#he wanted Mori to suffer

[tw1nkee28]

Some Moribund things I don't think I've posted yet

Plus a bonus Roland

--

Yes some of the doodles are trash, I'm tired, don't mind it.

[skateintoawall]

sometimes I think about Q and their design and skill and how I think I could make an argument for them representing many characters childhoods and how the trauma from when they were kids impacts them as adults.

[ivoryratdoggerythethird]

hot take (? maybe? i don't fully know what the general stance is on this) but i don't think chuuya would've left the mafia with dazai

not because their bond is shallow (sike, fyodor) but because i think chuuya found his grip in the mafia by the time the dark era rolls around. he entered the mafia because of dazai yeah but they both have lives outside of each other still. after everything that happens in fifteen, koyou being in the mafia, and also just chuuya's unwavering loyalty - which he swore to mori, however unfortunately but it's still the truth - i think he would've let dazai go alone.

but there's that other thing though; his bond with dazai. his very significant bond with dazai. that's why i think he would've let dazai go; as long as dazai isn't leaving because of something he did, or plotting to like, burn the mafia down, i don't think he would've been particularly bothered beyond the 'dealing with traitors' business but honestly lets be real if you're important enough in the mafia, being a traitor or threat or enemy means jackshit (tachihara, verlaine, chuuya, even dazai is literally invited back by mori lmao).

i can see chuuya just tsk-ing and waving him off like "you probably have an escape route planned so i'm not even gonna bother pursuing you, won't give you the satisfaction of dying quickly either, you do you bastard, imma go celebrate with wine now, don't die i'm still gonna kill you someday, see ya." or like. you know. some rough approximation of that.

i think if dazai actually told him, considering what i know of his character thus far, chuuya would've helped him leave or, at least, rolled his eyes and looked the other way and do essentially a scripted song and dance of hunting him down with everyone, including mori, knowing full well that a) dazai won't be found unless he doesn't want to be, and b) the only person remotely capable of finding him would just punch him in the face then let him go again

skk would probably just keep up their usual bickering nonsense via randomly breaking into each others places (i.e. dazai because he's now broke and chuuya exclusively breathes designer air) and even if they don't interact for long periods, they would easily slide back into their dynamics whenever they do, as it is in canon except they'd likely manage to be even more in-tune and annoying with each other.

(also the ADA would know about the mysterious rich redhead whose number is listed as "dazai's dog" to call up when dazai is up to his shenanigans so he can come over and kick discipline into him. guessing who the hell he is another one of their mysteries and they know it ties in with dazai's old job, just not how. ranpo cackles everytime he shows up. he and kunikida meet up for lunch to bitch about dazai.)

tl;dr, imo skk could've been skk for the missing four years with chuuya still being an executive and dazai stiill being a detective if only mister cyclops there chose communication over blowing a car up, because i do believe chuuya would've let everything play out the same as in canon except he and dazai wouldn't be cut off the whole time

[miloisnice]

I wholeheartedly hope that Mori takes Ranpo to be a part of his mafia, because there will be so many opportunities for the show after that. First, the ADA literally won't survive without Ranpo. He's literally their backbone and the only reason it exists in general. Two, Fukozawa angst. Ranpo is his kid, if Mori took him out of everyone in the agency, I don't think the president would take it easily. Three, the port mafia would THRIVE. Literally Ranpo would be the answer for all their problems considering how smart he is. He would be a great addition to the mafia, they would literally win it all. And forth, Ranpo's reaction. It could be either a) he doesn't expect the mafia to even look at him (not because he doesn't think he's good enough of course, he's the world's greatest detective, but because he was 100% sure they would either take Dazai back or would take Tanizaki for his ability) so it would be a shock to hear he'll have to say bye to something that was his home for 12 years; b) he would've already dedicated that Mori would choose him so he doesn't react, he makes a plan on how to contact the ADA and help them from afar; and c) he wouldn't be shocked, he'd be glad they choose him so he could fuck the mafia from the inside out, and he'd refuse to help the port mafia.

Also I think that Mori would know that Fukazawa cares deeply for Ranpo and would take the other for both being smart and just to spite Fukazawa lols

[ninkaku]

i could talk all day about mori's treatment of dazai and the way he abused his power over him but i'd rather talk about the ways in which he is still doing it, despite dazai having left the mafia. as we know, dazai left the mafia under oda's instruction, a promise he made to his dying friend in which he said he would become a good person, and be on the side that saves people. oda said, the sides make no difference to you, so he knows for a fact that dazai has no reason to do these things, when good and evil are mere concepts for him and not something he feels drawn to either way. a take i've seen often and one that i quite like is not only did mori have oda killed for the mafia's own personal gain (the deal struck so that they could operate under legal means), but it falls back on mori grooming dazai to one day take his seat. up until this point, dazai has never had anything worth protecting, has never lost anything, has never grieved anything and never experienced the emotional call to despair.

odasaku's death and thus dazai's push into the light, which ends up being with the ada, is the final piece that mori needed to solidify that dazai would one day be able to take his place. they talk about it, dazai says you were afraid of me, weren't you? and in more ways than one, the statement is true. mori had always known that he would and always wanted for dazai to surpass him, but the husk that dazai had become by never wanting anything, never protecting anything scared him if dazai was to dispose of him and assume his seat, because although dazai is a genius, he was callous and didn't value anything. he wouldn't value the mafia like mori does, he wouldn't protect yokohama like mori does. during the guild arc, mori says if dazai was still my right-hand man, the guild would stand no chance. dazai inside of the mafia and outside of it exists as a powerful adversary to whomever he stands against, and i think this is one of many reasons why the ada and the port mafia exist somewhat in tandem. the port mafia and the ada overstep their boundaries from time to time with each other, but the truth lies in mori knowing that dazai could ruin them if he intended to.

in something of a tldr mori aims to push dazai out of the mafia just as much as he intends to keep him within it. he needs dazai to experience loss, needs him to experience what it feels like to protect something, what it feels like to want to protect something. the fact that after dazai left, mori has not replaced his seat as an executive. has not replaced dazai as his right-hand with someone else, continuously offers him his position back means he fully intends to have him back under his wing again, someday. means he fully expects, once dazai has experienced what he needs him to, that he will take over his position, and he will drive dazai back to him. yosano and dazai serve as two prizes that mori currently does not have on his mantle, and in the deal struck with the president of the agency, those are the two he is most likely to pluck out of their ranks to put right back into his own.

[you-are-a-saucy-boi]

Thank you for this answer! Finding it a little funny that there are now people in the world that do not know me or my media studies teacher that now actively hate my media studies teacher (when I sent the ask I forgot that there were regular tumblr users that would read it and form opinions). He's normally a nice guy but when he's wrong about something he has to be VERY wrong about it (hates Everything Everywhere All At Once).

My media studies teacher thinks it's impossible to create good art without suffering (which he thinks is "why no good art has come from Canada"). Have you created good art at a happy time in your life?

I've never heard the theory that nobody has ever suffered in Canada before. It seems unlikely, given that Canada is populated by human beings.

Yes, I've created good art at happy times and good art at sad times. (If the suffering gets too bad, it diminishes the desire to make the art and you have to fight through that. If you're having too good a time then why go off and make art when it's so much fun?) If you are going to spend a lifetime making art, you will make it on the good days and on the bad days. Rereading things I've written, I don't believe I can tell what was made when.

[z4rph1m]

Platonic Yan!Batfam X dazai!GNreader X Yandere DC

Mix of neglected batfam and based of port mafia dazai with a small slice of ada dazai

Forgotten child

Pro. (You are here) Ch.1 Ch.2

A bastard is what you are

You were a result of a one night stand between Bruce Wayne and your mother who you don’t or will ever know the name of.

How’d you know his your father? A simple DNA test.

Who would’ve thought that a child of a billionaire Bruce Wayne would ended up in the mafia.

As much as you want to know more about your mother, it was quickly dialed down by one sentence.

“Traitors doesn’t deserve to have their name pass down”

Mori isn’t really the best person to look up to

You were at the very least 5 or older when the GCPD took you away, you don’t remember.

Alfred was the one who pick you up from the investigation.

He remembers that day as if it was yesterday.

You, a malnourished child who stayed still, staring into the darkness with no light in their eyes, bandages covering you.

It was a pity sight.

A few calling of your name to realized it time to go to your new ‘home’

You move as if you’re not even human, instead a doll who was abandoned and left to rot.

With what left of your belongings, if you even had any, Alfred with his gentle nature guided you to the car.

You didn’t even made a breathing sound, only blinking and constant fidgeting to your doll.

He tried his best to struck up a conversation with you, such as “how are you?” Yet only to be replied back with either a deafening silence or words barely above a whisper.

You were a child yet have suffered so much beyond to see the light of hope.

Only when you’ve arrived at the manor is when you started clinging more to him. Maybe it your nature as a child to be nervous to go to your new home.

With what left of your innocence, you looked up to him with a pleading look , “don’t…. Don’t let go please….”

Your voice was hoarse and dehydrated but it still sounded as if you were afraid of being left alone.

Probably the effect of losing the only person whom you know and trust.

When you cling onto him is when he took note of your entire appearance.

Yes you were covered in bandages but those bandages were not only dirty but also covered in red streaks of blood and was layered below the fresh white one.

Your clothes had some torn at end, hair being messy and full of knots, sections of your skin having bruises.

Alfred was more than ready to hold your hand while guiding you to wherever you two go together.

Yes the absent of your family saddened you but Alfred company was what you wanted.

You didn’t care for the others, not when they ignore you 90% of the time and not when Alfred is there with whenever he has the chance.

In your mind, Bruce Wayne is not your father no, instead it was Alfred Pennyworth.

But even that doesn’t stop you from being what you are now.

Bruce Wayne, the man who is your supposed father. Do you hate him? Not really.

You can’t really hate a man you barely know your whole life.

And it wasn’t hard to learn what does he do for a living other than being a man whore.

He bare- actually never even had a proper conversation that lasted more than 3 seconds.

The dude didn’t even notice the increasing amount of bandages when you first stared in the port mafia.

Richard Grayson, the second person to talk to you after Alfred. Do you also hate him? A mix feeling really.

You know about him more than you know about Bruce, on what he doing when he’s Nightwing, what he’s favourite food, and just the minimalist stuff.

You don’t exactly have the right feeling to describe your relationship with him.

Do you talk? Barely. Do you have a proper conversation? Never. Spend time together? Nope.

In short, you don’t think the two of you are fitted to be considered siblings.

Jason Todd, was probably the closest to you.

You saw him being taken in as a robin and died as a robin.

Yes you two mocked eachother in terms of whatever you can remember but at the very least there was interactions between the two of you in comparison to the others.

As much as you hated it, you did infact miss his presence when he died.

Timothy Drake was the most distant than all of them combine. The two of you didn’t have a single conversation or even a single sentence to eachother.

You knew well he’s a fan of Batman and probably didn’t even knew you existed or just didn’t care since you’re not one of the vigilante.

Not that you care, you never identify yourself as a Wayne anyway

Cassandra Cain, Stephanie Brown and Barbara Gordon…… how should you describe them….

Just like Tim, you don’t exist in their world, but instead a background character.

You were sure that they can’t even remember your name properly without mispronouncing.

But You do sure as hell do love it when you’re given a nickname by someone

Last of all, Your half Brother. Damian Wayne, as much as the two of you barely talk, the first meeting wasn’t very welcoming.

Almost being impaled doesn’t give out a nice first impression after all.

You mostly try your best to ignore the insults and the degrading words from him.

The little kid barely met you yet for some reason hold a deep hatred for you like you did something illegal.

You’re currently standing in front of a grave….. someone who was there to take care of you in the port mafia.

You stare blankly at the grave, not knowing what to do, wether to breakdown and cry or to leave it alone.

You were trembling, sweating and on the verge of actually breaking down yet something is holding you back.

Oda Sakunosuke

Your father figure after Alfred is dead.

Ango is right by your side trying his best to comfort you.

As much as you were a demon prodigy, he knew that deep down there’s a child who’s unable to act like one.

You shrugged him off before walking away to do a phone call.

“Alfred….? I know it’s a sudden but…. Please clean up my room…… I no longer staying at the manor from now on”

You try your best to held in your tears but your voice betrays you, and Alfred knows that.

He swallow a lump in his throat before replying, “don’t worry Master [N], I understand. But do please remember that I will always be there to welcome you”

He was the only one who knows about your work in the Port Mafia and the only one who you trusted to told it too.

He knows about the people you met and the people who you befriended.

He understands how a death of one of them can put you on the verge of losing what left in your humanity and to live.

And he knows that the death of your second father figure can cause you distorted in many ways.

Inspired by @-acid-ixx again & again series and @-marcyvampire silly little bat.

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 AND WHEN I'M BACK IN YOKOHAMA

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: with the team sent to escort you back to the port mafia headquarters obliterated, you're on your own in a war-torn yokohama. or, well, you are until mori sends out the infamous double black to retrieve you... you almost wish he would've let you suffer out there alone.

wordcount: 10k; sfw; fem!reader, pm!reader, mentions of mafia business

AUTHOR'S NOTES: at last, we get the first meeting between pm!reader & double black. keep your eye out for two other cameos in this fic ;) i can't remember if dazai and chuuya got their moniker before or during the dragon's head conflict and i dont feel like going to go figure it out so for the sake of my sanity, their little duo started rising in infamy just before the conflict broke out.

“Oh, this is the worst,” you complain quietly, arms wrapped around your waist as you look up and down the abandoned street.

The city looks nothing short of apocalyptic with dead bodies littering the ground and buildings caved in. You can’t help but want to blow up at Mori for calling you back to Yokohama with all of this happening. The “elite squad” he had sent to ensure you arrived at the Port Mafia base safely had been all but decimated by an ability user with a penchant for arson—you only survived by the skin of your teeth, running as fast as you could down vaguely familiar alleys until you finally lost him. 

You pull out your phone, trying to see if you can call Mori but only fall further into despair when you find that you have no cell service and your phone is nearly dead.

Tucking your phone back in your pocket, you let out a shaky breath as you begin to make your way down the street again, trying to figure out where exactly you are so you can get to the base as soon as possible. It’s only a matter of time before that pyromaniac finds you and your ability isn’t exactly built for self-defense or combat—you’re not sure if you can get yours activated before you’re roasted to death by the man.

