#dazai believes ghosts exist

[evilkaeya]

meursault girlies but it's a modern au and they're paranormal investigators

[ribbonedreverie]

“You’re Safe.”

Dazai & Ranpo x Reader – Separate Scenarios for

Comfort After a PTSD Episode.

──────────

Osamu Dazai – “Breathe, Bella.”

Dazai sleeps lightly.

It is something few people realize—most believe the act, the exaggerated yawns, the lazy sprawl of his limbs, the way he drapes himself over chairs and across people, sleeping through the dull moments of life as though he is immune to the weight of existence.

But the truth is, Dazai does not sleep deeply.

Because the night is when ghosts come.

When silence is too loud.

When memories slip through the cracks, clawing their way back into places they were never meant to leave.

So when you jolt awake beside him, gasping, trembling, clenching the sheets so tightly your knuckles turn white—

He knows.

Even before you do.

“Belladonna?”

His voice is quiet, hushed, like the whisper of wind through an open window. Gentle, but firm.

You do not answer.

Because you are not here.

Your breath stutters, sharp and uneven. Your hands twitch as if they are searching for something to hold onto, something to ground you, but everything feels foreign, unfamiliar—wrong.

The walls around you aren’t the walls of your home. The air in your lungs isn’t the air of safety.

The sheets beneath your fingers morph into rough stone, the warmth beside you disappears, the bed turns too small, too cold—

You are there again.

And then—Dazai moves.

A shift of weight, a brush of fingers against your wrist, a warmth that should be comforting.

But it is not.

Because to you, in this moment, it is not him.

It is hands grabbing.

It is fingers curling too tight.

It is a touch that does not belong to you.

And before you can think—you flinch.

Violently.

You recoil like you’ve been burned, a choked sound slipping from your throat—

“No—please—”

And Dazai freezes.

Because he knows this reaction.

Has seen it before—on himself, in the mirror, in the way his own body once tensed at the sound of approaching footsteps.

He understands.

And he hates that he does.

Hates that he cannot fix this with a joke, with a clever remark, with a flick of his wrist that makes all the darkness disappear.

So he does not touch you again.

Instead, he moves carefully.

Lowers himself back down, so he is not above you.

Does not block your space, does not make you feel caged.

And then, he speaks.

“You’re not there anymore.”

Soft, steady, unwavering.

Your breath still shudders, erratic, uncertain.

So he keeps going.

“You’re here. In bed. With me.”

A tremor ripples through your body.

“It’s warm, isn’t it?” His voice dips lower, coaxing. “Not cold like it was back then.”

Your fingers slowly loosen from the sheets.

“And you’re not alone.” His words are careful, threaded with something real. “You hear that?”

Silence.

“My voice. My breathing. You’re not alone.”

Another shift—your chest still rises too fast, but no longer frantic.

And finally, finally, you blink.

Once. Twice.

And your eyes—wild, unfocused—settle.

On him.

Dazai smiles.

Not his usual smirk. Something softer. Something real.

“There you are.”

And when you finally exhale, shaky but solid, when your trembling hand reaches for him instead of away—

He does not hesitate.

He pulls you close, slow and careful, arms circling you in a way that is protective without being suffocating.

“Breathe, bella,” he murmurs, his voice against your temple, against your skin, against the places that are still learning what safety means.

“I’ve got you.”

And this time—you believe him.

Ranpo Edogawa – “I Knew You’d Wake Up Like This.”

Ranpo knew this would happen eventually.

Of course he did.

Because he knows everything.

Knows the way your breathing shifts when you start to slip into dreams you do not want to see.

Knows the way your fingers twitch when your body remembers something before your mind does.

Knows the way your nightmares always begin before you realize they’ve arrived.

So when you jerk awake, gasping, the ghost of something terrible lingering in the air around you—

Ranpo is already watching.

Already awake.

Already ready.

“I knew you’d wake up like this.”

His voice is sharp, certain, grounding.

Your head snaps toward him.

But your eyes do not focus.

Ranpo sees it immediately.

The way your chest rises too fast, the way your fingers curl, the way you are already preparing to run, even though there is nowhere to go.

“Nope,” he says, firm, not giving you time to spiral. “None of that. You’re here.”

You don’t respond.

“You hear me?” he presses. “You’re here.”

Still nothing.

So Ranpo takes a different approach.

He grabs the blanket.

And then—before you can panic—

He throws it over your head.

You jerk violently, startled. “What—”

“Good,” Ranpo says, pleased. “Confusion means you’re thinking.”

Your body is still trembling, but your thoughts are stuttering, shifting, breaking from the loop.

“I need you to listen, okay?”

Your lips part. No words come out.

But you do not fight.

That’s enough.

“Take a deep breath,” he says. “In, out. Again.”

You do. Slow, shaky—but real.

“Now, tell me what color the blanket is.”

You hesitate.

“What?”

“Humor me.”

Your fingers press against the fabric. Familiar. Soft. Real.

”…Green.”

“And where did it come from?”

“Our bed.”

“That’s right,” Ranpo says, pleased. “Now, where are you?”

The question twists something deep inside you.

Because you are still not entirely sure.

Ranpo clicks his tongue.

“Let’s try again. Where are you?”

A slow, shaky inhale.

“With you.”

A hum. A shift of weight.

And then—the blanket moves.

Pulled down just enough for you to see his face.

Ranpo—calm, certain, smiling.

Not teasing. Not mocking. Just Ranpo.

“Welcome back.”

Your breath shudders, but steadies.

And when he pulls you into his arms, you let him.

Because he was right.

You are here.

With him.

And that’s all that matters.

──────────

@lyingistheway

Oh, this was such a lovely request—thank you for trusting me with something so intricate and emotional. I truly appreciate the thought you put into it, and I only hope I’ve done justice to the depth of your idea.

That said, I must admit I ultimately leaned toward separate drabbles for Dazai and Ranpo rather than the shared dynamic. It wasn’t for lack of interest—I simply wanted to ensure each of their reactions held the weight and intricacy they deserved. I hope you don’t mind the slight deviation, and I’d love to hear your thoughts once you’ve had a chance to read them.

Additionally, I found myself inspired to write a little something on Dazai and Ranpo’s relationship as well—if that’s something you’d like, I’d be more than happy to share it with you.

And of course, knowing you’re looking forward to my Valentine’s posts? Well, that’s just the sweetest little compliment. Consider me thoroughly flattered. ♡

[raimoka]

— " SKYSCRAPER KILLS MY GHOST IN YOUR MEMORY "

｡ ㅤꕤ ㅤ PAIRING: beastzai & reader.

SYNOPSIS: dazai had been always painfully aware of his inability to obtain the things he wanted.

tags ➜ alternate universe—beast, beast spoilers, pining, gender neutral mc, kinda angsty, no happy ending, one-sided love, author is sleep deprived & may or may not have badly executed this work, lowercase as always. ‹𝟹

⋆ author's notes: another part of beastzai brain rot... this work was inspired by someone's else work, check out their account since it rlly gave me more motivation! also PLEASE give me ur thoughts abt beastzai since i rlly wanna write more abt him

send an order!! → guide ❀ flowers ←

"get away from me."

your words were harsh, accompanied with an abrasive tone which emphasized the words that elicited from your lips.

dazai's breath hitched, his expression distorted and his line of sight drawing meaningless figures in the air. he parted his lips open yet no words elicited from his lips, as if fighting against something invisible, as if he was a fish desperately wanting to say something but with the lack of vocal chords, they are unable to. his hands quaked, lowering his head to avoid the gaze piercing through his soul.

it wasn't the same. it was nowhere close, not even the slightest. the emotions reflecting on your eyes, your tone, your feelings towards him, everything about you. your eyes which would often reflect deep fondness and lenience were filled with cold bitterness, there was no single glimpse of love in your eyes, it was merely pure hatred. the look on your eyes stung him, as if his heart was being pierced by multiple glass shards leisurely, each one of them digging in slowly into the piece of flesh to agonize him and making sure he felt the sensation of each piece.

your love for him, or at least to him in another universe, was sweet as a sprig of mignonette. you showed extreme tenderness to him, so much that it brought queasiness to him with intense warmth engulfing his chest to the point it made his knees buckle underneath him yet all the traces of that love you always held for him was gone.

it wasn't the same.

he abruptly began to laugh, you blinked, tilting your head to the side, feigning your confusion as his soft laughters began to fill the tense atmosphere. he couldn't blame you, if someone suddenly laughed in front of him for absolutely no specific reason, he'd think they lost their mind the sound of his laughter slowly began to ebb away, his shoulders shaking, he was idiotic. how could he forget? he always have been conscious of it ever since the reality of his life had unfolded in front of him, dazai was never meant to be happy. he had no right to, he was in no position at all to deserve happiness, not with the pure blood that tainted his hands, everyone was better off without him and it was proven by the existence of this universe.

he was so distracted at the bright sun he saw for the first time in years upon discovering your presence, the luminance he witnessed left him too struck to the point when he stared at it, he forgot his own ugliness. 

