#Or just do no longer human by dazai if you want something more depressing

[nilesmoon]

I baffles me how someone rbed a post from me (lit major btw) and said that they prefer fanfic over literature bc the characters lack depth or whatever in the tags and it just makes me incredibly upset to see ppl saying shit like this because there are So Many good book out there!!! literature is so much fun when you find what works for you!!! but anyways why don't you read the metamorphosis by franz kafka and metamorphosize your taste

[mania-sama]

rule #13 - waterfall

Rule #13 - Waterfall - Fish in a Birdcage

➼ information ❧ Jujutsu Kaisen ❧ Pairing: Fushiguro Megumi/Itadori Yuuji ❧ Tags: coma, japanese literature, character study, references to depression, survivor guilt, angst, post-culling games, gross overuse of italics ❧ Summary: Sukuna is successfully exorcised without killing his vessel, but Fushiguro Megumi is left in a comatose state. His soul has a decision to make. ❧ Word Count: 2,022 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 27 December 2023

➼ whumptober 2023 ❧ Day 30: Coma ❧ Previous Day ❧ Next Day ❧ Masterlist

"The boy has not a suggestion of a smile. No human can smile with his fists doubled like that,” Itadori reads, his index finger carefully underlining the words on the page. “It is a monkey. A grinning monkey-face. The smile is nothing more than a puckering of ugly wrinkles.”

Megumi listens intently and waits patiently for Itadori to arrive at the end of the paragraph, where he is sure to take a pause and regather his breath and thoughts. He’ll steal a glance at Megumi, then continue on.

Except this time Itadori does not continue when his finger falls off the page after reading: “ I have never seen a child with such an unaccountable expression.” The blue bookmark, tasseled with intertwining crimson and gold, slides into the crook between the pages, bumping into the inner spine. The light pink and coral book gently collapses to hold the bookmark in place, saving Yuuji’s spot for when he would like to return to it next.

It’s not like him to stop reading so abruptly unless there’s an emergency of some kind. Megumi thinks it's unlikely considering his phone hadn’t gone off, nor had a staff member or fellow sorcerer barged in to alert him of an impending situation.

Itadori rests the book on his lap and methodically runs his thumbs on the edge of the paperback cover. Without looking up at Megumi, he says, “I really hate this author.”

This doesn’t surprise Megumi. Dazai Osamu isn’t known for theatrical and fun yet thought-provoking books like many other authors are famous for. His works are depressive and nihilistic, showcasing the cruel underbelly of human nature. In the months Megumi has gotten to know Itadori, he has always been one to keep his nose facing the sun.

“I don’t want to read this,” Itadori continues. “Just that one paragraph, and I—” He breaks off, his thumb pausing at the base of a flower bud on the cover. “Did you expect to find yourself in these pages?”

Megumi startles, and Itadori swallows thickly.

Did you expect to find yourself in these pages?

It has something to do with the way Megumi never smiled right, always full of anger and resentment and apathy for the man who raised him and the man who didn’t. He rarely attempted to express happiness, and when he did, it looked unnatural and foreign. 

“I… I don’t know,” he admits. His voice echoes as a snowflake falling in a powdered tundra.

Finally, Itadori tears his gaze from No Longer Human. He settles on Megumi, whose chest rises and falls in line with the beeping monitor tracking his heart. Megumi watches the exchange from the edge of the bed. Close to Yuuji, where if he shifted an inch or two over, he would contact Itadori’s knee with his own. Far enough from Yuuji, where they would never accidentally meet in the middle.

“Some of these books are hard to read. Not just because I don’t like them, but I have this feeling that… if you’re listening, and you’re hearing what some of these guys have to say, you won’t want to wake up.” His brown eyes are sincere and solemn, a combination that only he could earnestly achieve. Most people attempt to conceal a part of themselves; it’s a natural part of the human equation. Yet somehow, Itadori bypasses it entirely as if he was made using a different formula altogether.

Sometimes, it feels like Megumi will never fully understand Itadori. Their compositions are too fundamentally opposed.

On his left, his body breathes silently. Occasionally he can hear it as the state of his nostril and throat changes, like mucus build-up or tonsil irritation. Today he suffers from no ailment to cause sound. If he could somehow turn off the heart monitor, he could pretend that the only people in the room are Itadori Yuuji with the light pink and coral book and himself sitting on the edge of a normal bed in a normal room. Yuuji reads to him, tracking the words with his index finger and occasionally stealing warm glances at Megumi. He smiles despite the depressing contents of the book, like being in the same vicinity as Megumi is enough to bring him holistic happiness.

The heart monitor breaks his wistful daydream by beeping at a minimally quicker pace. Itadori turns his head to look at it, tracking the spiking red line like it’s worth anything more than the shitty, noisy machine that it is. His hand had jumped close to the red ‘CALL’ button on the side of the hospital bed. His finger hovers over it uselessly as the monitor slows down to his regular BPM.

Itadori uses the same hand to reach for Megumi, holding his pale, gauntly thin hand that resembles the rest of his atrophying body. Megumi can faintly feel the fingers intertwining with his own, and it simultaneously burns and freezes his skin in a frigid hellfire. When there’s nothing he can do but sit and experience it, he finds himself stuck between enjoying and cursing the sensation.

However, this is the better option for obtaining touch. The incorporeal form he possesses simply passes through living people. Contact dissembles his skin in a flurry of dust and scattered light while sending the other person deep, bone-chilling shivers.

“Wake up,” Itadori says. Their hands are lying together on the bedsheet, one sickly white from lack of a severe lack of natural Vitamin D and the other bone-white from how tightly he’s holding on. “Wake up so I don’t have to read this to you. I’ll read you something else if you like. Anything. But you have to be awake. I want to see you listening to me.”

Megumi wants to do that; listen to Itadori read any book of his choosing — not Dazai Osamu, certainly not his most depressing suicide note of a book — all day long. By itself, it would have been enough to wake him with the first sentence Itadori read of Norwegian Wood. 

The book itself, as Itadori explained when he sat down to explain his plans to Megumi, was chosen because of its inspirational message. The exact opposite of Dazai, really; it’s clear that Itadori was hoping to avoid this point.

“I did research,” Itadori had said, opening to the first page of what will become a stack of read books piled on the other side of Megumi’s hospital bed. “By that, I mean I read a Wikipedia page. Its message is to keep on living, which I think is better than some of the other ones you have on your list. I really hope this works.”

Then it began: “I was thirty-seven then, strapped in my seat as the huge seven-four-seven plunged through dense cloud cover on approach to Hamburg airport.”

If it were so simple, it would have worked.

Megumi doesn’t want to wake up.

It started from the moment he killed his sister. He gave up fighting Sukuna, knowing it would be useless. His power to manipulate the Ten Shadows technique alongside his given techniques and domain overshadowed any restraint he applied to his body’s cursed energy. Nineteen fingers eventually accumulated in his body. Mahoraga gave way to the world-shattering cleave. Tsumiki and Gojo died because of his abilities.

“It wasn’t you who killed them,” Itadori had explained early on, “it was Sukuna.” But Itadori didn’t understand that his words were null from the amount of hypocrisy poisoning them.

If waking up meant he could sit in one place for the rest of his life with Itadori’s voice reading him his favorite books, he’d do it. But being awake means facing the world again. It means confronting the shikigami that took his sister’s and Gojo’s life, as well as the countless others that Sukuna killed along the way. He’d have to return to Jujutsu society and continue this thankless, worthless life of exorcism, or abandon it all and live with the guilt of negligence.

But dying — dying meant losing this. Itadori would be alone, and Megumi would never hear the end of No Longer Human or The Setting Sun. He would never get to The Boy of the Winds which Megumi assumes Itadori is saving for last. He won’t get updates on Itadori’s trials and tribulations with schoolwork and exorcism. Maki comes to visit; he likes to hear her talk and interact with his comatose body. If he dies, there will be no family members left for her to relate to.

That’s the problem, the dichotomy of his situation where he is seemingly stuck between life and whatever comes after. If he could figure out how to die or wake up, he wouldn’t be here, stuck in his hospital room and watching one of only two people alive he cares about come to his room day after day to read him a book from Megumi’s to-be-read list. 

What Megumi does want, and it goes entirely unattested as embarrassing as it is, is to talk to Gojo.

He doesn’t know what Gojo would do in this situation, because he is certain that Gojo would never be in the same position. That man has always been one extreme to the next — to imagine his soul wandering the planes of the living is to ignore him altogether. If he were allowed just one conversation, he knows that Gojo would have him alive or dead before Itadori can finish one more paragraph of No Longer Human.

Then there is the quieter part of him that just wants to see him again. To see Gojo in whatever form he’s taken after death. And he recognizes that Gojo, the person he has modeled his every decision after when Tsumiki could no longer guide him, is the only person he will listen to. Anyone can tell him to live or to die, but Gojo is the only one Megumi knows he won’t fight.

It’s not that Gojo has made every correct decision in his life, but he is the closest thing Megumi has ever gotten to a father.

There is a saying: like father, like son. For the longest time, he had been unable to comprehend that phrase. He and Gojo aren’t blood-related. During his living days, Megumi didn’t have the time or motivation to reflect on the man who raised him. He understood that Gojo was the one around, his benefactor, and his teacher. His emotional capacity was unable to handle much more than that.

One year and three months and a stack of books have given Megumi plenty of time to reflect, and he is now intimately familiar with what it means when someone says like father, like son.

Not one person knows him better than Gojo Satoru.

“Okay,” Itadori relinquishes, letting go of Megumi’s hand. “Okay. Another day. I’ll let you have another day.”

Megumi doesn’t know how many more days either of them have left in them. It’s been a year and three months, and so far, Gojo Satoru has not come to visit to guide his soul as he once guided his life. It could be retribution for killing his only father-like figure, but he has this feeling that Gojo doesn’t blame him for it, no matter how much Megumi holds it against himself.

Like father, like son. Yet, the father raises the son to be better than himself.

Leaning back in his chair, Itadori reopens the light pink and coral book. In the fold of space between life and death, there are books and there is Itadori Yuuji. He cannot have these individually, nor can he hold them close. It’s a form of torment, a reminder that he is not meant to stay.

He listens from his seat at the edge of the bed as Itadori takes a deep, aching breath. He reads to the end of the prologue. When he’s finished, he looks at Megumi for a long time. His finger traces the inner spine between the thin pages.

Itadori continues with the first chapter: “Mine has been a life of such shame. I can’t even guess myself what it must be to live the life of a human being.”

[tricoloured-cat]

what better way to procrastinate than to write random stuff

reviewing the works that the abilities were based on

Part 1: Armed Detective Agency

I just realized that I've finally read all the works attributed to the abilities of the author's BSD counterparts, at least for the ADA. I plan to do this for all organizations in the BSD universe so I can direct my reading and actually finish something HAHA

DISCLAIMER: I am not an expert on literature, let alone Japanese literature, and my short reviews are solely my opinion as a casual reader. These are all for fun so please don't take these so seriously!

Nakajima Atsushi Ability: Beast Beneath the Moonlight Original Work: Moon Over the Mountain

This short story has the vibes of a folktale but with existential dread sprinkled throughout. The prose is calm but the agony still reverberates. I liked this more than I though I would, perhaps because of how clean it felt. Honestly this would be one of the OG works I'd recommend to a BSD fan who wants to try classic Japanese literature.

Dazai Osamu Ability/Original Work: No Longer Human

This is probably the one novel/work most BSD fans would pick up first - and for a good reason. The themes are pretty universal albeit heavy, the tone of the narrator throughout the entire novel is gripping, the translation by Donald Keene is very readable, and it's just in the most general sense a summary of Dazai-sensei's own life. The last point must be taken with a grain of salt, however, as he's a master liar - something you'll find out if you dig more into his life and other works. If you'd like to see depression in book form, this is for you.

Kunikida Doppo Ability: Doppo Poet Original Work: Doppo Collection (probably)

Here's a case of "I can't really find the original work so I'll be reviewing something else instead"

Reviewing: Those Unforgettable People

I chose to talk about this one since it's the one found in the Penguin Anthology. It's an interesting mix of forms: technically, it's a short story. However, the elements of poetry and even of the essay are present - mostly the latter, tbh. Of course the whole "ideal" thing is such a Kunikida-sensei thing that it appears it almost every story he wrote, yet somehow in this one you'll have to squint a little bit more to see it. The point of this story-essay-poem thing is at the very end (the first half is quite dragging imo) is what gives it a little oomph, but honestly I much prefer his other works (specifically Old Gen and Death).

Tanizaki Jun'ichirou Ability/Original Work: Sasameyuki

You like a slow burn? You like pain? Familial drama? Maybe you'll like this. Maybe you won't. It's a mammoth of a book that feels like a series of extremely detailed telenovela episodes - not that it's necessarily a bad thing. I enjoyed it despite the length because the way it ends, although hardly strong at all, ties the themes and messages of the novel cleanly into a single scene.

Miyazawa Kenji Ability/Original Work: Be Not Defeated by the Rain

It's a poem every Japanese elementary student would know. The message and style is so simple yet beautiful (I read Sulz's translation). It's joyful and so sunny... until I read the background on it. I cried over his work. Again. (Night on the Galactic Railroad PLS) Man I just love this author so much. But I'm not really a poem person to begin with, so take this review with a grain of salt HAHA

Yosano Akiko Ability/Original Work: Thou Shalt Not Die

The only complete translation I could find is written in painfully archaic English, so I won't comment on the style HAHA. But I do think the original was just as pointed in its words and message; its anti-war sentiments and middle finger to the Japanese emperor and military (at the time) so characteristically Yosano-sensei. It's sad she'd support WW2 later on - come on sensei WHY

Personally, however, I prefer her shorter poems, specifically the ones from River of Stars. But I'm not really a poem person to begin with, so take this review with a grain of salt HAHA

Izumi Kyouka Ability: Demon Snow Original Work: Demon Pond

It's been a while since I've read a play, and perhaps that's why I had a hard time getting through the first half - either that or it was quite lackluster as most of the actual story happens in the second half. Its influences from folktales and traditional Japanese theater (i.e. kabuki and noh) are very apparent - I wish I could have seen it instead of read it because of that. I think this is the first work of Kyouka's that I actually liked (I've read some of his short stories and one of his other plays) so I'll definitely recommend this one if you want to start with this author. There's also a movie adaptation of it that I haven't watched yet (but I do plan to). I think it could be much better than just reading it as is because of the visuals and mood setting, but a review on that soon. Maybe.

Fukuzawa Yukichi Ability: All Men Are Created Equal Original Work: An Encouragement of Learning (Sec. 1-2)

I couldn't be bothered to read the whole thing, but the essence of the ability only comes from the first two sections (which I'll be reviewing).

It's an essay that imo serves as a good introduction to Fukuzawa's philosophy. His views and arguments are built primarily on morality with logic acting mostly as a way to expound on his points. It's interesting, nothing really new for a contemporary reader, but at least it gives a nice background on the changing environment during the early years of Meiji-era Japan. Of course there are personal biases here (specifically the one with China - one of the greatest criticisms against Fukuzawa, even though he was supposedly progressive for his time) but imo that reflects some views of many Japanese at the time - not that they're right, of course.

But what about our special non-gifted boi?

I guess let's look at what one of the episodes was based on instead lol

Edogawa Ranpo Episode: The Murder on D. Street (S01E05) Original Work: The Case on D. Hill

I will tell you now: they have almost NO similarities whatsoever. Doesn't mean it's bad tho...

Okay ngl I was pretty disappointed HAHA. It's the same type of disappointment I had with Poe's Murders on the Rue Morgue (which was ironically referenced in the story) but it at least had some sense to it. I blame myself for not seeing it coming tho, given that this story is very typical of Edogawa-sensei. If you do plan to read it, however, be warned that there are implicit (?) themes that may be uncomfortable for some readers (this warning applies to most of Edogawa-sensei's work not made specifically for children HAHA).

[knockyasocksoff2022]

Take My Hand, Let Me Save You Like You Save Me | Soukoku

Based on Heaven and Back by Chase Atlantic. 

Angst but then fluff. I'm not that familiar with Corruption and how it works so please correct me if I get anything wrong. This is set before Soukoku start dating.

Words: 4,194

⚠️TW: drugs, drug use, and almost drug overdose | Dazai typical suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, and depression.

NOT PROOFREAD (no beta we die like Oda)

(A/N: This is way more angsty than I intended but there is more fluff in later chapters. Under the cut due to length. This has been edited for grammar. At the point I was writing this I didn’t know that No Longer Human is always active so we’re just going to ignore that little fact. Also, the logic behind Corruption is nowhere to be found. I was a very new fan when I wrote this.)

Dazai’s Perspective

Mori's office is filled with every kind of lethal pill imaginable, and I just had to grab a non-lethal one, a hallucinogenic one, I think. I was crying at the time, my eyes blurring at the edges until the fog spread and the tears spilled over.

Now my eyes blur for a different reason, visions of bright, flashing colours and mangled corpses dance in and out of my view. I can't take this, it's not working, I need more.

I dump a few more pills into my palm (3 maybe 7, I can't tell) and swallow them with the stolen whiskey. It tastes bitter, an acidic burn, fire, but I'm flying and I love it. The pain distracts me from everything else and the light feeling is a bliss I never thought I'd ever get to feel.

I stand up (fall down? I can't tell which direction is which.) and notice for the first time, the fluorescents of the warehouse. Gosh, they're beautiful. They should be in a museum not in this dingy warehouse. Who would bother buying lights this nice for a place like this? Then again Mori is like super crazy rich. I tilt my head and they move with me, incredible! I spin, and so do they, making swirls across the grey beams. I wish Chuuya were here to see this. Chuuya makes everything better. He'll be so upset that he missed this.

Suddenly the swirls are taking over my thoughts, I can only think in spirals and my brain feels like it's being rolled up into the spirals. It doesn't feel . . . bad? Anything's better than the pain, I guess? My stomach lurches, being pulled into the spiral as well, and I vomit neon green and pink onto the warehouse floor. It's beautiful and then gone. Then back again, then gone, taking the floor with it. I hear a distant thud and the lights feel farther away.

Pain pounds in my head as the lights come back. This time they're blurred, black eating at the edges. I watch, entranced, as the black and the lights fight. I can't decide who I want to win, they're both so beautiful. The black is winning and I am falling, falling, falling (but wasn't I already down), slipping deeper. Does it feel bad? I don't know. I can't feel anything. Is that a bad thing? Isn't this what I wanted?

Yes. I've always wanted this. Even numbness is better than the pain, and if this is how I get it then I'd gladly do it again. This is what I've been looking for, something I'm not even sure I could get from death: the feeling of already being gone, like I'm no longer human, a machine, a monster. It's not nearly death but I'll take it.

I hear a voice drifting in and out but it sinks to the bottom of my black ocean, along with any remaining fight I had left in me.

Chuuya’s Perspective

Where is he? Where is that shitty bastard? He said he would be home tonight. But that look on his face. I knew he was lying.

"Why the fuck did you let him go, dumbass!" I think to myself. I thought privacy would be a good idea but now it doesn't matter, I have to get to him before he hurts himself.

When I turn the corner, I hear soft sobbing and heavy breathing coming from the warehouse. I know it's him and I dash inside.

He lies curled up in a corner, eyes rolled back in his head, not himself, like when I use Corruption.

"Dazai! Wake up!" no answer, "Wake up, shitty Dazai, wake up."

His corpse-like person stays the same but he's still breathing, he has to be.

"Dammit!!!" He still doesn't stir, panic, turning to pure terror as it claws up my throat, combined with hot anger I feel like I'm about to combust. "No, fuck you! How could you do this?" I ask the unresponsive boy, the words turn to please as they leave my mouth. Desperation now joins the swirl of emotions, "I loved you, I love you! And you go and leave me like this! What about me? What about me, huh? Are you just gonna leave me like this?" I punch him, "Answer me, asshole, I said answer me!"

But at this point, I can see it's useless. His corpse is still, with no breath rising or falling from his still-warm body. The tears come suddenly and I let myself lay over my dead partner, friend (more than friend?). I cry for him, and his situation, and his death, and for what we could've been. I wanted it, oh how I wanted him to return my feelings but it all feels so stupid now, now I just want him alive.

I don't care if they find me like this, draped over the boy I love (and will love until the day I die, even after), I hope they do. Someone deserves to pay. The anger pulses back again, stronger. White hot rage, blacking out my vision. Arahabaki. The Rage only lasts for a second then I'm back, the feeling gone again.

I feel something inside me break.

If Corruption is activating while I'm touching Dazai, then he really is dead. It hits me in the stomach, worse than any punch from an enemy. I should be worried but I don't care if I destroy everything. I don't care if I destroy myself. I don't want to live without Dazai Osamu and I deserve whatever I get for leaving him alone like this. I promised I promised he wouldn't die alone, and yet here I am, doing too little too late as I guess we always knew I would. The one mistake I can't take back.

I try to summon it back, the Rage. I want to hit something, I want to hit myself until I can't anymore. But a noise distracts me, wheezing, then choked breaths. Dazai struggles to sit. A gasp leaves my lips. He's alive, undeniably so, but how. It's been at least 5 minutes.

I can feel his heartbeat, slightly too fast but strong, in his chest, and his breathing the same. Did I . . . bring him back? No, Arahabaki did. For the first time, real gratitude for the god surges in me but I have to focus on Dazai now.

He opens his brown eyes, they're wide with surprise and wet with tears. But not the deep and curious look that only I know, dull and sad. I'll take anything.

He gets up, seemingly perfectly fine, just sad. He sits back down, head between his knees, hands covering his eyes but I can see his shoulder skating with the silent sobs. Distraught. I can't take him in pain like this. My body moves before I can think about what I'm doing.

