Bsd Dazai - Blog Posts

at first i lol'ed... then i serioused..

i should be studying but i made this instead

i wouldn't even care if ranpo hit me with a car ngl

that man can do anything he wants i'd just be like whatever you want princess <3

his unstoppable boyfailure irredeemable cunt aura cannot be ruined by any medium

so funny that a bunch of the bsd anime watchers got into bsd for dazai when bones did him so dirty, like what do you mean you find this man attractive? he's nothing compared to his manga counter part

dazai and akutagawa make me sick too (though i discovered today that i had food poisoning and did not, in fact, actually throw up from bsd angst)

dazai was only a couple of years older than akutagawa and simply perpetuated that cycle of violence that the world around them followed, one lost and deeply disturbed kid trying to lead another and idk that just makes it all the more sadder because the intention behind dazai's actions weren't even malicious. who is to say dazai did not wholeheartedly believe, like he did for himself, that akutagawa could find meaning in the port mafia?

dazai, who had assimilated in the darkness, who lived around blood and violence each day, how would he have taught akutagawa something other than all he's ever known in his life?

i don't know i just feel like we need more nuance in this discussion when it comes to dazai's abuse of akutagawa, which isn't to defend him at all but to realize that it was a horrible position for either of them to be in; where the blind lead the blind.

i need to squeeze this creature like a lemon i need to GRRRRRRR

🍊Squishiest baby in existence

i like to think chuuya's eyes do the cat thing where if you look at them in the dark they look freakishly red instead of blue

upside down chuuya with terrifying blue flash eyes for the realest bat vibes

i can't art for shit so i made this on my phone with my sausage ass fingers

drunk walk home ; soukoku

synopsis : dazai osamu's last night before he leaves for good— his last night with the only one who has ever truly seen him.

author's note : my first time writing soukoku!! i hope this isn't too ooc, god knows i tried. a bit rushed towards the end because i really should study instead (and i'm not <3) read on ao3

In the middle of the night, the only lights on are the ones near the port. Flickering street lights, late offices and the glow of distant bars; artificial stars dotting the bay city. The neon colours bleed into each other once again, burning into Dazai’s vision. Everything seems slowed, as if he was struggling to catch up with a reality that was far faster than his alcohol addled mind could keep up with. The occasional auburn blur was the only thing that reassured him that his current drinking buddy was still following along, despite being near the edge of a stupor.

Stumbling through the roads and the night marketplaces, Dazai attempted to find the shortcut to Chuuya’s home, a route he knew like the back of his hand. Well, usually. Currently, he's taken atleast three wrong turns. Chuuya’s no more helpful, considering he insisted on taking the shorter way back. They took a bit too long to realize that the main road would've been shorter, but what more can anyone expect from two absolutely drunken fools trying their level best to get home. Chuuya blinks, wondering where the hell he had left his bike. He parked it somewhere, well, obviously, but when he got back his beloved bike was nowhere in the parking lot, and after a few minutes of searching it was painfully clear to him that he's going to have to try again when he can actually walk straight. He's gonna regret all those tequila shots later in the morning, but there were just some problems wine can't drown.

That is exactly why the both of them end up in this situation every time, isn't it? The lure of relief was too hard to resist, even though they both would much rather drink with anyone than each other. Leaning his arm on Chuuya’s shoulder, much to the shorter man’s chagrin, Dazai stumbled through the narrow street. The fluorescent signs that lined this road were rendered hazy by the smoke that seemed to perpetually linger in the air, and the path itself was free of any pedestrians. Empty? Good. They hardly needed trouble at this hour, not when they both barely had the coordination to tell left from right. Even with their best attempt at being vigilant, Chuuya could only manage to note how the color of his friend’s eyes seemed to mellow into a honey like hue under the glow of a signboard. An artificial glow that, for a few moments, made him look a little more alive. Even as he pushes the thought out of his head, a strange disappointment gnaws at his heart. Like he should have stared a little longer, to remember it.

All the while, Dazai tried to hold up both their weight, even though it was quickly becoming a futile attempt; arm around Chuuya’s waist, fingers curled into the fabric of the waistcoat to make sure they both didn't just topple over one another. It's not like it hasn't happened before, but he doesn't particularly fancy another night passed out over this slug in a nameless alley. Been there, done that.

“You're surprisingly heavy for such a short guy, you know, slug?”

“What the fuck did you just call me, bastard?!”

Dazai gives his best performance of a weary sigh. “Now you're hard of hearing, too? Slug.” As if to emphasize, he spells out the word in a singsong manner. “s-l-u-g!! That clear enough for you?”

“…I think I’m gonna kill you.” Chuuya spat out, trying to not grind his teeth from the sheer annoyance this waste of bandages caused him. “I hope you get the worst hangover tomorrow. I hope you're sick for days.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, while Dazai held him up straight.

“We're both getting killer hangovers, dumbass.”

“It was your idea to go drinking!!”

“You know damn well your ass can't hold your liquor. Lightweight!”

“I ain't no fucking lightweight, I kept up just fine!”

“You gave up after the second goddamn round, slug. Now get off me, I think my arm’s going to break from your heavy ass.”

Chuuya let up a little, the faint red glow of gravity manipulation surrounding him. Making himself lighter helped stabilize him in this condition. Even after he stopped leaning, Dazai’s hand didn't leave his waist, bandaged fingers curled into the fabric as they crossed the smog filled streets. “You know what, yeah, we've been walking in circles for an hour. Let's sit down for a bit.” Dazai nods at the idea, though not without a comical exaggeration. “Tired already?”—he drawls—”I thought you'd have a bit more left in you than that!” The way Chuuya’s jaw tightens and how his brows furrow? God, that's cute.