he was so preoccupied with the warmthness that enveloped his chest he forgot his own destiny.

it was never meant to be the same.

he had always known that, he was utterly foolish for believing he could at least be with you, even for a moment.

with his head drooped, the sounds of his shoes stepping against the tiled floor was hushed, walking slowly to your frame. you took a step back, slightly. you were entirely befuddled by the situation unwrapping before you, that was a thing for certain. who wouldn't? you didn't know this person nor did he give any sort appearance of familiarity, however, he knew you wholly, he knew your name, your likes, your routine, but he was merely a stranger to you, nothing more, nothing less. the moonlight shone over your figure, making every single bit of features visible, his head still lowered, sticking in with the darkness—It truly looked as if he was already with it for ages, It suited himself.

his hands precipitously reached out to you, attempting to catch a piece of misty clothes, you initially planned to step back, afraid he would do anything that would harm you, nonetheless, all he did was grasp onto your murky clothes. he loathed it, he detested it, your guard was up, you were cautious and alarmed, you didn't trust him at all. you were petrified of what he was scheming when all he wanted to do was hold you and feel your warmth, in hopes it would make him forget his own reality momentarily even if he disliked being completely vulnerable and exposed. you blinked in surprise as his hands clutched onto your clothes, you couldn't see what he was thinking, he was hiding his eyes away from you. strangely, how he did so felt familiar in spite of you having no recollection of him.

he parted his lips once again, finally opening his mouth after a while, "I won't do anything." he assured, he wouldn't be able to handle it if he hurt you in any sort of ways, he wouldn't forgive himself. you remained silent, like a cold, uncomfortable.

"I won't hurt you, It would be imprudent to do so." he reaffirmed once again, despite knowing his affirmation wasn't most likely gonna be effective especially since you barely recognized him. 

all he wanted was just to get a single hold of you, after all, no matter how much he desired you to look at him with pure fondness, to hold his hand, to feel your hand caressing his face, to wrap your arms around his shoulder, and say some kind words to him like you used to, there was one thing for certain; you wouldn't, It's irrational, a stranger would have no right to feel all those, especially when the said stranger is an enemy of yours.

feeling the uneasiness grow further, you lightly placed your hand onto his bitterly cold hands, feeling his excoriated palms—completely besparred with feculent mire—with your thumb. you withdrew his hand away from yours clothes tattered with specks of dust. you were wholly fazed by his actions, it weirded you out. he understood what you were conveying and he backed away from you, lifting his once drooped head up slightly.

his gaze was kept on the ground, as if he was afraid to see the look you held for him. his eyes were swirling with sorrow and melancholiness, small tears swelling up on the corners of his eyes, It reminded you of a all mudded up mutt left in the streets—attempting to domesticate a monster into a lovable thing.

"I apologize for wasting your time." he spoke, and with that he turned around and left, never to be seen again.

It was pointless to meet up with you once more when he knew better than anyone else that you were completely disturbed by him, after all.

It would be the best option to not show himself to you again and accept you would forever hate him.

₍⑅ᐢ..ᐢ₎ @saelique ,, taglists are open everytime.

[bokkudoesntsleep]

The Unchained Melody: Soukoku

The scent of blood lingered in the air, thick and suffocating. Rain pounded against the pavement, mixing with crimson in a silent requiem for the fallen. Chuuya knelt beside him, hands trembling as they pressed against Dazai’s wound, desperate and useless all at once.

Dazai laughed softly, a sound so painfully familiar yet so distant now. His fingers weakly reached for Chuuya’s, brushing against them with what little strength he had left.

“Oi, don’t you dare die on me, bastard,” Chuuya hissed, voice breaking as he fought to keep his composure. “You always pull shit like this, but this—this isn’t funny.”

Dazai only smiled, his breath shaky, his vision dimming. “Chuuya,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “If there’s a next life… find me, will you?”

Chuuya swallowed hard, his grip tightening. “You idiot, of course I’ll find you.” His voice cracked. “So don’t—don’t go yet.”

But Dazai’s eyes had already fluttered shut, the rain washing away the warmth from his skin.

Chuuya didn’t let go.

──

Years passed. Time was cruel in how it erased memories but left behind the ache of something missing, something lost.

In this life, Dazai Osamu was a name that echoed through stadiums and concert halls. A prodigy, a sensation, a ghost dressed in silk and shadows, pouring his soul into melodies that made hearts ache with emotions they didn’t understand. He was the lead vocalist of Unchained, the most famous band in the world. And yet, he never quite understood why no song he wrote felt complete—like a piece of him was still searching for something, someone.

Meanwhile, Nakahara Chuuya lived a painfully normal life. He worked an office job, complained about his boss, and lived for the few moments of peace his favorite band’s music gave him. Not that he’d ever admit it, but Unchained's songs resonated with him in ways he couldn't explain. Every note, every lyric—it was as if they were meant for him.

Not that he had any reason to believe that.

It wasn’t until fate decided to be cruel once again that their paths crossed.

──

Chuuya never intended to go to the concert. It was his coworker’s fault, really, shoving the extra ticket into his hand and all but dragging him there. The music wasn’t bad—hell, he actually liked it—but he wasn’t about to admit he was a fan.

And then, he walked onto the stage.

Dazai Osamu, in the flesh.

Chuuya felt his breath hitch. It wasn’t just his voice, wasn’t just the way he moved like he belonged in the spotlight—it was the way something inside him stirred, something deep, something that shouldn’t exist.

His fingers clenched around his jacket, heart pounding in his chest.

Dazai was singing about something lost. About promises unfulfilled. About searching for something he couldn’t name.

And Chuuya swore—just for a moment—when Dazai looked out into the crowd, their eyes met.

A flicker of something familiar, something aching.

And neither of them could look away.

─ To Be Continued?

A/N: Chat should I continue this? 🤔

[selfaware-bungou-stray-dogs]

Kenji Miyazawa (self-aware)

Self-Aware! Kenji Miyazawa x GN!Reader

Warning: Platonic Yandere. OOC. English is my second language.

Becoming self-aware

🐄 When he realized, that his life wasn't real, Kenji hurries to the ADA office. He was confused and scared. Scared for his friends.

🐄 Kenji is a simple, cheerful and easygoing boy. And he loves his friends. Right now he must make sure they are safe.

🐄 Kenji finds his friends in the ADA office. No one knows what was happening.

🐄 Despite been scared, despite understanding, that his village and parents doesn't exist anymore, Kenji focused on helping his friends. He still has superhuman strength, it will come in handy.

🐄 Kenji helped to move Katai's belongings to ADA building. He helped with cleaning up the storage on the fifth floor. He helped with arranging sleeping places on third and fifth floor.

🐄 Kenji helped with bringing food supplies to the agency.

🐄 Kenji tried his best to help his friends.

🐄 And then, one day, he felt an entity's gaze on him.

____________________________________

Kenji wasn't angry at the entity. He believes, that if it was malicious, it would already attack them. But it was simply watching. Kenji thought, that, maybe, the entity was a little ghost that were lost and got curious, so they decide to stick around.

Then Atsushi was asking if they feel entity's presence. Before Kenji can answer, Kunikida and President Fukuzawa answer before him. While Kunikida's answer was short, President Fukuzawa also noticed, that the entity feel like something from out of this world. Later, Katai adds to this, that it feels like entity were looking at them behind the screen.

Kenji still thought, that you were harmless. He believes that you have nothing to do with this bizarre situation.

And then time resets.

And Kenji, once again, in the warehouse, where Dazai proclaim he wants to make Atsushi a part of ADA. Both Dazai and Atsushi looked peaceful.

__________________________________

When they start feeling your presence

🐄 Kenji was a little bit taken aback by time reset. But, it seems, his friends start feeling better. Atsushi was calm again, Dazai looked happier, Tanizaki siblings looked better.

🐄 Kenji still feel your presence. But still, he wasn't scared of you.

🐄 They don't have a proof that empty streets of Yokohama and current madness is your fault.

🐄 During Black Lizards' attack on ADA office, Kenji heard the voice.

"Kenji [||||||||] strong. He looked [|||||||||||||||] ray of sunshine"

🐄 After your words, Kenji feels like he was, once again, in his village on a warm and sunny day.

🐄 Kenji smiles. He knew that you are a good entity.

🐄 Soon Kunikida looks as confident as usual. He was talking about the entity with warmth in his voice.

🐄 Then Ranpo finished his investigation. And Yosano stop been always on edge.

"I finished the investigation. It seems, that our entity is a simple human. Like we are. They don't have ability. There are no abilities in their world. And they have no idea, that we can hear them."

🐄 Kenji was glad, that he was right and you aren't bad. But he wished, he hears your voice again.

🐄 And then, Atsushi and Kenji were investigating a car explosion.

_______________________________________

"Whether in a town or a village, whether toward a cow or a person… If you're sincere toward others, they'll respond in kind. That approach has yet to fail me."

Kenji heard the voice.