You swallow thickly, anxiety beginning to spread through you as you make your way through rubble down the street. What happened? It’s all too reminiscent of that day eight years ago when Mori found you, the death and destruction as far as the eye could see—it drags up emotions you’ve long since repressed and now is not the time for it.

You’d been unable to get answers out of Mori’s men before the ability user attacked your convoy, but it seems as if the city has become a warzone—but over what? How hasn’t it reached the news outlets yet? And who are the combatants? Obviously, the Port Mafia is one of them, and you can guess that Mori called you back to Yokohama because the war isn’t falling in their favor, but who the hell is strong enough to compete with the Port Mafia, and why? 

You sigh, kicking absently at a small rock as you continue down the street. 

You should have been briefed. You don’t know why you weren’t briefed before being called back to the city. Frustrated, you turn down a somewhat familiar alley and lean against the wall, resting your head back against the bricks. You need to figure out what’s going on, but more importantly, you need to figure out where the hell you are so you can get back into safe territory.

You peek your head out to peer around the road—not a soul in sight in the streets, but… your gaze flickers up to the buildings, sliding from window to window until you catch sight of a figure peeking from between the blinds down to where you’re standing in the alleyway. Instantly, they let the blinds fall shut and throw themselves back indoors, but it’s too late—you’ve already spotted them.

You let out a breath of relief, looking both ways to make sure the fire manipulator hasn’t caught up to you yet before darting across the street to the building. It’s an apartment complex—the door leading into it has been half knocked off its hinges, so it’s easy to push it open and step inside.

The whole hallway has been ravaged, doors on the lower floors kicked in to reveal trashed rooms. You have to be careful not to step on glass as you make your way to the stairwell, Third floor, fifth window from the right. Most of the doors on the third floor aren’t quite as done in as the ones on the first, but only one has light peeking out from the crack.

You exhale, letting your eyes slide shut briefly before you raise your fist to knock on the door. “Excuse me! Would you mind answering a few questions? … I just arrived in the area, got caught in the crossfire of some battle, I would really appreciate the help, if you can spare any.” You’re careful to keep your voice light, gentle, and you’re even more careful to make sure your expression is smooth and unassuming when you hear the lock click open.

“You picked a god-awful time to come to Yokohama, child.” You hear an older woman speaking on the other side of the door; she doesn’t open it yet, but now that it’s cracked, you think your ability will work quickly to make her at ease. “Not one of ‘em Strain decoys, are you?” 

The fact that you have no idea what she means by that is infuriating, a reminder that Mori didn’t even bother to warn you about anything before dragging you back here, but you don’t let your frustration seep onto your face.

Strain… Strain… That Australian organization? What the hell are they doing in Yokohama? Why have you been kept so in the dark?

“No ma’am, unfortunately, I don’t even know what you mean by that,” you admit, and when you hear the woman let out a heavy sigh, you know that you’ve won, sending up a silent prayer of thanks as she opens the door to let you in. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

The woman only grumbles, but her eyes are gentle and her wrinkled face is soft as she ushers you into the room, shutting the door behind you and locking it. She’s not alone in the apartment, you notice—there’s a teen boy around your age lingering in the hallway, blonde hair cut short and glasses hanging off the bridge of his nose as he studies you with a frown. 

“What are you doing out here on your own, girl?” the elderly woman asks as she wobbles after you into the main room of the apartment, ushering you to sit down. “Doppo, go get the poor girl some water. Stop acting like a lump, boy.”

The boy looks disgruntled but nods, scampering off into the kitchen as the woman turns her attention back toward you. “Well? Don’t you know? Yokohama’s no place for tourists lately. Where are your parents?”

Your smile falters, mind racing as you try to pick your words carefully. “My father is the one who told me to come back to the city. I was… not made aware of the circumstances I would be arriving in.”

“Men,” the elderly woman spits out, looking up as the boy, Doppo, returns with two glasses of water, handing one to you and one to the woman. “Take notes, boy, you better not end up like one of those useless wastes of air or I’ll put you down myself, understand?” 

“Yes, granny,” the boy replies, and though he still looks distinctly aggrieved, you can’t help but feel amused by the fact that he immediately pulls out a notebook to take notes.

“Would you mind telling me what exactly… happened to the city?” you ask after a moment, taking a sip of the cool water and trying to make yourself a bit more comfortable on the sofa. “I haven’t seen anything on the news about this.”

The woman scoffs, waving her hand. “Of course not, big whigs think that they can keep it all on the low and get it under control before the incident makes it across seas,” she says roughly. “Gang wars broke out after some bastard with a lot of money died. Came in from all over to try to get their hands on the money. Whole city’s being torn apart.”

Interesting, you think to yourself, mind racing as you put together the few puzzle pieces you’ve been given. How many factions are already here? Who are they? Why did Mori call you back here if it’s already escalated this much? Your ability might be key in intel gathering and negotiations, but you’d be useless in combat.

“Our ward is under the control of some organization called the Strain,” the boy tells you. “They’ve been targeting civilians. They-”

Doppo grimaces and looks away, an angry expression crossing his face and you watch as the elderly woman reaches out to squeeze his forearm before looking back over to you. “Boy’s mother was killed by them the night the conflict broke out. I’ve been looking after him since.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you say quietly, but he only averts his gaze from you, looking down at the ground. 

Strain. You were right. You’ve heard a lot of them. They originated in the Australian underground, but they spread rapidly throughout the world—footholds in every major country, stakes in every major world event. Brutal and ambitious, you suppose you’re not surprised they came here if there’s as much money up for grabs as the woman assumes. 

“What ward are you trying to get to, girl?” the woman asks you. “It’s not safe out there on your own. There are no rules or laws anymore, whole city is anarchic. You go out there on your own and you’ll be picked off by Strain.”

“I need to get to my father,” you tell her as you shake your head. The Port Mafia must be in an especially precarious position if Mori is bringing you back after the conflict has escalated this much—your heart rate spikes as worst-case scenarios start to fly through your head, wondering if they’ve been backed into a corner, forced into a position where their only option is negotiations for surrender. Logically, you know Mori would never let that happen, but it doesn’t quell the rising fear. “He’s in Naka-ku.”

You just need to know what ward you’re in and-

“You’re in Kanagawa-ku right now, you’ll never make it through it and Nishi-ku—and Naka-ku is the heart of the conflict,” the woman says as she clicks her tongue. “Stay here. You’ll be safer.”

“I need to get to my father,” you repeat again, “but thank you, really, for the offer and concern… and for helping me figure out what’s going on. I appreciate it.”

You rise to your feet to leave, and instantly, the boy is on his feet, nearly knocking over the woman’s cup of water and promptly getting whacked with a rag in response. The boy winces but takes a few steps toward you, undeterred. 

“You can’t go out there,” he says, green eyes pleading for you to listen. “Just stay. Once everything’s calmed down, we can help you find your father.”

“I can’t stay,” you say quietly, wondering if Doppo’s desperation for you to stay is a result of your ability messing with his head or if he really does just have that big of a heart. You think as a thank you for their help, that you’ll ensure that Yokohama will become Strain’s grave.

The old woman makes another disparaging comment about ungrateful fathers before nodding at you. “Good luck, girl, be careful out there.”

You make it approximately seven blocks before the ability user that you thought you lost catches up to you. You think that if you die here, you’re going to spend the entire rest of Mori’s life terrorizing him as a ghost. You grimace as a wave of flames sweeps above you, you can feel the heat against the top of your head from where you’re using an abandoned car to shield you from the man, but you know it’s only a matter of time before he gets to you.

Shit, you sigh, eyes flitting around the street trying to figure out if there’s anywhere you can dart to, but the only other rubble you could hide behind is a tipped-over dumpster in an alley twenty yards away—you’ll never make it that far without something to shield you from the flames. 

You blame Mori. Again. He should’ve warned you about what you’re walking into, and he should’ve sent more than just a group of second-rate losers to pick you up from the station knowing how bad the city is. Now, you’re going to get roasted alive by some psychotic pyromaniac when you should be back in Kyoto dealing with the more pleasant parts of business—wining and dining elites to strike deals and expand the Mafia’s influence throughout all of the societal spheres of Japan.

You grimace as you steady your gun in front of you, using the broken side-view mirror of the car you’re hiding behind to try to figure out where the ability user is because if you can get one good shot off you’d at least have enough time to make a break for it. You just need to focus—the Colonel didn’t put you through all of that firearms training just for you to choke up when you actually need to use it.

Your gaze tracks the man as soon as he comes within view of the mirror. You breathe in and out steadily—once, twice, three times. He’s fumbling with a walkie-talkie, distracted, and you don’t hesitate before taking the given chance. You twist into a kneeling position to face where he’s standing, raising both arms as you aim the gun in his direction; he catches your movement from the corner of his eye, expression shifting into one of anger, but you fire off three bullets before he can retaliate.

Or so you thought.

Your lips part in shock as the man whips a fireball in your direction before he hits the ground—even if you do evade it in time, it’s stronger than the rest he’s been throwing at you, it’ll blow right through the car you’re using as a barrier.

“Shit,” you breathe out, trying to take a step back but your ankle catches on a stray piece of rubble. You hit the ground hard, pain shooting up your leg and as you brace yourself for the flames, you squeeze your eyes shut.

But the agony of burning to death never comes.

Your eyes fly back open when you see someone standing between you and the fireball, the flames fizzling out and dying before they can touch him. They disappear, unable to get past him to you, and your eyes widen in shock. Who on earth… He looks over his shoulder at you, dark-hair flopping in his visible eye—he’s pretty, you think absently, even if a quarter of his face is covered in bandages. You blame your thoughts on the fact that you’re still a bit stunned and confused. 

Then he opens his mouth.

“You must be the precious cargo,” he grins. “We’re here to rescue you.”

“Cargo?” You gape, offended. “Did you just call me cargo?”

“Precious cargo,” he corrects, eye turning up in amusement before he focuses his attention back to the ability user who had attacked you. “Go handle that, pipsqueak. Make yourself useful for once.”

“Shut your damn mouth, bastard,” another male voice spits from behind you, voice riddled with irritation and anger. 

You look behind you to see another boy around your age with orange hair and mismatched eyes. He’s dressed more casually than the dark-haired boy, who’s wearing a black suit and tie beneath his long coat. He barely spares you a look as he steps forward, and you watch as his entire body glows red before he flies forward so fast that your eyes can’t even keep up with him. 

The gravity manipulator. You’ve heard of him through Kouyou—not much, but enough to know he’s probably the strongest ability users to exist in the eastern hemisphere. Does that mean…

The dark-haired boy turns his attention to you, smile widening as he leans over you. He looks unbearably amused at your predicament, and you find yourself growing more and more incensed by the second. 

“Dazai Osamu,” he greets. “You got a name, precious cargo?” 

Oh.

You recognize the name instantly, eyes narrowing, and as if he can sense your sudden change in demeanor, his smile starts to fall. Dazai Osamu. The Demon Prodigy. The Port Mafia’s Black Wraith. Mori brought him in two years ago, if the rumors you’ve heard hold any truth to them—after he sent you away to Kyoto with Kitada Usurai, one of the previous boss’s executives. 

You always wondered if the reason Mori never brought you back had something to do with his new protege—whether it was because he didn’t need you in Yokohama anymore now that he had “the Demon Prodigy” to be his heir or it was because he just didn’t want the two of you interacting. You never really minded; you like being in Kyoto and you like not having to be at the heart of every gang conflict that takes place in Yokohama but you can’t help the bitterness that rises now that your eyes have settled on the boy that took your place.

Before you can answer him, Dazai abruptly goes careening over to the left, hitting the ground hard. The orange-haired boy is standing where he once was, leg extended, and you realize that he must’ve kicked him away. 

“Stay there and die, won’t you?” he snaps, and you glance behind him, trying to figure out if he had already taken care of the ability user that had been hunting you down. Your lips part when you see him crumpled in a pile of rubble, unmoving. “Nakahara Chuuya. You can call me Chuuya. You hurt?” 

He extends his hand to you, and you take it gratefully, giving him your name and letting him help you to your feet. You stumble a bit, your left ankle buckling under your weight, and Chuuya wraps an arm around your waist to steady you. 

How embarrassing, you think, thanking him quietly before easing his arm away, standing on your own even with the pain in your ankle, not wanting to come across as weak. You make your way over to where the ability user is crumpled on the ground, kneeling in the rubble next to him. You lift your fingers to his neck to see if he’s still hanging on, but there’s no pulse.

You click your tongue, having been hoping you’d be able to take him back to the base for questioning, but instead, you let your fingers drift to the symbol embroidered on his jacket and then to the two bars embroidered onto his bicep.

Strain. 

The old lady and her grandson hadn’t been lying.

“You recognize the symbol?” Chuuya asks, wandering over to stand next to where you’re kneeling on the ground.

You frown instantly. “You don’t?” you ask dubiously, eyes narrowing again as Chuuya bristles at your comment.

“The conflict only just started a few days ago,” he says defensively. “We don’t have intel on all of the organizations that have showed up in the city. There are dozens of them. We’ve been more focused on trying to keep the civilians out of the crossfires at this point.”

A mighty fine job they’ve been doing at that, you think sarcastically, mind drawing back to the boy and old woman that helped you earlier and all of the destroyed buildings. You keep the thought to yourself, not too keen on antagonizing one of the people sent to get you out of this hellhole. 

“That’s why he brought me back here then,” you mutter more to yourself than anyone else, rolling your eyes as you grab the ability user’s walkie-talkie and rise to your feet. “He’s a member of Strain—one of their lower-ranked ability users, if the lines on his coat are accurate. From what I’ve gathered, they control Kanagawa-ku and Nishi-ku. We should get out of the open before their stronger ability users show up.”

“I can take them,” Chuuya says confidently, looking unperturbed by your comment.

“I’m sure you can,” you say dryly, “but how skilled are you at using nonlethal force against strong opponents?”

Chuuya only squints at you, which is as much of an answer as you need.