The fuck?

A few seconds after a thought so uncalled for, Dazai’s expression twists into grimace from the sheer distaste. There's no way he just thought that. Meanwhile, Chuuya had already found himself a lovely little cargo crate to sit upon, not even humouring Dazai’s taunt, sitting down on it with that annoyed expression still on his face. Dazai follows suit, and watches as the petit mafioso flicks open his cigarette case, taking out a singular stick. Just as Chuuya’s thumb moved to close the flap, a bandaged finger slips another stick out of it.

“Hey! Get your own, damn bastard.”

Dazai twirled the cigarette with practiced dexterity. “Mmm, nope.” He pops the 'p' as he says it. Maybe a good smoke would get that thought out of his head. Whatever that was. His other hand reaches into the inner pocket of his coat, fishing out a lighter. The blue flame lights the tip of the cigarette. The familiar, acrid scent fills his senses, the dim ember makes him feel oddly warm. From the corner of his chocolate eyes, he noticed Chuuya struggling with his own lighter. That old thing was clearly was out of fuel. He extends the black lighter to his cigarette, watching how it dangles idly from his mouth. “Guess you needed me anyway, huh?”

Chuuya waited for the end of the smoke stick to burn, eyes singularly focused on the light. “…Shut it.”

Dazai shrugs off the rude remark, taking a languid drag of the cigarette. A bit stronger than the ones he usually carried with him, but they hit the spot. The puff of smoke exhaled into the air curls upwards, and then fades into the glow of the green and blue signboard lights. Pretty. Fleeting. Only such a shame their youth would suffer the same fate, even if neither will realize it yet. Perhaps in Dazai’s mind, those days were already gone, for this is the last night he'll allow himself to stick to his old ways. To stick with him.

The auburn haired man seems none the wiser about his eventual departure. A good thing, for a lie is so much easier to say than the truth. It's a burden of youth to fall in pursuit of a distant, unclear dream, the promise of light; only to ignore the glow of the bridges they were burning behind them. It's foolish, Dazai knows, but it would be the only way he could bring himself to leave this teenage wastleland of theirs. To save what was remaining of this worthless life.

But what is salvation worth when compared to Nakahara Chuuya?

The small cigarette break ends far too quickly, fingers itching to light up one more, but the night wasn’t getting any younger. Neither were they getting less drunk, and if they didn’t make it home in time for the streetlights and signboards to die out for the night, it's another night falling asleep in an alley. Once Chuuya is done, he impatiently stands up once again; an extremely dumb idea. His head swirls, disoriented by the sudden movement. Instinctively his hands reach for Dazai’s shoulders, until they both stood up, looking like absolute idiots. Dazai was going to taunt him again for being a lightweight, until something caught his attention.

Tap.

The water droplet hit his head, and a quiet 'ow…’ left his pallid lips. Right. They were in the middle of rainy days. And of course the skies had to pick just the right time to cry; when they both were utterly drunk out of their minds and who knows how far from home. Two follows one, three follows two, countless does three. The downpour had begun. Chuuya let out of a groan of utter frustration, shrugging off his coat the best he could with his balance, attempting to drape it over the both of them. Their makeshift umbrella didn't do much, but it was enough for them to get home without being miserably wet. “Ugh, hold this, mummy boy.” Chuuya did not fancy being on his tiptoes for the whole journey back, and Dazai took the edges of the coat from him, holding it up over the both of them.

“Think we can make it if we run?”

“Yeah, think you can keep up?”

“Any day, slug.”

Without hesitation, they were off with their mad dash in the rain. Stumbling once or twice over the curbs, they barely managed to keep the same pace so that they could still be under the coat’s canopy. Chuuya could feel the raindrops hitting his back, and Dazai’s bandages were damp already. They didn't know when they got back to Chuuya’s place; perhaps they should have tried this earlier instead of walking around like bumbling fools all over the place. Dazai set the drenched coat down once they were in the building; gravel streaked steps to the elevator. The two were out of breath, panting, realizing a bit too late that maybe it was a little stupid of them to run off with that kind of reckless abandon when they were drunk and tired.

Once they caught their breath, the ring of the elevator bell indicated that they'd reached their floor. Now they just had to hope they had the right number. 322 — yeah, that's mine.

Chuuya fumbled with the keys in his pocket, attempting to figure out which ones worked with this lock. Vision glazed over, the ridges looked far too blurry; hands clumsily undoing the lock. One of the keys worked; fifth try was the charm. The shoes were kicked off, flying to god knows what part of the living room; the two drunken idiots stumbled in. Dazai didn't hesitate without collapsing right there on the couch, although his friend seemed to atleast have a bit more sense to get himself a glass of water. Not like it mattered that much anyway when thirty minutes afterwards they were both puking their guts out, crawling out of the bathroom like zombies from a b-rated horror film. All those shots were definitely a bad idea, and they were feeling it. If reading minds were possible, one would find that they could only think the same thing.

I’m never drinking with shitty Dazai again!

I swear, this is the last time I get drunk with that hatrack!

And it was true for it was indeed the last time they did drink together.

By quite a bit of effort, they managed to reach the couch once again. Legs over chests and arms over heads, they fit in the most uncomfortable way, but they did manage to not fall over. “Get off me, you're heavy!” Dazai whined, and in truth, he would've shoved him off if he could tell where his hands ended and where Chuuya’s began. “Shut up, I want to sleep!” Perhaps he was right for once, maybe sleep would do them well. With an annoyed grumble, his bandaged fingers settled to curl themselves into the auburn locks that tickled his neck, legs tangled on the velvet sofa. Gloved hands reach to turn the light off.