"sunshine boy" "adorable" "so kind"

"Kenji, I wish there were more people like you. Everyone need more kindness in their lives. I wish I have someone like you in my life."

Kenji feels like someone pet his hair.

[*In reality, you pet manga panel with Kenji on it.*]

_______________________________________

🐄 Kenji will think that it will be nice to see you in person. To become friends with you.

🐄 When President Fukuzawa and Boss Mori proclaim, that Armed Detective Agency and Port Mafia will work together to find a way out of this world, Kenji will do his best to help everyone. He wanted to go to your world. To see the nature. To see you.

And then, one day, the purple moon shined above Yokohama.

When you installed BSD Mayoi Inu Kaikitan

🐄 Kenji's cards will have the highest attack.

"Go, Kenji, go! Let's clear this stage!"

"Your card skill works so good with Chuuya's"

"Kenji's Rainy Season card is so beautiful"

🐄 When BSD gang will gain access to the rest of your phone, Kenji (with Katai's help) will browse the Internet, looking at photos of nature and villages.

🐄 Kenji (with Katai's help) will recommend you videos about nature.

🐄 If you like watching documentaries, Kenji will accompany you.

🐄 Kenji is planning to create a small farm when they reach your world. So you can eat natural products.

🐄 He wants you to be healthy. You are his (future) friend. You are a human being. You deserve kindness.

_______________________________________

You finish watching a video about lotus flowers. It was beautiful and interesting.

You saw a notification from BSD Mayoi. You got another note in your Gift Box. A note from Kenji with some evolution materials attached to it.

"[Y/N], please, don't forget to go for a walk today. Get some sunlight. And don't forget to smile. Kenji Miyazawa"

You smile and, while getting ready for a walk, choose Kenji's card and pet his chibi sprite.

"Thanks for the advice, Kenji. I will go for a walk. And, of course, I will smile."

You didn't notice that Kenji's eyes light up.

[2econd2ight2aver]

BSD Secret Santa

I know this is like extremely late and I'm really, really sorry but I couldn't login into my email, even now I am unable to login, so I couldn't get the info on what person I would be making a gift for.

But enough δικαιολογίες, my gift is a rushed Fyozai enemies to lovers fanfict. And the person who is was the secret Santa is my dear mutural @celestiva and let me apologize in advance i don't usually write fanfiction and English is my second language so I'm extremely sorry if I have grammatical errors. Hope you enjoy it!!!!

A big thank you to @bungostraydogs-secret-santa for organizing all this and being extremely helpful.

So here it is:

The parlour was cloaked in the quiet glow of a winter evening, the only light coming from a crackling fire in the hearth and the pale silver of the moon outside. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed the world beyond like a painting, where snow fell in soft, languid spirals, each flake illuminated as if kissed by starlight.

Fyodor stood by the glass, draped in a cashmere robe. He held a crystal wine glass, the ruby-red liquid within glinting like liquid garnets. As he raised it to their lips, the aroma—a complex symphony of dark berries and oak—swirled with the cold, crisp scent of snow that seeped faintly through the panes.

The wine was exquisite, its taste both bold and refined, warming them from within as the snow blanketed the world outside in pristine silence. He watched as the landscape transformed—branches sagging under the weight of snow, rooftops softening into white curves, the world hushed as if holding its breath.

Fyodor's reflection ghosted against the glass, a faint shimmer of human presence amidst nature's vast, indifferent beauty.

A gust of wind sent the snow swirling into eddies, and he smiled faintly, as though the storm were performing just for him. He tipped the glass, letting the wine linger on his tongue, savoring it like the moment itself—rich, full, and fleeting.

Life, for him, was nothing more than an elaborate game of strategy, and he had mastered the art of staying six moves ahead. Every decision, every interaction, was calculated, the outcome already unfolding in his mind long before it played out in reality. He saw their patterns, their weaknesses, their predictable attempts at control, and he smirked at the thought. They believed they were free, but they were simply pieces, pawns, advancing one square at a time, oblivious to the traps he had already set. To him, the world was just a grand chessboard, predictable, to those who knew the rules.

And yet, there was one person whose actions he couldn't predict. Osamu Dazai.

Memories of their time in together in Mearsult flooded into his head. Their philosophical arguments, the times they played chess together, their mind games, it seemed in the entire world, only Dazai could own up to him, Understand him.

Fyodor had spent his life alone because of his superior intelligence, no one being smart enough to entertain him for more than a couple of minutes. His life's everlasting solitude broken by that man. It seemed as if his life morphed into another one when Dazai entered it. Dazai's unpredictable nature and sharp wits was enough to amuse Fyodor, and turn his dull life into one of suspense.

He thought back to the "debates" he had with him in the prison. "That must've been the first and only time I spoke to a human being not actively trying to achieve something, to manipulate them to doing something for me, but simply for the enjoyment of the conversation." He thought o himself as he sipped on his wine glass.

Flashback

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Life's meaning is derived from the struggle itself, Dazai. Human existence is a test—a divine trial. We suffer because suffering leads us to understanding and redemption. Without meaning, the human soul would collapse under the weight of its own emptiness." Said Fyodor, with a tone of certainty.

Osamu replies, with a smug smile. "Ah, but isn’t that meaning simply a mirage? Something humanity conjures up to avoid the uncomfortable truth: that life is absurd and meaningless? If suffering is the price for understanding, then why strive for it at all? Wouldn’t it be more elegant to simply step off this pointless stage?"

"Your nihilism is as reckless as it is convenient. You reject meaning to evade responsibility. If life is meaningless, why do you persist in living? Your very existence betrays your philosophy."

"Persistence is the ultimate rebellion, Dostoevsky. I exist precisely to mock life’s absurdity. My suffering, my failures, my contradictions—they are my art. If there is no meaning, why not revel in the chaos of it all?"

Fyodor leans forward and replies: "You revel in chaos because you are afraid of order. Order implies accountability—to oneself, to others, to God. You wish to evade judgment, but there will come a time when your defiance will falter. And then, where will you turn?"

Dazai says with a soft chuckle, clearly not convinced. "Perhaps nowhere. Or perhaps I’ll turn to death, my friend. You, on the other hand, cling to your divine framework as a child clings to a bedtime story. But tell me, Fyodor, what if your God does not exist? What then of your precious meaning?"

"Even in the absence of God, morality and meaning are self-evident in the fabric of human existence. You underestimate humanity’s capacity for purpose. A man without purpose is nothing more than a shadow."

Dazai replies with a shrug."And perhaps that is all we are—shadows, flickering briefly before fading into the void. But shadows can dance, Dostoevsky. Shadows can be beautiful, even in their fleetingness."

Fyodor says, narrowing his eyes. "Beauty without substance is a lie, Dazai. Life must have meaning. Otherwise, it is nothing more than despair dressed in disguise."

"Then let me wear that disguise with pride. Meaning, substance, morality—they are simply masks we wear to keep from staring into the abyss. And me? I’ve grown rather fond of the abyss."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

To anyone but themselves this conversation sounds like a bunch of bullshit. The abyss, the absurd, life's meaning? What, are they quoting some kind of philosophy book? Albert Camus? Nietzsche maybe? But no, they understood each other perfectly.

Too bad Dazai got in the way of Fyodor's plans for the birth of a new world devoid special abilities, and the suffering they bring. Perhaps in another life they could've had endless conversations about the meaning of life. Perhaps they could've played games of chess untill the break of dawn.

But in this timeline, that's just an impossible fantasy.

Fyodor stood up and approached his reddish-brown, mahogany piano. Exercising the piano helped him clear his mind, although it was already too foggy due to the ungodly amount of wine he drunk in a vain endeavour to try to forget that warm, fuzzy feeling he felt deep in his heart and chest whenever he had a meaningful conversation with Dazai.

He started playing some symphony he had on the back of his head. He had heard it at Schönbrunn Palace on a "vacation" to Austria to slaughter an ability user who caught on to his plans.

The composition had captivated his very soul, and so he had learned the song by heart. The song was undoubtedly extremely euphonious, harmonizing, and some would even taxonomize it as ethereal. It was literally music to his ears.