I hold out my hand.

He doesn't take it.

"Please." it comes out too desperate, "please" I try again softer. He lifts his arms and nods, grasping my hand. The connection makes me feel safer than I ever have. "Let me help you," He's still looking down. "Like you've helped me so many times."

"You don't owe me." is all he says

"I do, but that's not why I'm doing this. I'm doing it because I'm human and so are you, I want to help you and . . ." I swallow the lump in my throat, "I care about you, more than you'll ever know."

This makes him look up, our eyes lock, a thousand words unspoken. "Now please, let me save you like, you save me"

He stands up and I don't really know what to do so I put my hands around his waist, an awkward kind of hug, my palms feel hot. Soon we're fully embracing each other. Dazai letting me support his weight, support him. I want him to see things how I do so faster than I can talk myself out of it I hold him tighter and let myself float a metre above the ground.

We stay there for a while.

Then Dazai whispers something into my chest, the words a soft vibration, like a cat's purr.

"Hmm?"

"I said, the city looks beautiful from up here."

The words leave my mouth without my permission, "Most deadly things look pretty."

He smiles an actual smile. It hides itself beneath a neutral expression quickly but I know it was there and I'd do anything to see it again.

"You look beautiful up here," he whispers, I don't think he meant for me to hear but I'm so close to him that it's impossible not to, the quieter. "Chuuya always looks beautiful"

I feel myself blushing, my heart skipping a beat and picking up again in double time.

All of a sudden the warehouse feels too small so I fly up to the roof. Dazai's eyes widen in surprise and he holds me tighter, bandaged arms snugly around my waist. I try to ignore the feeling in my stomach and focus on the roof.

It's different. I've never flown with someone else before and I thought I would have to remind myself to be gentle but adjusting and softening my movements for Dazai comes easily to me, an unconscious action.

I touch down on the roof and the wind swirls around us, playing with Dazai's hair in a beautiful way. I watch it tangle around for a moment before snapping out of it. I could stare longer if I wanted to. Dazai has his back to me, staring out at the city. Almost on the edge.

I follow his gaze to an empty green lot, overgrown with only a small warehouse.

"That lot has been empty forever," he says in a monotone

"Yeah, I don't think it's Mori's."

"They tried to sell it a while ago," the slightest tint of emotion enters his voice, but I can't identify it, "but no one wanted to buy it."

"I can see why. I'd probably be more trouble to fix up than it's worth."

"I think it's a nice place." The emotion is unmistakable now: longing. "Private, nobody pays attention to it, no super close neighbors, quiet, but you can see the whole city from the roof." Longing for a home, a place to settle, a place to be his answer when someone asks where he's from, where he belongs. I know because I want these things too.

"You've been there?"

"I used to hide out there."

There's silence, we're still speaking, just not with words. He tells me with the way he steps closer to the ledge.

"Yeah, it could be pretty nice. I bet someone will buy it, some super-rich real estate person, and then sell it." I feel Dazai's shoulders slump as I finish the sentence. I want to say sorry but I'm not sure what for, or what to start with because I have so many things to say sorry for.

"Before I joined, it was my place, the closest thing to a home that I had. Now I live here of course but I–"

"I get it. You don't want it going to just anyone." He gives me a small smile for my understanding, but he's almost off the ledge now. I won't let him go again. I won't.

I grab his waist and pull him away from the ledge, back to me. Close, close, closer until we can feel each other's heartbeats.

Music echoes from the distance, a street party. It seems to grow louder, and so does my heartbeat. The first move is mine, the next is his and before we know it we're moving to it together, gliding, spinning, twisting, not in synchronisation, but the movements seem to all fit together. Dancing. I'm dancing with Dazai Osamu and my heart soars.

It feels like I'm floating and then I realise, we are. I've taken us up, just above the floor of the roof. We dance up here uncaring free, the feelings running wild even if only for one night. I let myself go higher, the feeling in my chest unravelling and releasing the tension as we move together.

This feeling: raw, pure, intense, and wholly human. Puts me on a high, grounding me at the same time. And maybe humans don't feel this passionately, maybe I'm not human, but if being inhuman allows me to feel like this if it allowed me to save the love of my life, it can't be so bad.

Dazai’s Perspective

It's a habit at this point. Constantly pushing further even after I've gone way past way too far just because fuck it. Stepping closer to the ledge, farther from life until all I can see is the ground below. It wouldn't even be jumping, just falling. The smallest shift of my body weight forward, a motion nobody would even notice until it's already too late. Another step.

You might wonder, Wouldn't I miss Chuuya? If I'm dead I can't miss anyone. If I could miss him though, I would, but it doesn't matter. He'll be fine. He might have saved me but I know he doesn't care about me the way I would like him to. It's obvious, he hates me but I still can't let him go. It'd be better for all of us if I just fell.

He'll find another partner, move on, and forget all about me, be the youngest living Port Mafia executive. He'd like that. I start to lean forward a bit. Arms grab my waist, strong, warm, and secure. He pulls me closer, and closer and closer until there's no space left. I still want to be closer.

Pop music begins to blast from a few streets over, loud and clear from up here. The lights of the city seem to dance in time to the music and Chuuya looks as stunning as ever, wind tousled red hair and blue eyes bright with emotion . . . humanity.

He's everything I don't want, everything I know I'll never have. And that just makes me want him all the more. I don't want his humanity or his emotion for myself, I want him to want me with all of himself. I want him to love me with all of his searing passion until I burn from the inside out.

I said Chuuya would be the death of me but I didn't say it with malice. I would love for him to end. For him to take my life away with the sheer force of our contradicting personalities. Death by his hand would be . . . perfect.

The brutal conclusion to a brutal life.

Suddenly I'm knocked off my feet, or not knocked, but rather the ground disappears from under me, but I'm not falling, I'm floating.

Chuuya.

It's my instinct to hold on tighter to Chuuya but that would only make things more awkward so I let go. I expect to fall but I don't stay where I am. Ah, Chuuya must be controlling my gravity field. I don't mind, not at all.

He catches my hand, a look of pure exhilaration on his face, and I use the rebound to spin him away, catching him again. His touch cancels out everything else as if he's the one with the nulling ability. This is better than any drug, the pain is no more. All I can feel is Chuuya. He feels good, better than. I know I may never get to do this again so tonight I dance with Chuuya. I allow myself to get as close as I want to. He doesn't protest.

He may not love me in that way (but he must have at least some affection for me or he would never be letting me do this), but I know that as long as I have Chuuya I can live with myself.

Chuuya’s Perspective

It feels like we could've danced forever but eventually, we end up on the edge of the roof. Not like last time, nothing like last time. This time Dazai sits in my lap, (which I'll admit is a bit awkward because of the um *cough* height difference *cough* Hey, shut up, inner Dazai voice!), and shockingly he makes an effort to curl up smaller to fit better. My heartbeat accelerates, sending warm tremors through my chest. His touch does to me, the opposite of what his ability does to me. I wish he knew what he does to me.

I feel him shift closer. What the hell is happening? Who is this and where's shitty-bastard Dazai?

Dazai’s Perspective 

Dancing with Chuuya fills me with a feeling I don't recognise, but it burns, and I like it. The burn is different from the acid burn that the whiskey provided, it's slower and deeper, starting from the points where Chuuya touches me but then consuming me from the inside out. This burn isn't acid, it's a pure holy fire, like Chuuya himself. I'm sure I could manage without it, but why would I want to, it wouldn't really be living. I'm tired of this half-living I've been doing and I wish I'd realised sooner but now that I have this I know there's no chance I'm ever letting him go again.

It's difficult because Chuuya's just so small but I manoeuvre myself even closer, soaking up his fiery warmth and leaning in until the city noise disappears and his heartbeat and breathing are the only things I hear.

I can feel my shoulders tensing, waiting, wanting. Wanting him to lean down and kiss me. His fire gives me a nervous feeling and the heat is so distracting that I can't form the words.

Instead, I tilt my head up pathetically and hope he notices me for once.

Chuuya’s Perspective

I’m sure the Yokohama skyline is beautiful tonight but I can’t take my eyes off Dazai, I don’t really want to either. The wind picks up and ruffles his soft brown hair, giving me the irresistible urge to pull my finger through it. With how close we are it’s probably okay. Then he looks up.

I close my eyes.

I wish he didn’t. It makes me want to punch him sometimes (that’s usually why I do punch him), the way he flirts so shamelessly with everyone, no matter the gender, he just loves to flirt (and then break hopeful hearts), so much so that anyone could tell it’s an act, not even to mock them but just for his own amusement. Damn him! I usually would punch him right about now but I could never hurt him when he’s like this.

I open my eyes, accepting my fate, willing myself to resist.

His eyes are full of something deep and mysterious, yes, but it’s his lips that hold my attention. The way they’re slightly parted, if I didn’t know better I’d say he was doing this on purpose but I do know better and this oblivious idiot has no idea what he’s doing. If I didn’t know better I’d say the look in his eyes is want.

His lips look so soft, I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve dreamt of kissing them. And now he wants me to. I’m not sure. But I can’t stop myself.

I have to lean down to him for once as I press my lips to his. Immediately a tingling sensation hits me, scalding at first then pleasantly warm. And, oh. I was right, his lips are soft and warm.

Then panic shoots through me. I open my eyes to see Dazai's own eyes wide in surprise, I know the horror will come next. Have I just ruined everything? What should I say, how can I even explain this?  The dread wells inside me, turning me to stone.

“I—” My throat is the first to go and the words die on my tongue.

And then he’s kissing me back.

It’s different now that he’s kissing me as well. His lips are still soft but more solid and forceful. This time he presses his body into mine until we’re held together so tightly it feels like we’re one now, instead of two.

The hardest thing about kissing Dazai is stopping, but at last, we do.

“Dazai . . .” There are no words that adequately describe the experience.

He sighs, “Please, use my given name.” I freeze, “Call me Osamu.”

“Osamu,” I whisper into the night, testing out the word. It feels right, leaving a pleasant sensation on my lips. The memory of where his own lips had just touched mine. Pulsing desire.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” I say to the night around us. It feels good to get the words out.

His smile is brighter than any of the lights around, “That goes for me as well.”

The music from the street below is still playing, but quieter now as if everything has faded out leaving only Osamu and I.

It’s so nice that we let the confessions and feelings hang in the air for a while as the sky slips from dark blue to black and the feelings get brighter . . . hotter.

It happens so easily, as if we’ve been doing this for years (we should have been), our lips are connected again pressing feverishly, hungrily against each other. Osamu’s hands are in my hair, pulling, but not so hard it hurts.

When we stop for breath I tug away the bandages covering Osamu’s neck and begin to explore.

——————————

We lay on the roof, the music long quieted, staring up at the full moon. The bandages on Osamu’s neck hang loosely like a necklace, both of our hair sticks up and Osamu is using my coat as a blanket against the nighttime chill.

—

When the moon finally begins to slip away I ask, “Are we going to talk about this?”

“About what?” Osamu asks. I look at him confused. He smiles, “We’ve been in love all this time, what will change now that the words have been said. It isn’t like we’ll be able to be affectionate at work.” He explains all this matter of factory then smirks, “After work on the other hand . . .” He lets the implications fill my mind. I shove my hat over his eyes.

“Perv!”

“You asked, I was just answering!” He laughs and takes off the hat holding up too high for me to reach. I don’t try to reach it, he puts it down over his face.

“You know that’s not what I meant! I just mean like kissing not . . .” I hope he can’t see my blush from this angle.

“I know, of course, teasing Chuuya is just so fun. But we can kiss as much as Chuuya wants.” I don’t miss how he uses my name instead of one of his many nicknames, and he said nothing would change. I don’t mention it.

The truth is we’ve been partners for so long hardly anything needs to be said.

And yet, I want to say it, to hear his answer.

It still feels kind of awkward, the words cumbersome as I try to phrase the question, “So . . . Boyfriends then?”

Osamu doesn’t answer right away, then sighs, “Boyfriends.” He says the word in a bored tone, a smile like gold lights his face, “I don’t want Chuuya to be my boyfriend, I love Chuuya so much more than a boyfriend. Boyfriend is such an impermanent word. There has to be a better one, no?”

His words make me feel cool inside, like how people say love makes them feel warm. Osamu’s love makes me feel cool and refreshed, like the relief when he uses his ability on me, a pleasant tingling sensation. Like Osamu’s own cold touch. It’s distracting and I can’t answer him.

Luckily he has an answer of his own. “Partners.” He says with finality.

“Partners.” I agree.

—

We don’t speak again until the sun appears on the horizon.

“I want you to promise me something, Chuuya.”

I look at him surprised by the suddenness of his request.

“I want to annoy you forever, so . . . promise you’ll remind me to live okay, for you.”

His words make me freeze. Dazai Osamu, the boy obsessed with death, wants to live. The cool feeling washes over me again.

He sits up and moves closer to me until we’re shoulder to shoulder with his hand our my waist. “I want to, I do but sometimes it’s hard. The darkness takes over and I forget everything I have to live for, when that happens, please remind me, okay Chuuya.” He looks at me like a lost puppy, tears brimming over, a little bit happy and a little bit sad, I think. “And I can’t promise that it will work, or that I’ll make it, but with you, I know I can at least try, and I will try, so hard, for you Chuuya, my beloved.”

“Okay, Osamu. I will.”

We seal the pact with a kiss and watch the sunrise together. It isn’t a bad way to spend a night, not bad at all. Now we enter the new day together, as partners.

[1ntr0v3rted]

blog post written 3/2/23

we all weirdly have that thought of how or when we die. or maybe we die at that moment right then and there, I was reading the manga ''no longer human'' by osamu dazai specifically junji itos version a lot of naked women lemme say, even when in the story which really feels more like anxiety and the stages of grief and depression and how dangerous being on a path of lust and cigarettes to get rid of ur secret desires or a tiny mistake you made becoming the biggest deal in your life which makes you feel guilt which we all don't ever wanna feel and than some of us experience that feeling of guilt worse than others where we feel like a monster and again no longer human lol just even thinking of how we try a thing we finally felt happy and we say no bc we don't wanna give in again.

to be honest im weirdly spilling all my thoughts I had from the book while walking to the bathroom which included how normalized things that happened when we were kids come to us growing up its strangely traumatizing in soe ways we even weirdly get the embarrassment in our parents showing our s/o our baby pictures and laughing it off its so weird how a person can cringe or cry or just get mad at one thing its I guess a part of life which we don't really expect from even us, and it's even from friends and parents

we lie our butts off and then regret it afterward, even sneaking out or doing something YOU feel that people won't forgive us for. like, for example, hurting your sibling severely whether it be physically or mentally you think (haha anxiety) you think most likely your gonna get the worse punishment ever in your life and u just get a warning or a tiny scolding and it will pass on anxiety makes us overthink a lot. and it's worse for some more than others some situations can be the same in some tiny senses but when you relate to somebody you never know exactly everything so maybe saying nothing and just affirmative noises works or saying "yes I understand but prob not the exact situation'' cause maybe it just feels the same and if we are in a vulnerable state we can lose control and get mad and apologize after ts just a regular emotion getting upset at things or not we all have different experiences and bodies, parents, illnesses, ages, birthdays, aesthetics, what we prefer its a regular thing and we get mad when someone doesn't agree or wants to relate we all have normal emotions or how people are bad or not why you normally just don't pick a side and chose neither we can have biases tho if we know something more than the other or are more comfortable with one more than the other

we just should know opinions are opinions. and everyone is different and possibly won't listen even if they do care about that situation they sometimes won't fully understand unless it's from someone they know for longer or trust more... in a way these are regular emotions

written by an introvert - 3/2/23 -

[sips-tea-cutely]

Hiii! I have a BSD request! Its a bot dark but its related to something that Ive been working through lately. Can you do as many bsd characters as you can reacting to their S/O getting emotional on their birtgday because they "didn't think they would make it this far"? Like they struggled with severe depression and suicidal thoughts/SH in their childhood and honestly didn't expect to make it to the age they are now? Its almost my birthday and I've been struggling with the same thing so i wanted some fluff with my favorite characters to help me through it! :) thank you so much!

I’ll never love again because I am so in love with you.

“Everything passes

That is the one and only thing I have thought esembled a truth in the society of human beings here I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell.

Everything passes.

This year I am twenty-seven.” -No Longer Human

osamu dazai, ango sakaguchi, gin akutagawa, chūya nakahara, akiko yosano, tetchō suehiro, sigma

a/n: let it be known that my friend randomly picked these characters…. ALSO @your--local--freak hey baybee boii emo boi im sorry im in an rawr mood but in an ironic way

#Osamu Dazai

“nightshade~ c’mon!! wakey wakey, it’s time to celebrate!” your boyfriend said while shaking your lucid body.

grumbling at your clear ignorance to him, he started kissing your face; on your forehead, your cheek— anywhere that he was able to reach. “h-?! alrightt!! osamu, im awake..” you groan at his sudden rush to wake up.

“c’mon, let’s get ready, it’s your birthday after all!” he said while removing his pajama shirt. “who are you and what have you done to osamu, when’ve you ever been excited by work?” you silently giggle

“hehe, i got the director to let us have a day off, i want to spend the whole day with you, of course!” he kisses your cheek once again, more gently and endearing rather than playful this time.

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

dragging you to every one of your favorite places, the cafe you used to frequent before joining the agency, the restaurant where the two of you had your first date, and the place you two had first met.

walking home from an arcade he dragged to, you looked unhappy, had he done it all wrong? “is something wrong, my nightshade? you look so sad!” he pouted. “hmm? ahaha, i’m fine osamu really—“ you laugh. “i just honestly did not think i’d still be alive.”

‘still be alive’? that was the thing he’d constantly say to ango and oda, he had felt dizzy from fear. “still be alive? does that mean you were considering committing double suicide with me? how honored, i am!” he grinned. of course, he’d never wish for you to die, you were someone who never did any intentional wrong; you were someone who unlike him, do not deserve to die.

“well, something like that, i guess. i used to be a little hopeless, i never really thought i’d make it.” you bitterly laugh, tears just threatening to spill. ah, no wonder you didn’t want to undress in front of him, you— just like him— had many scars.

what would’ve he wanted when he felt hopeless? someone who would take care of him, validate him when he felt like breaking apart.

suddenly grabbing your waist and lightly brushing your hair, he seems calmer than usual, most unlikely.

“i am glad you’re still alive, my dear. because you’ve done so much for me so, let me take care of you, just for tonight— ‘kay?”

silent for a while, you slightly nod, covering your glassy eyes. noticing the small gesture, he grabbed your cupped hands. how adorable

“well then, let’s get home now shall we? i have one more gift, me~!” he announced.

#Ango Sakaguchi

waking up next to ango was quite rare; his job often demanded late nights and early mornings so just imagine the surprise when you saw ango peacefully next to you, hair uncared for and wild from all the all-nighters.

“ango, you’re late for work, hey!” you quietly shout while tapping on his face. shooting up in fear, ango seemed to remember where he was— at home, with you.

“right… i finished the most urgent documents a week ago and asked chief taneda for two days off. it’s alright— it’s your birthday, after all.” he explained, his heart finally calming from the panic. “what would you want to do, dear?” he rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses.

“let’s just stay in bed for a while…” you lie back down onto the edge of his chest. “mmh, sure, if it’s what you want.” he smiled at your simple domesticity, wrapping his arms around you as the two of you talked about almost anything and everything.

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

after seemingly exhausted every conversation you two could’ve ever had, the two of you sat in each others’ presence. noticing you staring at the wall, you seemed melancholic, something akin to dazai’s teenage angst.

“is something wrong?” he asked, sitting up. “mm, it’s nothing major, i just didn’t think i’d still be alive by now…” you mumbled.

hopelessness, that had been something he was familiar with, the port mafia reeked of desperation and misery, even after four years, it still haunts him.

both of his dear friends had dealt with depression and traumas— they drowned in their own hollowness and it ruined them both mentally. this time, he had another chance to stop that from happening again. maybe this could be the way he redeems himself to oda and dazai.

“your life is a beautiful thing, you know? i’m so proud of you for living through your pain, i’ve seen many times how hard it is to live when it seems there is no reason so even living itself is amazing.”

a cold tear fell onto ango’s hand as he caressed your face. “you deserve to be happy because everyone deserves that right.” he smiled at you.

standing up and tugging at your arm, he beckoned you to join him out of the bed and into the living room.

“let’s get up now, then? i still have one more thing to show you, your birthday present.

#Gin Akutagawa

gin mostly did not show any affection publicly, so just imagine the surprise when you see her sneaking into your office with her hair down and her mask off for once.

“happy birthday, s/o!.. i got you this— it’s pastries from this new store that higuchi talked about, i thought maybe you’d like it…” she showed the fabric bag, tied with a red ribbon.

“oh, gin, there’s really no need for gifts, it’s alright!” you reassure her. before she can retort, you expand— “let’s share it instead, how about that?”. a bit confused, she agreed and sat down in the chair facing you.

grabbing one of the powdered confections, “mm… if you don’t mind me, why would you not want a present?” she asked before biting into the treat.

“haah, well i wont lie, it’s just that i never saw a use to living. it’s quite hopeless, really. im surprised im still alive.” you remark, just meekly laughing at the last part.

there’s a familiar look in your eyes, something in ingrained into her mind— ‘those who want to die have an equal desire to kill’, something her older brother often said.

“why would you say that? living up until now is a milestone we should celebrate!” she said, much more confident than usual. “gin, really, there’s no need to talk about it, it’s just something from my childhood..!” you try to move on from the conversation but she can’t.

childhood— did something happened to you? were you raised in similar conditions as her? the slums she grew up in were in terrible condition, were you hunted by traffickers as well? her thoughts ran wild as she thought of what she could do. if you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine, she just wants to be there for you.