It was no easy to ignore his thoughts in the dark, not when the silence festered thoughts of his eventual departure; the uncertainty that will grip his life for the days ahead. Perhaps if it weren't for that man’s final words, the promise he drew out of Dazai, he wouldn’t be so willing to upend this life. He wouldn't have even considered saving himself.

So, when we ask once again, what is salvation worth when compared to Nakahara Chuuya?

It is worth a promise. One that must be kept.

Dazai’s mind drifts away once this resolution is made. The symphony that plays in the space between the waking and the asleep is the soft breathing of the man beside him. Focusing singularly on the nearly inaudible sound, looking at the back of his eyes, he allows himself to feel the moment for a final time before he gives away to sleep. Trace away the weave of the fabric that makes the back of his shirt, feel the soft strands that sometimes pricks skin, take note of the sleepy mumbles that leave Chuuya through his dreams. And before the subtle sensation fades, his mouth opens to form the words he feels he must say or they will rend apart his mind forever.

“...I think I’m gonna miss this.”

posts will be less frequent since my entrance exams (aka an exam that'll decide the trajectory of the rest of my life) are in a month! i will still be posting, but requests will be on hold. askbox will still be open, but you may need to wait a long time for requests

works in the making:

drunk walk home — a soukoku fluff oneshot. (posted!!)

melting moment — chuuya x reader, will be a continuation of let the light in, which i'm planning on making a series soon.

the first taste — spawn astarion x tav pre-relationship oneshot.

also i'm gonna start cross posting my fics on my ao3 account by the tag of @formicablues. i've only posted two fics on there for the time being given i'm still figuring things out lmao

picture of my cats to apologize for late content <3

rewatching fallen angels and now i have soukoku fic ideas for DAYSSSS

currently got one in the works too and ugh rubbing my hands like a mosquito and kicking my feet aaaaaaaa

dazai

the reason so many characters who "use humor to mask the pain" or "are assholes with hearts that care DEEP down" are mischaracterized in fan content is because fans would like to explore the more vulnerable side implied but not shown all the time in the source, but in doing so forget the outer layer the character actually acts like most of the time, which then echoes as fans begin to immerse themselves in fan content exclusively without going back to the source for a long time. that is to say that you cant separate the outside self a character presents to others from their inner self and insecurities they are and have inside - they may have issues, but theyre still funny and/or an asshole

sorry guys i eated him

Can't go wrong with burgerzai. Old art upload, I still cherish this one everyday

low effort hcs : what music would bsd characters listen to?

everyone puts mother mother and tnbhd in dazai playlists but i can't stop thinking about how this guy would probably love 70s city pop. likes number girl and betcover!!, all of that japanese post-rock vibe. rotates between like five songs he's just obsessed with all the time.

he also feels like the exact type of mf to listen to the smiths and now it's canon in my head. 'there's a light that never goes out' is HIS song im convinced.

akutagawa is the kind of guy who would listen to visual kei. everyday that malice mizer is not on spotify he loses it a little. would also love classic goth. bauhaus, the cure, sisters of mercy, he likes all that shit. probably started with old panic! at the disco, it's that emo -> goth pipeline fr.

in my head chuuya loves rock. likes deftones but would be put off by the screaming. probably fucks with soundgarden, maybe sonic youth, rhcp, nirvana, alice in chains, the velvet underground. it just is the vibe to me. but most of all, i think chuuya would like jazz. chet baker, coltrane, miles davis. likes physical media and would spend a bit too much on records. listens to ultraviolence on occasion, i don't make the rules.

look me in the eye and tell me ranpo wouldn't love shibuya kei. lamp, pitcher56, 800 cherries, satellite lovers, roundtable ft nino. just the sort of music i could picture him listening to. would also love bossa nova. would listen to laufey. once again, i don't make the rules.

fyodor dostoevsky listens to only three kinds of music: symphonic metal, classical music and gregorian chants. this is true and real and you should believe me without question. i think he'd like opeth quite a bit as well. fyodor is also the kind of mf who hates when people refer to baroque or romantic compositions as 'classical'. Yes, he has the eras memorized. disgustingly skilled with most instruments. heard liszt play firsthand.

Hello! May I request some pre-relationship/crush headcanons with Kunikida, Atsushi and (ADA) Dazai (all separate) with a reader from the port mafia? How would they realise they are in love? How would they handle it etc etc. I love love love crush headcanons with all my heart<33

heart to heart — crush hcs!!

author's note: i'm an idiot who wrote this fic almost exclusively in hours 2-4 am. my eyes are in pure suffering. an unhealthy amount of fiona apple and unreleased lana del rey songs went into writing this. idk how to write headcannons so this ended up kind of like a fic with bullet points lmao 

— KUNIKIDA

• Working with the Port Mafia is something he is (unfortunately) no longer a stranger to. Still, an extended mission was a bit too risky for his tastes. But everyone said that he was fine, so he should be, right? If only he knew what novel sort of trouble he would face once he took the job.

• For the mission, he was partnered with you. You must've been of a different unit, because he is sure he has never seen you in person before. Except for being mentioned in passing by Dazai in his inane conversations, there was little he knew of you.

• At first, he was skeptical. Not sure whether he could truly trust a person with your affiliations to not double cross him in some way. However, you proved yourself capable soon enough. You worked with decisive efficiency, and even with his rather ridiculously timed schedules, you seemed to have no trouble keeping up with him.

• Needless to say, you two got to know each other fairly well over the course of a month. By now, you were acquainted atleast a little of his likes and dislikes. The late night sessions to plan out the routes and inspect the case files over and over; your friendship sprawls over late cups of coffee, the impatient scratching of pen on paper, and the files scattered on the table while you both worked.