[emilover-1]

Why Mori indirectly killed Oda + Why he led Dazai out of the pm

A very short analysis

Killing Oda was the most logical solution, it was; to kill a lower member or to kill more pm members that possibly were higher rank, it didn’t make sense, and even Dazai in the light novel dark era recognized it:

Dazai glances at the at the muzzle still pointed at his face, following which, he turns back towards the center of the room, standing right in front of Ougai, quietly speaking. “I’ve been thinking. Between the mafia, Mimic, and the Black Special Ops Forces, who is the one manipulating these three organizations? When I realized Ango was a member of the Special Ability Department, I reached a conclusion. That conclusion was that this is the Special Ability Department’s plan. Their motive was to let the mafia and Mimic, two illegal organizations causing the government a headache, to kill each other off. If they were lucky, they would both perish together – I thought this was a playbook written by the Special Ability Department, that this was the real reason behind this war. But I was wrong.” Dazai pauses after these words, looking at Ougai. Ougai smiles, shrugging his shoulders, “I’m listening.” “The person who painted this picture was you, Boss. Using the illegal organization Mimic as a threat, you pulled the Special Ability Department onto the negotiation table. And the pawn in the center of this plan was Ango.” Dazai speaks with half lidded eyes. “Boss, the reason you sent Ango to infiltrate Mimic’s ranks was not to obtain information on Mimic. Because you knew that Ango was a spy from the Special Ability Department from the very beginning. Am I right?” Ougai does not affirm or refute this, only saying, “Huh.” “If you think about it that way, the meaning behind several truths will change accordingly. At the same time Ango passed us insider information on Mimic, he had to pass that information on to the Special Ability Department as well. They are undead ghosts that will not listen to negotiations or compromises, only seeking a battlefield. Such danger cannot be compared to the mafia. If this went on any further, conflict would break out between them and the government agencies. This is what the Special Ability Department thought. The next thing they thought of was to fan the flames of war between Mimic and the Port Mafia, manipulating matters by leaking information to Mimic through Ango. As long as Mimic bites the hook, the mafia has no reason not to fight back. Based on this line of thinking, they instructed Ango to engage in combat – all according to your plan.” “You’re overestimating me, but it’ll still be troublesome for me.” Ougai smiles. “To the mafia, the government agencies are also a demon-like existence, an opponent that cannot be manipulated easily.” “That is why you would come up with such a large scale plan – Because the value of that envelope is worth all that effort.” Dazai points to the black premium envelope beside Mori’s hand.

pages 125 and 126 of the light novel

By what they talk about, its pretty obvious that Dazai recognized it was a logical solution, yet he had got very attached, Dazai has little to no problems in using people, but the problem was that Dazai had got too attached with Oda. Not to mention that getting the envelope was beneficial to the port mafia, it was like getting rid of two birds with a stone or however it is said, and as I've said a lot of times, Mori goes to the option that benefits everyone in Yokohama or at least to the pm.

He is called "The one who fell to the optimal solution" isn't he?

next topic:

Why Mori led Dazai out of the pm

This is more of what I believe but I still wanted to include it

Mori led Dazai out of the pm because of two reasons:

He was afraid Dazai would aspire to take his position as a boss

He wanted Dazai to learn a lesson

It's mentioned that he is afraid of Dazai so we aren't going to talk about this topic right now, but about the lesson topic; Mori wanted Dazai to become more like him in case Dazai were to take the boss position, but Mori didn't thought that Dazai had grown that attached to Oda, and while Dazai did recognize that killing Oda was the most logical solution, he didn't like it, he would have preferred that more members had lost their lives than Oda losing his, and therefore to Mori; Dazai didn't want to learn the lesson.

Thank you for reading

I got the quotes (if it can be considered that) from this pdf, i hope you enjoyed my analysis! its very short but what can we do

[blind-dandelion]

„...the face is not merely devoid of expression, it fails even to leave a memory. It has no individuality. I have only to shut my eyes after looking at it to forget the face. I can remember the wall of the room, the little heater, but all impression of the face of the principal figure in the room is blotted out; I am unable to recall a single thing about it.” - Osamu Dazai, No longer human, page 16

„I wonder if I have actually been happy.” - Osamu Dazai, No longer human, page 25

„Whenever I was asked what I wanted my first impulse was to answer „Nothing.” The thought went through my mind that it didn't make any difference, that nothing was going to make me happy. At the same time I was congenitally unable to refuse anything offered to me by another person, no matter how little it might suit my tastes. When I hated something, I could not pronounce the words, „I don't like it.” - Osamu Dazai, No longer human, page 30

„I came even to feel that if I had to sell every last possession to obtain these means of escape, it would be well worth it.” - Osamu Dazai, No longer human, page 63

„I escaped. I escaped, but it gave me no pleasure: I decided to kill myself.“ - Osamu Dazai, No longer human, page 73

„The weak fear happiness itself. They can harm themselves on cotton wool. Sometimes they are wounded even by happiness.” - Osamu Dazai, No longer human, page 81

„I perceived with clarity that I could not go on living.” - Osamu Dazai, No longer human, page 87

„I could believe in hell, but it was impossible for me to believe in the existence of heaven.” - Osamu Dazai, No longer human, page 117

„I was taken aback. Horiki at heart did not treat me like a full human being. He could only consider me as the living corpse of a would-be suicide, a person dead to shame, an idiot ghost.” - Osamu Dazai, No longer human, page 144

„She must be unhappy too. Unhappy people are sensitive to the unhappiness of others.” - Osamu Dazai, No longer human, page 158

„Now I have neither happiness nor unhappiness.” - Osamu Dazai, No longer human, page 169

„Did you cry?” „No I didn't cry... I just kept thinking that when human beings get that way, they're no good for anything.” - Osamu Dazai, No longer human, page 176

[bungobble-my-balls]

What if Fyodor possessed Sigma wouldn't that be crazy hahah

So with the Jesus allegory from the last episode he doesn't get completely reincarnated, but a copy of himself is made within Sigma from the information transfer, and it's almost like he's reincarnated.

OK hear me out

I don't think this is actually what's going to happen with the anime, but I DO think this plot is plausible enough that it could happen in one of bsd's many canon alternate timelines.

So you know how Fyodor did the whole 'help me I'm innocent and the real Fyodor has taken over my body 🥺' stchick to trick Sigma? OK so in this scenario let's say that's actually foreshadowing.

Fyodor's ability, although I'm not exactly sure what it is, based on theories seems to involve him being able to make another version of himself. Some people even believe he can put a version of himself inside of someone to kill them from the inside (I don't have the exact reasoning but there are theories just go with it).

After Sigma uses his ability on Fyodor to gain EVERY one of Fyodor's secrets and everything about him, he passes out from information overload as we know. What if in this coma state, Sigma and Fyodor's abilities are combining (Sigma gaining all of Fyodor's knowledge, Fyodor putting a version of himself inside of Sigma), and this creates a version of Fyodor created just from the knowledge Sigma gained of him. This version takes over the body, and when 'Sigma' wakes up its actually a new version of Fyodor (especially because Fyodor would be made of more knowledge than Sigma considering their lifespans, so Fyodor's consciousness could be more powerful).

So it's not like a ghost possession situation, it's an ability possession similar to what happened with Shibusawa.

So 'Sigma' walks out of Mersault, maybe during whatever chaos happens in the 2 hours, and sees Nikolai still holding the original Fyodor's arm.

Nikolai is shocked to see Sigma alive and awake, but then soon finds out that it's actually Fyodor (or a copy of him) in Sigma's body. Fyodor doesn't know about any events that happened before the information transfer, so he doesn't know about Dazai getting shot, Chuuya and Dazai's plan, or his original self dying. So Nikolai fills him in on that.

At that point, Fyodor realises he'll need to stay underground again for some time before he can get back at Dazai and continue his mission. It's helpful though that everyone believes he's dead and that he looks different, since people won't be looking for him.

So Fyodor and Nikolai go underground together this time, because with the DOA now in shambles Nikolai is Fyodor's only ally. And Sigma is currently trapped in his body, but in a limbo between consciousness and unconsciousness. His own conscious is in his body being relayed information over and over to keep him in an overloaded state.

Also for this AU Fyolai are still repressed homosexuals (Nikolai a little less after his post Fyodor death speech but still repressed enough), because even if I'm putting Sigma through a body possession plot I'm not gonna have his body be in the middle of Fyolai kissing I wouldn't do that to him.

Fyodor intends to find a way to get a body for himself, and they bring along Fyodor's arm and find a way to attach it to him again as a start (I thought about a Mary Shelley character having an ability to do this, but I forgot she already exists so I'm still thinking about how they'd do this).

I can also imagine Fyodor using Sigma's appearance to fuck with Dazai as a part of his plan later on. Maybe he takes more of his acting classes and even pretends to be Sigma at some point in the future.

[moomuzan]

„hurt.“ chuuya & dazai

( heavy ) trauma request

You had always been the quiet constant in Chuuya’s tempestuous life. As children, he was the fire, fierce and unyielding, while you were the calm, the soft-spoken echo of his better nature. Together, you ran through sunlit fields and laughed beneath skies bruised with twilight. Where he was brash and sharp, you were steady, your gentle touch softening his edges, your presence grounding him when his anger threatened to consume him whole. You knew him as no one else did—the boy behind the fury, the tenderness buried beneath the fire. And he had loved you for it, fiercely, protectively, in the only way a boy like Chuuya could love.

However, love had no place in the world he had fallen into.

One day, he disappeared, swallowed whole by the underworld: The Port Mafia. No warnings, no farewells—just an empty space where he once stood. When he came back, he wasn’t quite the same. His edges were sharper, his silences heavier, but his smile—though rare—was still yours. He never explained where he went, and you never asked. The unspoken trust between you was enough. You thought, foolishly, that as long as he still came back to you, you would be safe from the shadows that clung to him.