“If we want actual, useful intel, we’ll have to capture one of their higher-ranked ability users alive. I can get the information out of them, I just need the opportunity to use my ability.” You rise back to your feet, gaze shifting around the street to try to figure out where you should hide out for the night. “Plus, night is falling, and rumor has it, Strain has an ability user that’s particularly adept with umbrakinetic abilities and I would rather not run into him. I am already tired and wounded, and I don’t know how your gravity would interact with an element unaffected by gravitational forces so we can’t rely on your brute force.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have attitude?” Chuuya scowls, disgruntled by your blunt commentary, and you roll your eyes.

“No, actually,” you say, giving him a thin smile. “In fact, I’ve been told I’m quite pleasant. I’m just in a bad mood because I didn’t realize Mori would be having me return to a warzone when he called me back to Yokohama. I would’ve appreciated a bit of a head’s up.”

Your gaze drifts back to Dazai as you speak, curious, but the boy is already looking at you, a frown on his lips and visible eye sharp. As soon as he notices that you caught him staring, his face smoothes out and he cocks his head to the side, questioning, eye too black and too empty.

Your gaze slides away from him onto what seems like another residential building behind him.

“We’ll stay there for the night.”

You wake up with a pain in your back and a headache. The fact that your ankle doesn’t hurt as badly is only a minimal consolation as you push yourself into a sitting position and rub your forehead, disoriented and confused, trying to remember where you are and why you’re sleeping on a rickety bed.

Your gaze catches sight of a head of orange hair lying in the opposite direction of you, pillow at the foot of the bed and curled close to the edge of the mattress as if trying to stay as far away as possible from you.

That’s right. You’re back in Yokohama. Mori called you back to help with this conflict. Sent the gravity manipulator and the Demon Prodigy after you to make sure you got back to the base. Your eyes linger on Nakahara Chuuya for a moment, watching the way his chest rises and falls, soft puffs of air escaping his lips—he’s fast asleep, dead to the world. So, you let your gaze drift across the room; it’s dark, no lights on in fear of drawing unwanted attention from Strain scouts if they see any sign of life in one of the abandoned buildings. You can only hardly catch sight of Dazai Osamu sitting near a cracked open window, one knee tucked to his chest while the other hangs loosely at his side as he looks outside and smokes a cigarette.

There’s an indecipherable expression on his face—a heavy look in his eyes and a downturn curve to his lips. You watch him curiously for a moment. 

You’ve heard a lot about Dazai Osamu’s feats while stationed in Kyoto: ruthless, terrifyingly intelligent, willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done. It took only a year of him being a member of the Mafia for him to be given control of Mori’s personal covert ops unit, and he’s been producing staggering results since. He’s the one who takes charge of eliminating organizations that you deem unworthy of associating with the Mafia but too problematic to keep around, the one who’s been opening up new distribution and trade channels for you to make use of in negotiations and acquisitions.

You suppose you’ve been working closely with him for a while now, even if the two of you have never interacted until now.

Still, the rumors that have spread about the boy are nothing to scoff at. The head of the Mafia’s interrogation unit—they say no one lasts more than five minutes in the same room with him before cracking. You’ve heard through the grapevine that the lower-ranked mafiosos are more terrified of him than any of the executives—see him as heartless and calculating, willing to sacrifice any one of them if it means furthering the Mafia’s interests. He only views people as tools, there’s no room in his black heart for meaningful relationships. No one trusts him and the longer he works for the Mafia, the darker and more unfathomable he becomes, even in the eyes of others entrenched in the dark—people keep far out of reach of him unless they have a death wish.

You study him carefully from where you’re sitting; he still hangs his jacket over his shoulders, like some sort of barrier from the rest of the world. His expression now is a far cry from the smile that had been on his face when you first saw him; his eye black and eerily still as he stares out the window, void of the gleam that had been in it before he noticed your reaction to his name.

You slide out of bed as quietly as you can, making your way over to where he’s sitting—he doesn’t even notice your approach until he catches sight of your reflection in the window, but even then, he doesn’t turn to look at you, only tracking you through the glass until you come to sit on the windowsill across from him. You tilt your head to the side as you observe him, pulling your knees to your chest.

“You shouldn’t sit at the window,” you finally say. “Someone could spot you.”

His eye is so black right now; you almost feel uncomfortable beneath his stare but you only raise your eyebrows. His gaze pointedly trails down to where you’d joined him and the corner of your lip quirks up.

“Fair enough,” you say and then hold your hand out, silently requesting for him to pass the cigarette over to you. Dazai stares at your hand for a moment and just when you’re about to draw your hand back, he finally reaches out to let you take it from him. Your fingers brush his as you take it between your index and middle fingers, the contact causing a spark to run up your forearm. You lift the cigarette to your lips and take a long drag, tilting your head back against the wall before you tell him, “You should go get some rest. I’ll take watch the next few hours.”

“Not tired,” he replies after a few seconds of silence. His voice is just as cold as the expression on his face, no hint of the playfulness from earlier in the day.

You hum, trying to decide what to say because he’s clearly unhappy and you have a feeling it has to do with how you reacted to hearing his name earlier, so you decide to be upfront, not in the mood for word games. 

“I think you’re unhappy with me because of how I reacted to hearing your name,” you say, laying out the issue. His gaze snaps up to you, sharp and narrowed, lips parting to deny the allegation but you don’t let him. “I was only surprised. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I have a bad opinion of you.”

“No?” Dazai asks, a sardonic lilt to his voice, goading more than anything else but you don’t fall for the trap. 

With your legs brushing, you can’t feel the familiar warmth of your ability circling through you and emanating around you, everything feels cold and empty instead, as if a part of you was sucked into a vacuum in space—the rumors must be true about him being a nullifier. You’ve never had to interact with people without your ability as a fail safe, it’s constantly active despite trying to learn how to turn it off. It’s useful though, it ensures that even if you mess up, the people around you are comfortable enough and amiable enough to not notice. They trust you without you even needing to do anything, adore you just because of the pleasant feelings your ability induces in them.

This is… different. 

And you don’t think in a bad way. You’ve always wondered what it would be like to interact with people without your ability interfering, it’s why you tried so hard to figure out if you could turn it off. And… it's nice talking to someone who’s not automatically endeared to you by your ability, who you can have normal conversation with without having to wonder if they’re only talking to you because you’re messing with their minds. Even nicer than you used to imagine.

“No,” you confirm. “I’m curious about you.”

The corners of Dazai’s lips turn down even more, brows furrowing at the comment. “Why?”

“You’re not what I expected.”

“What did you expect?”

“A monster,” you say the word absently, watching as Dazai goes rigid at it, staring you down. “A demon. It’s what everyone calls you, at least.” 

“... and what makes you think I’m not one?” he finally asks, jaw tight.

Your lips curl into an easy smile again. “If you were a monster, you wouldn’t have been so bothered by the idea of me not liking you. The desire to be liked is an exceedingly human trait.”

Even under the dim moonlight, you can see the way Dazai’s cheeks burn a rosy color at your words. He suddenly looks years younger as he fumbles for words, gaze averting from you back to the window, but his reflection betrays him. 

“I was not bothered by the idea of you not liking me,” he protests, defensiveness creeping into his tone as he snatches his cigarette right back from your hand as if to make a point, giving you a glare from the corner of his eye. “I was not.”

“You were also very clearly put off by the fact that I had no issue with Chuuya,” you note, biting back a laugh at the squeak-like protest that slips from his lips and the mortified expression that follows. “Jealousy, another exceedingly human trait.”

“I was not jealous,” he cries out, a bit too loud because from where he’s sleeping on the bed, Chuuya grumbles out a ‘shut the fuck up’ in his sleep. “I was not jealous.”

“It’s okay if you were,” you say, instead of indulging in his denial. “I’m not judging you.”

“I wasn’t,” Dazai hisses, more insistent now. “I don’t care if you like me or not.”

“Well, I do like you,” you tell him—honest, you’re having fun teasing him.

“You don’t even know me,” Dazai scoffs, cheeks still pink as he pointedly turns his face away from you. “You can’t like me.”

“I want to know you,” you say, tilting your head to the side as you observe him. You like observing things—it’s the easiest way of gathering information. You keep quiet, you don’t draw more attention to yourself than necessary. It’s how you’ve been able to thrive alone in Kyoto even with so many vultures circling you. “I don’t know many other people my age… none, really.”

Something strange crosses Dazai’s expression. Longing but hesitant. Wistful but reluctant, like he should know better but just can’t help himself from wanting. You’re good at reading people, you pride yourself on it; it’s another reason why you’ve been able to succeed in Kyoto alone. Dazai is difficult—he covers half of his face and he’s quick to school the other half when he slips up, but you’re observant. It’s what you’re best at. 

You wonder, maybe, if Dazai has his own vultures. You think he must, he’s young—like you—and it’s probably why he uses his reputation as a shield and wears his long black coat like armor in the same way you use honeyed words and wear a saccharine smile. So, the thought must be scary to him as much as it must be appealing—the desire to have someone see him put against the fear of actually being seen as he is. 

You know it better than anyone.

“Well, you can’t have Chuuya. Chuuya is my dog,” Dazai says firmly, raising his chin. “He follows my orders.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Your dog?” you ask dryly.

“My dog,” Dazai confirms, seemingly quite proud of himself. “I won a bet, and now Chuuya is my dog for life.”

“Must have been quite the bet,” you drawl, watching as Dazai brightens a bit at the topic.

“We had a contest to see who could figure out the culprit of one of our missions faster. I won, of course, because Chuuya is slow and dumb like a slug. A slug. Chuuya is a slug,” Dazai cackles, dark eye shining as his lips curl up into a wide smile, clapping his hands together. “I’m much better than Chuuya, you see. He’s a brute. He’s never had to learn to be smart or cunning because of his ability, so he just punches things around until he gets what he wants. Plus, he’s small—and if that’s not bad enough, he is more arrogant than his tiny body can hold. That’s why he’s my dog. He can’t do anything without his master’s orders.”

Dazai is not subtle in dragging Chuuya down to boast about himself, puffing out his chest like some prideful bird and lifting his chin as he speaks. You think that if Chuuya was awake to hear this, Dazai would find himself tossed right out of the window to fall two stories to the ground, but the other boy is asleep, blissfully unaware of Dazai’s rampage of insults. 

“What happened during the mission?” you ask curiously, a bit interested to know what’s all been happening in Yokohama while you’ve been gone.

Dazai looks surprised as if he didn’t expect you to encourage his yapping. Then, he lights up again. “I’ll tell you all about it…”

You wonder, maybe, if the rumors of his solidarity and inability to form meaningful relationships might not have stemmed from his own volition. Rather, you think they’ve been enforced by the people around him who refuse to give him the time of day in fear of his reputation, because right now in front of you isn’t some twisted and unfathomable wraith of the Mafia.

All you see is a boy the same age as you eager to have someone new to talk to. 

He talks all night. 

From the moment you sat there with him at two or three in the morning until dawn, you don’t think he shut his mouth once. You hardly spoke more than a handful of times, content to just lean your head against the window and listen to him go on about all of the missions he’s had since joining the Mafia a year ago—most of them involved Chuuya, and he certainly made a show of explaining in each one why the mission would have failed without Dazai there to guide it along.

“See. This is why he’s my dog.”

It’s not until Chuuya finally starts stirring as the sun crosses the horizon does he finally quiet down, seemingly not keen on getting himself launched out a window if the other boy happens to hear one of the unsavory stories Dazai’s telling you.

Then again, his first words are pretty much asking for it.

“About time you woke up, slug,” Dazai says cheerfully when Chuuya groans and rolls over, clearly starting to wake up. His dark eye gleams as he waits for Chuuya’s explosive reaction to the new nickname.

“Hah?! What did you just call me, bastard?” Chuuya snaps, although he’s quite slow in pushing himself out of bed, sleepy and disoriented, gaze swiveling around to try to land on Dazai.

“Huh,” you say, more to yourself than them. “He is quite sluggish in waking up.”

“What?!” Chuuya demands, head snapping toward you. 

On the other side of the window bench, Dazai snickers, looking mighty pleased with himself. He looks a lot more his age now, the tenseness in his shoulders has dissipated in the hours he spent talking to you, the tightness in his face has smoothed out. His eye is a lot wider and a lot brighter, the corner of his lip twitching as he waits to see what Chuuya’s going to do next. He sits closer to you now too—or, not closer, really, but he’s extended his legs out a bit as the night drew on until they were all but entangled with yours.

“You’re a slug, Chuuya,” Dazai jeers. “A slug. Because you’re small and slow. Aren’t I so brilliant?”

“I’m going to toss your shitty ass out the window,” Chuuya booms, throwing himself out of bed and darting over to Dazai, who evades Chuuya’s punch by diving off of the window bench, nearly taking you right with him considering his legs were stuffed between yours. “Get back here, you asshole.”

Dazai’s out of the room in an instant and Chuuya is chasing after him, spitting out curses and threats. You sit there for a moment, blinking, trying to wrap your mind around what just happened before just deciding to shake your head and rise to your feet. You stretch, body a bit sore from sitting in the same place for hours and tired from the little amount of sleep you got last night. 

You’re ready to get back to headquarters. You want to sleep in an actual bed and you want to drag Mori for his incompetence and nearly getting you killed. You miss Elise too, even if you don’t really like what she’s become. You’re just happy to not be alone anymore—being in Kyoto was… stressful, at best, and downright agonizing, at worst. You couldn’t trust anyone, not even your ability was enough to protect you there, you had no friends, you were lonely and constantly looking over your shoulder because you had no one to watch your back—even the other members of the Mafia in Kyoto with you would’ve turned against you at any given chance if it meant they could drag themselves higher up the hierarchy. 

You yawn as you leave the room, hearing the distant sounds of Chuuya kicking Dazai’s shit in. You make your way to the front of the building you guys had camped the night out, intent on getting a breath of fresh air before waiting for them to stop fucking around but you hardly get more than half a step out of the door before you’re pushed back hard against a nearby wall.

Your eyes widen when a figure manifests in front of you, particles of shadows knitting together to form a young man who seems to be a few years older than you. You barely withhold a sigh, realizing that despite all attempts to avoid him, you still managed to stumble right into the hands of Strain’s shadow manipulator—literally.

