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ivlenyxx · 1 month

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Beyond What the Lights Could Offer - Chapter 1

Soukoku Kowloon Walled City 1980s Filmmakers AU. Prepare thyself for agonisingly slow updates, a lot of references towards Hong Kong and me screaming into the void.

original fic link on AO3 (by yours truly): Beyond What the Lights Could Offer by Lemon(ivlenyxx)

May 14th 2023, 29 years, 10 months since the release of Stray Dogs.

“Nakahara-san, Dazai-dan, nearly 30 years have passed since the release of the hit movie ‘Stray Dogs’,” the interviewer says with a smile. “It has grossed over 800 million USD at the box office and many consider it a classic. Many fans have wondered ‘Just what is the story behind the film?’. Now that’s a question that’s been asked for nearly thirty years now, so we beg of you,” she claps her hands together to form a prayer gesture and bows her head. “What exactly is the story behind Stray Dogs?”

The pair sitting opposite her both chuckle, amused.

“Alright, alright. Since it’s nearly the 30th anniversary, we’ll tell you.” the man in the fedora answers.

Nakahara Chuuya, age 52, executive producer of “Stray Dogs”, sits up straighter as he ponders the question, combing through his faded copper hair with his hand; his partner, Dazai Osamu, age 51, director of “Stray Dogs”, smirks slightly, wrinkles spreading across his face. “Come on, Chibi, can’t keep our fans waiting,” he nods towards the interviewer and the TV crew across from them. “Unless the Great Nakahara Chuuya is getting slow in his old age.” he teases, leaning over Chuuya’s neck.

Nakahara noticeably bristles under his partner’s breath, that discomfort quickly morphs into annoyance and reaches its stunning conclusion as Chuuya grabs Dazai’s collar. “I swear to God, you shitty mackerel-” he snaps as the other man whines and wallows dramatically under his grip. “We’re the same age! I can’t take a moment to think?!-”

“No! Oh no! Chuuya is attacking me!” Dazai exclaims and yaps, notes of fake panic and amusement dripping from his voice. (The interviewer sits awkwardly in silence while the rest of the crew whisper amongst themselves) “My God, this is marital violence!” He throws up his arms (making sure to flash a gold wedding band at the camera) and easily overpowers his dear Chibi, shoving him onto the far end of the couch before redirecting his attention to the interviewer, the poor unfortunate soul bearing witness to Nakahara making grabby hands at Dazai while the latter holds him off with a hand in his face. “It goes a little something like this…”

April 29th 1986, 8 years before the release of Stray Dogs.

Chuuya’s not exactly sure how he ended up here, but okay.

The red light floods the crowded, 40 square foot room, Chuuya’s eyes hurt from the strobing lights;Chuuya’s ears are bleeding from the music blasting through the crackling radio.

Oh second thought, not okay. Chuuya wants to leave.

He puts down the half finished glass of cheap whiskey before manoeuvring his way through mountains and seas of people dancing to the beat of something that just came on. (something American, he doesn’t want to know) The red lights continue to pull assassination attempts on his eyes, which is only made worse by the pixelated screens displaying images of half naked men and women “available” in this cursed brothel-nightclub hybrid. The two dozen people making out in every direction doesn’t help either.

If there was such a thing as unsee juice in this world, Chuuya would like 10 litres of it, please.

Finally, Chuuya makes it out of the brothel-nightclub, (thankfully in one piece) he looks back at the bouncer, who doesn’t even spare him a glance. Hell, he didn’t even ask him for any form of ID, despite him obviously being underaged. His short stature speaks for itself.

Guess that’s Kowloon Walled City for ya.

Chuuya makes his way through the interconnected hallways, counting and reading the posters plastered all over the place. 1, 2, 3, 4… 28. He thinks half of them are advertising stuff for the Port Mafia Gang. Interesting. He’d heard of them, of course. The most powerful underground organisation of the Walled City, operating in the dark (well, as dark as the City of Darkness could get) or even beyond. He’d heard rumours of them stretching all the way to Lantau Island and the Shatin District. Hell, even Cheung Chau’s underworld carries traces of their interference!

Not that he’s ever personally been down there, of course. The underworld, he means.