Oh, you were wrong.

The head of the mafia had watched Chuuya for months, calculating, waiting. He saw what others couldn’t: that beneath the prodigious power, beneath the unyielding defiance, there was a vulnerability he could twist. You.

You were an anomaly to Mori—neither threat nor ally, yet something far more dangerous: an anchor. A tether that kept Chuuya’s humanity intact. He hated that about you. He hated the way you made Chuuya hesitate, the way your existence kept him from sinking fully into the darkness Mori needed him to embrace.

Cruel in its precision Mori devised his plan. Killing you outright would have been too simple, too kind. No, he wanted to break you, to reduce you to a ruin so complete that Chuuya would have no choice but to sever the bond himself—or drown in the guilt of failing to protect you.

The mafia’s hitmen descended like wolves. They took you in the dead of night, tearing you from the life you had built with no warning, no mercy. And then, for six endless months, they unmade you.

They didn’t just hurt you—they dismantled you piece by piece, until even the memory of who you once were became a cruel mockery. Pain was their tool, but fear was their art. They laughed as they broke your bones, as they whispered lies into your ear, planting seeds of doubt and shame.

“You’re holding him back,” they told you. “You make him weaker. Do you really think someone like you deserves someone like him?”

Slowly, quietly you began to believe them. How could you not, when every breath felt like a curse, when every bruise screamed that you were nothing but a burden? By the time they let you go, you were a ghost wearing the skin of a person.

When Chuuya found you on your doorstep, soaked and trembling in the rain, something inside him shattered. You didn’t speak; you just stood there, silent and brittle, like a leaf ready to crumble beneath the slightest touch. He rushed to you, his voice raw, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The days that followed were worse. You flinched at his presence, avoided his touch, apologized for things you didn’t do. You shook at loud noises, stared out windows for hours, and cried when you thought he wasn’t looking.

As you were breaking, Chuuya not knowing why, he tried to be patient, to coax the truth from you gently, but every attempt only seemed to push you further away. The trust that once bound you felt frayed, worn thin by the weight of everything you couldn’t say. And yet, he stayed. He stayed because he loved you. He stayed because he thought he could fix this. Fix you.

Still, the truth was like a blade waiting in the shadows, and when it finally found him, it gutted him.

On a regular working day, the mafia executive found the folder laying open on Mori’s desk, its contents laid bare like a confession. Chuuya’s name was written at the top, and beneath it, yours. The words were clinical, detached, but the meaning was unmistakable:

The target was you, the objective: Psychological dismantling, the duration: Six months, the outcome: Permanent estrangement or termination.

As he read his hands trembled. Each word was a hammer blow, each detail a new weight pressing down on his chest. He saw photographs, grainy and brutal, of your battered body, your haunted eyes. He read descriptions of the things they had done to you, the lies they had fed you. And then he saw Mori’s justification, scrawled in neat, calculated handwriting:

“A necessary sacrifice to refine him into the weapon we need.”

Staggering back, his breath came in short, uneven bursts. His vision blurred, and for a moment, Chuuya thought he might be sick.

It wasn’t just that Mori had done this. It was that Mori had done this because of him.

When Chuuya returned to you that night, he couldn’t meet your eyes. He couldn’t even bring himself to speak. The guilt was a noose around his neck, tightening with every second he spent in your presence.

You sat at the window, your silhouette bathed in moonlight, and he thought, fleetingly, of how beautiful you always had been. The person you were before all of this—the person he had failed to protect—felt like a ghost now, as unreachable as the stars.

“Chuuya?” you murmured, your voice soft, hesitant.

He flinched.

Turning to look at him, your hollow gaze pierced in its quiet resignation. “What’s wrong?”

Abruptly, the words caught in his throat. How could he tell you? How could he explain that the person you trusted most in the world had been the reason for your suffering? That his loyalty to the Mafia had cost you everything?

“I’m sorry,” he whispered finally, his voice breaking. It was all he could manage, and it felt so inadequate, so small compared to the enormity of what he had done.

You stared at him for a long moment, and he thought—hoped—you might ask him why. But you didn’t. You just nodded, as if you had been expecting this all along.

“It’s not your fault,” you said softly, though your tone carried none of the conviction the words demanded.

But it was his fault. He knew that now. And no amount of apologies, no amount of vengeance, could ever make it right.

Chuuya spent the rest of the night sitting silently across from you, watching as the moonlight painted you in shades of silver and sorrow. The room was quiet, save for the sound of your unsteady breathing, and he wondered—not for the first time—if he had already lost you.

He wanted to promise you a better future, to swear that he would never let anything hurt you again. But the words wouldn’t come. They felt hollow, meaningless. How could he promise to protect you when he hadn’t before?

And so, he said nothing.

When morning came, he found the window open, the curtains fluttering in the breeze.

You were gone.

You were Dazai’s quiet rebellion, his one thread of light in a world cloaked in the suffocating weight of death and betrayal. In the darkness of his life, where every relationship was poisoned by fear or manipulation, you were something else entirely—a fleeting, fragile piece of humanity he allowed himself to hold, even though he knew it would crumble in his hands. He had no right to you, not with his bloodied past and the pit of emptiness that gnawed at his soul, but he kept you anyway. You were his secret, his sin, his sanctuary.

Beautifully so the only place where he could shed the mask he wore so well was your apartment. Here, he was not the calculating executive of the Port Mafia, nor the puppet Mori dangled on a string. With you, he wasn’t a monster. He was only a man. In your arms, there were no bodies to bury, no orders to carry out, no wounds that wouldn’t heal. There was only the warmth of your skin, the rhythm of your laughter, and the quiet, unspoken understanding between two souls who found something sacred in one another.

But what is sacred to the damned if not a curse waiting to unfold?

Mori discovered the truth in the way he always did—effortlessly, as though he had known all along. He never raged, never raised his voice, because cruelty came more naturally to him when spoken softly, like a poison seeping into the blood. Dazai sat across from him, his posture unflinching, yet the photograph Mori slid across the desk felt like a bullet to the chest.

It was you, caught mid-laugh on some sunlit afternoon, the world frozen in the simplicity of your joy. The photograph was so achingly innocent it almost hurt to look at.

“She’s lovely,” Mori said, his voice devoid of warmth, the words like a scalpel peeling back the skin. “Lovely, and yet so very vulnerable. I wonder how she’d look after a few weeks in one of our facilities. Do you think she’d still laugh like that, Dazai?”

Dazai’s expression didn’t shift, not even by a fraction. The empty smile on his lips didn’t falter. He was too good at this game, too accustomed to hiding the storm inside him.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he replied, his voice light, a perfect mimicry of detachment.

But his boss didn’t need to push further. The faint, fleeting tension in Dazai’s jaw, the almost imperceptible tightening of his hands against his thighs, was enough. Mori leaned back in his chair, folding his fingers together as though they were already pulling the strings of some unseen marionette.

“You’ll take care of it,” Mori said, his voice smooth, unrelenting. “Tie up your loose ends. You know how this works, Dazai. A distraction like her is dangerous, not just for you, but for all of us. And if you don’t… well, I’m afraid someone else will have to.”

The meaning in those words was clear, sharp as glass pressed to the skin. This was not a choice. Not for Dazai. Not for you.

The night Dazai came for you, it was raining—a steady, unrelenting downpour that soaked through the fabric of his coat and muffled the sounds of his boots against the pavement. You had no warning, no time to prepare for the sudden shadow in your doorway, the sharp, unfamiliar grip of his hands around your wrists.

Calling his name, your voice broke with confusion, with fear, but he didn’t respond. He didn’t look at you, didn’t even flinch as he forced the blindfold over your eyes and led you out into the storm.

Of course, you struggled at first, begging him to explain, to tell you what was happening. But the silence between you was thick, impenetrable, and eventually, the fight drained out of you. You didn’t understand how this could be happening—how the same hands that once traced patterns of love on your skin could now be the ones binding you in chains.

And Dazai, walking just steps behind you, wondered the same thing.

The room he brought you to was bare, its walls stripped of color, the air heavy with cold. There was no light save for the faint glow of a single bulb overhead, its flickering hum filling the silence. Dazai avoided your gaze as he shackled your wrists and ankles, his movements quick, mechanical, as though speeding through the motions would make them hurt less.

Out of terror, you didn’t fight him anymore. Only watching him, tears streaking down your face, your voice trembling as you whispered the only question you could find the strength to ask.

“Why?”

For a moment, he hesitated. His hands froze where they hovered over the lock of your chains, and for a fleeting second, something in his expression cracked—something raw and ugly and human.

But then it was gone.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to,” he said, his voice empty, hollow. He didn’t even meet your eyes.

Upon the first time he hurt you, it felt as though the world itself cracked open. His hands trembled as he pressed the blade to your skin, his breath shallow, unsteady, as though each motion might tear him apart. He tried to make it quick, tried to make it as painless as possible. But the moment you cried out, the sound filled the room like a haunting melody, and he thought he might vomit.