“I didn’t expect the cargo we got intel on to be a girl,” he says coolly.  “I almost didn’t believe it when Anderson reported it to me. Though I haven’t heard from him in hours, I assume that’s your doing.”

“You know,” you say lightly, “this is the second time in less than twelve hours that I’ve been called cargo. I think I like it even less coming from you.”

Though you’ve heard a lot about the shadow manipulator, you didn’t know what he looked like before now—he’s quick and elusive, and those who do manage to catch sight of him are killed by him soon after.. He’s not much older than you, though—two years max—handsome enough, pale blonde hair and green eyes with tan, freckled skin. 

Your lips curve up into a small smile. “Are you going to kill me or are you going to stand here with your hand around my neck? … Just so you know, I’m not into that.”

You watch as—just as you expect—he frowns deeply and takes a step back. He watches you carefully, brows knit together, and you let your ability work. Invisible threads wind around his limbs, curling up his neck twisting into his ears and nose and mouth, they curl up to his brain and take root, leaving him vulnerable to however you plan to use your ability.

You still have to be careful. You have to be subtle. Your ability is useful but it has its drawbacks—the biggest being that if you’re too sudden with it, the person you’re targeting can realize that you’re messing with their head and pull themselves out of it. That would be the worst case scenario because 1) they’d realize you have an ability and 2) you’d be in trouble. 

So you resign to just tilting your head to the side as you smile—some emotions are fickle, positive ones like love and happiness, especially among people like you who don’t often feel those emotions. Negative emotions are easier in that once you send someone into a spiral of fear, paranoia or rage, it’s almost impossible for them to draw themselves out, but they’ll inevitably realize that you had done something to their head, which is not an option because your ability needs to remain a secret.

So you decide to just rely on the passive form of your ability, watching as he falls victim to it, shoulders slumping and muscles relaxing as he eyes you curiously. Your ability is non-combatant, yes, but as soon as combat is over, it comes out to play.

He’d made a fatal mistake when he chose not to snap your neck.

“I’ve heard a lot about you,” you say conversationally, hands behind your back as you tilt your head to the side. “They say you’re one of the strongest ability users in the world right now.” 

“I didn’t expect you to be a kid,” he says with a frown. “You’re what? Fourteen?”

You blanche. “I’m sixteen,” you protest, forgetting to keep up appearances as you stare at him, aghast. “I do not look fourteen.”

He makes a face as if he disagrees and then shrugs. 

Your eyes bulge. “I do not,” you repeat angrily. “I’m sixteen.”

“Whatever you say,” he says, amused. “I’m not in the business of killing kids though, so I guess I have to take you in. What a bother.”

Your eye twitches. You’d rather die than be taken hostage by Strain and you don’t know where your shitty escorts are so you settle for antagonizing him as a means to stall.

“You’re a high-ranking member of Strain, how are you going to sit here and tell me you’re not in the business of killing kids?” you sneer. “Your organization has been the cause of more child deaths than any other in the world.”

His eyes turn to slits as he stares at you. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says coldly. “I put a stop to all of the rings in Australia myself.”

“And what? You think Strain is willing to just take those losses?” you say, an amused laugh bubbling in the back of your throat when anger flashes through his eyes. Your gaze flits down to the five lines embroidered on his jacket. “For an executive, you must not be kept in the loop by the rest of your comrades. The moment you dismantled the rings in Australia, they turned to strike a deal with Bunin—what do you think your branch in Russia does there? They’re helping Bunin expand his trafficking rings through the East and Strain cuts twenty percent of the profit.”

His hand snaps forward to grab your collar, yanking you toward him. “How would you even know that?” he spits, but from the conflict thinly veiled behind his eyes, you know that your words have taken root. 

You raise your eyebrows as you look up at him, a bit too close for comfort.

“How did you know I was coming back to Yokohama?” you counter instead. He lets you go immediately, withdrawing with a closed-off expression. “Come on, we’ve both been betrayed in some manner—you by your organization, me by someone within mine. I almost burned to death because of them and you… you’ve been working for an organization that’s been lying to you for years. Let’s help each other.”

“I don’t even know if what you’re saying is the truth,” he replies tightly. “I don’t-”

“Then go find out,” you say with an idle smile, “and when you realize I’m telling the truth, well… your ability is quite handy, I’m sure you’ll be able to find me again.”

He stares at you for a moment, expression indecipherable, but after a few long seconds, he disappears in the same swirl of darkness that he appeared in and you can finally relax. You let out a heavy sigh as your shoulders slump, lifting your hand to your neck, wincing at the tenderness.

You doubt that will be enough. You’ve heard rumors that he’s Yakuza-born—only ended up with Strain after Mishima’s Sun and Steel went to war with their syndicate—loyalty is always core to those types, runs through their blood—but at least you’ve planted the seeds, and when he inevitably finds out you’re telling the truth, he’ll come crawling back for more information.

And hopefully some information for you in return. 

Your gaze flits to the side when you hear a crash from your left, seeing Nakahara Chuuya fly out of the building, hands glowing red and eyes wide and wild, trying to seek out a man who’s already long gone.

You roll your eyes. “He’s already gone. Thanks for the help, O’Great Protectors,” you say sarcastically. “Really, you guys are amazing at your job.”

Chuuya has the decency to look ashamed, face flushing as red as his hair as he deactivates his ability and looks away from you. “Who the hell was that?”

“Itou Asahi,” you say absently. “Strain’s shadow manipulator—one of the strongest ability users in the eastern hemisphere right now. Mori brought him up a few times wanting me to recruit him. I didn't think I’d get the chance considering we’re aligned with the Sun and Steel and he hates them, but I might have an opening.”

Your look over to Dazai, who only frowns at your words, gaze trained on you with an unreadable look in his eyes.

“You’re hurt,” he says, brows furrowed, and you realize he’s looking at your neck.

You drop your hand from where you’d been brushing your fingers against the sensitive skin, feeling distinctly too seen under Dazai’s heavy gaze. You don’t know why you feel a bit flustered, but you do and you definitely don’t like it.

“I’m fine,” you say, shaking your head. “Can we head back to headquarters now?”

Dazai frowns like he’s about to protest, but Chuuya nods before he can. 

“Yeah,” he says. “Let’s go.”

Headquarters is less than a mile away now. The streets that three of you are walking down are safe—none of the organizations have made it this far into the heart of Port Mafia territory—and yet for some reason, Dazai still feels incredibly troubled. 

He hasn’t even been able to join in on you and Chuuya’s conversation. He’s had ample opportunity to considering how much Chuuya is embarrassing himself by trying to act smart, but instead he finds himself trailing behind the two of you, an outsider, too lost in his own thoughts to even think of trying to make a snide comment.

Why is he so troubled?

Dazai isn’t sure and that troubles him too.

He’s always been very in tune with himself. His emotions, his motives, his wants and needs—they’re few and far between, yes, but Dazai has never struggled to pinpoint them at any point in his life. 

He was sad when his ability manifested and his siblings no longer wanted anything to do with him. His ability made them uncomfortable, made them feel empty because it deprived them of their own abilities. They said it was unnatural, and they said he must be unnatural too because why else would he develop such a terrible ability? Dazai couldn’t really blame them, his ability made him feel empty too—he theorizes that when it doesn’t have an ability to suck up into the black hole, it starts devouring anything else it can get its hands on, like his emotions, because he stopped feeling much at all after it manifested. 

When he was twelve, he wanted to learn how to play the piano to impress his mother, though he never got the chance to show her because she was killed soon after. He hasn’t wanted much of anything since then. 

When he was fourteen, his grandfather started pitting him, his siblings and his cousins against each other. His older brother drew the first blood against one of his cousins, and it was a bloodbath from there on out. With both of his parents dead and his siblings and cousins trying to kill one another to be named his grandfather’s heir, Dazai didn’t have much reason to live himself, and he definitely didn’t want to be killed by one of his siblings or cousins. 

So, he thought the next logical step was to die, so he tried to kill himself.

He failed, obviously, and ended up with none other than Mori. He still hasn’t found much of a reason to keep living. Chuuya is around, he supposes, and he’s entertaining enough to mess with—it’s enough to keep Dazai going for now—and you claim to want to know him, so Dazai is interested in seeing how that plays out, but that’s beyond the point. 

The point is that Dazai knows what Dazai wants. Dazai knows what Dazai needs. Dazai knows what Dazai feels. And Dazai currently cannot figure out why Dazai is troubled, so something is certainly wrong and he needs to figure out what it is. 

He hears you laugh at something that Chuuya said and barely stops himself from rolling his eyes. Nothing Chuuya says is ever that funny, so you must just be being polite, but it’s still annoying. Mostly due to the fact that Dazai can’t call it out because he doesn’t even know what was said because he wasn’t paying attention courtesy of his current dilemma.

He withholds a sigh as his gaze drops to your neck, eyes focusing in on the dark bruises lining your neck—the fingerprints of that ability user form Strain that attacked you when he and Chuuya weren’t around—and his irritation spikes yet again.

At once, a lightbulb goes off in his head.

That’s what’s troubling him. He’s found himself looking back at the marks on your neck on more than one occasion, and each time, it’s triggered his displeasure. He’s not sure why it took him so long to put it together, but now lies a new issue: why is it triggering his displeasure?

He squints as he stares at you hard, willing the answer to come to him. There must be a logical reason for it, he just needs to figure out what it is. He can see you looking at him from the corner of your eye, probably wondering why he’s staring at you so intensely, but Dazai just can’t rip his gaze away, fully intent on figuring out what his problem is right now.

Casualties are expected in this line of work. Dazai has never been one to think twice when people are hurt or killed in the line of action—he’s lost many subordinates to ensure the success of a mission and has even put his own life on the line if it meant that it bettered his chances of succeeding. So he should by no means be bothered by the prospect of you being wounded, especially considering he barely knows you.

“I want to know you.”

Dazai blinks as your words suddenly ring through his head again, startled by his own thoughts. His brows furrow even deeper because no, that can’t possibly be the reason why. He supposes it might be influencing it a bit because people who want to know him are few and far between, so the thought of meeting someone who actually gives him the time of day and almost losing them right away is unfortunate. It makes sense that it’s making him more irritable, especially when it’s something he’s curious to see play out and it’s something that could’ve been easily prevented.

Oh, he realizes, suddenly satisfied as he comes to an answer that he can quickly accept, disregarding everything else. 

That’s the issue—it was preventable. 

Dazai should’ve seen it coming and he should’ve been quick to take the necessary steps to avoid it. What he was feeling was irritability at himself, not at the fact that you got hurt. It wouldn’t make sense because Dazai doesn’t know you and even if he did know you, casualties are expected in this line of work. But you’re his assignment—his and Chuuya’s—Dazai has never failed an assignment before, much less with Chuuya, and he’d come this close because he’d recklessly let down his guard in enemy territory. 

It makes sense.

Much more than any of the other absurd explanations he’d been considering do at least.

This time when Chuuya makes a stupid comment, Dazai chimes in with some very necessary commentary, giving you a simpering smile and a wink before dancing out of the way of Chuuya’s much anticipated roundhouse.

Still, Dazai finds the troubled feeling returning again when his gaze drifts back down to the marks on your neck as he passes by the two of you with flourished spin, antagonizing Chuuya just to entertain himself with how red his face gets in embarrassment. 

But his gaze darts back up to your face quickly and he shakes off the unwelcome feeling, another quip on the tip of his tongue that abruptly dies when he sees your hand pressed to your mouth as you try to hide your amusement from Chuuya. Your eyes are turned up and your smothered giggles are just barely audible, the mid-morning sun casts an ethereal glow over your face and for a moment, Dazai is entirely stunned by the sight. He nearly trips over his own foot, and since he’s unsteady on his feet, he can’t avoid the way Chuuya predictably transitions from a roundhouse into a back kick.

He goes flying backward, all breath pushed from his lungs as takes the kick to the gut and hits the concrete hard a few feet away. He should be disgruntled, or he should at the very least retaliate with another mocking jibe, but instead, he finds his gaze fixed on you, watching as you finally burst into laughter, unable to contain it with the sight of Dazai sprawled out on the ground looking like a clown.

His heart rate spikes and Dazai’s hand flies to his chest, alarmed—becomes even more so when it doesn’t settle down. He rips his gaze from you to stare down at the ground, forcibly calming his heart and only when he’s sure that he’s got it under control, he looks back up.

Immediately, he loses control over it again, and this time it feels even more erratic, each thump resonating through his ears as you approach him, giggles quieting as you hold out your hand to help him up. 

For a horrifying second, Dazai thinks he might have a heart attack and that would be a lame way to go. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, he does not have a heart attack, although that means he’s probably going to have to go to Mori when he gets back to the base—death may have been more preferable to that. 

Great, he thinks bitterly, not only has he had to deal with Chuuya for over twenty-four now, but now he’s going to have to go see Mori and figure out what the hell is wrong with him. Or you. He wonders if maybe you have an ability that’s somehow affecting him, that would be a serious issue for future missions that the two of you might be paired for. 

But it must be that—it’s the most logical explanation. 

What a mess the past day has been, but…

Dazai thinks it might’ve been worth the trouble, eyes lingering on you for a few moments longer before he takes your hand, taking note of the odd jolt that runs up his arm as soon as your fingers wrap around his hand to help him up. 

He doesn’t notice that even with your fingers locked with his, his heart still beats out of his chest. 

“Don’t tell me you’re over here reminiscing.”

You roll your eyes before looking over your shoulder to focus your gaze on an achingly familiar face. Chuuya drops lightly to the ground behind you, using gravity to soften his fall as he approaches you.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you reply, folding your arms over your chest as a smile curves to your lips. “I was waiting for you.”

“D’aw, did ya miss me?” he asks with a sharp smile.

You have a retort ready to fly from your lips, but instead of speaking it, you sigh and let your gaze drift across the street in Kanagawa-ku that you’re standing in. Even after all of these years, the ground and buildings are still charred where that ability user had attacked you—faded now, of course, but you can still make out the faint remnants of the attacks.

Maybe you are reminiscing, you think to yourself, a heavy feeling settling over you. If you close your eyes, you can almost picture the rubble you were hiding behind, the jolt of fear you’d felt when you realized you wouldn’t be able to dodge the next attack, and then him.