“hmm… i may not know as well as you the conditions you lived under but… i’m so grateful that you are still alive to this day, you mean more to me than you know, s/o.” she said, raven hair just slightly hiding the redness in her cheeks.

barely giving a moment to think, she grabbed you out of your chair. “come!” she smiled elegantly. “it’s your birthday so, let’s have as much fun as you want.”

#Chuya Nakahara

chuya cherished birthdays, especially yours. it is the day that his love was born after all, so did you expect less than for him to go all out?

waiting for you in your shared apartment— a rich dark chocolate cake on the bar counter, slow-dance music playing on CD player, and most importantly— him standing in your doorway with dozens of roses.

jingle, creak… “AAH!” you scream, hitting the intruder with your bad. “shit!” the crimson flora fly all over room as your boyfriend cups his cheek. “chuya?! what the hell are you doing there?” you shakily ask, turning on the lights.

“well, duh, it’s your birthday and i wanted to surprise you.. fuck..” he groans. “don’t just stand there in the dark, it makes you look creepy! are you ok?” you grunt before checking on him yourself.

“yea, nothing that’ll mark.” he breathily laughed at the whole situation. “now, back to what i planned—“ he grabbed some of the roses on the floor. “happy birthday, s/o.” he smiled, giving an endearing kiss on your lips.

“chuya, you really didn’t have to do all of this..” you told him. “i cant treat it like it’s just any day, it’s special because it’s your birthday.” he answered back as he guided you towards the dining table.

“plus, i had to fight off an agency scum for this cake, you better try some.” he joked as he placed it onto the table.

tasting some of the rich cacao, it’s so warm. the feeling of calm fills your psyche. “it’s that good, hm? glad to know.” he smiled, noticing your obvious mellowness. “it’s so comforting” you dreamily said.

“i’m so proud of you for living up until now.”

chuya had always known you had a bad childhood, so he had always made it a statement to express his love. even when he was busy, trying to talk to you about your day while the two of you prepared for bed.

remembering the things you loved and thought of chuya knew like it was the back of his hand but even so, him observing your behavior in the upcoming days till your birthday is so… sweet of him.

“you made it another year, you’re so strong.” he smiled genuinely. noticing the glassy look in your eyes, he pulled himself closer to you. “ah— shit, please don’t cry.” he wiped the tears off with his glove.

“c’mon…” he slightly sighed. “your birthday isn’t meant to be spent being depressed about the past, all that matters is that you’re alive right now so why don’t’ ‘ya celebrate that you got past ‘em?”

“n..noo.. im not sad… you’re just so sweet, ugh…” you groan. “i…” chuya stood, silent… “well, i still stand by what i said, we should still celebrate you.”

#Akiko Yosano

yosano cherishes life, birthdays are a reminder of that. so it’s honestly no surprise that she took you out on a day off.

going to your favorite shops, buying you anything you wanted, she couldn’t say no when it’s your birthday!

“mm, come, i have a reservation at your favorite restaurant” she dragged you along with her, going over to the waiter in the front.

exchanging words, soon enough he showed you over to a table for two, the edge showing a beautiful view of the sky; blue, white and grey fog the sky and move at a snail’s pace.

“fufu… what does it feel to be another year older, dear?” she smiled, admiring your features. “hm, well it still feels a little weird…” you laugh.

“well, that’s just a given, it’ll feel normal eventually.” she reassured. “aah, well that’s part of the problem but most of it is… ah, im ruining such a happy mood, nevermind!”

︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚.

finishing your meal, it felt comforting, like it was home. mellow thoughts clouded your head until the staff surrounded you, singing happy birthday as they placed a free dessert in front of you.

“i don’t think i can say it enough but… happy birthday, darling.” yosano stared lovingly. until— she noticed how shaken up you seemed? did you not want to be put on the spot?

“thank you for this day, ‘kiko…” you smile gracefully. “i didnt think i’d make it to see the day, i feel so happy now that i’m with you.” you smile so appreciatively, so lovesick and joyed— the same grateful smile ranpo pulled out of her the day she joined the agency. did she really mean that much to you?

“life is always fleeting, i know better than most how it feels when you want to die at such a young age, and… i’m so proud of you for waking up everyday.”

#Tetchou Suehiro

tetcho was obviously not good with emotions. but something he was sure of was that he loved you so for you, he tries his best to be more affectionate.

coming into your office with some strawberry pudding, he placed it onto your table. “happy birthday, s/o.” he said, grabbing your hand and kissing it. “oh, ‘cho! i’m surprised there isn’t anything… odd about this. hehe, thank you.” you giggle.

“well, i was planning to add shichimi spices as a garnish however, vice commander okura and jouno heavily advised against it.” aha, in his samurai nature, he’s as honest as ever. “mmh… well, it’s still delicious, thank you, tetchou.” you smile and placing the dessert spoon back onto the bowl.

“alright now… what would you like to do? i am here for you.” as monotone as ever, he stood with incredible posture. “‘cho, really it’s fine i’m just glad to spend it with you here.” you wave your hand in reassurance.

“hm, are you sure? this day comes once a year, we should celebrate it.” he tilted his head in confusion. “ahaha, i honestly just wanna spend some time with you, it’s alright..” you respond with an overwhelmingly big smile— a smile he has only seen on jouno when he’d been interrogating various criminals.

“may i know why? whenever it is jouno’s birthday, he is supposedly my superior.” he asked, except for that last part... “i don’t really wanna talk about it, tetchou. let’s just spend some time together.”

slightly pissed with such an indeterminate answer, he started to dig deeper. “please let me know, s/o. so i can comfort you properly.” he pushed.

probably guessing it’s no use since he’d continue to push it, you just sighed tiredly as you vaguely explained the details of your childhood, your problems with suicide and so on. looking back to him, tetchou was silently fuming.

“the people who did this to you, the ones who made you cry— they are the ones who deserve to die. how dare they make a child feel this way?” he narrowed his eyes, as if pondering death. that is until he pulled you close to his chest, losing his hands in your hair.

“i will be here for you to make sure you never cry ever again.” his eyes full of resolution. “that is my promise to you.”

[pompompurin1028]

Can you ramble more about Dazai please? I seem to have become addicted to it

Some notes and disclaimers before I begin: this is about Dazai-sensei rather than bsd Dazai. Yes this is about a bsd centric blog but I'd love to talk about his irl counterpart. Secondly, my opinions are by no means professional, and I have limited knowledge regarding Japanese literature in terms of literary studies. Therefore, I will be for a lot of parts quoting and citing research and papers done by people who are actually in these studies to help me and I will also be adding my own observations and comments as well while also referencing Dazai's works. So if you're interested in the subject, I recommend referring to these papers than what I say. Anyways, these are simply my own opinions that I have gained from reading his works, then reading these papers and contemplating further, and coming to my own conclusions. I have also not read all of his works, this author has around 140 works written in his lifetime from what I have read orz.

Warnings: mentions of suicide, mental institutions, mention of substance abuse

But yes I'd love to ramble more about Dazai! This time, I would love to talk about a topic which I had recently gotten quite interested in regarding Dazai's works and that is regarding his narration. Of course, this is still a topic I am diving into and am looking into but I still think it's something interesting to share.

As most people in the fandom probably already knows regarding No Longer Human, and as many online websites have also shown, this novel is generally regarded as semi-autobiographical and an I-novel. Which is not surprising given some of the similarities of Dazai and his character Yozo Oba. Such as his clowning, which seems also to be part of Dazai's demeanor. As this can almost be felt in a few of his works as seen from his work Cherries:

"I’m the joker in the family. Let me put it this way. All I can do is put a jolly face on the huge amount of anxiety and mental anguish I feel. And no, it’s not only at home that I do this. Whenever I come into contact with people, no matter how depressed I am, no matter how much physical pain I am in, I do my frantic best to create a pleasant mood all around. Then, after parting, I reel with fatigue and think only of money, morality and suicide. And no, it’s not only when I have met with people. This happens when I write as well. It’s when I’m sad that I strive to create stories with a light, jolly air. I mean, here I am trying to give people exactly what they want, and they just don’t see it, coming out with contemptuous things like, ‘Dazai’s lost his edge … he’s lightened up too much … he’s trying to attract readers with facile humour’." [1]

In his work 正義與微笑 (Justice and Smile) we were also met with something similar from his main character, in which in the beginning of the novel, the main character remembers this verse from the Bible, which says "And when you fast, do not look gloomy like the hypocrites, for they disfigure their faces that their fasting may be seen by others. Truly, I say to you, they have received their reward. But when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, that your fasting may not be seen by others but by your Father who is in secret. And your Father who sees in secret will reward you." And after reading this verse, the main character seems to come to an enlightenment, which is the central aim of the novel and the inspiration behind its title, "to practice justice through a smile" through becoming an actor[2].

One can even say this clowning can be traced to Dazai-sensei's writing style and the way he acts in his normal life. According to O'Brien, “Dazai seems to have enjoyed playing clown even during his youth... even as a youth, Dazai intended his clowning as an act of service. Sugimori, for example, suggests that Dazai naturally came to feel he owed people (and eventually his readers) a kind of service as the son in a family paternalistic toward its tenants and the neighboring poor” [3] (from what I have read, his aristocratic background may not have helped with this feeling). And “even after Dazai left Kanagi (A/N: Dazai’s hometown I believe) he continued his career as clown — in his writing if not in his behavior. And during his extended residence in Tokyo, it appears that he became more and more familiar with an art that helped him maintain and develop his comic gift. This art — almost unknown to the West — is a traditional type of storytelling and pantomime known as rakugo” [4]. 

Rakugo, from what I have read about it seems to be a sort of comedy (I don’t know too much about this tradition, forgive me orz). But according to O’brien, “Rakugo storytellers practice their act seated on a cushion before an audience in the “Yose” theater. The storyteller will simultaneously mimic and narrate a comic situation — for example, two old women in a public bathhouse, each of whom insists that the other use the single bar of soap first. Gesturing with his fan and arms and adopting the speech and accent appropriate to his characters, the storyteller develops the situation into a skit. [With] the comedy depend[ing] heavily on punning and rapid-fire speech”[5]. Though Dazai does not seem to go to these theatres regularly, O'Brien quotes Dan Kazuo’s (a friend of Dazai’s who was also a part of the Buraiha) The Story of Dazai Osamu, that “Dazai kept only a small supply of books at home. He read only occasional volumes even of those authors he admired — Ueda Akinari, Saikaku, and Basho especially among Japanese writers. But Dazai collected rakugo texts more thoroughly, including the complete works of the nineteenth-century master Encho, and he read through them with regularity and enthusiasm”[6]. 

It appears that Ango had also described Dazai’s writing with Rakugo, in which he says in an interview: “I hold his works in high esteem, like rakugo. I think it is the greatest, rakugo, and one should not speak ill of this. Rakugo is enjoyable and amusing. If it is a piece that extends joy eternally, then that merits being called on of the greats. Dazai is one of the greatest rakugo authors, therefore he will have a place in history”[7]. But comedy in Dazai’s work is a another discussion (something I'm also still looking into) and I have already mentioned some of this to you before so let's more on...

Of course, the connections of some events in the novel No Longer Human, and his real life experiences also aid in the view of this novel as a semi-biographical novel. One being his double suicide attempt he had with a woman from a bar, which he not only referenced in his novel, but also referenced in some other works, such as his personal essay(?) Female, or even his work The Flowers of Buffoonery (both of these should be early period works, and interestingly enough Dazai has used the character name Yozo Oba in this work as his main character, I believe this is going to be released in English next year I believe [finally... I’ve been looking for an English version and was so surprised to not see any. I have a version of it translated in my native language but I have not read it yet], fun fact, this work of Dazai’s was actually name dropped in bsd during the Lovecraft fight as one of the code names lol). The Flowers of Buffoonery is basically based on Dazai’s double suicide attempt at Kamakura and the succeeding days spent in recuperation at a nearby hospital[8], the version I had bought in its description wrote that Dazai may have wrote it due to the guilt he felt regarding this event (the woman died while he was saved)[9]. But interestingly enough, something which was not done in No Longer Human, is that Dazai, the author, intrudes into the narrative at certain points. 

According to O’Brien, “the manner in which Dazai intrudes to comment within the narrative, however, tends on occasion to emphasize his function as author separate from the work. For example, pretending to an exasperation at his inability to properly develop the plot, Dazai calls The Flowers of Buffoonery “senile” and himself a “third-rate author” (A/N: If I recall, this is probably not the only work he has done that since I remember coming across something similar in his works, but Dazai does take criticism of his works quite seriously). In another passage he conceives of his novel becoming a classic, then labels himself crazy for entertaining such a thought. Dazai begins another of his interruptions purporting to explain the purpose of the intrusions. “I’ll tell everything. In truth, it was just a scheme of mine to thrust this fellow called “I” in between scenes and have him recite things he should have left unsaid. Without letting the reader notice what was afoot, I strove to impart a special nuance to the work with this “I.” I congratulated myself on a grand style hitherto lacking in Japanese letters. But I failed. Why, even this confession of failure I’ve included in my plans. I wanted it in a little later, if possible. And, I think I arranged to say that from the beginning too. Ah … don’t listen to me. Don’t listen to a thing I say.” In a later passage Dazai again declares that involving himself in the work was a mistake. “I’ve said much that should not have been said. Moreover, I’ve a feeling that I’ve overlooked more important matters. This may sound priggish — but, if I pick up this work later, I’ll feel wretched. I’ll tremble in self-disgust even before I finish a page. I’ll close it surely, I don’t even have the heart to read what I’ve done now. Ah, a writer can’t afford to reveal himself. That’s his downfall.” Needless to say, his reader can hardly take Dazai literally. He had already shown that he could destroy manuscripts that did not satisfy him, and if Dazai had in fact despised The Flowers of Buffoonery, the manuscript would have ended up in the backyard fire. Dazai feigns an uncertainty as to how to relate his story until the very end. Recall the final line, which follows immediately Yozo’s contemplation of the sea below: “Then … no … that’s all there is to it.” Dazai, it would appear, is not suggesting that Yozo has transcended his fears. The author, to put it baldly, is unable himself to continue narrating. For he is Yozo, not simply in the sense that he is writing an autobiography of past experience, but, more significantly, in the sense that he as well as Yozo does not know what step to take next”[10] (I just think this is something really interesting, we will also refer to this again later).

Furthermore, the ending of No Longer Human can also be traced back to some of his real life experiences. That would be during the prewar period (still during the early period of Dazai) when Dazai let himself be taken from his pleasant Funabashi home to the Musashino Hospital. Only when he found himself locked alone in a cell did he wake up to the fact that his friends had put him in a mental institution (this was due to Dazai’s addiction and increasing reliance on drugs as his mental health went into increasing decline)... This experience led to Dazai to write a work named “Human Lost” based on this experience, and according to O’Brien, No Longer Human was Dazai feeling moved to write on this event again[11].

In addition to No Longer Human, quite a lot of Dazai’s works (especially in his early period and late period) do not seem to be able to escape from autobiographical experiences. Even his rewrite of Schiller’s The Pledge and the myth Damon and Pythias, Run Melos, also seemed to have suspected to have inspiration from real life experiences of his. It can in fact be seen as anecdote from his experience "from a more turbulent part of Dazai's life is actually similar to the story of the Ancient Greek companions. Just like one of the friends from the legend is taken hostage instead of the other, Dan Kazuo once had to remain at an inn in Atami after Dazai had spent all his money there and promised to return and pay his debts after borrowing from Ibuse. As opposed to the legend, Dazai didn't return for a few days, making Dan pay by himself to be able to leave and search for his friend. He found Dazai at Ibuse's place playing shōgi, too ashamed to ask his mentor for money"[12]. And this had Dazai commenting (translated) "Is it painful to be the person who waits? Or is it more painful to be the person who makes others wait?” and according to my source, Dan believed that the inspiration for the story came from here[13].

Anyways, of course Dazai has distrust for human beings for other reasons, since "Dazai felt he had been disappointed and let down, which affected him greatly. He names many instances of “betrayal” in his life, including his friends putting him into a mental institution and Hatsuyo revealing ‘she was not the pure creature he had thought her’ (A/N: she was Dazai’s first wife, who was a geisha, their relationship is... complicated, they eventually divorced). As he was the betrayed and the betraying one throughout his whole life, Dazai probably could not believe the ideal relationship between two people portrayed in Schiller's ballad could exist"[14] (and I will not further elaborate on the actual story since, again I have rambled on that before to you).

On a side note, I thought it was quite interesting that Bungo to Alchemist decided to have this distrust be related to the betrayal he felt regarding the Akutagawa prize, since Run Melos was a middle period work of Dazai's while the Akutagawa prize incident was something from his early period and I was under the impression that Dazai had given up on the prize during that period due to what I have read (but that is my interpretation of it anyway). Run Melos was written after his marriage to his second wife, in which (at least from Chinese sources I have found) that he wrote to his wife during his marriage that:

「結婚，家庭，我認為都需要努力才能維持。需要嚴肅努力對待，我沒有任何輕浮的意思，即使貧窮，我也一生珍惜。」 [15]

(Translation) "Marriage, family, I think it all takes effort to maintain. It needs to be taken seriously. I have no intention to be frivolous, even if in poverty, I will cherish it all my life."

And in something he wrote after his marriage he writes:

「我想錯了，這場賽跑不是100米短跑，是1000米，5000米，是更加長的馬拉松。」 [16]

(Translation) "I was wrong, this race is not a 100m sprint, it's a 1000m, 5000m, a longer marathon."

There are of course works that seem a lot more autobiographical. Which is aided by, of course his use of 'I', the fact, as Donald Keene had stated that Dazai “returned again and again to incidents in his life, especially those that occured during the period when he was nominally in the French Literature Department of Tokyo University, for his materials for his writings. His descriptions of such incidents has induced some critics to treat him as an ‘I’ novelist”[17]. Of course, some of Dazai’s own comments don’t really help with this image, such as his comment in his middle period work Otogizoshi in which he writes, “I’m a story writer with such feeble imaginative powers that unless I myself have experienced something, I can’t write a line—can’t write a word—about it” [18] (but the question of whether we can take Dazai's words literally is again dubious, but it is quite true that Dazai does rely more on external sources for his sources of inspiration rather than through imagination, such as drawing from his own personal experiences, inspired by writings of others and create his own rewrites and even referencing diaries of others, with permission of course). 

The fact that some of his work feels like Dazai 'confessing his sins', or even illustrating his own weaknesses set a very confiding mood, especially in his “personal essays”. This can be seen in works such as Canis Familiaris, in which he describes his persona as deeply afraid and hating of dogs and when one dog in particular followed him home, he couldn’t get rid of it (it’s actually quite comical, even Dazai described it as that), here is an extract to demonstrate:

“Weak-kneed diplomacy. The dog instinctively detected the fear in my heart and lost no time in capitalizing upon it. The next thing I knew, he had brazenly taken up residence. Throughout March, April, May, June, July, and August he has remained at my house, and even now, with autumn in the air, he has not seen fit to leave. I can't tell you how many times this dog has brought me to grief. I just don't know what to do about him. For the sake of convenience, since he's here and won't go away, I've dubbed the beast "Pochi," but in spite of the fact that we've lived in close conjunction for half a year, I do not consider him one of the family. He is, as far as I'm concerned, an outsider. We don't get on well together. There is a decided lack of harmony. Sparks fly as we struggle to come to grips with each other's psychology. And to relax the tension with a warm, spontaneous smile is something neither of us is capable of doing.”[19]

In other works such as Thinking of Zenzo, Fallen Flowers, Cherries etc, there are elements of weakness he will confess to the readers. Besides, weak characters and their weaknesses are quite constant in Dazai’s works, so when met with these things I, as a reader at least, was not quite suprised when met with these elements. Of course, there are also specific elements which cause the reader to assume that these are personal experiences such as referring to other characters that the reader may know to be in contact with him, such as his wife, children or naming specific people, or sometimes just writing down initials which one could easily substitute if one is well aware enough of Dazai’s background. Sometimes, he also refers to events he had written in previous works again, such as Thinking of Zenzo and 市井喧爭 both refer to this one experience Dazai had with buying roses, events like these recounting the past again, or just the fact that he or his chacaters talk about writing with elements of above one may pertain to making these stories feel personal. These elements makes it feel as if Dazai were recounting the past and almost speaking to the reader directly, and the way he creates these stories make it inappropriate to doubt them[20] (I too, for quite some time, took Dazai's narration quite directly because they really do feel personal and I can almost imagine what he writes). I would imagine that, as McCarthy puts it, Dazai uses an "easy... colloquial style" of writing only adds to this feeling[21] (Dazai’s short stories are always really easy to read imo). And these elements as O'Brien writes is believed to be the reason Dazai’s works mainly appeal to a younger audience[22].

But Dazai is by no means "a faithful chronicler of his own life" as Keene puts it, to say his work is entirely confessional is likely not the case[23]. Besides Keene, McCarthy in his essay "After the Silence" also writes that the "brand[ing of] Dazai [as] a relentlessly 'confessional' writer, the ultimate I-novelist, an author who was basically unconcerned with structure and plot, or more or less incapable of creating characters other than semifictional alter egos... is simply unsatisfactory in terms of producing a balanced appraisal of the artist and his art"[24]. O'Brien also comments that “despite their autobiographical inspiration, few if any of Dazai’s works can be called shishosetsu (A/N: I-novels)... Dazai is not a shishosetsu writer, primarily because he does not attempt a minute and sustained recollection and reconstruction of the past... It is questionable whether Dazai had the determination and perseverance to pursue his past in this fashion. Certain of his remarks on how he composed accounts of his past suggest a very different method. Rather than pursue it, Dazai would allow his past to come to him. Like any other person, Dazai retained a vivid memory of certain striking and important events in his past. And these memories — rather than his entire past — tend to serve his need for story material. For this reason, certain episodes occur again and again in different parts of Dazai’s work, creating in some readers an exasperating sense of déjà vu... In the succeeding periods of his career, Dazai frequently used first-person narration. But the first-person narrator in Dazai seldom becomes a wholly reliable one... At times Dazai seems to mix up objective and personal modes of narration as a means of tantalizing his readers”[25].