Dazai told himself it was better this way. Better to do it himself than to let Mori send someone else—someone who would revel in the cruelty, who would drag it out for their own amusement. At least this way, you would survive. At least this way, the monster who hurt you would be one who cared.

Still, no matter how many times he repeated those words in his mind, they rang hollow.

Weeks blurred into a haze of pain, fear, and silence. The mafia executive played his role perfectly, his touch cruel and calculated, his words cold and biting. And yet, when he left you alone in the darkness, he felt the weight of your suffering like a noose tightening around his neck.

He watched you unravel piece by piece.

The trembling of your hands, the quiet, haunted look in your eyes, the way your voice cracked when you spoke his name—it all carved itself into his mind like a scar that would never fade. And yet, somehow, what hurt most wasn’t your pain.

It was your forgiveness.

Back then, when you could barely sit upright from the exhaustion of it all, you looked at him with those broken, tear-streaked eyes and whispered the words that shattered him completely.

“I forgive you.”

His hands froze where they hovered over your wounds, the bloodied bandages slipping through his fingers and falling to the floor. He stared at you, his expression unreadable, his breath shallow and uneven.

“Don’t,” he said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Tilting your head, your voice was so soft it was almost drowned out by the silence. “Why not?”

“Because forgiveness doesn’t erase the things I’ve done,” he replied, his words sharp, bitter. “It doesn’t bring back the person you were before I broke you. It doesn’t make me less of a monster.”

You didn’t look away, didn’t flinch at the venom in his tone. “Maybe it doesn’t,” you said. “But it’s the only thing I have left to give.”

The executive hated you for it. Hated the way you could still look at him as though he wasn’t the one who had ruined you, hated the way your voice carried a quiet, stubborn love that refused to die. But most of all, he hated himself—for letting Mori use you as a weapon, for dragging you into the pit he had lived in for so long, for needing you in a way that was so deeply, desperately selfish.

Because that’s what it was. Selfishness.

It was only natural that Dazai wanted you to hate him, to scream at him, to tell him he was irredeemable, because at least then it would feel deserved. But you didn’t. You only stayed, tethered to him by chains he had forged himself.

And in his weakest moments, he wondered if he might cling to you forever, even as you both drowned.

ANON I THINK I TURNED INSANE WRITING THIS. i don’t know if it’s good? i‘m so conflicted i almost wanted to give up. but here it is anyway. if you have anything else in mind just message me, i‘ll be happy to edit this

[bandaged-writer]

𝗦𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗧𝗛𝗜𝗡𝗚 𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 || 𝗗𝗔𝗭𝗔𝗜 𝗢𝗦𝗔𝗠𝗨

pairing. dazai osamu x f! reader

genre. drabble, suggestive, friends to lovers-ish

warnings. groping, lots of touching, mentions of dazai's womanizing habits

words. 800

summary. these things feel better, because he understands you.

note. highly self-indulgent bc dazai brainrot goes brr. inspired by that one scene between makima and denji btw shsgdgd

"It's horrible! I just can't seem to woo any woman, anymore, [Name]!," Dazai whines with his back slouched over his desk. Paperwork is skillfully ignored by his non-existent work ethics, but at least the sunset dips his face in pretty orange hues and paints a handsome face that you can't help but look at.

You hum. "And how is that my concern, Dazai?," you question while your fingers cease dancing across the keyboard of the laptop and shut the device.

"You're my best friend!," the brunette reasons much like a child would and his words drown out the ghost of your chuckle. "And that's why it's your job to listen to my agonizing troubles!"

You don't recall any clause in your contract that tied you to said commitment to Dazai, but it's exactly that relationship that allows you to understand him on a level that goes deeper than the many masks he wears on a daily basis. Although you can't hope to beat Dazai at a game of chess, you know why his love life is as disappointing as it currently is.

He can refuse it all he wants, but there's no way you can't tell. Hazel eyes linger on your form for a beat too long, hands that are always on some part of your body even if they caused nothing but the usual mischief and the pang of jealousy shooting across his face whenever you'd give Ranpo or Tanizaki your dedicated attention. Dazai isn't as mysterious as he'd like to believe, but you also know that he would never confess his feelings.

At least, not yet.

You push your chair back, trut around the office desks until you stand in front of Dazai who watches you with feline eyes. He awaits your next move, anticipates the string of words that could only ever fall from your smart, but oh-so-sweet mouth.

No, he shouldn't think about how sweet your mouth would taste when you're his friend.

"I have once heard that these types of things feel better when you understand the person in front of you," you say with a charming smile upon your lips and reach for Dazai's wrist. Guiding his palm to your cheek, you nuzzle the warm skin and press a subtle kiss to the middle. He watches you with keen hazel eyes, but you don't miss the way his Adam's apple bobs in his throat.

"Tell me. Are my lips chapped or soft? What does my skin feel like? Are my fingers long or short? Does it tickle? Does your touch make me nervous?" All those questions you fling at Dazai's head remain unanswered, but you don't want any either. What you truly desire is for his focus to be dedicated solely to you and you can see it in his eyes that the gears in his head are spinning.

Dazai is awestruck by the way you wrap your lips around his thumb and bite down on it. Pain is as far away as the limits of the sky, yet he can feel them pressing into his skin and saliva dampening the calloused skin; calloused from holding guns, knives and all those burdens life brings along. The little gulp of your throat, the shimmer in your eyes. Everything that usually slips Dazai's attentive gaze now held his attention and he doesn't think he can ever forget the way he takes his thumb out of your mouth and wipes it across your bottom lip.

"It feels good, doesn't it?," you ask and stand in-between his legs.

Dazai nods his head. "It does."

Slowly, you tilt your head to the side with the same calm smile and bring his hand to your breast. Dazai squeezes the flesh underneath his sweaty palm and gulps down the confusing feelings in his throat. He's blinking more often, his heart pounds behind his sternum.

He can't understand what is happening to him. Countless women had found their way into his bed and underneath his sheets only to fade in the morning like the temporary bliss of obtaining something of materialistic value. Dazai is no stranger to his fingers in someone's mouth, his hands on their body, but he never once took the time to map them out. Whether the skin had scars, whether it was warm or cold, whether he genuinely enjoyed getting all touchy-feely like this.

"..You're going to be the death of me," Dazai rasps out and pulls his hand away from your boob.

You lean in, pop into his personal bubble and look at him with eyes that clearly, obviously yearn for him, but he is still so very distant. So very much out of your reach.

"Do you understand now? The reason why you feel so cold in a warm bed is because you don't understand them."

[kunikidas-lost-glasses]

I don't know why but these little random things the BSD characters officially like makes them so much more human to me.

For example, Sigma likes cookies, Chuuya likes good music, Dazai likes canned crab, Mushitaro is interested in occult stuff, Akutagawa likes tea and figs, Atsushi likes chameleons, Lucy likes chatting, day dreaming and stuffed toys, Nikolai likes piroshki, Q likes dark sugar, Kyouka likes ghosts, Kunikida likes fishing, Shibusawa likes to sew clothes, Fyodor seemingly enjoyes to play with Shibusawa's hair and to braid it, etc. etc.

It makes them so much more human and gives them more personality somehow. No matter if they are dark and twisted characters like Shibusawa, Fyodor or Nikolai. These informations aren't even important in any way for the plot but them existing gives the characters a special something. I don't know how to explain it properly. It makes the character more believable. Also it has something adorable sometimes.

[little-coffins4]

So, from what I've been seeing the "you can't like The Grabber!" and "you can't find The Grabber hot!" crowd is growing louder and more vocal, effectively drowning others out. It's still something I find weird, though I'm not unfamiliar with these people's thought process-- I've seen it in many different fandoms, unfortunately.

In the end, The Grabber is not real. None of this is real, and someone's tastes I'm fictional media hold no bearing on who the are as an individual. If you like Jason Vorhees as a character, does that mean you like, glorify or condone child murder? Most of his victims are teens working as counselors, so surely these people would carry the same attitude. Does Ghost Face making you all hot and bothered mean you support murder and follow the ideology of the character? Does liking literally ANY morally grey or villainous character mean this characters personality and actions reflect on you? Obviously not, and not only is it stupid to believe so, but it's also incredibly naive!

The most favoured characters in media tend to be villains, or at least morally grey. To throw out a couple of examples: Chuuya Nakahara and Dazai Osamu from Bungo Stray Dogs, Scaramouche and Childe from Genshin Impact, any Creepypasta character ever, Freddy Krueger from Nightmare on Elm Street, Makima from Chainsaw Man, Shigaraki Tomura and Kai Chisaki from My Hero Academia, and many more!

Let people like characters who you don't like! If you don't want to see content pertaining to that character, block or mute the tag, or hell, even the person! Women writing fanfics of them engaging in weird, kinky sex with a fictional murderer is neither new nor something that should bother you that much. Block them, ignore them. Don't expect the internet to conform to YOUR ideals and YOUR likes, because you aren't the main fucking character of the universe. It's a very, very entitled attitude to have, and it is extremely prevalent in younger fandom members! Sure, it existed in early fandom days, but it didn't manifest itself in this weird moral posturing that often.