• This was still professional; he'd reason with himself. So what if he's had a few drinks with you once in a while? So what if you've been spending a little too much time at his home lately?

• Dazai’s endless teasing on the matter did not help. At all. As he grows more and more defensive, he wonders if he has grown a little too attached to his new partner.

• Kunikida isn't an idiot. Even he can see how much you've made an impression on his life. He simply isn't ready to admit that this could possibly be romantic in nature. After all, you fit none of the ideals he's decided for his supposed future partner. In some form of pointed irony, the pages of the notebook that carry said ideals are also filled with the random, little things he's noticed you need; chapstick, switchblades, pens— all for them to be ready when you inevitably reach for them.

• Nor can he help stealing a little glance when said chapstick swipes so elegantly along your lips.

• Absolute gentleman, with or without a crush. Opens the car door for you on the other side, makes sure you have your seatbelt on, makes sure to watch your back while you both do field work. It’s just a nice thing to do, he reasons, but feels your touch like it was branded into his skin where your hand accidentally brushed on his elbow.

• The weeks that follow after are drawn out, confusing. As time goes on, he cannot help but read into your every action, taking note of all the little details that outline you as a person; from your tastes to little quirks. While you seem blissfully unconcerned, he could not help but feel the weight of the tension between your conversations. It is not these emotions that scare him, but their intensity. His hands tremble as they once again bandage your wounds from the day’s work, mouth dry as he looks at the gashes you think nothing of—and he wonders since when he started caring so much.

• Kunikida may be a man of his ideals, but he can be honest with himself when he needs to be. And whether he says it aloud or not, he’s already known the effect you have on him. He's known it for a long time.

• When he inevitably confesses to you, there is nothing special about it. It's another evening at his house discussing work, and when you both take a break from investigation, he brings it up to you. He isn't expecting the sentiment to be reciprocated. In fact, he is not sure he even wants that to happen. He says it to be honest. With himself and with you. You deserve to know. And perhaps if he said it out loud, the feelings would subside, even for a little while; with a definite answer, he’d have a reason to put out the growing ember.

• Nothing could've prepared him for the shock of learning that this troublesome feeling could possibly be mutual. And nothing could have prepared him for the coy kiss on his reddened cheek after.

— ATSUSHI

• someone help this poor guy

• no, he's really hopeless with it, but let me explain

• When he was asked to collaborate with the Port Mafia once more, he expected to be paired with Akutagawa once more. You were a pleasant change of pace. At first, he was only met with your suspicion; something that drove an initial rift between the two of you. You weren't sure whether you could truly trust this weretiger you've heard so much about to hold up his end of the deal, and neither could he rely on this complete stranger who regards him so frigidly. However, you both were indebted to your respective organisations—it had to be worked out.

• Your staunch independence, and the confident countenance that carried with it an understated superiority, no doubt the effect of years of experience; at first it irked him. It made him taste a little of the helplessness that trailed him like a shadow all those years ago. He attempted to chase away the feeling; biting back at your subtle digs at his skill and experience, trying to keep up with you as best as he could. You matched each other surprisingly well when you both were at your most competitive; the combination of your finesse and his strength was lethal in the most satisfying of ways.

• Over the weeks, you both get to know each other a little better. The small talks on the way to station were something that he was, despite knowing better, looking forward to. He always seemed more affected by your banter than you were by any retort he could possibly throw at you; and when the sly curve of your lip made him feel the strangest sensation of a sort of rush in his veins, he made no notice of it.

• After that morning, this strange feeling had been growing worse. Steadily through the days, but even so he could point out that the emotion that seemed to sit just beneath his chest was unfamiliar. Sometimes he had to force himself to look away from you just to get it to stop and actually be able to hear what you were saying over the erratic beat of his heart. It was blatantly obvious to everyone but him, and despite the constant teasing and prodding by Dazai on what’s got him so nervous, he still assumed it was merely admiration. Perhaps he was simply in awe of your abilities. For weren't you so impressive when you dispatch your targets so effortlessly, or when you execute such flawless plans with an ease in your mien that makes it look oh so simple?

• But then that begs the question as to why he still stares in a daze when you're doing nothing, just catching your breath in the wall crack you had pulled him into to throw off the people chasing you both; his back hitting the wall and you the only separation between him and whoever was at your tails, stalking the alleyway outside. Breaths held, not making a sound; if you both got caught, this was over, and you both understood the stakes better than anyone. He definitely knew just what was waiting for the both of you out there, and that just made the situation far more frustrating, because then why is he so absorbed in how pretty your jelly-like gaze is, or how cool you looked back there when you silently felled that patrol guard? He feels like his brain has melted. Or atleast the still working part of it, because it's not even the first time you've had that effect on him.

• Your hand tentatively shifts, and for a moment he snaps out of the daze. There is abject fear in his eyes, because what the fuck are you doing when the both of you are one slip up away from messing up this mission you both worked so hard on? Yet your fingers, trembling with the rush of adrenaline and the fear of death, wipe the blood on his cheek, observing a rather deep cut inflicted by the serrated edge of a dagger. He could take a hit, but for some reason worry seemed to claw at your mind relentlessly until you could make sure he was okay.

• Perhaps he'd stopped functioning right there and then, because when the footsteps receded and the coast was finally clear, he could barely hear you say that it was safe to come out. Instead, his first move is to hold his heart and take a deep fucking breath. Not just to calm him down from being chased like that—for he's already been chased so many times—but to stop thinking about that brief, soft touch that reasonably, should not even affect him.