And then Dazai.

“I did,” you admit, dragging your eyes from the ground to look back at Chuuya, whose smile falters a bit before softening.

“I can’t believe Mori had you abroad for three years,” he sighs, reaching out to squeeze your wrist. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do. Let’s head back to headquarters and have a drink. We can put on a movie.”

“Not one of your shitty horror movies,” you laugh, knocking your shoulder into his. You lean into him a bit as he wraps an arm around your shoulders, keeping it draped around you as the two of you start to make your way back to the base.

You hesitate—and Chuuya can feel your hesitation from the way he glances down at you, concerned. He frowns and asks, “What’s up?”

You let out a puff of air and then speak up reluctantly, “Have you… heard from him? Of him?”

You hate the twinge of hope that’s audible in your voice, despite how hard you tried to rid yourself of it. You hate even more the sympathetic look that Chuuya casts you; he knows who you’re talking about instantly—of course, he does, there’s only one person it could be—his lashes lower and his arm drops back to his side. 

“I saw him,” Chuuya says after a few moments. Your eyes widen as your head snaps toward him, waiting for him to continue. “... Met him. He’s part of the Armed Detective Agency now. Got himself captured by us to try to get information to help his new protege.”

“Oh.”

Your throat feels tight. Too tight. Swollen. Your eyes sting painfully and you have to force yourself to take a deep breath. The Armed Detective Agency. New protege. You don’t know if you feel bitter or relieved. Bitter because he’s found a place somewhere without you, relieved because he’s alive and okay. 

His defection still doesn’t even feel real after four years, it’s not like you’ve been in Yokohama long enough to fully process it, but god… you could still imagine him coming up behind the two of you with a snide comment to antagonize Chuuya, eyes trained on you to watch the way you laugh at Chuuya’s reaction. The wistfulness hits you so hard that it almost knocks the air from your lungs—not for the first time since he left, you yearn, you miss him, you want him, and now that you’re finally back in Yokohama after so many years abroad, it’s all the more intense.

How unfair, you think, nails biting into your palms as you stare ahead.

“Do you think he’s replaced us?” You try to keep your voice light, but you think you fail.

Chuuya lets out a bark of laughter. “He can certainly try.”

Your lips curl up at Chuuya’s words, gaze flickering down to the ground. “Yeah, you’re right,” you agree quietly before asking, “Did he seem… okay?”

Chuuya rolls his eyes. “I’m not talking about that shithead anymore,” he tells you. “I’m sure he’ll come looking for you now that you’re back. Let’s go home now, yeah?” 

The thought of Dazai coming to look for you makes your stomach twist with anxiety; after so many years apart, you just don’t know what to expect… but you suppose you’ve never really known what to expect from him, so you’ll just handle him the same way you always have. Except maybe not as kindly.

But you don’t have to worry about that yet.  Instead, you smile and bump shoulders with Chuuya again.

“Yeah, let’s go home.”

[sorcerersandskillusers]

Card Meanings in the new, The Day I Picked Up Dazai art.

Ok so im currently still in shock that were getting new day I picked up dazai content so bare with me, but onece again Asagiri has included playing cards in his art so of course I have to break down what they mean.

Lets start with side A (the right side):

First we see a joker:

While Gogol is the obvious fit for the joker, the card also describes Dazai extremely well. He is almost always acting like the fool in any given situation, even in the mafia he loved to be as weird and funny as he could as well as tease and annoy the people around him, something jesters famously did.

In fact, his dynamic with Mori is very close to how a king and a jester used to work, where the jester was the only person who was allowed to openly mock the king and would usually heckle him. They also played a key part in psychological warfare, which we see Dazai specialises in.

I think the whole; wit, intelligence and unpredictability kind of speaks for itself.

Next card is the four of spades:

This one is also really fitting, it shows how after the day I picked up Dazai side A, Dazai settles into his little routine of going to bar lupin with Oda as well as how he finally has someone who he can trust and be comfortable around. Finally, it is a clear message of optimism, something Dazai never shows before he meets Oda.

Next the two of hearts:

This one is pretty obvious, it's Dazai and Oda spending time at bar lupin. It actually fits so well, there's not much I can say about it other then how it shows the love and care Dazai and Oda had for each other (platonically)

Now for Side B (prepare to cry)

The first card is the three of spades:

Whyyyyyyyyyy... why Asagiri. This one is also fairly obvious but it has multiple meanings. It most clearly represents Dazai suffering in side B as he has to run the mafia without odasaku and live in utter loneliness while destroying all the connections he never got to have for the sake of a friend he never got to meet.

“It was hard,” muttered the young man. “It was really hard fighting Mimic without you in the organization. I had no choice but to take over for Mori and make enemies of everyone around me to expand the business. Everything I did was for this world’s—”

It also represents the moment on the platform where he nearly tells Odasaku the truth and goes with him to bar lupin, the horrible decision to abandon everything for Odas future

The next card is... the ace of spades:

The ace of spade has many meanings, most of which involve change or transition, but by far its most famous meaning it death. I really don't think I have to explain this one, Beast Dazai having the card of death has a pretty clear meaning.

But the ace of spade does have a secondary meaning, and this one is a little more hopeful, as it shows Dazai passing the safety of this world onto Atsushi and Auktagawa.

Finally, (it's a bit hard to see) we have the ten of diamonds:

I want to focus mostly on the highlighted part because it's what really applies to BEAST Dazai, he lived his whole life to create a world where what matters most to him, that Oda gets to be happy and write his books, becomes real. This card doesn't apply to Dazai directly, more to the fact that he made succeeding in his mission his only priority and discarded everything else.

Bonus round Odasku card; the king of clubs

the only card thats seen on Oda's section and one that clearly represents Odasaku as a character.

"King of clubs represents a dark man, who is loyal and kind. He is a good businessman, shrewd with money and investments, but isn’t selfish. In fact, the King of clubs is a very devoted father, husband and citizen. In a broader sense, the King of clubs encompasses idealized qualities of a fatherly figure. This card is universally considered as a very good omen."

I feel like this sums Odasaku up very well, the devoted father and loyal friend parts are just him to a t.

(this is also the card I think best represents Fukuzawa)

Right, I think I got everything, if you disagree with this or find something I missed, please reblog or comment with whatever you want to add, or send me an ask. I love discussing, and hearing other people's views as long as they're respectful.

If you add something, please add it in the post not the tags, so I can reply to it (or in the tags if that makes you more comfortable)

[xiaosonlybeloved]

Too Late~ Dazai Osamu

featuring:- PM!Dazai Osamu, gn!reader (no pronouns mentioned), Chuuya (briefly) warnings:- angst, hurt/no comfort, being hostage, mentions of torture in captivity, graphic mentions of blood and violence, major character death, lmk if i missed anything a/n:- im already sighing on looking at the warnings... it IS bsd i suppose.. well here's what im best at again, in a new fandom, so have some angst that is VERY late set some time before Odasaku's death

wc:- 2.5k || masterlist

Not many people knew what it was like to have known Dazai before he joined the Port Mafia. To be one of the few people who had been trusted by him. Keyword being ‘had’- for some, some unfathomable reason, he’d drifted away, leaving you behind, alone. Making you wonder if for some reason he wanted nothing to do with you anymore.

It hurt. It hurt that you could lose him so easily, despite having been with him throughout the years, making sure he knew that you would always be there for him, silently tending to him after yet another attempt. It hurt because you had no idea what you did wrong to push him away. It hurt because he didn’t care anymore, for you, for them, for your shared childhood. 

A fool could have probably known that you shouldn’t have gotten so close to the brunette, that he leaves nothing but a trail of suffering and sorrow in the wake of the people who dared to care for him. You, however, argued that he wasn’t like this before. At all. Again, a fool’s excuse.

Perhaps the Port Mafia had changed him, so much more than it changed you. Because now, he was completely unrecognisable, almost like he was a different person altogether. And you can’t help but dully wonder where the man you once knew almost inside out went, the man who once did his best to stay with you no matter what, when he abandoned you yet again during a joint mission ordered by Mori, citing some logical reasons of why it was better for you to not be with him during a mission. (Like always.) Not even bothering to get your opinion or response, something he never did before joining the Mafia.

You watch silently as the brunette slowly disappears into the horizon, leaving you behind. Again.

That night, as you return to your apartment alone once again, (Bittersweet memories surface in your mind- young Dazai cheerily walking you back home, laughing.), you get the distinct feeling that something is off. You are a mafioso after all, you need to have a keen sense for danger to be alive in this industry. You’re instantly on high alert, even though you look calm as always, with your hands in your coat pockets, ready to pull out your knives in a moment. But you still can’t sense anyone following you. Just to be sure, you take a detour home. 

You take a deep breath at the threshold of your door, relieved to be back here. That sense of danger wasn’t as prominent anymore, and you were dying to get some sleep in an attempt to get a certain brunette out of your mind. You’d deal with whatever the problem was tomorrow- you’d had enough today. You can’t help but smile forlornly as you walk into your dimly lit home-

-And then suddenly you’re falling, falling, into a void of darkness, surrounded by the people you care, by him, hurling words at you that stab you like a thousand knives in a nightmare, and dumbly you realise that you walked right into an ability user’s trap, before the unknown ability takes your consciousness, bringing a silent darkness and pain. 

*********

Mimic. A foreign organisation, a group of extremely skilled soldiers who sought the Port Mafia for unknown reasons. People who are willing to go to extreme lengths to get what they wanted- much like your own boss, really. And the ones who are your captors.

You can’t move, you’ve been chained. You assume that they want someone valuable to the Mafia as a hostage, and apparently you serve the purpose well. And dammit, you’ve been completely disarmed while unconscious, you can’t feel a single weapon on you. You’re alone, too, but there’s definite signs that someone’s been here, multiple times. There’s also an assortment of sharp weapons some distance away from you, and you think its cruel to leave them in your sight but out of reach. There’s no windows or openings either.

Footsteps echo outside the door of the room you’ve been kept in, breaking your survey of the room and your thoughts of escape routes. Two men walk in, dignified. It’s clear that they are war-trained soldiers. One of them stops talking with a grin, as he notices you awake.

**********

They want an individual from the Mafia on orders of their boss. They claim that Mori has been taking too long in making a decision, and they apparently hope their decision to take you captive will either force Mori to choose, or force you to give up the individual’s identity yourself in exchange for your freedom under pressure. But you can’t, won’t do the latter.

Because the individual they want is Oda Sakunosuke, Dazai’s new best friend, and you know damn well that he would utterly despise you if you gave up his identity, if you took away the one who gave him his reason to smile these days. Bitter thoughts cloud your mind, of how he abandoned you completely over some new friends, and you wonder if it would be better to just tell them. But then, your mafia sense kicks in, reasoning that if Mori doesn’t want his identity to be revealed yet, then you're probably as good as dead if you choose for him instead and return alive. (You would later realise that this thinking, too, was planned out by Mori, that bastard.) Your captors let hints slide that they’ll let your absence build up for a while, then let the Mafia know of your being their captive. Hopefully they do something. 

You’ll just have to do your best to get out of those damn bonds by then, or survive till then. This was a very convenient time to wish that Dazai had taught you his little trick on how to unlock handcuffs, you think wistfully.

*********

As it turns out, surviving is an extremely hard thing to do after a few days have passed since Mori was apparently informed about the news of your captivity. Mori still hadn’t responded with his decision. Proof being the various cuts and bruises littering your skin already, a few small bloodstains already on the wall and floor. Not too much. Yet. They were intent on forcing your answer out of you, and clearly wouldn’t mind going to extremes for it.

You did your utmost to not make a single reaction when the knife pierced through your skin again, despite the pain that shot through your body for the umpteenth time. Unfortunately, you were well trained on how to not divulge information in captivity- after all, the Port Mafia really couldn’t risk their insider secrets getting out. 

You were still intent on escaping, on getting out. You still had a flicker of hope in you, that someone would come for you, that he might come for you, despite the past few days proving fruitless. You refused to give up yet. You still believed in him, in them, that you wouldn’t be abandoned so easily by your kin.

‘Such a naive belief’, you would dully think some days later.

********

Hope seemed like such a foolish thing now. You had lost track of time in the room without windows. No idea of how many days or weeks had passed. They weren’t coming for you. Of course they weren’t. You weren’t that important anyways, easily replaceable. Casualties happened often, what did it matter if someone died by being taken hostage? You truly attempted to free yourself, many times. You never succeeded, and each time you only received more wounds as punishment. Your captors were merciless, to say the least.

Wounds. That seemed like a small word to use at this point, with how battered and bruised you were. Your clothes were bloodsoaked, and you’d lost count of the number of scars and cuts you’d gained from your captors a long while ago. You could sense they were getting extremely frustrated by the lack of response. You didn’t mind, you didn’t care. You’d even stopped screaming when they cut you particularly deep- you just didn’t have any strength left in you at all. You passed out a few times from extreme blood loss. You could almost hear Mori in your mind, scolding you to get up already. 

Mori. Of course, everything was probably a part of his heartless plans, fully willing to use any number of pawns for their execution.

At this point, you just wanted to be put out of your misery.

Your wish was granted some time- days?- later.

*******

Dazai was initially relieved when you didn’t show up to your next joint mission. He wouldn’t have to ensure your safety and hide his feelings again. But he’d quickly figured out that something was wrong when you didn’t show up again, and again, and you were nowhere to be seen around the Port Mafia buildings either. He’d gathered up the courage to go to your apartment, but had immediately sensed the ability at the entrance and deactivated it. That was what confirmed it for him, and finally, he allowed himself to feel fear for his childhood best friend. For you.

He was well aware that he didn’t deserve to, after how terribly he treated you in an attempt to protect himself from his emotions. His only defence was that he was afraid of hurting you- he knew his reputation well. But that didn’t matter right now- he had to find you. Except not a single person had a clue of your whereabouts. The only person he hadn’t questioned yet was Mori. 

Somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to go beyond the doors of Mori’s office. He was scared. Scared of what he’d find.

Again, that would prove to be one of his biggest mistakes, when Kouyou grimly approached him, having accidentally obtained information about you that she wasn’t even supposed to know in Mori’s office. Kouyou cared for you enough to let Dazai know of your situation.