Though O’Brien in his book raised his fairy tale collection Otogizoshi as the example of having both objective and personal modes. Having read Cherries after reading most of this book, certain areas of the passage have intrigued me regarding its choice of words and narration. These are of course my own observations though, so you need not to take it too seriously. But I think the change of “I”, and “the husband” and “daddy” to describe himself throughout the short story caught my attention.

“Mummy tries her best to keep her head above water, and daddy’s no different. It wasn’t as if he was the most prolific novelist in the world from the outset. He’s a timid little coward to the core of his being, and his words stutter onto the page, making this as plain as day to the public. It pains him so much to write things down that the only thing that saves him is drowning his sorrows in drink. When you drown your sorrows in drink, you can’t remember what it is you were trying to say. You drink because things are tedious and annoying. The people who are always able to express clearly what’s on their mind never get dead drunk like that. (This explains why women don’t drink much.)

I’ve never known an instance when I’ve won an argument. I’m always the loser. I’m overpowered by the strength of my opponents’ conviction, by the scale of their self-assurance. I just clam up. It does dawn on me on reflection that my opponents might be arguing totally out of selfishness and that I may not always be the one in the wrong, but the thought of insisting on a reopening of the verbal hostilities once I’ve given in is pretty dismal, and, besides, these arguments leave a grudge as horrible as a fist fight, so I just laugh it off even though I’m shaking with rage, shut my mouth and, with my head full of all sorts of things, drown myself in drink.

Let me put it straight. I could beat around the bush like this till the cows come home, but the fact is that this story is about an argument between a married couple.

'The vale of tears’.

That’s what lit the fuse. This married couple, as I have already noted, are an exceedingly civilized pair of people who do not indulge in violence or swearing at each other. And yet, this very thing is what courts danger and leads to an explosive situation, the danger when neither says a word because they are both gathering evidence of the other’s faults, the danger that each is playing their cards close to their chest, stealing a look at one card then another, preparing to get the jump on the other and to lay all their cards triumphantly on the table. That’s what’s behind the coy reserve with which they treat each other, if you must know. I’m not sure about the wife, but I do know that this husband is so full of bulldust that you couldn’t beat it all out of him even if you wanted to.”[26]

Of course, one can say that I am overanalyzing this, but I found the choice of words extremely interesting. Though one can perfectly imagine Dazai as “the husband” and his wife as the wife in the story. Dazai inserts this ‘I’ figure into his story to add to the narrative, creating an abstract narration. Though in the beginning he seems to associate the father with the ‘I’ as seen from “We cram ourselves into a three-mat room in the summer for our raucous, chaotic dinners, as daddy... that’s me... wipes the sweat streaming down his face and grouches under his breath”[27]. But soon that “we” turns to “they”, and “my children” changes to “their children”. And yet later at some points the “the father” changes to “I”. Of course, when one reads it as it is, one easily notes that “the father” is the “I” that is Dazai was even called that in the short story, but the fact that he deliberately changed perspectives, and so smoothly none the less just makes me think. It kind of reminds me of the narrative method from The Flowers of Buffoonery, except this short story is a late period work, through this connection we can actually examine some of the similarities between Dazai's early and late period works.

One of the main similarities one would be able to note from these two periods is the autobiographical quality of his works. Which is in contrast to his middle period works where he breaks his former style of writing and instead opts for a loosely confessional style. According to McCarthy, in a letter to Ibuse (Dazai’s mentor) Dazai wrote, "for the time being I don't feel like writing realistic I-stories anymore. I plan to write only fiction, choosing only cheerful topics"[28]. Scholars tend to look down at his middle period works, McCarthy describes that they believe that they are "too light, too sunny, too entertaining to be of any real significance"[29] (I think it isn't quite fair, even know I understand analytically wise No Longer Human and The Setting Sun which are known as his best works do seem to have more literary value. But even the voice during this period is quite still distinctively Dazai’s, you can even sometimes sense those previously known qualities of Dazai within these works including some rewrites. Maybe people almost feel that Dazai feels like a moralist in these works? But when you compare it to the actual inspirations of this work you can see Dazai actually adds moral complexity to the characters. I think putting them next to one another and comparing them is fascinating... Even in his rewrites of fairy tales in Otogizoshi, though I have yet to read the originals, one can definitely sense that it is more than a simplistic good or evil characterization. I mean in the end of the first tale, "The Stolen Wen", Dazai literally wrote: "Most of our children’s stories end with the perpetuators of evil deeds getting what’s coming to them, but this old gentleman did nothing wrong. He tried to perform a dance that, owing to a case of nerves, turned out rather disturbingly weird. Nor was anyone in his family particularly evil. And the same can be said for the sake-loving Ojii-san and his family, and for the Oni of Mount Tsurugi as well. None of them did anything wrong. And yet, although not a single instance of wrongdoing occurs in the story, people end up unhappy. It’s difficult, therefore, to extract from this tale of the stolen wen a moral lesson for daily life. But were an indignant reader to demand to know why, in that case, I even bothered to write the damn thing, I would have no choice but to reply as follows: It’s a tragicomedy of character. At issue here is an undercurrent that winds through the very heart of human existence”[30]. Anyways, I’m going off on a tangent here, I'll come back to this later).

But even during his early and late periods, when reading his works critically, one cannot take Dazai literally, and that his 'I, Dazai' stories as completely truths or semi-autobiographical stories as truths, McCarthy even wrote that one should merely take it as a fictional technique. Even though he often seems to be encouraging us to draw no dividing line between the author and the teller, but according to McCarthy, in a letter to his lifelong supporter and mentor, Ibuse Masuji, dated September 1936 (early period) -just a month or so before he entered the mental hospital-Dazai had written: "I've always intentionally chosen the most shameful and foolish things for my 'works' and my 'actions.' I've done so in order to force myself into a position where I had no choice but to write stories. There's nothing unconscious about it"[31]. Besides, McCarthy also quotes Dazai's rambling preamble to "Haru no Tōzoku" (A Burglar in Spring, 1940) (from the middle period of Dazai's career), which writes:

"One needs to be extremely prudent when bringing a character called "I" into a story. Since olden times, in any country -- although in this country the tendency seems particularly pronounced readers have had the bad habit of believing works of fiction to be revelations of scandals from the author's life, and to put on a superior air as they censure him or smile pityingly...

When writing I-novels, authors generally paint themselves as "good boys." Has there ever been a main character in an autobiographical novel who wasn't a "good boy"? I seem to remember that Akutagawa Ryūnosuke wrote a similar complaint somewhere or other. It was in fact this sort of suspicion that inspired me to describe my "I" as the most vile-natured, the most demonic of all the characters. This struck me as more gallant and pure than trying to garner sympathy by becoming the queer little "good boy." That was my mistake. There are limits to what you can get away with in this world...

I know full well that to set public opinion straight is no easy task. I have nothing to aid me in this task -- no social standing, no authority, no money, nothing. Armed only with a pen, setting down these thoughts one character at a time in my attempt to correct what's gone awry, I'm in a precarious position indeed. What is burned down in an instant requires a hundred years to rebuild. . . .

But isn't this, once again, the author writing about his private life? ... Aren't you contradicting yourself? No, I'm not. We've already entered the world of fiction.

The reader, too, must proceed with caution. To get back on your feet is, as I've just said, not an easy thing to do. The proof is that, in order to write a tale about a burglar, I've had to first set down this long disclaimer. The scathing criticisms, not so much of my work as of my actual life, my personality, my physical constitution, have left me all but defeated, to the point that merely to write a single piece of fiction I have to exercise all these precautions. Blessed is he who can love fiction as fiction. The world does not consist of such perceptive persons alone, however.

I originally intended to make this a plausible-sounding confession, a tale of how I, finding myself in dire need of cash, acted as a burglar. I'm quite sure it would have been a realistic and fascinating story. I put too much care into my fiction, the upshot of which is that people -- even persons whom one would think should know better -- are forever wondering whether what I've written is not, in fact, the truth. Even I myself have at times begun to wonder.... That's what I get for doing nothing but read useless storybooks for the past twenty years. I must preserve, to some extent, the romanticism that has seeped all the way through to the marrow of my bones in that time. But I also have to learn moderation. I have to become, to some extent, more mediocre.

... Were I to get carried away as usual, filling my scandalous account with fine details, who knows but that people might whisper, "Well, I wouldn't put it past him. He may very well have done a bit of burglary in his time" -- again I'd be smearing my own name with mud. When I've become a bit more respectable, when the world's opinion of my character is not as low as it is now, when my reputation is elevated to the point where I can at least report on my private life just as it is, then I shall show you the bold use of a main character named "I" as a model of all sorts of depravity. But I mustn't do that now. Sad to say, but I mustn't.

The story I'm about to tell you is fiction. A burglar broke into my house last night. And that is a lie. It's all a lie. The absurdity of having to make this disclaimer.

I can't help but laugh to myself."[32]

Dazai most likely had to do this because as McCarthy also wrote in his essay, his works are becoming judged by his private life. Perhaps the best example I could give to this is Dazai's first attempt at winning the Akutagawa prize. Where though Dazai’s short story was nominated for the prize, the reason for his defeat was the opinion of one of the judges on his private life, due to his work The Flowers of Buffoonery. From Dazai’s letter to Kawabata Yusabari he wrote:

“In the September issue of Bungei Shunju you wrote of me disparagingly: “… After all, ‘The Flowers of Buffoonery’ is full of the life and the literary views of its author, but it seems to me that there is an unpleasant cloud surrounding the author’s personal life at present, and, regrettably, this prevents his talent from being expressed as it should be.”

Let us not bandy inept lies. When, standing in the front of a bookshop, I read the words you had written, I was deeply aggrieved. From the way you had written, it was quite as if you alone had decided who should and should not receive the Akutagawa Prize. This was not your writing. Without doubt, someone had made you write this. What is more, you were even exerting yourself to make this obvious.     … at the end of August, I stood in a bookshop, read a copy of Bungei Shunju, and discovered what you had written: “… an unpleasant cloud surrounding the author’s personal life at present…” etc. etc. To tell the truth, I burned with rage. For many nights I found it hard to sleep on this account.      

Is breeding exotic birds and going to see the dance, Mr Kawabata, really such an exemplary lifestyle? I’ll stab him! That is what I thought. The man’s an utter swine, I thought. But then, suddenly, I felt the twisted, hot, passionate love that you bore towards me – a love such as that of Nellie in Dostoyevsky’s The Insulted and the Injured – fill me to my very core. It can’t be! It can’t be! I shook my head in denial. But your love, beneath your affected coldness – violent, deranged, Dostoyevskian love – made my body burn as with fever. And, what’s more, you did not know a thing about it.”[33]

Anyways, in addition to McCarthy’s essay, in Self-Portraits even is Michiko (Dazai’s wife) writes in an essay that "Many of the things Dazai wrote seem to me to have been gross exaggerations or pure inventions that give the impression of being true, but the circumstances of the gathering of Tsugaru artists appear to have been more or less as depicted in "Thinking of Zenzo". ... I remember him coming home by rickshaw that night and telling me how he'd blundered. The part about the rose-seller, too, is about fifty percent the truth as I witnessed it", so it's something to think about when reading Dazai's works[34].

So, even in Dazai’s later novels, for example, The Setting Sun and No Longer Human, one must be careful when examining the narration. Because, I think O’Brien described it really well, that Dazai seemed to be “’dividing’ himself among a number of characters, allowing each of them to represent limited aspects of himself”[35]. I too felt this when reading The Setting Sun for the first time, in which both Naoji and the author in the book reminded me of Dazai, and as time went on, so did Kazuko (slowly I think I have grown to accept that I enjoy The Setting Sun even more than I do No Longer Human, and with my biases, I like to think The Setting Sun is more representative of Dazai’s works). O’Brien also comments that a reader of Dazai’s post-war fiction should always remain vigilant of the stories lenses, for example, how in No Longer Human one must both accept Yozo’s narration of himself and the hostess’ description of Yozo in the epilogue as an “angel” (interesting enough, in different essays about No Longer Human and Chinese translations of the book that had been quoted by people I’ve seen online, the term the hostess uses isn’t merely an angel, she in fact describes Yozo as “he was a good boy. He was like a god”, something interesting to note). 

This reading of the work according to O’Brien is derived from the reading of Dazai’s middle period works, where he seems to avoid putting the bulk of his ego into them. However, when reading some of them, I could definitely still sense some of 'Dazai’s' world views in the characters. For example, in Otogizoshi, in the tale Urashima-san Dazai writes:

“Why can’t people get along without criticizing one another?” Urashima shakes his head as he ponders this rudimentary question. “Never have the bush clover blooming on the beach, nor the little crabs who skitter o’er the sand, nor the wild geese resting their wings in yonder cove found fault with me. Would that human beings too were thus! Each individual has his own way of living. Can we not learn to respect one another’s chosen way? One makes every effort to live in a dignified and proper manner, without harming anyone else, yet people will carp and cavil and try to tear one down. It’s most vexing.”[36]

or in “The Sparrow who lost her tongue”:

“Me? Me, well... I was born to tell the truth.” 

“But you don’t say anything at all.” 

“That’s because the people in this world are all liars. I got sick of talking with them. All they do is lie. And the worst part is that they don’t even realize they’re doing it.”[37]

I think it is also really interesting to note that, like Cherries and The Flowers of Buffoonery, in Otogaizoshi, Dazai, in addition to narrating his version of the fairy tales, also inserts himself into the work as the “I”. At certain points, he even interrupts the narrative to speak on something in the story itself, making the narrative actually really interesting, I feel like some may be annoyed by Dazai for doing so, but I find it quite endearing. It’s nice, its almost familiar and intimate, like he’s not just the author but sitting beside you and telling you the stories. It’s nice, I remember when I got to the A Retelling of the Tales from the Provinces which was in the same volume of the Chinese version I read, I was quite sad to not see Dazai’s “I” in it. Anyways, I think the introduction of the book wrote about it really well that “the pleasure of reading Dazai is as much about getting a feeling of being in touch with the author as it is about being drawn into the world of a story, and in these tales Dazai’s distinctive voice is very much in evidence, reaching out and taking us into his confidence in a warm, intimate tone. Far more often than a conventional storyteller might, he persistently provides his own running commentary on the main events of the tales—sometimes trying to extract a meaning, sometimes wandering off on a tangent that relates more to his own preoccupations than it does to any events in the story”[38], for example:

“Excuse me,” says a small voice at his feet. “Urashima-san?” 

This, of course, is our famous and problematic tortoise. 

I say “problematic” because, although I don’t wish to appear pedantic, I feel compelled to point out that turtles come in a great number of varieties, and that fresh-water turtles and salt-water turtles are naturally built to different specifications. The turtle we see in paintings of the goddess Benten, stretched out by the side of the pond drying its shell in the sun, is the creature I believe most of us refer to as a tortoise. And it is this same tortoise upon which in picture books we sometimes see Urashima Taro perched, one hand shading his eyes as he peers off toward the distant Dragon Palace. But were a tortoise of this sort to dive into the ocean, it would in fact choke on the salt water and promptly expire. It is usually this type of land tortoise—and not a sea turtle or soft-shelled turtle or hawksbill —that we find, along with a crane, on those ornamental stands that represent the Isle of Eternal Youth. The crane lives a thousand years, it is said, and the tortoise ten thousand, which accounts for their presence on wedding decorations and what have you, and perhaps it’s the auspicious nature of tortoises that causes illustrators of picture books to assume that Urashima-san’s guide too must have been one of these (the Isle of Eternal Youth and the Dragon Palace being similar sorts of places), but one can’t help but think it’s a bit much to ask us to imagine a land tortoise slashing away at the water with its clumsy, clawed feet, struggling toward the bottom of the sea. No, we definitely need something along the lines of a hawksbill turtle, whose wide, fin-like appendages would permit it to glide a bit more gracefully through the deep.[39]

So why is this narration used here? Based on the stuff I have read about Dazai, one of the reasons why is probably because his narrative voice is there to draw the conclusion of the short story. Some of his stories, without his commentary, one wouldn't quite be able to derive much from it. Like The Stolen Wen, as I mentioned earlier, ends with Dazai's commentary about the tragicomedy of character. Since the rewrite of the fairytale on it's own is almost not enough, because readers would question, why did the person who did nothing wrong got a tragic ending? It applies to some other fairytales as well that he told, it is his commentary that amplifies or actually gives meaning to the stories. But this could make it feel as if Dazai dominates the narrative of the story, I saw someone on tumblr talking about how it felt like Dazai was pushing his views of the stories onto them. Secondly, something that an essay reminded me of, is that it allows a familiarity with the readers. It creates a sense that he is inviting the readers to engage in the story, in multiple points of the story, he addresses the readers with "dear reader", and sometimes just talk about oh the reader must be thinking, or I wanted the readers to... The readers themselves almost have to play a part as part of the story. And I think something that is also interesting that one essay writes is that the narrator, one should not think of as Dazai, even though it certainly feels like Dazai. I actually didn't really notice this, before he writes all the fairytale rewrites, he has a prologue/preface, talking about the 'background' of these stories and creates the narrator 'the father'. Not 'I' but 'the father' so the actual narrator, the 'I' within the story collection should be 'the father' and not 'Dazai' even though it certainly feels like him since it talks about the war, a daughter (which one would know is something that is happening during the period when Dazai wrote this story). Of course, it is quite common to associate Dazai's I with himself, but when we look at the deliberate word choice and after understanding all thd above about his narrative, I think it is fair to take this word choice 'the father' (in Chinese translations it was also refered to as 父親 which is father) seriously. This adds a almost dichotomy of reality and fiction to it. And the fact that it invites readers to engage in the 'fictional world' it seems to almost add more depth.

For an easier understanding, we can refer to this chart from the essay Dazai Osamu's Otogizoshi A Structural and Narratological Analysis[40]:

I hadn't quite finished reading the essay yet, but just judging but this part alone it is very fascinating in terms of narrative. Because, one, the majority of the story we interact with the 3rd domain, but Dazai's I-narrator (the father's interruptions) allows us to interact with the 2nd domain, while also inviting the readers to interact with the narrator. As the reader begins to interact with said narrator, they almost become part of the fictional realm Dazai creates, because these stories cannot quite be read alone without the narrator's narration and interruptions. They often add to how we as readers understand the story (and at least 3 of 4 of these stories end with the narrator's additions which further emplify the 3rd domain stories). The fact that Otogizoshi ends without an epilogue further complicates things (it reminds me of Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew in terms of structure which I had always found fascinating), I personally like to think Dazai's rewrites which adds moral complexity and a more I guess 'realistic' portrayal of the human condition almost complicates it further in terms of fictionality and reality.

But then you may be asking, Kat you have written a lot about Dazai’s narration (I hadn’t even quite gotten discussing that in his rewrites yet and mainly only focused on his first person perspective narrations... but that’s fine, I hadn’t even gotten there that far yet in research orz) but what does it mean? Honestly, at this point, I am almost tempted to agree with some parts of “Dazai Osamu's Otogizoshi A Structural and Narratological Analysis” (though I am still in the middle of reading it) to an extent that maybe in Dazai’s writings there is a sort of metafiction quality to it, where the author constructs or re-constructs of the concept of "self' in his works. Or maybe it’s like (another essay I recommend reading on the topic) "Art Is Me": Dazai Osamu's Narrative Voice as a Permeable Self” that perhaps “Dazai, undoubtedly to his own personal detriment, invited his readers actively to merge with him, to enter into his mind, as fluids pass through a permeable membrane” (I personally think this is a fascinating argument)[41]. 

Or maybe, there’s a quality an early period Dazai short story element to it (this part of the story has always intrigued me, I didn’t quite know why), from the section Saburo The Liar from “Romanesque”, which is about a diabolical liar, who even wrote a book called In Lies Lies the Truth, which was about “the fascinating and comical life of a cynical young man named Master Misanthropos, who, when visiting the pleasure quarters, would pass himself off as an actor or a millionaire or a nobleman on a secret outing. So rich in versatility were Misanthropos’s deceptions that the geisha and the male entertainers never doubted for a moment that he was who he said he was. His ruses were indistinguishable from reality, and in the end even Misanthropos himself ceased to doubt that it was all true”[42]. And soon, at the funeral of his father he begins to think that “one lies to seek a bit of relief from a ponderous, suffocating reality, but the liar, like the drinker, gradually comes to need larger and larger doses. The lies become blacker and more complex, and they mesh and rub together until in the end they shine with the luster of truth”[43]. 

Though a lot of Dazai’s works outwardly seems autobiographical, perhaps it is better than one should take it as fictional, or as McCarthy puts it “whether [a] story is ‘true’ or not, it is a work of fiction nonetheless. Fiction is not opposite of truth. Fiction is a form of art, and art... is a lie that makes us realize the truth”[44] (and you know, this elusiveness of being able to identify the “true Dazai”, though it is not so important in this case one can say, almost reminds me of bsd Dazai, but that is another discussion).

[1] Dazai, Osamu. Cherries. Tr. Roger Pulvers.