• At this point, he's kind of convinced he's going crazy. And like so many problems in his life, there's only one other person to hear it. Coincidentally also the worst person to go to for that kind of counsel.

• Dazai.

• Bastard laughed for fifteen whole minutes before explaining in broken wheezes what Atsushi was possibly afflicted with. Then immediately began sighing and bemoaning about having to help his coworker with silly love problems once he finally stopped cackling like a witch.

• After this… enlightening conversation, Atsushi promptly decides that he's never going to be able to look the man in the eye ever again.

• Now, he's got a whole slew of new problems going on. This mission, you, the fact that he just embarrassed himself in front of his coworker, and that he had no idea how to even face you after this realization.

• Naturally, he wants to avoid this situation. Atsushi doesn't even consider telling you. He wants to, so badly. His throat feels tight when you look at him so sharply, and he can't help but feel that if he sticks around you for too long, you'll look straight through him and somehow find out. But he has every reason to think this won't work out. Every reason why it won't work out. It wasn't the time for love, not even in the small moments of respite between the constant violence you two had to deal with.

• This distance he's been keeping from you…there is no doubt that you feel it too. He can see as much. The disappointment in your gaze when he keeps on pushing you away; it hurts. And he knows with the way your hands are curled in fists now that you're at your breaking point.

• But instead of the argument he thought this would inevitably lead to, you simply pull him into a corner. In the most sincere tone he's ever heard you speak in, you ask him if you did something wrong. Between your deliberate words, your hands on the collar of his shirt that hold him in place with nothing but gentle firmness, and the emotions that he tried so hard to stifle for the past few weeks; he confesses. Leaves nothing unspoken, even if he consciously knows that this is a bad idea. Knows he shouldn't hand you that kind of power over his heart.

• Yet he doesn't regret it a single bit when he feels your hands leave his shirt collar and wrap around his shoulders, your silent answer that kills the bitter uncertainty left in his heart and replaces it with relief.

— DAZAI

• Your history with the brunet was brief, but not something he has ever forgotten. He’s not quick to forget faces in any case, but yours remained in his memory still.

• You both worked together fairly often some three or four years back, the timeline is blurry in his mind now—in those days, your presence seemed like it would be a permanent fixture in his life. Something to count upon. Perhaps he had hoped for the fact, until an year after when he finally decided to leave this life in the dust, and you with it.

• At the time, Dazai had dismissed those feelings as puppy love; the sort of infatuation that comes with simply being of that age where every emotion feels so amplified in intensity. You were one of his first friends, it was only natural to want to cling on, wasn't it? Only with time it became easier to ignore the hold your presence had on him, his mind too consumed with the ongoing chaos in his life to think about that craving he had during initial weeks of your separation— thumb trembling over the call button.

• A few years after, seeing your face stirs nothing in Dazai. A feeble sense of regret is all that remains, and within a few seconds even that dies off. You've changed, definitely; rough-hewn edges from mafia life, knife-hand no longer trembling when it goes for the kill. Decisive, swift movements, a certain confidence in your words that comes from experience. How the glimmer that used to be in your eyes has long since been clouded over. In a way, it makes him feel closer to you, that your soul is being slowly chipped away, just like his.

• Initially, you regarded him like any other professional acquaintance. Not daring to breathe a word of the past, even when you wanted to demand an explanation out of him so desperately. Anything to make the memories of your shared past more bearable. You know better than to give into those whims. If only for the sake of your mission, the past had to be put aside. Between the both of you, there seemed to be a mutual, unspoken understanding for the need to let go. Your slates are cleaned, and you both once again end up in the same place you started; Yokohama’s shipping docks.

• Over the weeks, being around you feels easier. You both work well into the nights, but it's a little more bearable around your company. The banter is easy between the both of you. Lips curved into a cheshire grin at his antics, you always seemed to be more amused with his actions than annoyed.

• Even now when he decides that diving head first into the sea would've made for a perfectly delightful method of suicide, a knowing sigh leaves your lips, painstakingly pulling him out of the fishnets with a firm grip on his beige coatsleeve. Of course, the effort is in vain when you lose your footing and end up falling into the water with him too. Splash!

• Somehow, even when he's walking home, sopping wet in the winter breeze, he feels strangely warm as you chide him, observing how your lips twitch as if to hide a smile.

• It’s your fault, really. Perhaps if you both didn't fit together so well, if it wasn't so effortless to be around you, he might have avoided feeling the same way around you again. It's not lost upon Dazai, how comfortable he's getting with your presence, especially when he knows it's a temporary one. A fact that he is compelled to face again and again everytime you both end up in the field.

• The danger they were facing were still very much real. Despite how confident you seem to be in your ability, your tight shoulders and shaky breaths betray you in the heat of the moment. Through your hesitation to follow through his plans, you still trust him at his word. He can't help but wonder why.

• Your actions hold a certain carefulness—he doesn't want to call it care, for when it comes to you, he finds it hard to tell what you're thinking—that he doesn't understand. As you wrap the gauze around the wound on his arm from a bullet graze, fingers touching his skin with a kind of gentleness he's only ever known from you… Dazai wonders when you'll finally tell him what you're really after.

• The brief thought occurs to him, no doubt, that maybe you do these things simply because you want to. That perhaps you still care too much, like you did all those years ago. But he knows better than to count on something as fickle as the kindness of people’s hearts. He was never that naive.

• Even so, as the long days and even longer nights pass by, he can't help but once again start feeling as he used to in the distant past, only that this time he has no excuse for it.