Chuuya kicks at his feet as he makes his way up to the rooftop of the building, the gate creaks agreeably every time he pushes it and it returns to its original position with a pleasant clang! He squeezes his way through the drying sheets, careful not to bump into them in his dirty clothes, and legs it across a huge pile of scrap. At last, he reaches the edge of the rooftop and leans on the railing, taking in the sight of the City in the middle of the night. There are still a few lights on at this hour, not counting the establishments of the night, aka the opium traders, nightclubs, gambling dens, makeshift casinos etc etc. He spies one on the far left, the light of the balcony flickers in a way that reminds him of moths flapping their wings, and under the light is a boy his age with black hair and a bandage over his right eye, teetering back and forth on his feet, fingers gripping tight on the handrail. His eyes are downturned, expression blank.

What a weirdo. Chuuya thinks. He turns away to light a cigarette and takes a long drag. The next time he looks, the light is off, the boy is gone.

He can’t help but feel disappointed, somehow.

Chuuya shrugs off the feeling and takes another drag of the cigarette, looking straight ahead, beyond the Walled City, at the Kai Tak Airport. Planes take off and land dangerously close to the buildings nearby, another few soar mere metres above Chuuya’s head, their loud, rumbling engines sing a comforting tune to accompany the city’s orchestra of dripping air-cons and creaky pipes down below.

It’s as beautiful as ever.

One of these days, I’m getting outta here. He vows, before putting out the cigarette and flicking it off the roof.

He doesn’t know how many hours have passed, only that this is the perfect way to celebrate his fifteenth birthday.

Chuuya continues to admire the view of the Kowloon Bay, occasionally glancing over to Victoria Harbour for a glimpse of its colourful and lively skyline. The best part about this corner of Kowloon Walled City? It contains the tallest building. One can pretty much see everything within a 20 km radius, and if one’s lucky, the clouds’ll part for the stars, and even the shortest, most 150-centimetre-ed of people could enjoy their glory.

He reaches for the radio beside him, switching between channels until he finds one that plays something that suits his favour.

It ends up being an English channel, playing something from a new writer from America.

“Now playing: The Tell-Tale Heart, by Edgar Allan Poe,” the presenter states calmly, before a low and unsettling voice takes its place, narrating the tale of an insane man who murdered his elderly housemate.

Chuuya listens absent-mindedly as he lights another cigarette and continues to watch over the Walled City, his position giving him a handy bird’s-eye view over everything else. More lights have switched on, the opium dens are starting to close, the bars and brothels are chasing people out like a restaurant owner at animals like you see in movies or it’s 20-something A.D. and they have leprosy. Must be nearly morning.

Oh shit it’s nearly morning.

His eyes widen as he catches the faint blue ring of the sun rising over the horizon and slowly but surely evolve into a blinding orange light that pours over the Sai Kung District to the east, then to the Uni of Sci and Tech, to Tseung Kwan O- Chuuya throws his cigarette over the railing for the second time before shutting off the radio and making a mad dash for the gate, legging it over the scrap, nimbly contorting his body to avoid touching the sheets, before finally bolting down the stairs and out of the building. He passes the town square - a relic from the Walled City’s past as a Song Dynasty military outpost - and nearly slams straight into a bunch of bakbaks and popos doing taichi. A couple of them yell at him for his insolence. He zips his way through alleyways full of drunkards and shakes off a madman trying to gut him with a knife, (it’s the Walled City, he’s seen worse) he looks up for a split second and stops in his tracks.

He can see the sky from here.

The small slit of bright, warm blue peeks out amongst the mess of pipes and haphazardly built roofs, the clouds dance across it in pinks, soft oranges and light yellows. Chuuya stares up at that beautiful sight through the gap, the City has never been this generous before, the most daylight he ever got to see was approximately none, except for when he headed out of the Walled City every few months to run for supplies that the Triads couldn’t access.

Chuuya looks around for a landmark that he can bookmark into his memory, and spots another one of the Port Mafia Gang’s posters on the wall to his left.

He sighs. That oughta do. And so the poster enters his mind.

He allows himself several more minutes of staring at the sky before booking it back home, he just hopes that Shirase and Yuan won’t be too pissed.

Unbeknownst to him, a boy with jet black hair and bandages all over has been looking at him through a window for a while now.

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs fanfiction #fanfiction #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #kowloon walled city #1980s #filmmakers au #soukoku #dazai x chuuya #how do i tag this #slow burn #horrifically slow updates #original on ao3

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more-than-tender-curiosity · 5 months

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While we’re here. Here’s a canon hair/eye color chart. With evidence.