Dazai felt sick to the core when he saw the single picture attached in the message Kouyou sent him, along with a decision to choose between you and the future-seeing ability user- Odasaku. His heart dropped into his stomach even more when he saw that the last message was a few days ago. What if-?

No. Dazai refused to think of that possibility. He’d track down the source of that picture, he’d hunt them down, make them regret their decision, and he’d get you back. He’d make sure of it. He had too many apologies he owed to you after all, even if they would never make up for all that he’d done. He would.

*******

You were surprised that their boss hadn’t shown up to interrogate you yet. You simply stared hollowly at the walls as the door slammed open and the highest-ranked individual in the facility walked in, knife in hand. 

Not a single piece of information slipped past your mouth, as he went through the routine torture process. 

Time passes, and you can see that he’s grown extremely frustrated with your lack of response. One of the others standing at the door, watching your misery, suggested that he simply kill you and get it over with. It was pointless to keep you around anymore.

‘Finally’ you think darkly. You didn’t think you could hold out for much longer. 

You close your eyes, not wanting to see your killer. Instead, you remember the people you care for, silently apologising to them for giving up. Somewhere, in the background, you hear the distant noises of shouting. Probably some of the other soldiers playing cards or something again.

Despite you willing yourself to not make a sound, a shattering scream tears itself out of your throat when you feel the knife harshly stabbed straight into your heart. Your killer twisted it roughly- another scream, your last- and then pulled the knife out. 

You feel yourself fall forward, double in on yourself, wrists held back to the wall. The agony is excruciating, but hopefully it won’t last long. To you, it feels as if your screams are echoing in the room, or maybe in your mind, and your vision has gone blurry in pain. But then, you realise through your numb haze that your screams do not sound like that- you’ve heard the sound enough.You realize that maybe someone has attacked your captors.

There’s a terrified shout mixed in all the clamor, and its a voice that you would recognise anywhere. ‘But there’s no way’, you think hollowly. No one cared enough to come for you.

Then you feel yourself falling forward suddenly, blood gushing out from your chest, into someone’s familiar arms as your eyes close. The handcuffs are gone. Faintly, you hear a voice- his voice- through the ringing in your ears, saying something unintelligible to you. You can’t understand what's being said, but you struggle to open your eyes one last time to see.

And somehow, Dazai is there, holding you tightly, eyes full of panic and terror, everyone else in the room crushed to the ground. He’s saying something worriedly to someone behind him- Chuuya. You briefly wonder if you’re hallucinating, but decide against it- this all feels too real. This must have been the shouts in the distance.

They came for you. In the end, they came, albeit a bit too late. You feel yourself being lifted, and then Dazai is running out, holding you carefully as if you could break any moment- you’re already broken though. You feel the cool night breeze for the first time in ages, see the beautiful moon again. A small smile rests on your lips as you feel yourself finally fall limp in his arms. ‘He still looks as pretty as before, and maybe, just maybe, he still cares for you’, is what you think.

You shut your eyes again, surrendering yourself to the darkness beyond the agony.

********

Horrified is much too mild a word to use, when he sees your condition. When he sees you being stabbed in front of his eyes, when you fall limp in his arms. The next moments are a panicked blur, Chuuya saying something to take you somewhere, that he’ll handle this place. He runs straight out, towards the Mafia building, towards the doctors, towards the hospital, anywhere, anywhere you can be saved. 

But its already too late, he knows it when you don’t move in his arms anymore, when your bleeding chest doesn’t rise and fall again, and he doesn’t know what else to do apart from screaming in sorrow and fear, because he’s just lost the one person who understood him like no one else, who cared for him like no one else, who he stupidly pushed away, and its all because of him. He falls to his knees, still clutching your lifeless, bleeding body. Your face had a hint of a smile in your last few moments, and that is what finally breaks him. All he can do is cry out apologies continuously, tears freely streaming down his face, for everything he’s done wrong, for how he’s treated you, for being too late to save you.

finallyyy, and as usual, votes, comments and reblogs are very much appreciated also lmk if you guys want a happy ending :D

[nixnephili]

Fyo!Atsushi A.U. -Dazai...

Finished up some sketches from a while back of Fyo!Atsu Dazai~..

I feel like he'd really struggle with emotional management. Much like answering to different normal stimuli with genuine emotion.

There's a lot to be said about him...

Dazai is a conflicting character- in the aspect that he's acting out of guilt for the immense pain and suffering he has caused innocent people around him. People like Akutagawa, who were vulnerable and dependent on him- who he abused mercilessly and with no regard for the damage he was causing and which he may never reverse. And even though he acts on that guilt- he does very little for the victims of his own issues... thinking that tossing his past away is enough- I based this story concept of him on the idea that it isn't- that no matter what he went through himself, he REALLY hurt a lot of people. His trauma is no excuse to traumatize others.

`Mori: "You can play your games with whoever you want but you can't play them with me."

Osamu: "Everything that's ever happened to me was your fault-! It started with you-"

Mori: "It's always everyone else's fault and yet you keep playing yourself up to be the worst of the worst. All the time 'Oh if I hadn't done that', 'If I weren't the way I am-'. Well, you did. And you are. So who's at fault then? You ? Or the entire rest of the world, according to you.`

-Nix🌙

[kaelohver]

@KAELOHVER☆

PM!DAZAI WITH A YOUNGER SIBLING

TW: Yandere behaviour (?), violence, suicide mentions, spoilers for Dazai’s past, guns, controlling & possessive behaviour.

-Pm!Dazai as your brother would be a force to be reckoned with…

-He’d be extremely protective and would probably only trust you with Odasaku, Chuuya and Hirotsu.

-I’d imagine that you were with Dazai through childhood, including his suicide attempt that got him into Mori’s care.

-After you were put into Mori’s care with your brother, he’d definitely make sure you were the less-traumatised one.

-He would protect you innocently at first (making sure you didn’t see much bloodshed etc) but it would become less innocent through time.

-He would put a gun to anyones head if someone even hinted to show disrespect or dislike towards you.

-Even so much of a rumour of someone disliking you would cause them pain and suffering.

-If you ever get a crush on someone and Dazai gets wind of that information…

-Your crush will literally be watched 24/7 by port Mafia agents for months.

-Dazai would decide most things for you no matter your age and If you questioned him then you’d be met with a glare.

-I’d guess that you’d be one of those members that does stuff in secret and makes sure the bare minimum knows of you.

-The bare minimum means those who he trusts and those that absolutely have to know of you.

-He would be less of a brother and more of a boss, which he would absolutely despise about himself.

-He would act like a child a lot, despite his controlling nature towards you.

-He would actively ignore orders just to lay his head on your lap then walk about like nothing happened around 20 mins later..

-If you seem hostile towards him, he’ll straight up ghost you.

-He would and wouldn’t feel bad about his behaviour towards you.

-On one hand, he feels like you did nothing to deserve seeing violence and end up being isolated..

-But on the other hand, he feels like he’s protecting you somehow.

-The Mafia teaches twisted ways, so it’s no surprise Dazai thinks most of the stuff he does is somehow justifiable.

-It’s shown that the Port Mafia teaches people to use their bodies to advantage in situations (as shown with Kouyou, Dazai & Kyouka in situations) so Dazai wouldn’t want you going on missions that might include such uses and would more than likely give missions away to his agents whilst still crediting you.

-When Oda dies and tells Dazai to join the good side, Dazai doesn’t think twice about getting you out the Mafia.

-He’d go as far as to fake your death if it meant getting you out (which he wouldn’t have to do, considering he didn’t fake his own to get out)

-He’d get Ango to erase anything that involved you in the Mafia (despite the already big lack of evidence) as well as himself.

-During the years he hid, he would try to fix your relationship.

-He’d be heavily unsure of whether to bring you in the Ada or not.

-He would probably decide that you should join, considering you wouldn’t be particularly safe away from him anyway.

-He’d feel guilty about the way he treated you considering you were the only one he had, so don’t be surprised if he clings to you all day and acts 10x more clingy.

-So, you’d have quite a rocky relationship (a lot like Kouyou & Kyouka) in the Mafia but would recover it over time!

[starlightshadowsworld]

Concept: Any chance of peace and understanding would’ve been lost immediately if Fukuchi had kept his word and didn’t let Atsushi escape the boat.

Ranpo is picked up by Ango and the two ride in silence. He’s shaking with rage and guilt. He let Atsushi down. He wouldn’t have even know Kamui’s true identity if Atsushi hadn’t bribed him to use his ability.

Ango, quietly asks if he should tell Dazai and Ranpo nods. The logical part of him says it would be better to hear from them then Fyodor.

But in his heart he knows there’s no kind way to deliver such a blow. He puts his glasses away not even wanting to think about how he’ll take the news.

Delivering it to everyone else hurts enough. His friends…Atsushi thought he was invincible and Ranpo let him down.

Kyouka stares at him in silent horror. Kunikida holds her in his arms as she sobs. His own shoulders shake but he won’t cry, he can’t….He does. Yosano looks down trying to hide her own tears.

Junichiro and Lucy are cursing Fukuchi out as tears roll down their cheeks. Kenji’s smile falls and the rage rolls off him in waves. Katai hugs his futon closer in comfort.

Fukuzawa, betrayal and pain on his face and his usual stoicism falling. He felt the pain as Beast Beneath the Moonlight faded from his reach. But having it confirmed makes his heart stop.

How could Genichiro do this to them?

How could Genichiro do this to him?

Among their greif, every single member of the Agency exchanges a a look. A promise made in this ability made space that looks like their office.

With two chairs empty.

The Decay of Angels, Ge-…Ouchi Fukuchi was going to pay for this dearly. For taking their comrade, their friend, their son, their brother away from them.

The Port Mafia didn’t even hesitate to follow them into battle. Even Mori in all his years was taken aback by the state of his old friend. There were no strings attached this time because Mori was a smart man.

He knew one misstep and that blade would cut him down.

Fukuchi though was no ally, no friend to them now. This was the line that can never be crossed. They didn’t even have a body to bury.

Did Atsushi call out to them? Did he die thinking he was all alone? Did he know that his death would break them all?

Not even Ranpo knows the answer to that.

They couldn’t save him.

But they would make sure his sacrifice wouldn’t be in vain.

The next time Fukuchi smiled at Fukuzawa and told him he didn’t know suffering Fukuzawa didn’t even hesitate to lunge at him.

[invidiia]

Hello! 🙃 Do you mind if I request a platonic yandere Dazai with a reader who used to be his subordinate in the port mafia but then they cross paths on a mission?

⋆⭒˚｡⋆ "i watch the rising sun!" 𖤐 p!yandere dazai // reader.

platonic yandere dazai meets his old subordinate.

m.list // now playing..

[ a/n ; THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING!! if something doesn't make sense, please god just ignore it because it's 2am, i'm dehydrated, half asleep, and i really need to continue writing on this blog. ]

[ warning ; platonic yandere, dazai himself needs a warning, mentions of abuse (not towards reader), mentions of the abuse cycle, user is about 18, mori is present, there's literally more backstory/explanation to this than the actual point, im sobbin ]

It was years since Dazai left the Port Mafia.

You were his other subordinate, besides Akutagawa. The ways he treated you both were entirely different - it usually ended in you being forced to watch Dazai 'train' Akutagawa, while he later patted your head, praising you for being good, which was standing by his side and watching as he mistreated others. Of course, after that, you would treat any of Akutagawa's wounds. Dazai treated you so well because you were like him, but why didn't he treat Akutagawa the same? You never understood.

Dazai spoke to you once before leaving - ordering you to stay put. He even injured you, breaking a few of your fingers and telling you to say you had gotten into a fight before he left, so you wouldn't be suspected in aiding his treason.

While you were glad that Akutagawa would no longer have to suffer by his hands - you were somewhat upset by him leaving. While some of the others were fine with comforting you, it wasn't the same as when Dazai did it. You couldn't help but miss the times he would praise you and pat your head for doing well.

But over time, you changed. You'd learned how to cope a much better way, and instead of wanting his praise and affection, you grew colder to anyone who tried showing you any kind of love. When others in the mafia tried to comfort you over him leaving, they'd watch as you became cold to them, not letting yourself be vulnerable to anybody anymore. Akutagawa had also changed - however, he was.. worse. The abuse cycle that had started from Mori had yet to break.

It was about a month after Kyouka had been taken in by the Armed Detective Agency. Mori never told you much about the agency, nothing about who was in it aside from Fukuzawa, Yosano, Atsushi, and Kyouka, and that they were different in many obvious ways, but had a form of alliance to defeat the Guild, none of which you'd been involved in. Everyone else was a mystery to you, since you were never given jobs involved with the agency anyway.

It came to your surprise when Mori presented you with a brand new mission of sort, to go with him while meeting with the leader of the Agency. That was unusual - usually Chuuya or Akutagawa did jobs like this, or when you were given one, they took it anyway, just to 'be nice to you'.

But Mori insisted you go, even though he gave you a choice to give it to Chuuya, Akutagawa, or anyone else. Even Chuuya suggested he take the job, not explaining himself, just insisting you let him take it. But this time was different - you were offered this, given an actual chance to be involved with the agency's dealings with the Port Mafia, something you were never given.

Of course you took the job.

You trailed closely behind Mori, following him loyally as you two had walked to the meeting place. If it was held in secret, then why the hell was it outside, anyway?

"[Name]," Mori called to you, turning to meet your eyes. He continued speaking after he knew you were listening. "Fukuzawa-san brought another of his own for the same reason I am bringing you. Just a heads up," Mori cheerfully spoke. Why didn't he tell you beforehand? It didn't matter now, though.

Both you and Mori approached the place to meet with the leader. You could see there was another person with Fukuzawa, but you stood behind Mori, and their upper half had been blocked out. No big deal.

You stepped out from behind your boss, arms crossed above your chest as you eyed the leader of the agency. He looked so kind, a part of you wondered what it'd be like if you were with the agency instead.

But Fukuzawa wasn't the only person you saw.

Standing close behind him was a tall man with dark, wavy chestnut hair, in a long, tan trench coat. He wasn't just any man. That was the familiar face of Osamu Dazai. The youngest executive in the history of the Port Mafia.