[2] 太宰治, 《正義與微笑》, tr. 高詹燦

[3]  O'Brien, James A.  Dazai Osamu, Twayne Publishers, 1975. Twayne’s World Authors Series 348. Gale Literature: Twayne’s Author Series

[4] Ibid.

[5] Ibid. 

[6] Ibid.

[7] bsd-bibliophile. “Reporter: what do you think about Dazai?...”. August 13, 2022, https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bsd-bibliophile/692512807258865664?source=share

[8] O'Brien, James A.  Dazai Osamu, Twayne Publishers, 1975. Twayne’s World Authors Series 348. Gale Literature: Twayne’s Author Series

[9] 太宰治, 小丑之花：太宰治《人間失格》創作原點

道化の華, tr 劉子情. https://www.books.com.tw/products/0010721543

[10]  O'Brien, James A.  Dazai Osamu, Twayne Publishers, 1975. Twayne’s World Authors Series 348. Gale Literature: Twayne’s Author Series

[11] Ibid.

[12] Gantar, Lija. "Ancient Greek Legend in Modern Japanese Literature, 'Run Melos' by Dazai Osamu". University of Ljubljana, Slovenia.

[13] 奔��吧梅洛斯, 百度百科, https://baike.baidu.com/item/%E5%A5%94%E8%B7%91%E5%90%A7%EF%BC%8C%E6%A2%85%E5%8B%92%E6%96%AF/7254876

[14] Gantar, Lija. "Ancient Greek Legend in Modern Japanese Literature, 'Run Melos' by Dazai Osamu". University of Ljubljana, Slovenia.

[15] 人間失格之前：帶你走進太宰治內心的罪與罰, 每日頭條, https://kknews.cc/n/zr8x9vg.amp

[16] Ibid.

[17] BSD-Bibliophile, "Dazai returned again and again to...", https://bsd-bibliophile.tumblr.com/post/692040980912848896/dazai-returned-again-and-again-to-incidents-in-his.

[18] Dazai, Osamu, Otogizoshi: The Fairy Tale Book of Dazai Osamu, tr. Ralph McCarthy, accessed via BSD-Bibliophile.

[19] Dazai Osamu, Self Portraits, tr. Ralph McCarthy, accessed via BSD-Bibliophile

[20] O'Brien, James A.  Dazai Osamu, Twayne Publishers, 1975. Twayne’s World Authors Series 348. Gale Literature: Twayne’s Author Series

[21] McCarthy, Ralph, "After the Silence", accessed via BSD-Bibliophile.

[22] O'Brien, James A.  Dazai Osamu, Twayne Publishers, 1975. Twayne’s World Authors Series 348. Gale Literature: Twayne’s Author Series

[23] BSD-Bibliophile, "Dazai returned again and again to...", https://bsd-bibliophile.tumblr.com/post/692040980912848896/dazai-returned-again-and-again-to-incidents-in-his

[24] McCarthy, Ralph, "After the Silence", accessed via BSD-Bibliophile.

[25] O'Brien, James A.  Dazai Osamu, Twayne Publishers, 1975. Twayne’s World Authors Series 348. Gale Literature: Twayne’s Author Series

[26] Dazai, Osamu. “Cherries”, tr. Roger Pulvers, accessed via BSD-Bibliophile.

[27] Ibid.

[28] McCarthy, Ralph, "After the Silence", accessed via BSD-Bibliophile.

[29] Ibid.

[30] Dazai, Osamu, Otogizoshi: The Fairy Tale Book of Dazai Osamu, tr. Ralph McCarthy, accessed via BSD-Bibliophile.

[31] McCarthy, Ralph, "After the Silence", accessed via BSD-Bibliophile.

[32] Ibid.

[33] BSD-Bibliophile . “In the September issue of Bungei Shunju you wrote of me disparagingly...”, https://www.tumblr.com/blog/view/bsd-bibliophile/182073929969?source=share

[34] Dazai, Osamu. Self Portraits, tr. Ralph McCarthy, accessed via BSD- Bibliophile.

[35] O'Brien, James A.  Dazai Osamu, Twayne Publishers, 1975. Twayne’s World Authors Series 348. Gale Literature: Twayne’s Author Series

[36] Dazai, Osamu, Otogizoshi: The Fairy Tale Book of Dazai Osamu, tr. Ralph McCarthy, accessed via BSD-Bibliophile.

[37] Ibid.

[38] Ibid.

[39] Ibid.

[40] Nagaike, Kazurni. Dazai Osamu's Otogizoshi A Structural and Narratological Analysis, University of Alberta.

[41] Lyons, Phyllis, “Art Is Me": Dazai Osamu's Narrative Voice as a Permeable Self”, Harvard Journal of Asiatic Studies , Jun., 1981, Vol. 41, No. 1 (Jun., 1981), pp. 93-110.

[42] Dazai, Osamu, Blue Bamboo, tr. Ralph McCarthy, accessed via BSD-Bibliophile.

[43] Ibid.

[44] McCarthy, Ralph, "After the Silence", accessed via BSD-Bibliophile.

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Analysis only:

@ODDEYESIGHT

[bloodypeachblog]

My Junji Ito Manga Collection (plus one more!)

Hey, so while I’m still writing part 2 of False Impressions, I ordered 3 manga books to add to my collection. They came in today, so I decided to show them off to you all!

If you told me to tell you who my favorite mangaka is, I would have to say Junji Ito. I love the way he writes his stories, how he makes the most mundane things in life the most terrifying thing imaginable, his body horror, and his ability to make every woman hauntingly alluring. Ever since I discovered his work, I always wanted to write a horror story or manga similar to his version of horror. But alas, that has not come to fruition yet. 

Anyways, let’s start the tour!

First off, this is my shelf. I had to make do with my mother’s cabinet and make my own corner to keep my books in one place. My boyfriend recently got me a plushie of my boy, Inosuke, and I like to think he guards my books with his life. Meanwhile Spleenz is just chilling on top. 

First off, we’ll start with one of his most famous works, Uzumaki. It’s about a city cursed with the concept of a spiral, hence the name ‘Uzumaki’, from the perspective of two people, Kirie and Shuichi. I won’t spoil anything, but let’s just say it goes from 0 to 100 real quick. I love this story so much, I admire the idea of making things you see in everyday life, like a spiral, into something horrifying. If you have the chance, go read it. You won’t be disappointed.

Next up is another famous work of his, Tomie. It’s basically a collection of stories with one thing connecting them all, a beautiful girl named Tomie. But there’s something wrong about Tomie... I haven’t fully finished this one yet, but so far, I love it. When you read it, notice that the art starts out as cruder and not as polished as Ito’s other work, because the first chapter was his second work he had ever done, made in 1998. Of course, Tomie is hauntingly beautiful, enough to draw you in for more. So if you’re interested, go ahead and check it out!

This next one is one of the ‘selected stories’ series, which is a collection of his one shot stories. This one, ‘Shiver’, includes famous tales, like The Hanging Balloons, Glyceride, The Long Dream, and the only story from him to actually make my skin crawl, Shiver. These stories are great and you are in for a treat if you read this. But pair it along with the next entry.

This is the second entry in the ‘selected stories’ collection, Smashed. This includes stories starring one of Ito’s most infamous characters, Soichi. But others include ‘Splatter Film’, ‘Blood Slurping Darkness’, and many more. Go ahead and give it a go. 

This is Junji Ito’s retelling of Osamu Dazai’s novel, No Longer Human. It’s a sad tale focused on one man and his life of troubles, his actions making him feel ‘no longer human’. Now it’s needless to say that this story gets real sad and depressing, so heads up if you decide to read it. The ending was pretty haunting, but you’ll have to check it out yourself if you want to know how it ends.

Now this isn’t a manga, it’s more of an artbook showing off Junji Ito’s best art. You’ll see artwork from many of his stories I previously mentioned, and it is amazing. You'll wonder how he was able to draw all of these with such detail and realism, like I have whenever I read them. I would say use this as reference for any large tattoos you want to get, especially the front cover (that would make a sick back tattoo, ngl). 

Now these final three I just got today and I either haven’t read or finished them yet, so I can’t really go into detail that much. Please bear with me.

This is, as you can tell, Junji Ito’s retelling of the Mary Shelley novel, Frankenstein. It also contains other stories, but what, I can’t really tell you until I read them. Now if you haven’t read the actual novel, when you think of Frankenstein’s monster, you’d think of some large dim-witted brute who rarely talks. But in the original novel, he’s actually quite intelligent and very handsome, with white irises and yellow sclera (they’re actually only described as creepy, but I like to think of it as that). But a lil story time for me, I’ve always wanted to make a story focused around Frankenstein’s monster, mostly a romance between the monster and a woman with a dark past. You know, a ‘Beauty and the Beast’ kind of tale. I might talk about that more in depth if anyone is interested, but for now, let’s move on.

This is yet another collection of stories, but it’s not in the ‘selected stories’ collection. This is ‘Venus in The Blind Spot’. It includes stories like ‘The Licking Woman’, ‘The Human Chair’, ‘Army of One’, and his most popular short story, ‘The Enigma of Amigara Fault’. I’ve started to read this one and so far, I’d recommend it for first timers of his work. Interestingly, this includes some color pages of the stories, although they are a bit blurry compared to the text in the speech bubbles. But it goes back to classic black-and-white soon enough. So if you wanna start reading Junji Ito, I recommend starting with this before you go in the big stories.

And finally, in my Ito Collection, we have ‘Remina’. I’ve read a chapter in Uzumaki called ‘Hellstar Remina’, so I think this is a more expanded, fleshed out version of that story. This is also the most recently published work from Ito by Viz Media. The story is basically, there’s a new star discovered by scientists and is named after one of the scientists’ daughter, Remina. However as things go on, this star comes closer to the earth and there’s a reason it’s nicknamed the ‘Hellstar’. This one, I haven’t read yet, but I really look forward to it. 

Bonus: The Poe Clan by Moto Hagio

And finally, we have this classic series by a founding mother of modern shojo manga, Moto Hagio, The Poe Clan. It follows a family of ‘vampirnellas’ and shows their stories of love, loss, and immortality. I discovered this on Amazon and read the summary and went ‘I gotta read this’. And let me tell you, I was HOOKED. I loved the classic art style (fun fact: this was published in the 70s!) and the tragic stories of the characters. The author also worked on stories like ‘The Heart of Thomas’, ‘Lil Leo’, and ‘They Were Eleven’. I already pre-ordered volume 2 of this omnibus series, so I’ll be looking forward to that.

And there we have it. My manga collection as of 2022. I have more miscellaneous manga books, but they’re all in boxes in my garage that I don’t feel like digging out at the moment. So I hope you enjoyed this little tour of my collection! Feel free to recommend me any more horror manga or any other kind of manga and we may talk about it more in the future!

[whorefordazai]

you said there’s so much to say about dazai and his relationship with women...care to share? I’d love to hear your thoughts 👀

dazai and his relationship with women

warnings: mentions of sexual assault and sexualization

// note: a few of you wanted to hear my thoughts on it, which is surprising 😅 but sure! I’d love to talk about it, especially since it’s been on my mind for a while <3

TABLE OF CONTENTS

// scenes in the anime/manga

// port mafia backstory

// sexualization/hyper sexuality

// yozo in no longer human

// conclusion

ps. I’m sorry if this seems messy and all over the place. I have a lot of thoughts on this topic and it’s really interesting to me. If you have anything to say, I’d love to hear it !!

scenes in the anime/manga

In the manga and anime, Dazai is portrayed as a womanizer and big flirt who uses his good looks and charms to manipulate women into getting what he wants. This can be seen in multiple different occasions—such as with Higuchi, the cafe barista (although it doesn’t really work 😅) and most importantly, the nurse.

It wasn’t shown in the anime, but in the manga it’s pretty clear that the author was hinting of some sort of sexual contact between Dazai and the nurse. My guess is that he seduced the nurse into giving him his phone.

“Perhaps if I’m in the mood”—I don’t think he was in the mood again lol.

Now, this is a pretty popular trait of his—using things to his advantage. Especially when it comes to flirting and sexualizing himself. He never attempts to get close with any of these women, or commits to relationships with them. Maybe he feels it wouldn’t be meaningful enough. Dazai doesn’t really do things if he finds no value in them.

port mafia backstory

As we know, Mori used Dazai’s intelligence and talents to get want he wanted and help the mafia in numerous ways. This involved killing, torturing, and other things. Dazai was taught to be strategic, efficient, and use opportunities to his advantage (just like Mori). But I feel like, along the way, there was also some sort of sexualization hidden there.

For example, when Atsushi and Kyouka started her first task at the agency to deliver this envelope, it gets delayed due to security stopping them. Kyouka’s first thought is to use her “womanly charms” and seduce the security guard to distract him and get past. She says that she learned these tactics from the Mafia.

She’s fourteen? Womanly charms?

I’m not saying it’s the most popular tactic in the Mafia besides torture/killing, but the Mafia does use its opportunities. There’s nothing morally right about the place, so I wouldn’t be surprised if Kyouka was taught about such things.

Since Dazai was Mori’s prodigy, I wouldn’t be surprised either if he learned a few tricks from him. However, Dazai does observe his surroundings so maybe he decided to utilize his good looks as advantage all on his own.

Chuuya describes Dazai as an “enemy to all women” and when they first partner up after years of not seeing each other, Chuuya threatens to give Dazai’s address to all the women’s hearts he’s left broken.

This can hint that he’s had multiple relations with women back in his Mafia days—meaning he’s been using these tactics since he was a young teen.

sexualization/hyper sexuality

Sexualization: a person’s value comes only from his or her sexual appeal or behavior, to the exclusion of other characteristics;

Sexualization is linked to sexual objectification. Obviously there are countless other ways to put this and definitions—but I think using the word “object” really fits Dazai. Early sexualization can lead to dehumanizing thoughts, which can be seen in Dazai.

Dehumanizing thoughts can lead to not caring about your well being or using your body however you’d like with barely any concern (either drugs, sex, etc). At one point in being in the Mafia, he lacked so much empathy for others and that definitely tied into having empathy for himself. To be kind to himself.

Him being manipulated into using these advantages is possible. Even though moments like these are played off as jokes, Dazai and Kyouka could’ve been exploited in such ways.

I do wanna mention hyper sexuality (that I saw in the irl Osamu Dazai when I read the book) but I’ll bring that up later.

yozo in no longer human

As I was reading the book, I noticed a lot about Yozo’s character. It is heavily implied that at a young age, he was sexually assaulted by the maids (men and women) in his house (I was unsure about that, but found out it was canon in the manga adaption by Junji Ito)

“Already by that time I had been taught a lamentable thing by the maids and menservants; I was being corrupted. I now think that to perpetrate such a thing on a small child is the ugliest, vilest, cruelest crime a human being can commit.”

“But I endured it. I even felt as if it enabled me to see one more particular aspect of human beings. I smiled in my weakness.”

— page 35

The first time I read it and processed it, I got chills. Now I’m not saying this has anything to do with bsd Dazai, but it does explain a lot of things.

“Women found me in a man who could keep a love secret.”

Due to the sexual abuse in his childhood, Yozo grew up to be a huge “lady’s man.” This caused him to be hyper sexual, practically using his charms to get whatever he wanted from women. He formed many different relationships with them (that he found no value in) just for all of them to never work out. He made the same mistakes with women over and over again (it was pretty painful watching him get hurt and hurt others so much).

It was an endless cycle of seducing women, using them for either drugs or sex, forming some kind of meaningless relationship, getting hurt, and then doing it all over again. He was stuck.

He was afraid of women.

But maybe breaking their hearts has something to do with his past trauma. In some way, it’s taking back the control and innocence he was stripped of from his childhood.

In the manga adaptation, I was able to clearly see how he treated women. Sometimes even throwing himself onto them, randomly initiating sexual contact, etc.

Yozo’s relationship with women is so incredibly sad and heartbreaking.

conclusion

It was said in this post that Dazai would never be faithful or form a real relationship with a woman unless it was someone like Oda. And I agree. Women, to Dazai, aren’t necessarily objects but they really aren’t something he needs or wants in life.

He can be nice to them, make them feel good, form relationships, but at the end of the day it’s like there’s this huge avoid of empty space between him and the “female species.” So much uncertainty and words that will never be spoken because he cannot form a bond with another human being.

All I can say, fictional or not—he was just a child who was stuck in a terrible situation.

tag list: @uwu-monster101 @14th-century-homosexual-spirit @dai-tsukki-desu @i4gumi @cross-crye @starglow-xx @ranposlover @bsdwhore @arimakii @shadyteacup @smadhuman @knjksj0301 @asthepetalsdance @rirk-ke @mushroomplantasia @pickleisrandom @3-am-depression @its-chuuya-bitch @mars-bakery-shop @dazais-belladona @ijustwantfreenetflix @fashionablyfailing12 @dazailiones @atsushisgf @coveringthebiconissue @the-wholesome-ranpo @missshrek @todorokichills

[kiyokoxd]

« It's okay to let go »

fandom ; bungo stray dogs

content ; ANGST BITCH

includes ; idk what you call it, gender neutral reader, dazai x reader x atsushi

warnings ; depressing thoughts?? idk anymore I am crying, odasaku

summary ; dazai loved y/n, but they had eyes for someone else

specially tagged ; @bsdparadise , @pompompurin1028 , @greenshirtimagines , @cross-crye , @internetkilledtheroxstar , @requiem626k , @paradise-creator

Dazai wasn't in love. Or that's what he would say.

He wouldn't admit that he got confused between his platonic and romantic feelings, he was the one who made others confused.

He could admit that he liked them, he liked hanging out with them, they were fun actually. Their eyes didn't judge the person outside, yet wanted to know people and who they truly are, maybe help them even, but never hurt. Most people would call them 'too good to be true', and he agreed. A part of them would remind him of Odasaku, and so, he decided to let them in.

But the more closer they became, he realised how much attention he paid to their laugh, voice, their beautiful face itself. They were perfect. He couldn't lose them.

But as the days went by, realisation struck. He was in love... With them. But he wasn't the only one in love.

He saw how his student, Atsushi look at them. They looked back. The same loving eyes he gave to them.

He wouldn't be the one to say he loved them, he knew it was wrong. He was a bad person, he knew that and had accepted it. Yet, when they come, he forgets it all and actually started enjoying the moment and living it, was it a sin for him to love and feel human?

It was for him, that's what he thought. A murderer was what he was, it was a fact. No matter how hard he would try to redeem himself, he was stuck with the blood of the innocent. Those stains wouldn't go, even if they were removed visibly, he could see them. Even if everyone forgave him, even if he was good now, he couldn't forgive himself. To not feel suicidal scared him, what if they slipped right by his hand? What would he do then?

He wanted to take their hand, keep them forever with himself. But he knew it was wrong, he could woo them right there and then, but it was wrong. He didn't have the guts to hurt someone they love, and he loved Atsushi too. The first person to believe in him, someone who offered him a chance to redeem himself. Dazai believed he didn't deserve to be loved, but he was receiving it, so he couldn't help but accept it, it was nice.

He knew Atsushi deserved the love he was getting, so did they. They deserved each other. So, he chose not to barge in and ruin it. He wasn't that type of person anymore, he chose not to be selfish.

But still, it would hurt every time he pushed them together as in to tease, to keep that cheerful and playful facade. He knew they worried about him, they could see through his facade. But he chose to maintain it. He had been pretending all his life, what was the difference now?

He saw the blush spreading across your face, but it wasn't because of him, it was because of Atsushi. But that was okay.

They were his best friend. That was it. It should be that way, as long as they were there with him, it didn't matter. Atsushi and Y/N helped him, together or not, he was happy for them.

He knew Ranpo noticed it, "If you love them too, why would you do this?", he asked.

It was because he loved them.

Love was something many people didn't understand. It was surprising, but he chuckled at the fact that now he almost did, after all, he truly found himself inhumane. Just like his ability, No Longer Human.

One of the reasons humans are human is because they can maintain relationships and what they receive or give in them. For example, Atsushi was his student, nothing more. He would teach him and spend time trying to know him better, while Atsushi learnt and got to know more about Dazai too. Just like that, Y/N was his best friend, nothing more. His feelings were wrong here, but it wasn't like you could stop them. It wasn't always good to change your relationships, especially when you sabotage others. He wouldn't have a problem, but it was those two who saved his life and made his life a bit better. He didn't show it but he respected them both.

He knew distancing himself would hurt them, but so would being too close and taking them all for himself. It was selfish for him. But it was okay to suffer sometimes if your friends are happy together, he wasn't totally suffering.

Dazai could say he could treat them 'better', but he knew it was a lie. He knew Y/N was in good hands, Atsushi was a good man, he knew how to handle himself and be stable, he knew how to protect and empathise with others. Unlike Dazai.

He trusted Atsushi with them. As long as they were with him, it didn't matter how, even if it hurt in the start, even if he didn't get what he wanted, it was okay.

It was okay to let go.

– ; I WANT TO APOLOGISE FOR DOING THIS. YOU'RE NOT THE ONLY ONE WHO'S HURT.

~ ; @missrown , @xmellows , @greenshirtimagines , @alittlesimp , @dazaisusedbandages , @bsdparadise , @explosion-queen , @shadyteacup (you didn't ask to be tagged but you're bae so 😘)

anyways! reblogs, comments and likes are appreciated! i hope you all stay safe and take care <3 // writing belongs to me! please do not plagiarize! the reblog button is always there for you to share :)

[n1kolaiz]

"Man fears death and yet, at the same time, man is drawn to death. Death is endlessly consumed by men in cities and in literature. It is a singular event in one's life that none may reverse. That is what I desire."