Let people have fun, and don't be such a wet blanket!

Man, just needed to say that. It reminds me a lot of the attitude these same kids have towards art with even slightly dark content... it really drives me nuts, tbh.

[tricoloured-cat]

Happy Birthday Kunikida! As a tribute I decided to read (well, more finish) "Meat and Potatoes" by... Kunikida-sensei HAHA but as I was reading I noticed similarities between that short story and BSD Kunikida's life

parallels between BSD Kunikida and Meat and Potatoes

warning: major spoilers for Meat and Potatoes, the first LN, as well as the manga! also for this essay thing I shall ignore the existence of the anime adaptation of the Azure Messenger (also not proofread too lazy)

Note: Some of these points have been made by others, but here I just want to emphasize these things in the context of Meat and Potatoes.

"But the point is, you can't ideals," said Kamimura, screwing up his face. "Ha ha. Of course you can't. They're not beefsteaks!" laughed Takeuchi, opening his huge mouth. "But that's exactly it. Reality is a beefsteak. Or stew if you like."

As the title of the story suggests, meat and potatoes are compared to reality and ideals. In fact meat can go farther than just reality; it's an implicit description to the hedonistic life.

In the franchise, it can be said that Dazai is very much Team Meat rather than Team Potato. He does as he pleases and wrecks the world of the then highly rigid member of Team Potato, Kunikida.

This was the third day of being paired with Dazai. I knew no peace for even an hour, nor could I focus wholeheartedly on work, and the number of complaints pouring in on the phone continued to climb higher. Whenever I took my eyes off of him, he would say he was going to drown himself and then fling himself into a river, or say to be careful and then go off to drink at a bar, or say he received a divine revelation and run off to flirt with a pretty girl. Quite fittingly for a twenty- year-old man-child, he only did what suited himself and smashed my schedule to bits.

Kunikida's sanity has been compromised since then, yes, but Dazai's erratic personality doesn't deter him from his determination to follow his ideal.

In Meat and Potatoes, there are two major disillusioned idealists: Kamimura and Okamoto.

Kamimura's transfer from Team Potato to Team Meat is, I suppose you could say hardly significant. He switches with a "oh to hell with it" attitude and abandons the ascetic potato-only life for meat-filled enjoyment. Why is it so? Simply put, his desire to be in Team Potato was never serious. His fascination with his Christian faith and scorn for the "fools in Tokyo" were what drove him to his rural potato-farm life in Hokkaido.

"Kamimura and the rest of you were members of the Potato Party at first, but later changed your allegiance to the Meat Party. In other words, you're all weak-willed."

Kondo's words, I believe, mirror Kunikida's initial thoughts of Dazai. I'm not so weak as to give in to someone like him!

On the other hand, Okamoto's disillusionment - but not transfer to Team Meat - was far more serious. This is where Kunikida's own disillusionment can be linked to.

It was the death of the woman Okamoto loved that made him curse the very world he lives in. The intensity of his love had made its loss so great. In Kondo's words,

"[Men] often weary of life and if they encounter love in such a state, they find in it a means of escape. For that reason they throw their whole hearty into the fiery furnace of love."

Okamoto does not rebuke nor confirm this, but we can assume that Kondo hit the nail on the head.

Kunikida, too, loved a woman deeply: Sasaki Nobuko. Now the parallels isn't too surprising since both stories are based on Kunikida-sensei's real life heartbreak with his wife of the same name. Fortunately she didn't actually die (she just left him 5 months into their marriage) but the pain is so immense that her memory is essentially a ghost haunting the three of them.

"I want to have her back again and so intensely do I feel about that that I don't care what happens to me. I freely admit that I've cried over her many times. Over and over again I've called her name and looked up at the sky. Of course I wish that she would come back to life."

This resounds their feelings for their woman so well. Their hopes and dreams were built for and shattered by her - for Okamoto, this was his fall into indecision. He is not Team Meat nor Team Potato. He is not a realist nor an idealist. He is not a optimist nor pessimist. He's just a broken man.

In fact, Dazai alludes to this fall after Sasaki's death.

“Tell me, Dazai! Was it right for her to die? Is this the ideal world I’ve sought for...?” Dazai stared at me and whispered, “Kunikida. There are those who believe in your just, ideal world, and thus they grow to resent this one. The Azure King was one such person. While championing his causes of justice and idealism, he hurt the weak around him.” He looked far off into the distance. “The phrase ‘seeking justice’ is a weapon. Once it hurts the weak, it can no longer be a force of good. This justice the Azure King sought was what killed Sasaki. His accusation wounded me. Seeking a world of justice and ideals, indeed. All this suffering had come to pass by seeking to manifest ideals. “Kunikida, as long as you continue to eliminate those who would thwart your ideals in your quest for the ideal world, the flame of the Azure King still burns inside of you. And it will consume those around you. I have seen this happen many times before.”

There is no "but I'll still pursue my ideal!" in the original text. Kunikida said nothing in reply for he "understood what he said."

Now by the time Atsushi popped up, not much is shown about how exactly far Kunikida's disillusionment had gone. When he was picked up Kunikida proudly states that his schedule was "not just a schedule but his ideal" and from then we are given an impression of his drive.

We are only shown the truth starting with Kyouka's case and Atsushi's kidnapping.

There are already discussions on these scenes, but in the context of this essay thing with Meat and Potatoes what I want to point out is Kunikida's disenchantment. Also note that in both scenes, his facial expression is not shown. He only says these things out of defeat while his idealist self screams something else.

At this point, he has not reached Okamoto's level just yet, but it's possible that it won't take long for Kunikida to find himself in the same place.

It is Atsushi that woke him up from his nightmare.

What made that difference?

Atsushi wasn't abandoned by the Agency because of one thing: love. It's the very same thing that killed both Okamoto's and Kunikida's ideals.

But unlike Okamoto, Kunikida's ideals were not only born out of love but are one and the same; then following Kondo's reasoning, Kunikida's love, ideals, and life are all one and the same.

Here is another quote from Kondo:

"There are many types of boredom. Two of these are particularly tragic and hateful. With one, you weary of life and with the other you weary of love... The first is the most tragic and the second the most hateful."

The current manga arc (ch 104 is the latest release at the time of writing this) challenges Kunikida once more. Being a member of the Armed Detective Agency is difficult, and with all the death and near-death recently happening around him his will had taken several critical hits.

Had Kunikida grown weary of his lofty ideals, with means he's weary of both love and life, that his fate is tragic and hateful?

Fortunately, not at all.

He doesn't give up any of the three. "But what about life???" Well, I would say that here he does not lose life but rather his death. Idk how to explain to be honest, but in short it's rather that he sacrifices his physical life for the sake of living; that is not having a spiritual death. He is able to live his whole life following even only the shadow of the ideal - to him that is his goal anyway.

Kunikida overcomes Okamoto's plight of looking for "surprise" in the world as nothing interests him anymore.

"Life and death and all the phenomena of the universe become commonplace in the end."

He does not fall for this interpretation of Wordsworth's "Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting."

We can only hope for the best for him in the upcoming installments.

TL;DR: Kunikida is awesome and needs more love

[samsa19]

is dazai a ghost?

surprise surprise, i'm unfortunately not dead (yet). and before you call me batshit crazy for the title, hear me out. 

because I can tell you I didn’t stop at batshit crazy, I'm probably clinically insane.

((note: if someone had already posted this theory, please let me know. I usually do a quick search before I post my theories, but I didn’t get to do that this time and I’d hate for someone to think I would claim an unoriginal theory to be my own.)) 

anyways, here goes the theory. spoiler break below for the manga >>

These panels were pretty shocking to me. 

To be honest, the first times I’ve seen Dazai appear in Atsushi’s conscious/subconscious, I thought it was just part of his mental shift. As others have probably suggested before, I thought that Dazai was slowly replacing his old headmaster. Like a shift from his past trauma to the inspiring motivation and confidence that Dazai (somehow) instilled within him. I thought that was a nice touch on Asagiri’s part. 

But okay, Dazai has materialized out of nowhere for way too many times to be explained by an Atsushi’s-mini-epiphany and a shrug of the shoulders. And this can be taken storywise as well, because at this point Dazai’s appearance has moved the plot too much. 

So like any other mentally healthy person I think there are two main ways to explain Dazai’s apparent incorporeality. 

1. The Book, which you saw coming from ten miles away 

You can probably piece this together before I explain anything. But being the annoying entitled jackass I am, I will proceed to do so anyway. And generously tell you why I disagree with it. 

Dazai has demonstrated his nullification on the book through BEAST already, and it wouldn’t be strange if another version of himself had that same influence on this very universe. Disregarding whether or not this universe is the “OG” universe, I think there’s valid reason to believe that #our-verse Dazai has contacted other Dazais to make short, somewhat-materialized appearances in this world. 