Nick: Blonde/Blue/Green the evidence is very marginal and I usually disregard it, but it does say: “This idea is that we’re Nordics. I am, and you are, and you are, and—” After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod..." 'Nordic' was eventually coopted by the Nazis as a companion word to their Aryan bullshit, and in 1924 (when this part was likely written) there were even some measures to separate 'dark whites' (Italians, Jewish people, etc) from 'lighter' white people. All bullshit, but all this to say the implication at the time of writing would have meant light hair and light eyes. Also. Fitz had blonde hair and blue eyes and we know about this fucker and his self-insertion. Like I said I usually ignore this but it is kind of funny because I have never once seen a representation of nick with anything other than brown or black hair Jay: Blonde(?)/Blue This comes from the Princeton holograph. since fitz decided to deprive us in the final product. For his hair: "...his bright suit and hair..." (pg 139). jay's suit is caramel colored in this scene so the closest I can imagine is that his suit and hair are of a similar color, like perhaps a reddish blonde at most but certainly blonde at the very least, if the description lends to anything. Fitz wrote as follows in regards to Jay's eyes: "...at a table with a handsome blue-eyed man..." (pg 103); "...the blue-eyed man looked at me..." (pg 103); (he also calls them handsome eyes on page 105.......); "dark blue eyes opening out into lashes of shining jet" (pg 105); "...with such a wild look in his blue eyes..." (pg 115); "...his eyes, damp and shining like blue oil..." (pg 131); "...damp and shining like blue oil..." (again) (pg 137); and i think that's enough thank you scott Daisy: Dark(?)/?? There's two bits of evidence, mainly, for Daisy's dark hair. I'm assuming it's dark brown but that's just me. First is the whole 'Nordic' bullshit thing, where Tom is hesitant to include Daisy in the 'Nordic Race' or whatever, which would imply that she has darker hair. Also, Fitz directly confirms this with the line "...and once he kissed her dark shining hair." HOWEVER. Daisy does say that Pammy has her hair, and Pammy's hair is 'yellowy'. This is even weirder considering Tom is remarked as having 'straw hair', as in blonde. So. Maybe we CAN'T rely on the alcoholic for consistency. Daisy's eye color is not remarked on, just that they're bright. So maybe light. but who knows. One other note is that Ginevra King, the woman Daisy is based off of, had dark brown hair and eyes. Jordan: Blonde/Grey This one is easy, thank god. As for her hair, it's written "...autumn-leaf yellow of her hair..."; and again "...her hair the colour of an autumn leaf..." girl get a toner. and also the forementioned Nordic bullshit argument. Jordan was included with Tom and Nick. Her eyes: "Her grey sun-strained eyes..."; "Her grey, sun-strained eyes..." (again) Again, the direct inspiration for Jordan is Edith Cummings who had, shocker shocker, blonde hair and grey eyes if a period-appropriate painted color portrait is to be believed. Tom: Blonde/?? For his hair he's described as a "sturdy, straw-haired man of thirty". the argument could be made that that is more in regards to the texture but knowing fitz it probably means that tom is also. blonde. you'll start to notice a pattern. As for his eyes, all that's really mentioned is that they are shining and arrogant. no color Tom is based off a few people so I won't rely on any of them for hints or clues. George: Blonde/Blue

This one is pretty cut and dry. "He was a blond, spiritless man, anaemic, and faintly handsome...hope sprang into his light blue eyes." Myrtle: ??/?? If you can find written evidence for myrtle having red hair I'd love to see it because I've been searching for a while now and I can't find it in any draft. It's a movie thing, I guess, like switching jordan's and daisy's hair colors around in lazy deference to eurocentric beauty standards and a pitiful attempt at acknowledging fitz's penchant for color-based symbolism <3 The only clue for Myrtle having red hair is that her sister does. SO maybe she does, too. Her eyes are a mystery. Klipspringer is also blonde and balding, too. God's least favorite creature I guess. so it's safe to say that fitz just loved making everyone blonde. like, everyone. and considering that he himself said that all of his characters were just him, that makes an unfortunate amount of sense.

#the great gatsby #jay gatsby #nick carraway #jordan baker #daisy buchanan #look. i am so normal about this #and so definitely not mad at the filmmakers constantly mixing up jordan and daisy <3 #not like any of this matters.#whatever.#this isn't against aus where they have other colorations either it's just for canon's sake

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