Character Analysis: Dazai Osamu

Age: 22 || Ability: No Longer Human

I've done a lot of research concerning Dazai's character because of how complex he'd initially appeared to me. It is still a question as to what his personality type is; some say he's an ENTP while others argue that he's an INTJ, and his enneagram would most likely be 7w8 (The Realist), but that isn't the thing I'm going to focus on.

According to general databases and fan analyses, his temperament is dominantly melancholic. A person's temperament is basically how they react to and live in this world. For those of you not interested in such details, don't worry, I'll get to my point.

The melancholic behaviour is characterised by individualism, self-reliance, and reservation. People of the melancholic temperament are described as having been overcome with sorrow and depressive thoughts, which is beyond the feeling of "just being sad."

Nonetheless, they are generally calm beings, with a tendency to hide how they truly feel by keeping their composure, even in events that demand severe reaction otherwise. Other aspects of melancholic temperaments is that they are absorbed in the cruelty and tragedy of this world, and tend to get lost in their thoughts.

Sound familiar?

Dazai is seen to be as the comic relief of the adaptation, and he'd never fail to bring about a sense of lightheartedness to relieve the serious moments; we all know that for sure. Remember the time both him and Kunikida found Nobuko Sasaki in that godforsaken hospital, and how Kunikida asked him about his opinion on the current state of affairs?

But, despite having developed a calm and serene personality, Dazai's dark side was more apparent during the Dark Era. There was a type of intimidating and arrogant flair evident in his behaviour, or even on his face. It was the type of demeanour that came off cold and terrifying to the rather unlucky people he dealt with. In a moment's notice, they could literally die by his hands. And I believe most of them usually did. It was during this time, he was more brutal and vicious. He lacked remorse. Plus, Dazai's suicidal ideations were more dense during this Era, and his suicidal tendencies did not do anything to alleviate the depth of how dark his character was posed to be.

Side note: Unfortunately, people misunderstand this 'depressed' part of Dazai; they minimise his character so much to the point that people use only a single word to describe him: suicidal. He is, in fact, so much more than that. I'll elaborate more on that in a while.

"Hey, Odasaku, do you know why I joined the Mafia? I joined the Mafia because of an expectation I had. I thought if I was close to death and violence—close to people giving in to their urges and desires, then I would be able to see the inner nature of humankind up close. I thought if I did that… I would be able to find something—a reason to live."

Dazai's approach to life is that of an aimless soul, weary of the world's oppressions and exhausted from the concept of living itself. Nevertheless, what he said above about having an expectation made me realise something: he had a goal, which he wasn't that enthusiastic about achieving—seeking for a reason to carry on with life. So he joined the Mafia.

And there, he met Oda Sakunosuke.

Despite how resilient Dazai carried himself to be (especially during the Dark Era), this specific excerpt stands in direct opposition of how he effortlessly embodied all things daunting:

"With every step I take, I feel as though the earth has opened up into a bottomless pit as I fall endlessly. As Dazai pointed to his forehead and approached the muzzle, the look on his face – like that of a child about to burst into tears – had already been branded upon my eyes."

- quoted by Oda Sakunosuke, excerpt from Dazai Osamu and the Dark Era Light Novel.

When I read this, it sent my mind into a spiral of despair and confusion. It was so vague, yet it made so much sense. Dazai was desperate to escape from this life, but part of him seemed to live in conflict with his desire for death. I won't elaborate more on this, because this specific excerpt has personal meaning to me, as I'd expect it to have for others as well; so I wouldn't want to ruin anyone else's perception on it.

Back to my point: Odasaku was one of the only characters who managed to interpret the complexity of Dazai's mindset and was able to compartmentalise the specific details of his persona that made Dazai the way he was. Oda knew that Dazai wasn't just suicidal.

"For most things in life, it's harder to succeed than fail. Wouldn't you agree? That's why I should attempt suicide rather than commit it! Committing suicide is difficult, but it should be relatively easier to fail at attempting suicide!"

Others boasted about how he was just a suicidal maniac, and that was only because of how good Dazai was at concealing his own feelings whilst flamboyantly priding himself in new, risky techniques, which he sometimes elaborated on. But Oda, on the other hand, saw through his jokes, and empathised with his friend, never wanting to ever barge into his vulnerability without Dazai's permission, but still trying to be there for him.

"Listen. You told me if you put yourself in a world of violence and bloodshed, you might be ale to find a reson to live. You won't find it. You should know that. Whether you're on the side that takes lives or the side that saves them, nothing beyond your own expectations will happen. Nothing in this world can fill the hole that is your loneliness. You will wander the darkness for eternity."

Notice how Odasaku recognised Dazai's despair, before Dazai even dared to acknowledge his very own emotions? That was why, at Oda's death, he took the initiative to uncover Dazai's bandaged eye to show him that there was no use in concealing his feelings anymore.

Odasaku's last words to Dazai was to "be on the side that saves people," for he was aware that even though Dazai didn't believe there was a clear distinction between good and evil, he thought that perhaps Dazai would find meaning in his life, even if it was just a little bit of purpose.

In Dead Apple, we briefly relive this moment, but I'll write more on that some other time.

And when Dazai joined the ADA, he loses that dark side to him. No, wait, let me rephrase that: he loses a part of that dark side to him. He eliminated the raw sense of bitterness against the world from his face, and instead, he is seen to be a little more passive, and a little more adaptive. No doubt, he still does explicitly state his desire to die, but his wishes are very specific, if you know what I mean.

And a few years later, his journey with Atsushi began.

Atsushi and Dazai's relationship is just one of a kind. I think it isn't a matter of whether Atsushi needed Dazai, or whether Dazai needed Atsushi. It's the fact that they both needed each other. It's the way they both worked hand in hand, and how they sustained each other in ways they were lacking.

The two were polar opposites, but they had a tender kind of warmth embedded in their protectiveness for each other. Atsushi was just as lost as Dazai, but somehow, they worked together just fine. It was like their duality was meant to be. It was the type of symbiotic relationship, where their care for each other was implied, but very deep.

Does this also sound familiar... perhaps, in relation to Dazai's friendship with Odasaku?

Side note: Oda and Atsushi have the same enneagrams, which is Type 2, 'The Helper.'

There is a sort of balance that is brought about by two opposites. Odasaku taught Dazai many things, and I believe Oda learned a lot about a man's life from the way Dazai lived out his life with the innate desire to die. Atsushi sought for the right to live, while Dazai searched for a reason to live; in addition, Dazai validated Atsushi's feelings, and Atsushi was able to acknowlegde the amount of pain Dazai was going through.

Despite how Dazai's perspectives and beliefs stood in contrast with those of Oda's and Atsushi's, a type of inseparable bond connected the man who no longer felt like he was human, to the people who was the most human.

No Longer Human in the Japanese romaji is 'Ningen Shikkaku.' Ningen means "human," and Shikkaku means "disqualified." The late author, Dazai Osamu, wrote the book No Longer Human. He had gone through the rough throes of trauma and wrote this book as a semi-autobiography, whose plot was centred around a man who faked happiness, for he was tainted by the truth that everyone around him was fake themselves. He turned his life into a joke in order to protect himself from the delusions of this world.

This brings us back to the melancholic temperament, where a person was too deeply immersed in the sad truths of reality and the world itself.

And that's what Dazai's character and ability is based on: being disqualified as a human being, because he wasn't well-versed with what being human was actually like. The fabrications of being human sprung up all around him, but he wasn't willing to be fooled by how ingenuine the world truly was.

“I am convinced that human life is filled with many pure, happy, serene examples of insincerity, truly splendid of their kind—of people deceiving one another without (strangely enough) any wounds being inflicted, of people who seem unaware even that they are deceiving one another.”

- excerpt from Dazai Osamu's No Longer Human.

People who don't feel human emotions or don't react to circumstances the way humans do have a variety of ways of explaining how they feel inhuman. They are highly intelligent, which separates them from the average class of humankind, since they've analysed and untangled the truths of life in order to attain understanding, which they value above all else. But, this understanding of the world and its painful truths results in a deep kind of sorrow, which only a few people can seem to empathise with in order to help them out with that burden.

“Pain and suffering are always inevitable for a large intelligence and a deep heart. The really great men must, I think, have great sadness on earth.”

-excerpt from Fyodor Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment.

Don't you think that this deep sorrow that lies in the heart of the intelligent, makes them the most human of all? They're too human, to the point where they don't feel human. Perhaps, it is a type of defence mechanism, where the mind numbs the heart from feeling normal human emotion, because logically breaking down such concepts is easier than feeling them. But it comes at a price. The heart is willing to recklessly comprehend and fathom any sort of emotion, including pain in its true form, but the mind bears more pain in understanding such concepts because it seeks to decipher every single agonising detail of how complex human emotions are. The mind thinks, the heart feels. There is a clear distinguishing factor between the two. Whether feeling hurts more than thinking, or thinking hurts more than feeling, or whether both these processes work hand-in-hand to make up the reality of life itself, is up for an individual to decide.

Only a few people can seem to empathise with intelligent people who are deeply sad at heart, in order to help them out. As for Dazai, it was Atsushi and Oda. They never took away the pain, but they made him grow from it; it worked vice versa, too.

Of course, there are less tedious and more appealing aspects to the concept of Dazai's intelligence. Dazai was seen as a threat to his enemies because of how manipulation and his keen skill of deduction made up how sharp his mind was. Besides, no one could commit '138 murders, 312 cases of extortion, and 625 cases of fraud, along with various and sundry other crimes,' without having a certain level of intelligence, right?

Dazai had the moral alignment of 'chaotic neutral.' He was more focused on using his intellect to achieve the desired end results of a predicament, and he wasn't afraid to use the wrong means. A famous example was when he deflated the airbags of Ango Sakaguchi's car in order to gain the assured protection of Kyouka Izumi.

Justice is a weapon. It can be used to cause harm, but it cannot protect or save others.

Another example was when he blew up Chuuya Nakahara's car.

Just kidding. That was just a simple pastime (；・∀ ・)

His moral alignment points to what Oda said about him: the part where he mentioned that Dazai didn't really see any difference between good and evil. As long as his ends were achieved, especially if it were in the benefit of his fellow colleagues, he wasn't afraid to exploit, threaten, or endanger others' wellbeing. Because, at the end of the day, the end result triumphed the morally bad methods utilised to achieve it, correct? He always had a reason for his motives and actions, even if those actions were evil and inexcusable.

(eg. action: the psychological abuse he bestowed upon Akutagawa Ryunosuke.

motive: to enable him to hone his own ability favourably and to curb his arrogance)

But the consequences of one's actions will always catch up with a person, no matter what heights they've achieved.

Okay, we're reaching the end of my rambling very soon, I promise.

“If I had to go, I’d like to go out just as beautifully.”

“I’d prefer you don’t go.”

This part of the post is highly inspired by iwachuwu!!

An important factor of Dazai's development is highlighted BSD Wan's episode 10:

I'd like to appreciate that this scene focuses on how much Dazai actually means to Atsushi. When Atsushi responds with "I'd prefer you don't go," he said it lightheartedly for he thought Dazai was joking. But he wasn't. And once Atsushi absorbed the fact that Dazai meant what he said, he was overwhelmed with anguish at the thought of ever losing Dazai. Dazai, on the other hand, had a sense of longing on his expression. There was that look of pure desperation on his face. He was so desperate, yet he knew he couldn't act on his desperation due to a promise he'd made to someone dear to him. But keep in mind, Dazai is unpredictable, so we can never be sure of what's going on in that headspace of his.

Nevertheless, this time, Atsushi recognised Dazai's suffering, as no one usually cared to do, and Dazai didn't put in any effort to hide how he truly felt, as he habitually did. And this mutual emotional connection happened countless times during all the times Oda spent with Dazai as well.

To summarise,

Dazai's character had been carefully wired and patterned out in a way only a few would put in the effort to understand. Dazai was more than just suicidal; he was a being wandering from place to place with no specific aim. He was too smart for his own good. Dazai understood too well of how the world worked and deemed it void of any sort of hope.

Side note: Yes, the truth does come at a price, but it all comes down to how a person understands the truth. As for Dazai (both character and the author he was based off upon), well, it was quite tragic. But that's the way it is for some people, I suppose. But everyone has a different path to travel on, remember that.

His transition from working with the Port Mafia to the Armed Detective Agency was proof of how well-executed his character development was. It was two different personas morphed into what he is today: a womaniser with questionable morals a person who is still standing even after the rough refining process endowed upon him by the realities of this life.

However, he had people along the way come and teach him a thing or two, which perhaps made his life a little more interesting. Perhaps these people were passing clouds that hid the void out of sight for just a moment, and Dazai was always seen to be grasping on to these moments, and letting them go whenever it was time to let go.

His outlook on life makes his intellect look all the more intriguing. It shows that not only does his intelligence contribute to his own wit and shrewdness, but also the practical sense of realism that explains how tired he is of the concept of living because of the truths there are to bear.

However he's enduring the pain right now is by far the most bravest thing a person could commit themselves to doing. It takes courage, and it takes strength, but only a few would ever take the time to recognise such efforts.

Dazai has one of the most beautiful character developments, but I do hope that the development doesn't reach its end anytime soon.

fanart credits: @S7dOZPN3jWBB6cW on twitter

“Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness.

Everything passes.

That is the one and only thing that I have thought resembled a truth in the society of human beings where I have dwelled up to now as in a burning hell.

Everything passes.”

excerpt from Dazai Osamu's No Longer Human.

[sunnyssoftware]

INTRO POST

HAIII‼️

I'm Sunny but feel free to also call me Huey or any nickname!

I am:

♡ FIFTEEN(15)! A MINOR(WHICH MEANS NO DEGENERACY)

♢ AroAce Gay!(abrosexual/romantic)

♤ A trans guy!(Agender/genderfluid/nonbinary)

♧ Neurodivergent!(AuADHD + other disorders)

Feel free to use any pronouns on me apart from she/her! I much prefer he/it and any neo/xenopronouns though!

My interests currently include:

Honkai Star Rail, Bungō Stray Dogs, Genshin Impact, Project Sekai, Vocaloid, cosplay, art, editing & general digital media, computer science, music, and the overall horror genre!(i.e horror literature, videos, games, etc)

Currently hyperfixating on:

Honkai Star Rail!

I also want to start getting into classic literature and I'm slowly learning Russian when I can!

Like any other person in fandoms, I have kins!

Here's my kinlist! Highest to lowest‼️

(Maybe)

[PM] Osamu Dazai(Bungo Stray Dogs)

[BEAST] Osamu Dazai(Bungo Stray Dogs)

Yozo Oba(No Longer Human)

Ashley Graves(The Coffin of Andy and Leyley)

Nikolai Gogol(Bungo Stray Dogs)

Ame(Needy Streamer Overload)

OMGkawaiiAngel(Needy Streamer Overload)

Jason "J.D" Dean(Heathers the Musical)

[Suit] Saeran Choi(Mystic Messenger)

Atsushi Nakajima(Bungo Stray Dogs)

Kyōka Izumi(Bungo Stray Dogs)

Scaramouche/Wanderer(Genshin Impact)

Mafuyu Asahina(Project Sekai)

Omori(Omori)

Sunny(Omori)

Saeyoung "Luciel" Choi(Mystic Messenger)

[ADA] Osamu Dazai(Bungo Stray Dogs)

Few more facts about me!

I live in the UK!(England)

I live in a sea-side city!

I'm Eastern European(Romanian)

I'm bilingual(English & Romanian)

I wear glasses(I'm short-sighted)

I play the piano!

I'm short!(143cm, about 4'8")

I love sour sweets!

I hate white chocolate

I like spicy food despite low spice tolerance

I DESPISE mushrooms

I love noodles or any type of pasta!

DNI/BYF TIME!!!

Please DNI the following:

★ Under 13s(shouldn't be on the internet anyways!)

★ "MAPs" aka pedos! Please seek help!

★ Zoophiles

★ Proshippers/Comshippers unless you are using it as a coping mechanism! (Even then, beware I'll be reluctant to interact back with you and I'd much rather prefer those that are recovering to interact)

★ You shit on people's interests

★ Engage in ANY type of LGBTQ discourse(i.e exclusionist/inclusionist, anti neos/xenos, etc)

BYF‼️

✦ To any adults interacting: I'll be wary of interacting back with you because you're and adult and I'm a minor, don't take it personally.

✦ I'm mentally ill! I have depression, social anxiety and possibly BPD, please do not attack me if I say or do something you deem "wrong", instead please just approach me and talk to me about it and specify you're not trying to argue or hurt me and are just trying to educate me

✦ I don't care for people's likes and dislikes! If we click, we click! But I still do value my opinions so if you might not be able to handle different opinions then proceed with caution because I am open about them.

✦ I use humor to cope! So if I make an insensitive joke it's either because I've been affected by the subject matter or it was pure ignorance.

Thank you for your time!

I usually don't post on here, I just read fics and reblog stuff but I hope you lot enjoy regardless!

I'll try see if I can find stuff to post, might just use this blog for personal reasons lol!

----------------------------------------------------------

My other socials:

Instagram

Twitter

Discord server

[azzziiiii]

Dazai Deep Dive???

TW for Suicide, Depression, Alienation, and other things. Please read with caution.

Disclaimer, I of course don't think any of the bad things Dazai did were okay, but I am gonna explain why I think he did them and his reasoning. Reasoning of course does not equal an excuse and explaining why does not mean I condone any of this

Inspired and based on this post by @raventhekittycat

Dazai uses the pronoun "watashi" the most in the anime and manga. Its a very gender netural, and somewhat formal pronoun and very common, but not usually for males in Japan. SO, here's where this gets fun. Dazai is based more off the character from the book No Longer Human than the actual author and in that book a big thing is like alienation and shit. Basically one reason anime/manga Dazai uses 'watashi' is because his character is written to feel alienated and out of place, like he doesn't belong, so using 'watashi' allows him to have the most distance, from people and language and all that shit, cause its the MOST neutral pronoun. It's not that he sees himself as being genderless, it's that he sees himself as being humanless (this is why his ability No Longer Human always hurts me cause I've always had the feeling he didnt feel human). Also, fun fact, in 15 Dazai uses the male-typical pronoun of 'boku', and I think its cause he was comfortable with Chuuya, with his life at the time, but as time goes on he starts using 'watashi', he's using it by the Dark Era episodes. He's using 'watashi' to feel a disconnect from being a human, because he doesn't feel human (No Longer Human hahahahaha cry). He's also letting himself not get as close to people, and for him, using 'watashi' helps him feel that disconnect he thinks is there.

Knowing that Dazai doesn't feel human, that he feels a disconnect from his humanity and other humans, this could help explain why he did some of the things he did. Let's keep in mind he has a record of 138 counts of conspiracy to murder, 312 counts of extortion, and 625 counts of assorted fraud and other crimes. So not a good dude basically. One big thing would be his abuse of Akutagawa. Probably one of his worst crimes in the eyes of the fandom (and I don't disagree with that at all). But, I think a big reason he was willing to do so much is cause he does feel a disconnect from being human. With him not feeling human, he doesn't think it matters what he does. He was told to train Aku and make him strong. So he did, and it didn't matter to him how he did it because he's not 'human'. We see Chuuya be more kind and questioning about many actions that go against his morals, but Dazai frankly doesn't care. Why would he have morals when he doesn't feel human? Morals are definitely a very human thing, and as I've said already, he tries to distance himself from things like that.

"Now the main character in 人間失格/Ningen Shikkaku/No Longer Human states he plays up the part of being the clown, the fool. Because then he can predict people’s actions and he is less scared of them. Fast forward to now. We see Dazai doing that constantly. And we have seen actual suicide attempts by him—the river and the barrel bring two. Dazai is hiding his actual emotions more, wearing the mask of the fool more. He’s doing objectively worse and doesn’t seem to be trying to do better. The only thing that is carrying him through is Oda’s words telling him to be good. But Oda also told him he would never fill the hole in his chest he felt. He told Dazai he is never going to feel better. So Dazai is now living, acting like a better human while feeling that otherness in his chest. So him using 僕/boku the natural masculine pronoun in 15 was a way of indicating that he was actually doing better, feeling more, acting the fool less. But now he’s 22 and suicidal again and hiding behind his pretenses and we can’t see his real emotions as much. And he’s distancing himself from himself and from others by using 私/watashi. And though it’s gender neutral, it’s also neutral on more levels than that and that is why Dazai is using it. If he sees himself as genderless it goes beyond seeing himself as genderless, he sees himself as lacking humanness." (from this post)

THIS ^^^

Oda may have been important to Dazai, but what he told him is always gonna be with Dazai. That he will never fill that hole in his chest. And I love Oda, I do, but I hate him for that. Cause he shouldn't have told Dazai, someone who wants nothing more than to fucking end it all, that he'll basically never be happy. I know Oda was on his deathbed when he said it, and it was spur of the moment, and I think that's why it was done like that, cause I can't truly hate Oda for saying that when I look at what was happening when he said it. Basically Oda's words are gonna be with Dazai forever, and he believed everything Oda said, he's always gonna believe he'll never find a reason to live, something to fill the hole in his chest.

Okay, so we have covered the fact that Dazai is clearly in a bad place mentally, and that he is not getting better, in fact, he is likely getting worse. And as many of us likely know, to get better you have to actively work on it, you have to want it. So why isn't Dazai working on it? If he knows he's doing terribly, why wouldn't he work on himself? I think there are two different reasons for this. The first, clearly, is that he sees himself as lacking humanity, so he doesn't see himself as needing help, needing to get better. In fact, he may not even realize just how poorly he's doing. His morals are already very warped, and he never grew up in a place that cared about his feelings at all. He grew up in the mafia, where he was likely taught to kill at an EXTREMLY young age. He has np sense of doing well or doing poorly. The other reason, Oda's words. Oda told him he was ever going to fill that hole in his chest (a terrible thing to say to be honest). As I've already covered, Dazai hung onto ever single word Oda said, he is never going to forget that. So, if Dazai does know he's doing poorly and is in a bad place mentally, he likely does not care. He's already been told he'll never "fix" himself, in a sense. So why would he ever put forth the effort? To him it's a complete waste of time and energy.