And you were his ex-subordinate, right there in front of both. Both of your eyes widened, but you were much more surprised to see Dazai than he was to see you, Like he expected this.

You barely listened to the conversation between Fukuzawa and Mori, only making out a few words - 'Guild', Defeat', 'Fitzgerald', 'Agency', and 'Mafia'. None of them mattered to you as much as they should have. Your eyes flickered between the pavement and Dazai, who stared at you intently, not bothering to hide it. He had an expression that you just couldn't read precisely - it was impossible to tell what he was thinking in the moment. You on the other hand? Your thoughts were clear, a beyond frustrated glare was evident on your face.

It felt like an hour standing there, listening to Mori and Fukuzawa talk, if you could even say you were listening. But it was over only twenty minutes later.

Mori smiled at Fukuzawa, while the other just nodded calmly. Your boss began to walk forward, looking at you to signal you were to walk with him. Fukuzawa and Dazai did the same.

However, when you and Dazai were next to each other, he stopped, turning to look at you. Out of curiosity, you sighed and looked up at him. His eyes were not kind, but a slight smile was etched onto his face. A bandaged hand took your shoulder, and Dazai spoke to you for the first time in years.

"My, how you've grown." Verbal surprise was clear in his voice. Dazai was about to speak again, but you cut him off before he could get a word out. "Don't fucking touch me." The taller brunette sighed, turning his full body towards you this time, not just his head.

He smiled at you, closing his eyes. "You've changed so much. We'll meet again, I'll make sure of it." After finishing his sentence, he began to catch up with Fukuzawa. You stood there, looking at Dazai as he walked off calmly.

While you were upset about how he left you, it wasn't your main concern. Was he not sorry about the way he treated Akutagawa, making you watch as he made him suffer for so long?

Part of you wanted to run after him and punch him, but it wasn't worth it, not now. Even so, the thought seeing him was upsetting, and meeting him again wasn't in your best interest.

[ extra // i'll do a part two sometime later.. it's 3:51am rn lmao km sobingmgkgkgm ]

[admirationandromantics]

Going overboard, 1: Memento Mori

Okay, so first the prologue, and now the first chapter. As I've said before, not all chapters include a Josh-interactions because of accuracy to the game, so you'll just have to live with it. If you haven't read the Prologue, go to my profile, then the masterlist, Josh Washington. You'll find it there. Get ready for tomorrow!

Chapter 1: Memento Mori

After what happened up on the mountain last year, Josh didn’t stay in touch. At first we all tried to talk to him, help him, but we gave up one after another. He talked with Sam a lot. I think she did the most she could until he cut contact. I didn’t want to put too much on him, and we all were in grief as well, so it probably was the best solution. 

Sam and I had regular coffees. It helped us both. We shared stories about them, and she told me about everything which happened that night. The prank wasn’t about me, nor Josh. Not even Beth, but she still had to suffer the consequences. Poor Beth, and poor Hannah. We all knew she had a thing for Mike, but setting her up like that was not okay. I now despised them all, Jessica, Emily, Mike, Matt, Ashley. Matt was such a sweet guy, I couldn’t imagine him standing there with a camera, recording everything. For me though, Ashley hurt the most. I loved her, I truly did, but I cut contact quickly after I got to know about the evening. She sent me a bunch of texts, begging me to talk to her. She was sorry, she was drunk, caught up in the moment, and everyone was doing it so she felt like she had to. She never knew that the aftermath would be as bloody as it did. I still didn’t text her back. 

A month before the anniversary of their disappearance, Sam got a video message from Josh. He invited her up to the cabin again, stating that this would be a way to honour their memory, and relive the experience, but with a good ending. There would be booze, partying and just making new memories. Based on the video, it seemed like he asked everyone in the old group. Everyone except me. I felt hurt. Betrayed in a way. I was one of the few he talked to, cried to. Our relationship didn’t evolve after the event, but I was still there for him, trying to comfort him. Sam told me that I should come with her, but I declined. If he didn’t want me there, it was okay. She couldn’t understand why, but she kept being insistent, urging me to give it a chance. I didn’t have to be there the whole time, and if I wanted to, I could leave the very next day since the bus went through the area once every day. 

It would be good to talk to Josh, maybe even if he didn’t want to. I was selfish, I knew that, but I had to see him. I wanted to see how he was doing, how he was feeling. This also made me think of Chris. He would probably be there, and I hadn’t kept in touch with him either. I felt bad, but at the same time, we weren’t that close. I knew that he still hung out with Ashley sometimes, and maybe that made me a bit afraid. Maybe she would try to contact me through him? Maybe I wasn’t just selfish. Ashley also needed to talk. Talk to me, clear the air. I would let her. I finally agreed to come with Sam up to the cabin. 

***

The bus is empty, except for Sam and I of course. She didn’t pack much, and I didn’t either. I figured that I wouldn’t stay long. I just needed to talk to people, get some weights off my shoulders. The radio is playing, and no surprise, it’s about Beth and Hannah. I hold my composure, trying not to cry. The trip is long, and I end up sleeping on her shoulder for a good amount of it. Sam is watching something on her phone, but I don’t peek. I simply look out the window. There is an eerie feeling to these mountains. I felt the same last year, but this time it feels stronger. The black trees are covered in snow, untouched by animals. 

Finally we reach our stop. The sign says “Blackwood Pines” and hadn’t it been for last year's events, I would still love the name. Being here for the first time felt magical, straight out of Narnia, joining a winter wonderland of mystery. Now, I feel nervous. The air isn’t as fresh, the ground not as hard and the snow was too white. Instead of smelling winter, I smell something musk, like a dead animal or rotten meat. I look over at Sam, and I think she notices too. 

We start walking in silence, through the gate and up the trail. As we walk, she stops. 

“Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?” I whisper, getting anxious. Maybe it’s a wild animal, a wolf or a bear. 

“Hello!?” Sam shouts, and my eyes widen. Why would she do that, what if the animal looks at us as a threat now. I look around, expecting something to pop out, but it’s silent. 

“Sorry, I probably just thought I heard something,” she says, continuing walking. She notices my tenseness. 

“Are you okay?”

“No, absolutely not” I state, looking around again. 

“Hey I get it, this is weird, but we’re doing this for Josh right,” she starts, taking my hand, stopping me. 

“I hate to say it, but you need to relax. Nothing bad is going to happen, and people are just being friendly”

“I know, I know. I just can’t shake off this feeling that there’s something here”

“It’s because of last year. We’re all still thinking about it, so we know how you’re feeling”

I look up at her. She’s right, I’m not alone in this, and we’ve both been there for each other the whole year. 

“Yeah, thanks for the talk. It’s just… well, weird”

“It is, but I think this is good for you. This trip could be a way for you to let go, get some closure. They both would’ve wanted that for you” she says, before pulling me into a hug. I breathe, and some of the tension lifts. Thank God I still have Sam. When we pull away she looks at me, smiling. I smile back, before looking behind her. My mouth opens, eyes widen and my breath hitches. I grab her hand, holding hard. 

“S-Sam, c-c-careful. Stand s-s-till,” I whisper. She holds her breath while searching my face for answers. 

“Boo!” I shout, punching her with both my hands. She screeches, jumps and I feel her pulse in her hand. 

“Got you” I laugh, while she’s still trying to compose herself. 

“Fucking asshole” she says. I can’t stop laughing. 

“You know, you’re going to ‘wolf wolf’ me.”

“I can live with that” I continue laughing, before starting to walk again, her following after. 

“I’m joking, that was out of line, sorry” I say after a while. 

“At least you got to see my ‘frozen’ face”

“Yeah that’s why I laughed” 

We reach the gate, and a piece of paper is pinned on the lock. 

“The gate’s busted, climb over -Chris” 

“I guess we have to climb,” I state, looking at the gate. There are big spikes on the top of the gate, so I look over at the side. It’s a stone wall. 

“Right up my alley” Sam says enthusiastically. Of course it is. 

“I’ll give you a lift first if you take my bag” she says, already taking off her bag. 

“Fine, just don’t throw me over with those strong climber-arms of yours” I reply, taking her bag and making my way to the wall. She puts out her hands and I grab somewhere safe on the wall. She helps me get up, and I jump down the other side, looking up, waiting for her. 

“Gosh, the stones are cold” she complains, finally getting to the top. 

“Should’ve worn gloves” I smile, showing off my red-covered hands in a theatrical manner. She laughs before hopping down. I give her backpack back, and we continue up. 

When we finally arrive at the cable car station, the place seems empty. I see a couple of cars in the parking lot, but don’t want to check who they belong to. One of them must be Josh’s. I walk up to the bench, noticing a backpack and a ringing phone. My curiosity is immense, but I don’t touch it. Sam notices who’s bag it is. 

“Hey Chris!” she yells, looking around for him. 

“Hey guys” he answers, and we both turn around. He seems older, more harsh than the year before, but I don’t comment on it. 

“How are you ladies?”

“Well, as you can expect” Sam answers, still smiling. I smile as well, keeping the mood light. I don’t notice how much I’ve missed him before seeing him now. Something in me breaks a little. 

“Oh, so, I found something kind of amazing”

“What?”

“I’m not gonna tell you got to see for yourself” he smiles, grabbing his backpack and leading us around the house. We get to the other side where we’re met with a shooting range. Barrels and bottles stacked for hitting, as well as bags hanging from the trees. 

“Ta-da! Pretty rad right?” Chris exclaims, loving this a bit too much. Sam forces a smile, guns are not a source of happiness for a pacifist. 

“A gun range on the bottom of a ski lodge” I comment. “How… nordic?”

Chris picks up a gun before looking at me. 

“Well, have you met Josh’s dad?”

“Yeah”

“Then we shouldn’t be surprised” he says before turning and aiming the gun. I hold my breath, not comfortable with this funny clumsy guy holding a death-weapon. He shoots the bags and one of the cans. I’m kind of impressed. 

“Nice shootin Tex” Sam teases, not impressed. I guess it would take something better than shooting to impress her. She fakes an annoyed look before turning my way. 

“Wanna try?”

“You know what, sure. It’s been a while” I say before taking the gun from him, taking off my backpack and laying it beside me. 

“You’ve done this before?”

“Josh has taken me shooting several times, not hunting though, luckily” I smile, remembering how close we felt the first time he showed me how to use it. 

“I bet that’s not the only thing you two have done” he comments, a smirk on his lips. 

“Haha, funny guy” I tease back. Sam holds her laughter. I shoot a couple of bags, stopping when a squirrel jumps on one of the barrels. 

“I guess that’s our sign to start going to the lodge,” I say, leaving the gun and grabbing my bag. 

“Jeez, I wish Josh would take me shooting,” Chris says, and I smile. 

The cable car is coming, and Sam makes her way over there. I use the opportunity to grab ahold of him. 

“Hey Chris, about this year-” I start, but he holds a finger up, signalling for me to stop. 

“I get it, if I were in your shoes I would’ve done the same”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it’s weird being back, but I’ve been wanting to clear up everything. We should keep in contact, even though you don’t want to talk to Ashley, I understand”

“When did you become such an understanding gentleman,” I tease, punching his arm and start walking. He lifts his arms in the air. 

“Haven’t I always been?” And I laugh at him. 

We all get in the cable car, and it starts moving up. Chris starts talking about how he and Josh met, and I pay close attention. I’ve only heard this story from Josh, and I love getting the different story-perspectives. 

***

We arrive at the top, I stand and try to open the door. It will not open. 

“Uh, guys, I can’t get the door open.” Chris tries, but can’t manage either. His response is to smack the window. 

“Ahh, what the hell!” I hear someone say. Jessica. I compose myself. 

“Jess! Over here, open the door!” Chris shouts. I see her through the window, and I bite my lips from having to look put together. Don’t look like a bitch, don’t look like a bitch, don’t look like you have anything against this piece of scum. I keep chanting in my head. 

She opens the door, and we all thank her. As we walk out, Chris starts whining. 

“Oh my god. I thought we were goners. Another ten minutes in there and I would’ve chewed off my own leg.”

“Aw, sick Chris,” Sam comments. 

“Look, I’ve got a lot of meat on my bones. This is all muscle down there.”

Sam rolls her eyes. “Yeah riiiiiight”

“Keep telling yourself that Chris,” I add, clapping him on the shoulder as I walk past him. He lowers his voice to a whisper. 

“Well, we all know who’s bone you want to jump…”

I turn around, mouth agape and eyes threatening. He immediately puts his hands up in defence, walking backwards two paces. 

“Just jokes, just jokes” says, voice cracking. 

“Dickhead”

“Notice how I’m not going to make another joke about that,” he answers. I quickly make a snowball and throw it at him, hitting his chest. Sam places herself between us, arms tense as if waiting for someone to attack. 

Chris uses this opportunity to snatch whatever Jess is holding. 

“Well, well, well… What do we have here?”

“Chris” Sam starts. He opens it, a surprised look on his face. 

“My goodness! Seems like someone has a crush on our good friend and dear class president Michael Munroe.” Shit. That’s not good. 

“Chris,” I threaten. 

“And what kind of sizzling erotica might our Jessica be capable of imagining, I wonder…”

Before he’s able to see more, Jess quickly snatches the item back. 

“If you must know-” she starts.

“Mike and I are together now.” We all look at each other. 

“Drama,” Chris answers. 

“No, pretty cut clean actually. Em’s out, I’m in,” she explains. I look over at Sam. She doesn’t know what to say. Luckily, Chris breaks the awkwardness. 

“Well, we should keep going” 

“You go, I’ll be waiting here for a bit”

“Waiting for Mike?”

“Just go”

We oblige, walking further and leaving her behind. The trail is quite big and visible. It’s comfortable to walk on. As we turn a corner, I see the cabin. The cabin where Josh is, where Ashley is probably waiting. The cabin which was the last place two of our best friends were seen alive one year ago.

[cheriecoke]

hi~! can i rq a scenario with dazai where his s/o finds out he abused akutagawa in the port mafia and gets super pisssd at him because they themselves were abused? thank u!

color me blue

FEATURING. osamu dazai x gn!reader — wc: 3.1k

SUMMARY: mori reveals dazai's true nature as a mentor to akutagawa.