• Dazai doesn't blush and his heart doesn't race when he sees you. Instead, it's something far more sickening and confusing. With you, it's easier to drop the delicate layers of pretense that seem to obscure his true thoughts and emotions like delicate gauze. There is a sort of ease of being around you, a sense of belonging. In the delicate moments of the late night hours with you, humanity doesn't simply feel like a cloth to wear to hide the rotten core within. You touch him like you know him, even when he knows that the blood staining his hands is far darker than yours.

• You don't even have an inkling of how he feels, and Dazai believes that it's for the best. He’ll tell you in the future, if he can grow to trust you. He wants to say it when he can be sure of it, in a more peaceful time. Even if he doesn't want you to slip through his fingers again like he did in the past, he wants to wait.

• But right now, all he can see is your bloodied fingertips trembling in the aftermath of the day’s chaos, barely having escaped with your lives. In the silent night, neither of you mention how he holds your hand silently on the walk home, bandaged fingers holding yours with deliberate care.

I need him in a manner that would make the gods turn away in shame at what they created

this is the type of greed they talk about in the bible

biting the bullet (literally)

who do we serve here ? — anyone who seeks escapism is welcome at bar lupin. would you like your drink strong and bitter, or disgustingly sweet and light?

 what is this place ? — formiito's very own establishment of disillusioned lovers and poets. feel free to look around.

❥・my name is formiito, the writer behind these fanfics. bar lupin themed blog, though not solely restricted to bungou stray dogs. i take requests for resident evil, bg3 and may yap about other fandoms too. find me on discord as @ chococoa.a

❥・ my carrd

❥・ theme by the lovely @seldomstardom

❝ — to the stray dogs! ❞

i. MASTERLIST   ii. RULES iii. AO3

REQUESTS ARE CLOSED for all characters.

masterlist ; all orders.

𐙚🧸ྀི — BUNGOU STRAY DOGS !!

order no. 1. the day after i killed myself ; dazai osamu

order no. 2. let the light in ; nakahara chuuya

order no 3. heart to heart ; dazai, kunikida, atsushi

order no 4. drunk walk home ; soukoku

order no 5. poetry in motion ; dazai osamu

SERIES

.⋆♱ infinity aria — fyodor dostoevsky

synopsis: two souls inexplicably intertwined, only for one to kiss death again and again, and for the other to stand witness. throughout the lifetimes, he watches you seek him out, curiously watching you seal your fate.

۶ৎ • prologue

 𐙚🧸ྀི — RESIDENT EVIL !!

order no. 1: mojo pin ; leon s. kennedy

rules for requesting

DO NOT INTERACT if you're gonna be shitty on this page. don't like don't read.

i do not write nsfw, though suggestive themes can be requested and i do approach themes of violence, requested posts or otherwise. suicidal ideation and suicide will be written about sparingly on this blog. do not take what i write as an example of me possibly condoning these things. i do not write noncon, incest or stepcest.

currently, i take requests for these fandoms; bungou stray dogs, baldur's gate 3, resident evil.

i do write for ships!! these are the ones i will have most preference for:

bsd: soukoku, shin soukoku, kunikidazai (why are we shipping quality men with dazai osamu), ranpoe, fyolai, kunichuuranzai

resident evil: serrenedy, aeon (leon x ada)

baldur's gate 3: bloodweave (gale x astarion), shadowzel (shadowheart x lae'zel)

wanna write a deftones based fic so bad but idk what character would go with it ughhhh

posted something and immediately wanted to delete it call that post fic clarity

the day after i killed myself ; dazai osamu

trigger warnings; suicide mentions, possibly ooc dazai.

author's note; first time writing literally anything on tumblr. haven't even finished bsd, so i'm sorry if this may turn out ooc. let me know how it goes. wrote this while half asleep as fuck in a warm sunny afternoon fuckkkk

Gloveless hands anxiously wrap around one another to grasp at a warmth that isn't there. The wind leaves behind a color of life on the cheek, a little mark of the stinging night. The world had stopped moving for the time being, yet there is an impending feeling of something to come. Something will happen tonight. He just ignores the vague feeling and continues on, walking on the narrow sidewalk. The steps on the pavement and the sound of distant cars is drowned out by the music currently playing in his head, the lyrics blurring the thoughts that flit past.

Now, Dazai should've been home countless hours before. And he was, if only for a moment, but as soon as the clock had started inching into the small hours of the night, there was a growing sense of restlessness he simply couldn't live with. The smoke tinged air of the room wasn't enough, the open window overlooking the street wasn't enough, and even now on the open road there is something uneasy under his pulse begging him to run off; it isn't enough.

But he's thinking too much. The brunet is certain that this kind of mundane insanity is simply because he has nothing to do at the moment. As soon as he would find a distraction, it’ll leave again. He's realized the absence of people brings about more thoughts than his head could keep in, as if to make up for the empty space outside of his body. A small message ping distracts him from his thoughts. Kunikida’s message, an attempt to check up on him. Some were still back at the Agency, settling affairs for the next day. His partner was one of them, though he would probably complain that his perfect sleep routine was thrown all out of order. Again. The message is responded to with a click of the button, a sticker of a cat sent in response. Such boring details don't deserve any merit on a night like this.

And it was so beautiful, too! The flickering lamplight shines over the glistening asphalt, city drenched in the afterglow of an evening rain. Dazai hums the song playing in his ears. Although that doesn't ease the feeling either. He wondered what felt more wrong, the absence of feeling? Or an overwhelming amount of it? The unexplained sensation remained in the back of his mind.

Dazai often avoided reflecting about his life. Atleast, about the things that lay under the surface. When he began to revisit the past, his new life started to look like something of a shiny new veneer painted over rust. The corrosion of the soul is all that’s left, and it is still fragile. But when he thought of the present, a lingering weight would still linger there somewhere between his ribs, a sensation that felt so physical for a feeling that should only exist in his mind. Burden.