Kind of branching off from the fourth paragraph, Dazai's suicide attempts in present time are seen as annoying and not unusual for the agency, even Atsushi, when he sees Dazai in the barrel, acts annoyed with done with it already. And this brings up the question, why? Why is no one taking it seriously. Suicide shouldn't be used for comedy, but it is. And I kinda think there's a reason for it. Dazai is masking his true emotions. We know he has pent up grief and anger and hatred, but he barely ever expresses it. Dazai very purposefully makes his suicide attempts seem like jokes to the agency, the way he talks about it, the way he asks for help, he makes sure this behavior is not only normal, but expected. He knows that it's a problem, but he wants it to be completely normal and expected, cause for him, one day he is gonna follow through with it. He doesn't want it to be suspicious. Making everyone find him annoying is his whole plan. He doesn't want people attached to him cause he doesn't feel human (although we all know that there's a lot of people who would be affected by his death). He wants to not be missed cause he doesn't think he's human, that he's worthy of being loved. So he acts this way on purpose.

Another thing to add before I finish; As we all know pretty well Dazai calls Chuuya, well, Chuuya, and Chuuya is Chuuya's first name. Obviously there is a close bond there for Chuuya to not be too bothered by Dazai calling him by his first name. However, not once have we ever seen someone call Dazai by his first name, Osamu, but with their bond surely Chuuya would be calling him Osamu instead of Dazai? So, this means its probably pretty likely that Dazai has made it a point to not let anyone call him by his first name, as it would connect him to his humanity more. I'm willing to bet that Chuuya and Dazai had a fight over this too, and Chuuya didn't understand at all, cause to him Dazai is human, Dazai is what keeps Chuuya human. so the whole thing didn't make sense to him.

To sum up, Dazai has a fuck ton of trauma and needs therapy, but seriously, he is a very complex and well done character and isn't just a suicidal maniac.

[knockyasocksoff2022]

The Train PT 2 - DAZAI

| 3,151 words |

The tension in that room was palpable, so I don't go far. Instead, I lean against the door to eavesdrop like some schoolgirl.

Fukuzawa's plan shocks, me but doesn't surprise me. I suppose he's trying to be kind. He must think that suicide was my intent when I shouted out my name back at the reaping. He's wrong. I want to be free. Of everything. I want to no longer have any care for anything at all. To let go. To lose every last shred of humanity that drags me down with feelings for his death in these games. 

What really stirs me is Nakahara's defence.

He says he doesn't want to kill me but he is in favour of letting me have my way and die. I wonder if it came down to it would he really . . . Yes. Yes, he would. And I wouldn't want it any other way.

Still, it's interesting to know. I'll find a way to use that, I'm sure.

I retreat from the hall to my compartment when I hear Nakahara's footsteps. He slams his compartment door. A few minutes later he starts shouting. Finally ripping off the mask of cool he's managed to keep on all day.

"Fuck! Fuck this!" 

There's a sound like his foot connecting with a hard surface.

"FUCK YOU!" 

His blinds are open and I see him giving two middle fingers.

"Fuck this entire fucking place! Fuck estrogen! Fuck depression! Fuck suicide! Fuck Dostoevsky! Fuck his games! Fuck everything!!!"

I wince. That's brave of him, to so openly insult President Dostoevsky in front of even a small camera. I hope he has the sense to keep it to himself in front of a bigger one or else we're all in hot water. I'd better go and shut him up before he says anything more incriminating.

I'm not ready to make my exit just yet, and certainly not at the hands of some peasant peacekeeper.

I stick my head out and shout at an obnoxious volume (like that entire train hasn't just heard Nakahara) "Chibi, is that you? I thought I heard some small annoying barking. Maybe it was my imagination. It's hard to tell from all the way down there."

"Oh you little . . ." he trails off, suddenly unsure. I can see him turning things over in his head. I know Nakahara. He wants a fair fight, just as he told Fukuzawa. He won't hurt me before the games, but that doesn't mean he likes me. We both need to pick sides. I've chosen mine, now it's his turn.

He brings his gaze up to meet mine, those usually stormy grey eyes seeming somehow clearer. The eye of the storm. I should be afraid. "Just stay the hell out of my way and try not to kill yourself, okay?"

But when have I ever had any regard for my health or safety?

I give him my best sloppy grin. "Okies!"

He ignores it the same way he always does. We both go back to our compartments. I won't be alone though, not for long anyway. 

Even when I close my door and both of us have pulled our shades down I can still see his eyes. Such peace with hurricanes roiling deep within them. He seeks to feel alive not knowing that he's already more human than I'll ever be. He's a better person, that's for sure. When I'm gone he'll take over my job assisting with the training of the younger students. He'll be better than I am. Well, kinder. Maybe not better.

It's those eyes that give me the idea.

Sure enough, not five minutes later Fukuzawa is knocking.

"Osamu, open up. It's time to talk."

"Chill old man, I already know about the "birds and bees". And I'd never do Nakahara anyways, he's too short."

'Osamu! This isn't funny. I'll get an attendant to open the door with the master key."

"Do it then."

"Why must you be so difficult? You're only hurting yourself."

"Yeah. I'm something of a master when it comes to self-sabotage."

I hear an attendant coming down the hall. Oh, curse Nakahara. He must have ordered something. What, I wonder?

I sit up straighter.

Quickly the door opens, and Fukuzawa walks in, Haori swishing behind him (He'd changed into traditional Japanese garments as soon as he got on the train). He sits on the edge of the bed.

When the attendant's footsteps have long faded he asks, "Why did you do it, Osamu?"

I sigh. No point messing around anymore, He knows I won't be sleeping anyway. Insomnia. I've had it since I was a baby.

"I no longer wish to be human. Existing is fine, just so long as I have no more humanity to weigh me down."

He just nods, understanding as if he could ever understand.

"You're so like your mother. She commits herself to logic and reason and achieves much the same effect. Why can't you settle for that? Why must you insist on dying?"

"Who says I want to die? Perhaps I simply wish to lose myself in the fighting."

"I know you, Osamu, maybe not as well as I think I do, but we both know if you come back you will feel more human than ever. The opposite of emotionless, numb, but heavy. And you've always wanted to fly above everything, not sink into the depths. So yes, I know you plan to die, whether it is in the arena or before. And because of that I must appeal to you, it is my duty as your . . . mentor."

"Mentor, hmm?"

"You know I'll miss you!"

I raise my eyebrow. What makes him think I care? "Will she?"

"Of course."

"You just said she no longer feels. So it's just you. And I'm very selfish, you see. So what's one more loss to the dozens you've already seen?"

He looks away, his voice distant, never really leaving the arena or the train behind. "Maybe so. But think of Nakajima-kun and Akutagawa-kun. They both look up to you so much. What am I going to tell them when you end it all on that big screen. Are you trying to mimic Oda's death or something?"

He knows he's gone too far. We both go so silent the room might as well be a vacuum, sucking away all noise everywhere.

"I know you were listening. Of course, I hoped, but there's no way you weren't."

"Naturally. So what are we going to do about our chibi?"

"You may want to give up your own life, but I know that, no matter how much you plot and scheme, you want no part of his death. Throw your support to him. Ally with him. Help him win, then take yourself out as gracefully as you can."

"No."

"No? I thought you craved death."

"Yes, it's death I crave, not surrender. I will under no circumstance surrender to the games or to Nakahara. The President knows exactly where he can put his games and his government and Nakahara and I are equals. I will not surrender."

"So what will you do?"

"Why, I thought you'd never ask! People in the Capitol don't believe in depression. We need a reason and we need to make it dramatic!"

"Osamu." He uses his warning tone, "What in the good name of Panem are you thinking?"

"One half of a lover's suicide. A sacrifice in the name of young love, of course!"

He just raises a stoic silver brow. I continue, thoroughly enjoying his confusion.

"When it comes time for my interview I'll tell everyone I'm in love with Chuuya, that I have been since I was young, but it's one sided so when I kill myself everyone will automatically assume I did it so he can live. Wonderful isn't it. Tragedy that has an actual point for once. And no one will question it."

"One sided?"

"Of course. Ch- Nakahara Would never agree to fake date anyone, especially not me, and even if he did, he'd be horribly unconvincing. Everyone knows slugs are terribly liars."

He ignores the insult. "True. But do you think they'll believe it?"

"Why wouldn't they? They don't know me. And we both know I could make them believe my hair was as red as Nakahara's if I wanted to."

"So a fake personality, then."

"Have you forgotten in old age? All my personalities are fake. I must simply select one. I'll be stoic, an introvert. It's cuter that way. The quiet standoffish, sarcastic one and the fireball."

" . . . You . . . you've put a lot of thought into this."

I know exactly what Fukuzawa is implying. He's more observant than he lets on, but I can always feel his probing gaze on me. Still, there are things he gets wrong. He's never read me right, and I let him.

"Actually I didn't. I only thought it up five minutes ago."

"Well if you've only just-"

"When have I ever been wrong?"

He gives no answer, face an unmoving mask.

"You know I'm right. And, it will make Nakahara more desirable to the Capitol and less desirable to the tributes. I mean, sure he's got the looks, skill and strength, but that rebellious little temper of his will be a problem. And you know it. The President only likes people he can control and manipulate for his gain. I know that Nakahara's will is far too strong for that. Having me "in love" with him will make him seem softer, easier to handle, lovable, vulnerable. Less of a threat. The people will pay him more attention, and more sponsors, and the government will pay him less. With my "affections" he can win. . . . See, it's simply the Power ~ of ~ LOVE ~ !"

To be honest the thought occurs to me as I speak. I can see that I haven't yet fully convinced Fukuzawa.

"And in the arena?"

"In the arena? I'll make enough of a scene in training that people will hesitate to come for him. It will help me as well. If they think I'll be protecting him they'll think I'm weak. They will try to hunt me first, despite my skill, and walk right into my trap. I'll be protective, defensive, a guard dog, ironically. I'll kill as many opponents as I can, save him as you wish me to, and then myself. But here's the trick. I must make Nakahara himself believe it. He would never allow it if he thought it was to help him win. Stupid dog, he'd assume it was pity. That I don't know he could easily win if I wasn't in the equation. He's far too proud for that."

"Do you think he'll let you?"

"Whatever do you mean?"

"I mean, do you think he'll let you kill yourself?"

"Why would he not? He has no affection for me, friendly or otherwise?"

"Yes, but he does have morals. He won't want to cause someone's death if he can help it. And as you said, he's proud. He will want to fight you, not let you take your own life. He would have an extremely hard time if he thought he'd won on a technicality."

"It's better if he does. If it seems he did not win by fighting Dostoevsky may be more inclined to leave him alone afterwards."

"Yes, but when has Nakahara ever been logical."

"It is not a matter of logic, and if there's one thing i'm good at, it's performing. I will be so in love, so loyal, so distraught and there will be nothing Nakahara can do about it, because even if he did so wish, no human can willfully change their romantic inclination. Nakahara is straight as a ruler. As long as I make it seem that love is the only thing that can save me then there will be nothing he can do about it."

Fukuzawa looks at me for a moment, really looking me over, trying to examine me, peer into my head the way I do so easily into his and others. He looks impressed, a bit afraid.

" . . . They say love conquers all. I hope for both your sakes that's true. We'll be in the tribute quarters by 23:45 That's almost eleven and a half hours. We have to be up at 5:00 AM tomorrow and I know how long it takes you to get back to sleep once you've been woken up. So, do try and get some sleep, Dazai."

"If I'm lucky."

He frowns sympathetically. "I could have them bring you some pills."

"I don't want their pills."

"I suspected as much. Tea?"

I weigh the pros and cons. They won't harm me before the games. And as much as I loathe to admit it, I do need the sleep. The last thing I need is to catch an exhaustion-induced fever right before the games. Eh, what's the harm?

"Alright, but watch them pick the mug and make it."

"You're paranoid."

We both know I'm not.

It's only half past 12:00 (They moved lunch up to 13:00 because of the early breakfast) but Fukuzawa knows I won't eat so there isn't much to do. He's always wanting me to get more sleep. I can operate just fine in only a few hours but he's always telling me I'm not getting enough, that I need more. As if I'm unaware. 

I'm acutely aware. I always respond that I can't. That's not how it works with me. I can't just decide to sleep. It takes at least three hours of fighting with my body before I can even begin to unwind.

-

I don't bother changing into the silken pyjamas with the capitol seal (a smiling mouse with angel wings) on them. 

Seven minutes later he comes back with a mug. It smells perfect and there's charming steam rising from the top. He takes a sip through a straw. We sit in silence for three minutes. Fukuzawa sets the reusable straw on the nightstand. Nothing happens.

Satisfied and with exhaustion deep in my bones I take a sip. It's the perfect warmth, not like how I usually make it, nearly boiling. I can already feel myself slipping away. Being unconscious in a strange place isn't good, but I can't help it now. I take another careful sip, and then another.

I hear the clink as the still half-full mug is taken away, then nothing.

-

It's not the sun that wakes me. There's no sun at 22:50. Instead it's Fukuzawa. He gives another one of his sympathetic smiles. He must have to make that face so much. It disgusts me to think I'm making him do it again. Why does he waste it on me? This is what I want.

"Is Nakahara up?"

"Yes, he slept in proper sleepwear, so he's changing."

I ignore the judgment in his tone. He doesn't need to try and lighten the mood. "Mm. What were lunch and dinner?"

He looks honestly as if he's trying to recall it, but can't. "I wasn't paying attention. I was in my compartment."

"Hey! You always get on me about eating!" I groan, forcing myself up. I'm stiff from my first proper sleep in at least a year.

"I didn't think Nakahara wanted to see me after our talk and I was worried he'd avoid the dining car if I was there, so I cleared out so he'd eat."

"How considerate."

He gives a comical thumbs up, "That's my job."

He rubs my shoulders. I suck in a breath when he gets to a knot. His hands pause, beginning to work it out carefully, practically a professional from 19 years of doing this. He doesn't scold me about sleeping in weird positions, only relieved that I got any sleep at all.

"We leave in 10 minutes. Do you want to change?"

"Not really. The less I do and rev my brain up the easier it will be for me to fall back asleep." My voice is still thick, not fully awake. A good sign.

"Get changed if it makes you more comfortable, I can always get you more tea."

"But I like the feeling of rest. I like not fully being here."

He gives that smile again.

"Okay, I'll get you when Nakahara is ready."

"Kay."

I fall back into bed.

-

When Fukuzawa comes back, he's accompanied by Nakahara who wears one of the tee-shirts from the stack I gave him earlier. At first, I don't think he's wearing any trousers, but then I see black hems as he stretches. The shirt is so long on him it looks like a tunic. His shorts must be from the girls' clothes because they're fitted at the hips and show off most of his muscular legs. He probably had to wear them because of his small waist. I wonder if he feels uncomfortable. He looks completely at ease, eyes bleary as if he's just woken up. Too bad that peace won't last.

Luckily for us, the capitol is lazy, because it's so late, there are only a few of the most determined reporters at the stations. As we step off the train Nakahara tenses, readying himself like a predator that's caught the scent of another predator encroaching on its territory. He looks unsure of what expression to make. After a moment of thought he settles on a smirk that could be defiant or just competitive. Risky. We'll have to watch him.

In preparation for my announcement, I walk just a little closer than could be considered normal for two perfectly straight males. I giev the repoeters aloof smiles. Empty. Dangerous. 

I know I look much more put together than one normally would at this hour, simply because I never changed out of my clothes and it's tempting to bite my lip at the female reporter still in a short red night dress, but I have to make my plan convince, so I just walk by.

-

The Districts get floors in reverse order. The lobby is public to reporters and staff of the games and they often show clips of the tributes there. One gets the first floor after that and Twelve gets the penthouse. We're Two, so we get the second floor.

The large floor plan feels enclosed somehow, like a cave, and all around real rock wall textures and sculptures decorate the place. Even the floor is textured, with boulders rising out of some parts of the ground. I guess they feel we are competent enough not to trip.

Nakahara wraps a grey throw around him in front of the grey geometric sofa and I know he's imitating a bat. He agrees with my assessment. We've always been this way, in tune with each other's every movement, predicting attacks. How else would we fight for the top spot in training? We know each other best, if either one of us is going to die it will be by one of our hands. I mean, I've been thinking of ways to kill Nakahara for the past nine years. What could go wrong?

Fukuzawa ushers me to the first bedroom. Grey, grey, grey and more grey. I don't notice much else as he all but pushes me into bed. (I fall far easier than I'd like.)

I guess I'll just have to explore tomorrow.

The Hunger Games | soukoku |

Dazai and Chuuya are from District 2. Fukuzawa is their mentor who never talks about his games. Ranpo is their District Escort. Dostovesky is the President. Nikolai is a Telvision show host. All is great in Panem. Why do you ask?

(This fic includes Trans female to male Chuuya. If you don't like it, just don't read it.)

[yoursecretmuse]

My Perception On No Longer Human by Osamu Dazai

🥀 This year has brought me many joys, that have left me with melancholy victories. I have been venturing out of my usual book genres and I've found a selection of well to do books that I simply cannot live without. How I've existed this far without them, I will never know. There are many different types of literature out there and of course I only focus on English and European Literature. Not because I'm bias  in some way. But I've always found American and European culture very interesting. Despite ignoring my very own culture. It had never occurred to me, that until now, I have never heard of Asian Literature. It's like an unknown phenomenon that no one speaks of. When I think back of my studies in school, I've never even heard of my teachers mentioning Asian writers at all. It was like they didn't exist or people found Asian culture not important enough to read about. Which is odd because in Asian countries they have liberties filled with European novel and American novels. Is it safe to say that Asian people find European and American culture interesting, though we do not share the same feelings toward them. Nevertheless, I stumbled upon Osamu Dazai after reading a mutual friends post about Vincent Van Gogh. It was a silly meme that consisted of Van Gogh and Osamu talking over their depression. Which is not something to joke about but I must confess I found it humorous. Through that humor, I decided to research Osamu and the rest is history. So, here is my thoughts on the exceptional book, No Longer Human. I want to give an in-depth review without giving the book away too much (if at all). But I must warn you that spoilers may become a possibility. No Longer Human is broken into three parts, including an introduction in the beginning by Donald Keene, as well as a Prologue & Epilogue by Osamu Dazai himself. So, to make things easier to understand, I'm going to review each part individually.

The Introduction Normally, I would skip this part of the book because at times it can be very boring and bland. But after reading The Sorrows of Young Werther by Johaan Wolfgang Von Goethe, I found it important to read book introductions because they can have valuable information about the writer. In this section, Donald Keene noted how under appreciated Asian writer are in literature. For some odd reason, American & Europeans cultures specifically seem to feel like we cannot learn anything from Asian culture. Perhaps it has something to do with our history with going to battle with certain Asian countries. Yet, that did not stop countries like Japan and China from filling their liberties with American & European literature. Which upsets me. Had it not been for Van Gogh, I would have missed out on an extremely talented writer. I'm not sure who is to blame for this but I find the idea of not representing Asian writers outside of manga is shameful and sad. There is more to their culture than just that. However, as a whole our world only views Asian people in a small and certain light, that barely gives them any kind of positive recognition outside of the obvious stereotypes. In short, I really urge everyone to take time and read the introduction and share your thoughts on Keene's and my views. What do you think and why is Asian literature so lost and underrepresented? Why do Asian writers rather be on the bottom of American top writing lists, than the top of Asian writer lists? It is very interesting.

