#Fyodor fucking LOSES his composure snapping yelling fully pissed off

[ahli-stuff]

I would like you to know that this is AWESOME

so im a sucker for tropes that humanize larger than life characters . Sue me!!

I know that the final showdown is about 99% almost completely canonically going to be between Atsushi and Akutagawa vs Fyodor but imagine . If u will:

Dazai and Fyodor having a Fucking Fist Fight

In this scenario:

Amenogozen is dead or occupied

Dazai is more injured and exhausted than Fyodor is.

Its destruction all around, smoke in the air, craters of stone in the ground—two men standing amongst a ruined battlefield. Dazai and Fyodor, face to face amongst the blood, sweat, and ruin that Fyodor had said he would always be above in mersault.

There’s a gun in between them, nestled in the dirt. There are no more pawns on the table, only two kings staring each other down on a wasteland checkboard. Dazai’s leg is broken. Fyodor is breathing hard.

Dazai lunges for the gun at the same time Fyodor does—in a mad scramble, he kicks out Dazai’s bad leg—Dazai screams in agony as Fyodor pins him down. The gun is kicked several feet out of reach.

But Fyodor is physically weak. The only reason why Dazai hasn’t already knocked him out cold is because of his broken leg.

Dazai elbows Fyodor in the chest so hard he breaks a rib. Fyodor chokes, his chest knocked free of air and ringing with pain as he tries to see Dazai through his rapidly blurring eyes.

He was flipped over in the scuffle, but Fyodor reaches down and grabs Dazai’s leg and digs his fingers to where he thinks the bones separate and presses. Dazai is so blinded by pain, he briefly lets go as Fyodor punches him in the face.

Dazai’s nose is bleeding, but Fyodor doesn’t have time to appreciate it as he pushes Dazai off—flips them over again—he is straddling Dazai with his weight on the former’s broken leg. His hands seize Dazai’s neck and grips with all his might.

Dazai’s hands claw at his face animalistically, scrabbling for purchase on Fyodor’s hair, eyes, anything. His eyes meet Fyodor’s—both of their swirling pairs of darkness are finally awake, alive, burning—and oh, this is what Dazai had meant, hadn’t he? In the silence of Dazai’s strangled wheezes and his nails dragging up dust, Fyodor realizes: this is what it means to be alive.

Dazai spits into Fyodor’s face. He lets go reflexively, yelping with disgust as blood-spit blinds him, while Dazai is gasping as he crawls for the gun; he’s halfway there before Fyodor blindly grabs one of Dazai’s legs. But it’s not the broken one—Dazai pivots his ankle and stomps with all of his might as Fyodor screams because several of his fingers as broken.

Dazai’s hand finds the gun.