CONTENTS: references to past abuse, arguments, pm!reader, ada!dazai, angst, typical dazai warnings lol, comfort at the end

notes: thank you for the request !! i hope this is okay <3

It’d begun like any other morning. Already exhausted, you woke with an overwhelming list of things to do, tasks that needed to be completed by the evening.

It was a typical routine for you, these days. As a high-ranking member of the Mafia, you never got a break. Not from your job, nor the menial chores you needed to suffer through in your personal life. The laundry, it seemed, wouldn’t do itself, no matter how much your boss paid you for all the illegal actions you’d committed.

And though it was wearisome, everything had been fine. The sun began to set, and you realized that for the rest of the day, you would be free.

That was, until your routine check-in with Mori somehow led to a disclosure of what had been years’ worth of private information.

He’d greeted you as normal, sat you down before his desk with his oily smile, and had you review everything you’d accomplished that week. Though you believed you would be free to go within half an hour, when you stood to leave, Mori released an oh, by the way, and reiterated the unanticipated torment that Dazai had put Akutagawa through.

For the entirety of his story, you sat without so much as a twitch of the muscle, but you couldn’t comprehend why Mori was telling you now. It had been nearly four years since Dazai left the Mafia, and though the Boss had been aware of your relationship as teenagers, he’d never given you any sign that he knew it’d continued after Dazai defected.

You’d both been careful, secretive. You never did anything to draw any suspicion or be labeled as a traitor, and the two of you were successful.

At least, you thought you’d been successful.

Mori had never once mentioned it, had never so much as batted an eye when you spoke about Dazai from time to time. Though, now, his grin was much too conniving, the words made of steel as he drew them out, directing them in a sharp point towards your chest.

He had no intentions of going after Dazai, that much was clear. Nor did he seem intent on killing you for your misdeeds. Already, he’d spun a vile web, knowing exactly how to use you as his best asset. With you still under his command, he had some sort of advantage over Dazai and the Agency.

Perhaps, his comments were just a test of your loyalty. If Mori laid that one tiny seed of doubt in your mind, would it be enough to fracture the bond between you and Dazai that had been unsevered for years?

You wanted to convince yourself, fervently, that the answer was no. You’d been by Dazai’s side for this long and nothing he’d done had turned you away. Yet, you were unprepared for the anger that had risen in you, burning so hot and ravenous that you were unable to think of anything else.

It was all that was on your mind as you returned to the apartment, a barren space that had been used for nothing besides meetups with Dazai since the two of you purchased it. Each wall was entrenched with years of as much sin as there was love. Items that belonged to both of you were scattered across the surfaces, but there was never anything too important.

At the end of the day, neither of you could stay there long.

You paced the apartment, thinking through everything that Mori had said, over and over again. An ache of sorrow fought against your warranted rage, and you stood by the door waiting for Dazai to enter.

As angry as you were with him, as horrified as you wanted to be, there were still years and years of comfort and gentleness that placed a cooling balm over your burning wounds.

Still, a part of you had always been envious that Dazai had managed to escape into something good, and you’d become the enemy to his organization. Now, it seemed, you were the only thing holding him back.

In some other universe, surely, there was a life better for the both of you than this.

Despite your affection, you inhaled, fortifying yourself for a regrettable conversation. You channeled your resentment into logic, rephrasing sentences in your mind until they were perfect, forming an argument that couldn’t be so easily shut down by Dazai’s soothing words.

The door clicked, unlocked by the only other person that held a key to the salacious space. He was humming to himself, an upbeat song that had been stuck on the radio charts for weeks.

Something about that simple action startled you, set you off kilter, and you crossed your arms, protecting yourself. You came here with a purpose, and you refused to diminish the weight of the conversation. A puff of steam left you on a heavy exhale.

Dazai threw the key on the counter and smiled, his eyes softening the moment they caught a glimpse of you. “You got here faster than I thought.” His tone was cheerful, and he seemed relaxed, without the foreboding cloud of misery pushing down on him. It was so unusual that you, almost, regretted bringing up what you’d learned from Mori at all.

Though, it wasn’t something you could just ignore. You straightened, making sure not to deflate under his undeniable warmth.

For a moment, Dazai didn’t realize that anything was wrong. He hung his coat up, stretched his limbs, and talked without facing you. “It’s been too long since we’ve seen one another. I thought about you all day,” he said, drawing out the syllables with a short laugh. “You’re always such a distraction. How will I ever get my work done?”

Dazai seemed so happy, and in all your years together, you’d never thought that would be a word used to describe him. It pained you to ruin that, even as your nails dug into your palm, trying to reconcile the two versions of Dazai that you knew.

You looked away. If you wanted to say what you needed to, you couldn’t bear to see the way his soft expression turned into one of animosity.

For a few more moments, he rambled on to himself, before realizing that you hadn’t said a word at all. You felt frozen in the middle of the room, your mouth dry as you tried to think of the best way to segue into the conversation.

“Hey.” Dazai had grown quiet, and he stopped mulling around the apartment, finally focusing all his attention on you. “What’s wrong, pretty?” There was a pout on his lips, his expression already falling from the bright, joyful one he’d worn when he’d entered. “I still haven’t gotten a kiss.”

You were weak for a moment, questioning if your anger was even worth it. A minute passed of your own silence before you resolved yourself, ending your hesitance. What you’d heard had upset you tremendously; you couldn’t just brush past it like it was nothing.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Dazai’s face screwed up, eyebrows pinched, as he tried to remember what he could’ve possibly done to upset you that week. Though you often bickered about ridiculous things, it was rare that either of you lashed out in anger at the other.

Your expression was enough to let him know that this was one of those times. He hesitated. “I’m… not sure what you mean, love. Did I do something wrong?”

At that, you laughed, amused that he could play so innocent. He’d changed while in the Detective Agency, that much was certain, but you knew every bit of his soul and he certainly hadn’t been purified of his sins. “Mori told me about Akutagawa today. I doubted how much of it was true until I thought about it, really thought about it, and it makes sense.”

Dazai stared blankly back at you, his eyes searching your face for any more context. They flicked back and forth, round brown irises full of an uncertainty you weren’t sure was genuine. He was a master of manipulation, and you refused to ever be a pawn in his schemes, no matter how small. “I haven’t seen Akutagawa in weeks. Whatever’s happened to him—”

You stood straighter, keeping your hands tight at your sides. “I’m not talking about now, Osamu. I’m talking about years ago; back when you were training him.”

A moment passed; he didn’t blink. Nothing in his eyes betrayed him. “Would you care to provide me with some context?”

“You know what I’m talking about.” You scowled, clenching your teeth so hard that it hurt. “How could you do that to him? All those years, you and Oda kept it a secret from me. You hurt him. You were so cruel.” Your nails dug deep into your palm. “I told you everything that happened to me before I came to the Mafia. Every way that I was hurt, and you told me you understood. You promised me, and you turned around and did the same thing to him.”

Dazai held his body loosely, surprised by your sudden outburst of emotion. It seemed he was unsure what to do with the confession you’d just handed over. Dazai licked his lips, wetting the dry skin, and searched deep into your soul for the best way to soothe you.

But the betrayal, the hurt, was buried deep within you, and the anger wouldn’t fade so easily.

“I never kept secrets from you,” he said, instead of answering any questions. His tone was cool, unaffected, like you hadn’t just raised your voice as your countenance changed into one of distress. “You just never bothered to ask.”

Silence. You swallowed, hard, each notch of your spine stiffening. “That’s not fair. How was I supposed to know his training was any different from mine? Should my first suspicion have been that you were mistreating him?”

Dazai grew grim, the first twinge of emotion you’d seen since you’d spoken. He rubbed his temple. “You’ve got a right to be angry, but I never hid anything from you on purpose.” He reached out for you, his touch soft as he rubbed your bicep. “I just don’t know what you want me to do about it now, sweetheart. Why are you bringing this up?”

You didn’t want to tell him about Mori, not yet. That was a conversation for another time, and he wouldn’t hesitate to claim that bit of information was the more pressing matter.  

Instead, you inched out of his hold, gazing back at him with contempt. “You can’t be serious, Osamu.” His audacity shouldn’t have been surprising, but it shocked you, nonetheless. “That’s all you have to say?”

“What do you want me to say?” Dazai held his hands out like you would hand him over a script, a typed apology just for him to repeat back at you. “Never once did you show any concern for Akutagawa’s wellbeing when he joined the Mafia. Suddenly, you care, and I’m not sure why.”

“That’s not true!” you said, your cheeks hot with frustration. “We we’re friends—”

Dazai laughed, though it was mocking, without any true humor. “You expressed an interest in him that wasn’t ever reciprocated.”

You scrubbed your face, drained from his rebuttals, and put enough space between the two of you so that Dazai couldn’t touch you.

“Fine. Maybe we weren’t friends, but I wantedto be because I knew he understood. I thought we could get to know each other well. Then one day, he wouldn’t even speak to me anymore. He looked at me like I knew so much more than he did.” A finger was in Dazai’s face, scolding. “You fucked it all up. We’re just a year apart, Osamu. I didn’t want him to treat me like that just because I was dating his mentor.”

There was a break of silence. Dazai sniffed, recovering some sense of power in the conversation. “I’m sorry.” he said, but it was merely to appease you, no sincerity in the words. “Perhaps my methods of training were inappropriate and unethical, but it’s the Mafia, my love. What did you expect?”

Frustrated tears welled up in your eyes. “And if it had been me? If I had been under your command, would you have done the very same?”

At that, Dazai softened, his lips curling down. The light in his eyes flickered and faded, any happiness in his face muted. “It would never have been you. You know I could never bring myself to hurt you.”

You buried your face in your hands, his sweet comment doing little to soothe you. “He was just a kid—”

“I was too.” Dazai held your wrists gently, prying them away. He was frowning, dark eyebrows pinched together as he looked at you with both concern and betrayal. “You’re going to blame this all on me, when I was a child too, doing what I thought was right?”

“No. But you’re an adult now, and you still treat him the same way.” You shoved him away, putting space between you, never before having felt so cold in Dazai’s embrace. “He’s nothing more than a chess piece to you. That’s something I can’t accept.”

“Is that the case?” Dazai turned hard; suddenly he’d lost the upper hand. “You’ve got a lot of opinions on what’s right. Yet, remind me who’s the one still in the Mafia?” 

It was meant to hurt you, a low blow that stung and went straight to your chest. You hadn’t wanted to stay in the Mafia, but he’d never given you the choice. Dazai had left you with nothing more than a note and a promise, and you were too stupidly fond of him to ever let him go completely.

“It’s so hard to love you sometimes, Osamu,” you said, quietly, trying to keep your emotions at bay. “Your new friends at the agency get to be ignorant about the man you used to be, but I know just how cruel he was. I see him every time I look at you.”

Dazai stared back at you stunned and hurt. He flexed his fingers, but for once, he didn’t reach out for you.

You couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.

The bathroom door slammed behind you, and you stood in front of the mirror, watching splotchy patches form on your skin from unreleased emotions. The sink ran, a steady stream with no end, to tune out your deep, calming breaths until you no longer felt that immense amount of anger.

You knew what you were getting yourself into by falling in love with a man like Dazai. You’d known it from the beginning. He was no different than all the people that had hurt you, the reason why you’d come to the Mafia in the first place.

Yet, he was so much more loving with you, gentle and patient, and you knew that under every layer of bad intent and regretful crimes, Dazai was a good person.

With a sigh, you turned off the sink and crept back into the room, feeling remorseful and miserable. The knowledge of what he’d done to Akutagawa was something you couldn’t forgive him for. It was horrible and traumatizing, but so were so many other things that he’d done.

You couldn’t place double standards on him for his previous actions. If you had loved him despite all of those things, you weren’t going to be able to stop now.

“Osamu?” you said in a quieter voice, creeping out of the bathroom silently, slinking within the shadows.

He was spread over the length of the couch, his head resting on the arm of it as he stared up at the ceiling. When you approached, he shifted into a seated position, waiting for you to speak.

“I didn’t mean what I said,” you began, walking slowly towards him, drawn to him easily. “You’re not a difficult man to love. I’ve never felt that way.”

Dazai smiled, though it was half-hearted, and extended a hand to you. You took it quickly and he drew you into his lap, squeezing you tight. “Well, I certainly don’t make it easy on you.”

You were silent. He kissed your forehead, running a delicate touch across your back.

“I can’t take back what I did to him.” Dazai sighed, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “The damage is done.”

“I know that.” You breathed, his calming scent wrapping around you, reminding you that no matter what, he would always be your home. “It’s not fair for me to judge you when I’m still in the Mafia. My crimes are no better than yours. Even if what you did…” you trailed off shaking your head. “No. You’re right, Osamu. It’s not fair.”

He guided your fingers to his lips, kissing each of them lightly with the beginnings of a smile. “I’ll never be a perfect man, but I’m trying to be a better one.” Though he refrained from showing vulnerabilities to most people, he was more open with you, more willing to reveal the parts of himself he despised the most. “I… hope you know that. It may not seem like I’m trying, but—"

“I know you are.” You ran a hand through his hair and swallowed, resting your cheek on top of his head. “Osamu, you’re already so different than you were when you left. You’ve changed much more than I have. It was horrible of me to diminish that.” You squeezed his hand. “I’m sorry I said that.”

A minute passed before he spoke again, his breath so steady, a reminder that he was still there, with you, despite all attempts he’d made to leave you behind. We’ve seen every ugly side to one another. It makes it far too easy to be unkind. Doesn’t mean I’d ever love you any less.”

You smiled, though it was sad, but through your hurt you were still devastatingly devoted to him. It was just easier to ignore the damage he’d caused when you weren’t staring it right in the face, a walking, breathing reminder of the person he held inside him. The very type of man that had once hurt you.

You squeezed him tighter, blocking out the cruel memories of your past. Dazai had never laid a punishing hand on you, had never spat demeaning words at you that could never be forgiven. Through it all, he had adored you, treated you with a gentleness you’d desired, and loved you without conditions.

Brushing dark hair away from his forehead, your eyes softened, the darkness in him cracking as the light began to shine through. “I know, Osamu,” you said, your cheeks pinching, warm. “Despite it all, I will always love you without regrets.”