But there is a third feeling; realization. Somewhere between sleeping and waking, in the instant where the flame burns the tip of the cigarette and creates the first ember. In the times when he catches himself smiling at a joke, whether someone else's or his own, and then suddenly becomes acutely aware of this short lived happiness and at that transitional moment he's already lived through the memory of that joy.

Then, it's gone as soon as it came by.

The idea of life is something fleeting, really. He's aware of the fact that for a man that covets death so much, there always seems to be a convenient excuse for him to continue on living. This paradox isn't lost on him, and the answer is so painfully simple, he knows. But for a while, he will continue to think otherwise. If only for those fleeting moments when he could feel life through his bandage wrapped fingers, the times where he was hit by the realization of this very obvious yet forgettable fact; yes, I exist. But standing on the edge of a bridge right now, looking down at the drop; he felt far too much. Suddenly so aware, without warning, without explanation. There is something tempting about such great heights, a siren call. The distance makes one feel so painfully full and empty at the exact same time; the chill in his bones no longer a product of the weather but that of an acute awareness of distance. He reaches out with one hand as if testing, if it makes him feel any closer to being human.

For there has always been something separating him from the rest of the world. Somehow this outstretched hand feels comforting. And when the song in his ears rises to a crescendo, he cannot help but want to close that distance, unable to resist the calling of that warm void. His eyes see that the ground is empty, yet at this instant he feels realization again. An acute awareness of life. As his leg dangles over the edge, the emptiness in his hands feels like it has been replaced by something.

And when he falls, it's not with purpose, but with natural ease. Falling as one does into a comforting hug, the air that whips through the strands of chocolate brown hair chilled, chest warm as it anticipates the coming embrace of death. Just this once he does not fight, even subconsciously, the depths that his body falls into. The neon lights melt into blues, and all bleed together to form a single, comforting hue. Black. The color of the void that called his name with such affection.

The next morning at home remains uneventful. When the sun hits, the empty cigarette boxes remain on the coffee table, the ashtray that lay next to it a dry memorial of a life lived far too long. At the Agency, it is quieter than usual. A lingering feeling of emptiness takes too much space in the room, though no one knows what it is yet.

When the lifeless body washes up ashore, his lips remain curved in a certain complete happiness, as the cellphone in his hand buzzes with calls never to be answered again. Perhaps in the pain that he leaves in his wake, he'd find meaning.

the day after i killed myself ; dazai osamu

trigger warnings; suicide mentions, possibly ooc dazai.

author's note; first time writing literally anything on tumblr. haven't even finished bsd, so i'm sorry if this may turn out ooc. let me know how it goes. wrote this while half asleep as fuck in a warm sunny afternoon fuckkkk

Gloveless hands anxiously wrap around one another to grasp at a warmth that isn't there. The wind leaves behind a color of life on the cheek, a little mark of the stinging night. The world had stopped moving for the time being, yet there is an impending feeling of something to come. Something will happen tonight. He just ignores the vague feeling and continues on, walking on the narrow sidewalk. The steps on the pavement and the sound of distant cars is drowned out by the music currently playing in his head, the lyrics blurring the thoughts that flit past.

Now, Dazai should've been home countless hours before. And he was, if only for a moment, but as soon as the clock had started inching into the small hours of the night, there was a growing sense of restlessness he simply couldn't live with. The smoke tinged air of the room wasn't enough, the open window overlooking the street wasn't enough, and even now on the open road there is something uneasy under his pulse begging him to run off; it isn't enough.

But he's thinking too much. The brunet is certain that this kind of mundane insanity is simply because he has nothing to do at the moment. As soon as he would find a distraction, it’ll leave again. He's realized the absence of people brings about more thoughts than his head could keep in, as if to make up for the empty space outside of his body. A small message ping distracts him from his thoughts. Kunikida’s message, an attempt to check up on him. Some were still back at the Agency, settling affairs for the next day. His partner was one of them, though he would probably complain that his perfect sleep routine was thrown all out of order. Again. The message is responded to with a click of the button, a sticker of a cat sent in response. Such boring details don't deserve any merit on a night like this.

And it was so beautiful, too! The flickering lamplight shines over the glistening asphalt, city drenched in the afterglow of an evening rain. Dazai hums the song playing in his ears. Although that doesn't ease the feeling either. He wondered what felt more wrong, the absence of feeling? Or an overwhelming amount of it? The unexplained sensation remained in the back of his mind.

Dazai often avoided reflecting about his life. Atleast, about the things that lay under the surface. When he began to revisit the past, his new life started to look like something of a shiny new veneer painted over rust. The corrosion of the soul is all that’s left, and it is still fragile. But when he thought of the present, a lingering weight would still linger there somewhere between his ribs, a sensation that felt so physical for a feeling that should only exist in his mind. Burden.

But there is a third feeling; realization. Somewhere between sleeping and waking, in the instant where the flame burns the tip of the cigarette and creates the first ember. In the times when he catches himself smiling at a joke, whether someone else's or his own, and then suddenly becomes acutely aware of this short lived happiness and at that transitional moment he's already lived through the memory of that joy.

Then, it's gone as soon as it came by.

The idea of life is something fleeting, really. He's aware of the fact that for a man that covets death so much, there always seems to be a convenient excuse for him to continue on living. This paradox isn't lost on him, and the answer is so painfully simple, he knows. But for a while, he will continue to think otherwise. If only for those fleeting moments when he could feel life through his bandage wrapped fingers, the times where he was hit by the realization of this very obvious yet forgettable fact; yes, I exist. But standing on the edge of a bridge right now, looking down at the drop; he felt far too much. Suddenly so aware, without warning, without explanation. There is something tempting about such great heights, a siren call. The distance makes one feel so painfully full and empty at the exact same time; the chill in his bones no longer a product of the weather but that of an acute awareness of distance. He reaches out with one hand as if testing, if it makes him feel any closer to being human.

