lifeless doll.

Was her heart even beating?

Was she even alive?

"No" was the sad truth in a way too tempting reality, in which he didn't stuck too much to his own pride. But he and his pride were one, inseparable and omens of catastrophic events. Still she loved Fyodor dearly, like a devoted follower loves their God; and like a soldier craves war and like a starving hunter craves their prey to fall.

Even though he stuck with his pride, selfishly like a spoiled noble man, Fyodor missed her. He missed her fingertips through his hair and on his body, their skins against each other, her insatiable mind and her soothing voice.

Fyodor had let the house they shared burn and the gorgeous garden she sweetly, intensely cared for became ash, together with the land she was buried in.

The stench of death in that large room was almost like a perfume. The stench of death to Fyodor wasn't the same as everyone else. The one he felt invading his lungs was sweet: it was flowers, the ashes from his cigarette box and her garden, books and freshly washed clothes, rain, tears and despair of a loved one left to rot in a fancy coffin.

He looked up at the ceiling of the ballroom, while he kept on dancing with the imitation his mind had made of his past lover.

And the ceiling looked back at him; millions of eyes, eyes of angels and eyes of demons, eyes from the Heavenly Virtues and the Seven Deadly Sins, and eyes from tarot cards' figures observed his elegant movements. But those eyes looked so much, too much, like hers.

They were judgmental, but he had no fear of those wary stares from statues and painting.

-You are right. Even if it had to be done, I still miss you.-

He looked back down at her hidden figure and pushed her slightly, enough to see her face. She was just as beautiful as he remembered her to be. The light of the candles, barely surviving, traced her facial features just well, perfectly to refresh his memory like sea breeze.

-You are a cruel man. And you are terribly lonely. I took pity on you and I gifted you my heart out of love and devotion for a lonesome man that believes himself to be sent by God.-

Her lips barely moved, her voice was low and sounded heavenly to his ears.

-And I gifted you my heart back, milaya. You took it to your grave. My heart, that was the price I paid to lose you.-

Fyodor raised his hand over her head and made her spin, one, two, three times.

-That's the only thing that consoles my restless soul. My nails are now digging and carving your heart just like you did to mine. But beware that your heart, nor my love, will be enough to save you from your sins and your faults. My tears and care weren't enough to wash the blood off your hands and clothes, and my arms won't be enough to stop demons from dragging you to Hell.-

A candle died completely and he noticed that only two of them were still fighting to light the large room. The music started to fade, sounding distant as if the mysterious pianist was walking away with his instrument.

-I know. Soon I'll reach my goal, and I will rest in the same land were you lie, my dear. I'll make sure to leave my corpse next to yours and my soul to your judgment. Until then, haunt me. Bruise my skin and make me insane, but don't leave me.-

Fyodor spun her around two more times. Another candle faded away like a silent whisper in the night as their dance became more aggressive and the music grew more distant.

She moved her hand from his shoulder to his face, cupping his cheek gently.

-I won't leave you. Maybe I'll even follow you in Hell, who knows... Perhaps loving you was a sin itself.-

He raised his hand again to spun her one last time, but the music abruptly stopped and the last candle gave up to the darkness before he could face her again.

So he woke up, in a puddle of his sweat, a mess of his hair and sheets.

His forehead was hot and his vision blurry, he felt cold and oddly nervous.

Fyodor calmed down his breath and dizziness, and promised to himself that he would bring flowers to her grave and check if she were still in the coffin next time he visited her.

Don't steal, copy or translate my work!

Reblogs and reviews are very much appreciated!!