🥀

The Prologue In this section, you learn of how Ōba Yōzō (aka Dazai himself) feels alienated and very much of a misfit. He tells you how all of his life he has worn a mask to hid his true sensitive and self destructive self. He harshly criticizes himself and informs you of how he feels about the nature of "humans" and how he never felt like one, thus making him believe that he is not. I like this part of the novel because I can relate to it in so many ways. Many things he explained and said is how I felt (and still very much feel) about myself. Not only of my appearance and state of being but also without people. We both share the same reflection on our confidence or lack there of as a child. I shared his thoughts on normality being ugly and being bland and not standing out is worse than being ugly or beautiful. He even goes on to explain that death has more of a soul or an expression than him. The ugly/void he felt as a child (as well as his whole life) has manifested into a visible void, that crept from his inner darkness and it carries a bland look. Which to me speaks volumes. 🥀

The First Notebook Unable to cope with the world around him, Ōba begins to become a jokester and class clown, in order to mask away the alienation that he feels. He engages in planned fails and acts as if he has no clue as to what he does. He tells us of his environment at home. His father always being gone on business and his mother he did not mention much. He speaks of his maids/servants mistreating him, but he never reported them because he sees it as pointless. We also learn he views a "human" as someone who is happy and hopeful. Perhaps, attractive in some way and could possibly have a great deal or comfortable amount of money. Which is strange because his family were quite wealthy and well known. He speaks of how he feels his life is a shame and the life of a "human" was not cut out for him. There is much more to be said here but I do not wish to spoil everything. I still want readers to get a wow factor from this book, without knowing every details and topic. 🥀

The Second Notebook A very key factor in this part is that Ōba is caught by another student named Takeichi who suspects and confronts him on faking his fall during "gym" class. This sends Ōba into a manic behavior and he somewhat becomes obsessed with Takeichi and fears that he will expose him for being a fraud. I found this interesting given Takeichi had no intention on exposing Ōba or telling anyone about his opinions on his stunts. Certain things happens and the two become somewhat of friends and Takeichi began to mention things to Ōba that were predicting and in a way life changing for Ōba. Ōba also finds an strong interest in art, which leads him to start painting. Ōba also becomes apart of a communist group and becomes a respectable member. Though, he does not share their same views and is only there because he views them as misfits. In this section, a young man now, Ōba meets someone by the name of Horiki. Horiki is also a college student but exposes Ōba into an unfortunate and dreadful life cycles, that pleasures and destroys him further. He also tries to commit suicide with a woman named Tsuneko, who dies but he does not. This even tears him apart and causes his family to the verge of disowning him. 🥀

The Third Notebook: Part One Ōba begans to have multiple affairs with different women, from different walks of life. He becomes a heavy drinker and is expelled from college. He becomes too focus on self destruction, he was not able to create or focus on his artwork. He tries to quite smoking and drinking. But struggles terribly. He marries a young girl, who tries to encourage him to stop drinking and for awhile it works. And for a moment Ōba is happy. The two both marry and move in together. 🥀

The Third Notebook: Part Two Working as a cartoon and sober, Ōba feels somber toward marriage life. He thinks of his wife as native and innocent. But he falls into bad habits once he is visited by an old friend named Horiki, who (with Ōba) witnesses Ōba's wife being sexually assaulted by an associate friend. Ōba begins to blame himself, as well as his wife and becomes manic and fills himself with alcohol and is committed into a mental hospital. After leaving his wife for another woman. This parts ends with him being brought to a home that his brother purchased for him and given the money he needed for living and personal interest. Ōba is left feeling empty and recounts his choices and views of hisself. 🥀

Epilogue We are then given the prospective of an outsider, who wanted to meet Ōba but fails. He then meets a friend of Ōba and she gives him the three notebooks. The man is intrigued by the notebooks and decides to publish them. We are left with a reflects of Ōba's friend telling us that he was a kind and gentle soul, who made everyone laugh and smile. 🥀

My Final Thoughts I believe this is one of the greatest books that I have read. I love the rawness of this book and I adore how the events were true. I feel that Osamu Dazai was a great writer and his death is very unfortunate. I find the way he told his life very interesting and beautiful and poetic. I wish I was able to meet him and praise him for being an amazing artist and writer. But the result would probably remain the same. There is so much that we can learn from Osamu and his life. His perception on life and people is very interesting and a very rare viewpoint on life. I highly suggest that everyone checkout this novel and spread the works of Asian Literature. Thanks For Listening. -𝓒

[xo-cuteplosion-xo]

The Ending of The Everlasting Sun.

Soukoku angst: will have 2 parts, one is Chuuya pov another is Dazai pov (Dazai is part 1 aka this piece. I'll start chuuya's tomorrow)

I’ll do a version for Dazai after (not pov but version so Chuuya can have the dose of Dazai’s pain T_T).

Warnings: Death, gore, violence, angst with just more angst. (idk if i consider dazai ooc but towards the end is mostly how i feel the situation would happen, so kinda ooc)

TBH, I don't know why I wrote this but hey I love feeding peeps and myself angst so, here you go.

The Ending of The Everlasting Sun. | A Soukoku Angst one-shot |

words: 4264

Dazai’s pov- (it swaps between third and first. I know my writing style is weird af)

The sun, a forever gleaming light in life. They say even in death, the sun won’t fade from your view. For light, something that brings reason to a life so pitched in black is everlasting. There is a place that resides within a person the sun that will never leave. Like the memories that one left behind shall forever hold. Memories will not fade, even as the deceased are placed within mounds of dirt, their body left to neatly decompose.

They say it is natural to feel your heart so heavy. To feel so pained when death washes over. Death can change a human, they say, death is rebirth, something shall always come from it. In some ways, Dazai knew the truth of such words. For he’s experienced the death of his light. At least he had thought the brunette, who’d stuck by his suicidal tendencies, his cruel ways, he thought that man had been the light. He had changed, he’d moved on into the light of this world. His heart may still be shadowed in the darkness the mafia left. The memories of those he left may never leave, but he was in the light. He was the light for another now. Still, dark himself, he’d help lead his news pupil to the light. He repeated this so often, yet why, why did his mind travel back to those days, the days when he was alongside that small ginger boy? The boy with anger issues could be heard a mile away, was he important? Why must he feel as if he left behind something important when he’d listened to a friend's dying wish? Surely he was better off now? He felt better, life wasn’t as black or as unlit as it had once been. So why? Why was it always that ginger that popped into his head on those restless nights? He worried so much if he was okay. If he was out there using that uncontrollable side without him. Ever since he left, he’d worried that ginger would do something as stupid as that. So maybe, just maybe, this world had blessed him with two lights. A light to change, that light had left him to save him. Then the second light, the light that showed him he could love and be loved. This world could take both lights to make such a realization, and eventually, this world, so cruel and dark would. Not by fate, but by the hand of an enemy who sought out Dazai’s weakness.

I stood beneath pelting rain, my mind held within it one thought, where was he? Never had the small boy I'd fallen for in my early teens missed a chance to torment me as I had tormented him. Never had he let the phone, to which we still held each other's numbers unblocked, reach the full number of rings before the voicemail kicked in. I had never felt this before. Nor had I the courage to admit such a thing. For feelings were only a danger to men like myself. I am undoubtedly cruel. Even now, in my early twenties, I stand beneath the rain alone. The mistakes of my past hanging over me for somebody to eventually discover. The past profession I had tried to hide and had hidden well for many years was creeping to my heels. The man whom I'd sought help from was gone, his final words my reason to be in the light. If neither side means anything, he told me to help the defenseless, to help the orphans. That is what I did. I left behind the ginger-haired boy whom, I now say with hesitance, I loved. It is a fine point that I was able to decline such things until after I left the mafia, for otherwise, I may have tried to do good whilst in the mafia, so I could stay with my final light within my life. Many have shed their light on me. The orphan I took in has shocked me many times, reading me in a way I thought only Oda, my extinguished light, could. He knew I was mourning that past friend when he found me at his grave. He continues to shock me to this day, the only one who can occasionally see past the mask I've worn since I was 14, since Mori found me. Kunikida has taught me responsibility and morals. There is still a bottle of things I shall never change. Some people can’t change. My mind prevents me from collecting such information about being human. My ability says it all, does it not? It is a perfect description of myself. The intelligence I share with Dostoevsky is merely one of the many things that keep me behind the wall of change. I may do things for another reason, but I am still a shadow over the people around me. I curse them all, I have brought heavy burdens onto the agency, I harm all of those around me. Love is a feeling I'm incapable of. At least, I can not recognize true love, only conclude that is what this pain is. It is a pain like no other, it is not physical, but no sense of being can push away the tangent throb of every beat. It is my mind, and the way I was brought up so young, that initially warped me beyond repair. That is why I am here, running in the rain despite my coworkers protesting to stop me.

Dazai understood the trap he was headed for, but he knew the trap would result in a fatality either way. If it was his death that waited for him, then he was alright with that. If it was painless, and he died a quick death before his mouth could run to say final bidding words to Chuuya, then he’d die. If this taunt was to break him, if he were to be late, he would drop to his knees and beg his old friend, who lay watching over him, to be forgiven for his actions tonight. If some awful being really did oversee this world, let it give Dazai one moment of peace. Let him have one good light stay until he is gone. He couldn’t do it again, the pain of holding a bloodied body within his arms, it would be hell. He knew not of true mourning, the pain of losing the one, who in a storybook, could be considered a soulmate. He knew it, others knew it, so many people knew the way he stared at Chuuya was not a friendly matter. There was lust within his soft chocolate hues, a hidden cave behind closed doors. Secret thoughts hidden in his mind. The things he wished he could have done before he left, the way he wanted to fix things, to regain what he had lost by leaving the mafia.

With every soft patter, Dazai flew between streets and yards. With every step, he grew closer and closer. With every new step, he felt his heart sink. For the area around was brittle and frail. The ground was crushed and indented. Some buildings lay in tattered pieces. Holes the size of beds lay stretched in the buildings and grass. The worst began to form in his head as his legs picked up into a pace he thought he could never take into. His lungs burned with the inhaled drips of water that turned to flames within his lungs. He pushed past the pain, the burn, the tired flail of limbs. His legs grew numb, but he refused to stop until his arms were flying open doors to a building that looked so horribly damaged.

As if I were the show that night, I could remember the lights. My lungs felt like fire, and my legs were ready to buckle beneath my frail body. I had not eaten a proper meal for weeks, my pockets empty from money spent to cover the scars I had littered my body with. The night is a haze within my mind. An unwilling nightmare I wish to set aside and to never look at again. A night I wish could be rewritten. It was a night that even I had thought the same way as Destoveski. My mind was no longer set right, that side of me to which was feared, had ripped from its confines and torn through to confine me to my own mind. I had truly wanted to tear a sheet from the book spoken about so much in this little town of Yokohama. If it meant my lights could come back and this world could change, then I would, I would do it without a blink. I’d make myself the villain to free my light. I would do it for the right reasons. Yet, I could never ruin the lights of others. There would be too many sacrifices to do such a thing at that moment. To this day, I curse myself for thinking like that man, thinking about such things would make me like him. Dostoevsky was no man I wanted to be.

The light pulsed for a moment before illuminating the room in a sharp glow of white. Dazai stood blinded before the room came into focus, the empty space warm in comparison to the pelting rain. For a moment, the world had paused, allowing his mind to make a sharp halt and think. Though his thoughts were not something he wished to hear. The thoughts inside his head screamed an equal verse to the night he’d lost Oda. He had no more time to pause, as soon as he’d adjusted to the blaring lights, he was scanning the room, finding the spots of blood, the corpses littered on the ground. Then, he was running against his will again. The next thing he knew, he was diving forward too quickly brush against the ginger, who’d consumed his thoughts since they reunited all that time ago.

The first thoughts I had when I felt the cloth of his jacket, the same one I had sown hat-rack into when we were 15, were thoughts of panic. I was always the type of man who wore a mask, but that mask only masked my depression. I yearned for death, I lived to be human, and that feeling you have right as you fall victim to death may be my only chance at life. My co-workers were never worried about me. At first, I had shocked them. I remember the way Kunikida halted with his trust, how on my first job he watched me with a hawk's eye. Never once did I not feel the burning gaze of his judgment. I never blamed him, I was a man with an erased past. There was nothing to tell whether I was good or evil. The day I entered the agency, I would have said I was that darker gray that wisps on the side of black. Today, I would tell you I wanted to be the light, to be good, but I am far from it. It shall always be my nature to look up into another and dive within their soul. My hands are skilled in ways of torture. I could shoot down an enemy with my eyes closed. These pieces of me still exist, even though I had locked them to the confine of my mind, a faraway nightmare that haunted me. The faces of the victims who plead because they had family, haunt me. It’s not remorse I feel, it’s a haunting reminder that I shall never see that friend again. When I die, I shall not meet him in the afterlife, if there is one at all. I like to believe that one can look up and think there is such a place. These thoughts, wishes, all suddenly reappeared the moment his body fell to the floor. Yet, even coated in his own blood, his breathing so unsteady I feared he was only a few breaths from death, he remained beautiful. How could I, a genius strategist with an inhumane IQ, let this happen? Why had I not called him, this ginger, ocean-eyed slug? Chuuya, he’d always be those names to me. I still wonder why we call each other such things, but it makes us both feel alive. With him, I could act like a child, as I never had a true chance to be a child. Even now, if I could muster up the courage as I write, I'd twist the narrative so it looked as if I did not care. If I did that, I would dishonor the words we had shared that night.

Dazai rushed over the pavement to grab hold of Chuuya. His hands sliding over the boy's body to pull him over his lap. His eyes are a sea of worry and panic. One of his hands grabbed the boy’s wrist lightly, his pulse was so slow, his eyes were already slowly dropping, but Dazai stayed confident. “Hey Chibi, you’re an idiot.”

The frail form of the boy beneath him cracked a small smile. “You’re the idiot you- his body racked itself with a spurt of coughs, his lips dripping crimson to join the stains on his perfectly pale skin.- d-damn mackerel.”

Dazai dropped the boy's wrist with a chuckle, pressing his hand to the boy's lips. “Yeah, I know Chibi, I know. - The ginger's eyes began to flutter shut.- No Chibi, your eyes have to stay open. Look, I've got people coming to fix you up. So just try to keep yourself awake.” Dazai’s hand moved to cup the other's cheek. “You’ll be okay.”

Chuuya’s breath staggered a wheeze interrupting the shallow breaths he’d been going through. “I’m dying, aren't I?”

Dazai shook his head, feeling his chest sting with the familiar pain of grief. As if somebody took a microscope over the feeling, it continued to grow. By now, he was sure the pain exceeded the total amount of grief he’d gone through with Oda’s passing. “No Chibi, you’re not… you're not dying.” He paused in that sentence looking down at Chuuya, who laughed dryly.

“So fucking optimistic.” They sat in silence, and Chuuya's eyes fixed on Dazai. Though it was unnoticed by Dazai, his clouded tired eyes were on his lips. He was taking into memory the parts of wishes he’d never get. Every passing second, Chuuya felt his eyes threaten to drip shut. He was trying to listen to Dazai, but his eyes were bricks; sleep a melody that sang to him. With the fear of never waking up again, Chuuya lifted his hand from his side to reach Dazai’s cheek, his blood leaving a mark. “Hey, Dazai.” His voice lacked anything but sincerity.

“No Chuuya. No, you’re okay! Just a few more minutes and Yosano will be here! Fuck, just stop moving, keep your eyes open, keep breathing because you’re alright.” Chuuya had never seen Dazai act like this before. So as Dazai’s hand warmly wrapped around his, his head pressing into the cold touch of Chuuya’s, words were spoken.

“Dazai, I. Never. H-hated… you. I. lov-” before those words could finish, his body was shaking. Tears were forming, he was still conscious and very much alive, but his entire system of organs and cells were rejecting him. The use of corruption had been at its limit long before Dazai had touched him. Before his ability had been canceled out, he was beyond death. The way he coughed his hands, flailing out to grab Dazai’s shirt and press their bodies together, made even Dazai emotional. Dazai managed to still the boy's movements. His eyes half-open as he tried to hold onto whatever string was left. “Lo-” this time he was cut off by Dazai’s hand. His head shaking, hearing Chuuya speak would make this far too real.

He wasn’t ready to let him go. For the first time, he wanted to be far from death, far from the pain and suffering of humankind. So as Chuuya smiled and looked to the ceiling, his hand continued to stroke Dazai’s cheek. A reminder he was still alive.

That moment ended all too quickly when Chuuya took a final staggered breath and looked to Dazai. “Loved you.” He finished his sentence before his eyes dropped shut. His hand slipped into a limp state within Dazai’s hold.

It took the brunette no time to jump to compressions. He continuously screamed. A voice that had never once mourned, or shed a tear, now sat in a contorted expression between agony and doubt. His mind was static, for the first time nothing clear could form within his head. He shrieked out for Chuuya. Open your eyes, he had chanted and begged before he no longer had the strength to continue. He simply fell on top of Chuuya, his ear to his chest praying to hear a soft thud. Three minutes passed before his body, devoid of any, and everything was yanked away. Had he been shown a mirror, one would not have recognized Dazai. His clothes were bloodied, his hair disheveled and wet from the rain he’d run in only a handful of minutes ago.

Dazai sat numbly as his co-workers looked around trying to find if there was any danger left. When the scene was clear and Yosano made the final statement, the world truly crumbled. Still, despite having started CPR and rescue breaths, despite having felt the cooling touch of his skin, Dazai had held onto the hope that Yosano would fix this. He watched as she put on a work face. Her heels clicked across the ground as she walked over to Dazai with a doctor's approach, not a friend's approach. She bent before Dazai and began to speak. “Dazai, I need you to focus your eyes on me, alright?” Dazai could read her mind like an open book. His mind, in his numb state, had returned to his 17-year-old self. Devoid of any real feeling, bent on causing pain and suffering. He tilted his head like that child-self would in this situation. For once, he genuinely felt human. “I understand you were close to Nakahara-san. You were also here at the scene. It’s with much regret-” before she could finish, Dazai’s eyes grew cold and clouded, his lips a snarl as he shoved her.

“He’s okay! Chuuya is okay, he’ll wake up! He always does, even when I have to change things in a second advance because I fucked up. He's okay! We’re soukoku, double black. We can’t be put down. We’re partners, we need each other." even Yosano froze at the sudden outburst. The way Dazai cried without realizing the tears were falling. The way he tried to look happy as if he hadn’t watched Chuuya die within his arms. “Right… he’s okay right?” Dazai hardly knew what he was saying, his head foggy, his mind trying to stay collected.

If one could compare him to anything, one would say that moment he'd looked like a child, no older than fourteen, who’d watched a death before their eyes. Yosano collected herself before shaking her head. She decided to take the approach she’d have with a child instead of an adult. For in this moment, Dazai was experiencing what one could call his first-ever truly emotional loss. This was the first time his mind was catching up with him. “Dazai, Chuuya cared very much for you. You know that right?”

Dazai seemed to calm slightly at the thought as he focused on Yosano. “Yeah, he loved me… he said he loved me.” Suddenly, the situation became worse than she’d thought.

“Mhm, and you loved him too?” Dazai took his time to slowly nod before gulping and shrinking down.

“And now… he’s not coming home. No more loud, annoying comments. No more nights at the bar…” Dazai’s voice choked before the sounds of more footsteps followed in.

A high-pitched female voice screamed in a shrieking roar. “Where is he!” Dazai knew that voice. Kouyo, his Ane-san. At least, at one point she’d been his Ane-san. But his eyes stopped looking at Yosano and instead took a glimpse at Chuuya, whose corpse still lay there.

Once more, Dazai’s emotions took control, and he placed his hands over his eyes and shut himself away. Yosano swore under her breath and stood up. “Which one is he?” Yosano stood up rather angrily. She disliked her conversations being so rudely interrupted, even if it were somebody she had a small connection with.

“Chuuya…” the red-haired female stormed over before spotting Dazai first. His body cradled in like a child. A position she’d never seen him in. Her heart could only lurch to the worst. Hesitantly, she looked off to the side and saw it. The bloodied corpse. She spent no more time looking, she couldn’t.

She shoved Yosano away from Dazai, a boy she had once helped to look after and almost raise. Though she resented the boy for abandoning his role as an executive, she knew how much the pair had been connected. So she’d be a mother or older sister for a bit. Something Dazai had never seemed to have. “Dazai, it’s Kouyo, can you look at me? I just wanna make sure you’re alright.”

Dazai peeked from his arms, sniffing in his delirious state as he lunged towards her. Not in a hostile way, but an embrace. Something he never thought he’d need. He felt so human, so alive, but at the same time, he felt so dead inside. He felt as if his life had been torn and replaced within seconds. This feeling he couldn’t place a name on. “I was too late… I couldn’t, and now he’s and I… it’s all my-'' Kouyo was quick to shut him down, muffling her own sobs as she rocked Dazai in her arms.

“Hush child, these things happen. The fault is never that you could not make it in time. The fault lies within the bastard who did this. He always took extremes to protect you, Dazai. So hush now, let yourself grieve.” There was a slight pause as the agency starred in shock. This woman, who most of them knew as a vengeful woman with no remorse, sat cradling a grown man from an opposing organization as if he were her child, no more like an older sister cradling a younger brother. “Dazai, I won’t criticize your reaction, I've seen it many times in the mafia. Little children who witness death at such a young age think they are immune to it. They find another blame or they say they are monsters. You were 14 when Mori took you in. You never had somebody to teach you to grieve. You never needed to, not until now. So listen to me child, you’re going to let it all out, the years of pain and suffering, the years of grief for lost friends, even I have cried in my life. Nobody is immune to pain, some of us just think we are.” As Kouyo spoke, she noted Dazai’s breathing reached a slowing point. He was fast asleep before she finished her words. Her touch was gentle as she brushed a lock of his hair behind his ears.

Next, she walked over to Chuuya and hung her head, murmuring words of mourning. She walked off quickly, but came back moments later with his hat. “He’d want somebody to have it.” Yosano stood beside Kouyo, who choked back her own tears.

“I think it should go to Dazai. He always mocked his hats, even though he loved seeing Chuuya in them. They really were meant for each other. It’s unfortunate such a great pair ended up… in a life like this. Perhaps they will be reborn in an era where they are nothing but students who fall in love. I like to think there is always a second chance for lives that end too short.”

With a nod, they both looked to Dazai, who looked at peace sleeping on the ground.

~

When I woke up that day after, I could hardly remember anything. I had lost myself completely to the side that was human. I truly did try to live on, but it was difficult. No matter where I looked, I could see his laugh, I hated it. The pain that constantly wrapped around me. Hence, why I sit here with a pen. I never took myself to write my thoughts down. Oda had once ruminated about being a reader, he died before he ever could. I miss them both. I say that, but when I look down at the tear-stained paper, so many of them were for Chuuya. A love I never got to kiss or truly love. Today, I will not wake up. I no longer care about things like making my death overly complex and comfortable. I shall go to sleep with Chuuya’s hat at my side. I shall die with him at my side. That is how it should have been. Chuuya should have lived that night. I shall never know what sparked him to use corruption without me there. All I know is the worst person in the world, Destovesky, who now lay in a ditch from my own pistol, threatened the ginger to such an extent he felt the need to use it. In a way, I have solved several problems with one action. I killed the criminal, and I'm killing the single person whose blood runs more mafia black than any other.

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