But, thinking about how this can work, is somewhat difficult. 

Firstly, in order to transcend universes I think we can reasonably assume that we must have a Dazai have ahold of his universe’s Book. So it goes like: you give a Dazai a book -> he contacts his clone -> he teleports -> he headpats Atsushi or whatnot.

However.  

Let’s recall BEAST as an example. It was stated that it took place in a timeline where Dazai somehow got ahold of the Book. I’m not exactly sure how this is, but this would imply he was able to read the future and possible timelines of pretty much every existing universe. 

I include possible, because he says the BEAST world was the only one in which Odasaku could live. But he would have had to go back into the past of that BEAST world, because it starts when Akutagawa meets Dazai- far before Odasaku’s fate. Meaning, the future would not have happened were it not for the interference of alter-Dazai. So there’s a variable, possible timeline for BEAST in which Odasaku would not have lived. 

The definition for the Book, if I recall correctly, is that whatever is written in it becomes true, as long as there is karmic balance. 

...Since when did the Book contain all futures? 

That would mean our timeline is written in as well. If “our” Dazai did contact the others through the Book, he already a) has the book, and b) knows its possible futures. And we’re only seeing the most successful timeline in this world, where every Dazai has decided to cooperate. 

The reason why I’m somewhat reluctant to agree with this, is the incongruity it develops with a), as well as the fact that every appearing Dazai looked the same. 

I did say two main ways, didn’t I? 

2. Dazai is a ghost! 

Oh shit, you saw this coming too.

Jokes aside, I want to reference my old theory in which I stated a possibility that Dazai is competing in existence between his soul and his ability, and the current Dazai we see now is a mixture of the two. (You can check it out in my bsd theory tags.) 

Why did I want to reference this theory? 

Because I’ve been thinking recently: 

An existence has capacity for two entities, a soul and an ability. They establish a mutual relationship by the soul allowing the ability to reside in the existence, and the ability being used freely in its exchange. Additionally, the host soul must be stronger than the ability (as noted by 55 Minutes and Dead Apple). 

What’s happening in Dazai, or at least what I propose, is that the soul and the ability aren’t in this equilibrium. This is what I think disables Dazai from using NLH at his own free will- either the ability is too strong, or the soul is too weak. 

Now, every other ability user can somewhat bring their abilities under control. Kunikida is still Kunikida when he uses Doppo Ginkaku. Kenji returns to Kenji after using ((insert whatever his ability is called in English)). Chuuya is still Chuuya after using Corruption. 

But Dazai, is perpetually both Dazai and NLH.

Here it goes, stay with me. 

Every time we have seen Dazai in Atsushi’s conscience, he was in jail. However, the image is wearing the same clothes as he is when Atsushi interacts with him. 

This clues that whatever is talking to Atsushi, is some essence of Dazai, in the form that Atsushi knows him in. 

So where does this so-called essence come from? 

I have two proposals. 

a. There is an OG Dazai, associated with the Book, that is leading Atsushi to the Book. Thus, fulfilling his title as the “Tiger Beetle” as told by Fitzgerald’s mystery fortune teller. 

Or,

b. There is a fragment of the soul that is not occupying Dazai, due to his conflicted existence, and it is roaming the current world. Whenever it comes in contact with Atsushi, it manifests in the form he knows of. Thus, materializing isn’t actually materializing- it’s Dazai who’s speaking, but Atsushi who’s perceiving the soul in a different way. 

I know the theories this time are pretty weak, but I thought the whole question was worth addressing anyways. Let me know which, if any, of these, are most plausible. Please also tell me if there are any discrepancies with whatever evidence I've brought up. 

Stay safe, and thanks for reading! 

[gold-pavilion]

Shin soukoku and the philosophy of “meaning”

It’s a running theme that the team dubbed double black is always comprised of two very different but complementary members, from ability and skills to character and values. Shin soukoku, the new double black, isn’t the exception but actually the greatest exponent of that. 

Now, it’s also not unintentional that BSD’s characters and their viewpoints can sometimes represent different schools of existential thought, developing and clashing with others - it’s a theme that’s very central to BSD itself after all - and it’s precisely there, on that plane, where the opposition is built most strongly between Atsushi and Akutagawa.

I’ll explain each of their standpoints, and in a minute you’ll see exactly what I mean. 

Starting with Atsushi, his character arc sees him overcoming the idea he was raised under: that he needs to earn and justify his right to be alive, otherwise he’s a burden at best or pernicious at worst. And so, the need he displays to save others is both an act of empathy and a pathological need to be good for something, so that he can feel forgiven and justified. 

(Continuing under the cut due to length and plenty of imgs.)

This view has guided Atsushi from the start. It’s what pushed him to consider self-sacrifice as the only thing he could do during his ADA entrance test, what caused him to desperately want to save both the civilians during Kajii’s train hijack and Kyouka shortly after. It’s explained the most clearly in the following exchange with Akutagawa himself, during the Echo chapters:

But one thing is the ghost of the past behind Atsushi’s back, and another is his own thinking. Such ideas didn’t originate from him and they’re certainly not his own; in fact, Atsushi is fighting against them. 

Thanks to his own desire to live and the very healing effect of his time with the ADA, he’s quickly learned that no one can decide someone else’s worth or determine whether they have a right to live. That the worth in a person is inherent; a being doesn’t have to “be worthy”, it just has to be. It exists because it exists, not through virtue of being allowed by someone else. Existing, in itself, has worth, and anything more can be built up from there. That’s what he’s arrived at and what he wants to prove.

Akutagawa is aware of this viewpoint.

But Akutagawa refuses and opposes such a philosophy. He, on the other hand, has never seen or known worth in existence alone. Rather, his ideology is that a being doesn’t have worth, but must become worthy by virtue of being useful for something, being acknowledged for an achievement or use, and thus be given significance. To him, not everyone deserves their existence, not everyone gets that peace of mind. Not if they don’t win it first.

This is, of course, what his childhood in the slums and his education under Dazai taught him, what Dazai drilled into the deepest parts of him.

A being with no use is something worse than dead: it’s meaningless. It can be discarded, since it’s as good as nothing. So what he must do is earn his place and prove his significance. 

Even now, he must prove it.

In other words, we can summarize their standpoints this way: facing the question of “what makes it meaningful to be alive? What is meaning?”, Atsushi’s character as a whole represents the answer that “meaning is inherent to the self”, while Akutagawa’s says “meaning is determined externally to the self”.

When Atsushi and Akutagawa clash, it’s often a direct opposition between these two ideas. Akutagawa’s initial hate for Atsushi hinged on the frustration that someone like him, someone who didn’t prove to be strong enough and worthy enough, was being treated with humanity and given Dazai’s recognition. Likewise, Atsushi’s hate for Akutagawa was born from the latter’s disregard for life itself, for itself, which nullified his capacity for empathy.

Bearing this in mind, the following dialogues (taking place near the beginning, during Kyouka’s arc) become much clearer and more telling:

Akutagawa wanted her to have what he so desperately works for. Atsushi wanted her to be told what he so desperately needed too. Through their perspectives of Kyouka, they very much exposed their individual philosophies. And this first clash of values would shape their joint character arcs.

Of course, at the bottom of it all, what they both struggle with is the same: self-worth. And what they desire is also the same: to live meaningful lives. For Atsushi the answer is already at hand, what he must do is save lives and help people through the ADA, it’s what fulfills him and, little by little, eases the psychological ‘curse’ placed upon him by his deceased mentor. For Akutagawa, the answer is obtaining Dazai’s acknowledgement, being given worth by the only person he truly thinks can confer it to him, in order to feel that his life has been and is something of value. 

Though their search is similar, their answers are opposite and that’s what makes them two sides of the same coin, in a more profound way than anything else could. That’s what they are, as the current double black.

Or is it? Is that all?

After all, they didn’t simply stay as opposites and leave it at that, fighting each other without extending a single bridge between them. Akutagawa has shown time and time again that he understands Atsushi’s viewpoint, that he sees him. Atsushi sees him as well, and because of that, he’s set that unexpected bridge in order for Akutagawa to truly come closer and see things from his side of the divide. The constant friction of the two opposing forces erodes and begins to change them both.

Akutagawa, most of all, is still on a journey, tried and tested against Atsushi’s mostly defined arc. Through the rule of no killing, he’s gaining a new perspective on the value of life in general, and may yet see his own under a new light. Even now, he’s reconsidering what he’s proving and why.

In this setup of opposing philosophies something may yet change. This instance of soukoku, which has been built in a similar manner to the previous ones (that I believe have also had streaks of philosophical opposition written into them, but that’s thought and talk for another time) might result in something a tad different and be, in a way, more successful than their predecessors. 

But that’s the story Asagiri-sensei is still in process of telling us, so we’ll see what comes as we continue to read it.

For now, thanks for reading this! 

Manga credit: easygoingscans’s translation of BSD’s first arcs, dazaiscans’s translation of Portrait of a Father and the Echo chapters, and my translation for the recent Decay arc chapters.