For there has always been something separating him from the rest of the world. Somehow this outstretched hand feels comforting. And when the song in his ears rises to a crescendo, he cannot help but want to close that distance, unable to resist the calling of that warm void. His eyes see that the ground is empty, yet at this instant he feels realization again. An acute awareness of life. As his leg dangles over the edge, the emptiness in his hands feels like it has been replaced by something.

And when he falls, it's not with purpose, but with natural ease. Falling as one does into a comforting hug, the air that whips through the strands of chocolate brown hair chilled, chest warm as it anticipates the coming embrace of death. Just this once he does not fight, even subconsciously, the depths that his body falls into. The neon lights melt into blues, and all bleed together to form a single, comforting hue. Black. The color of the void that called his name with such affection.

The next morning at home remains uneventful. When the sun hits, the empty cigarette boxes remain on the coffee table, the ashtray that lay next to it a dry memorial of a life lived far too long. At the Agency, it is quieter than usual. A lingering feeling of emptiness takes too much space in the room, though no one knows what it is yet.

When the lifeless body washes up ashore, his lips remain curved in a certain complete happiness, as the cellphone in his hand buzzes with calls never to be answered again. Perhaps in the pain that he leaves in his wake, he'd find meaning.

Dazai, when he's first introduced: Yeah i wanna kms but I don't want to burden anyone.

Dazai, the rest of the series: fails to khs and burdens anything with a pulse.

WHY IS THIS SO CUTE ALDGLJDBGLA THE CUTENESS IS OVERWHELMING—

Also lol yeah neither Aku has any idea what's happening.

Bungo Stray Dogs characters with their Wan

Was in Barnes and Noble today, and I found a collection of Dazai's works titled "The Real Osamu Dazai." And this was on the back:

Like....why. How. I understand if you just see edits and stuff you'd think he's the main character, but like, watch one episode, read one chapter, and anyone with basic media literacy could tell that he isn't the main character. Even google could tell you that. Why does this keep happening??? My boy Atsushi deserves more than this.

Been a bit busy recently, but for those who want it, here's part two of the concept I had mentioned about the sskk interview. | Part One. It also ended up around 1.8k, so it's under the cut. Enjoy! Perhaps I'll do a part three if anyone wants it.

The next few days were much of the same for Atsushi. He'd come to work, be dragged off by Kunikida who would hand him a paper with all the questions they were going to ask and made him memorize each answer. Then eventually Dazai would arrive (a few hours late, as usual), and after sitting through Kunikida's lecture on tardiness and the importance of punctuality, and after Dazai would make a few comments that would only infuriate the detective more, his mentor would work on having him not sound like a cold machine when he spoke. Because apparently, he did not do well with memorization.

The training wouldn't have been so bad, really, if not for the fact that Kunikida and Dazai seemed to disagree about everything. Kunikida wanted him to appear formal as a true representative of the Agency, while Dazai thought he'd appeal to the audience more if he came across as some sort of Idol—relaxed manner, permanent smile, the works. Unfortunately, Atsushi was too nervous to truly do either, and every time he tried to implement one of his superior's advice and whenever he thought he might actually be starting to do a good job, the other would completely admonish him and tell him to the opposite.

And if Atsushi had to endure this for one more day, he may not have enough sanity left to even do the interview in the first place.

But somehow, by some miracle, he was actually improving. He had managed to find some sort of middle ground between the two philosophies—professional, but friendly enough to appear easygoing and relatable as he calmly told the interviewer (Kyouka, who had been roped into this) about his experience on the Moby Dick and defeating the American before the city was destroyed (the amended version that was arranged and agreed upon with the Port Mafia)

Of course, he couldn't help but feel he might lose all his progress when in front of an actual camera, but one problem at a time.

And speaking of problems...

It was time for his practices with Akutagawa.

With luck, the mafioso would kill him, and he could get out of doing the interview.

"C'mon, it'll be fine," Dazai assured him with a lazy grin. The two were on their way to the practice, which unfortunately had to be in Mafia territory. Atsushi protested against this, numerous times in fact, but it was beginning to dawn on him that no one actually had any consideration for what he wanted in this instance. Dazai had explained that their premises would be much more accommodating to the task, and there wasn't much else to say on the matter. Even Kunikida had voiced a mild objection, but being as there was some tentative form of truce, and that the organizations were attempting to work together for their mutual benefits, there wasn't any choice.

When they arrived at the agreed upon tower—the southern one, if Atsushi was correct, they were greeted by two grunts who escorted them to the fifteenth floor, where there was apparently an open space available for this. Dazai even chatted with one of them on the way up, casually asking about his wife and kids, and the man, for the most part, just seemed confused but answered honestly.

For some reason, it hadn't occurred to him that there would be someone else helping Akutagawa until they were led into a large, open area with a small stage setup, and aside from Akutagawa standing off to the side, there was a short mafioso with a black hat sitting cross-legged on a folding chair, his face scowling in irritation the moment he spotted Dazai. For what it's worth, the brunet's face twisted in revulsion when he spotted the man as well.

"Really?!" The ginger practically spat, standing up so quickly the chair knocked into the ground. "Of everyone who it could be, it had to be you?! Couldn't they get a literal trash can to do the job instead?! Not much of a difference, but at least one knows how to shut up."

Atsushi blinked at the harsh words aimed at his mentor. Dazai, however, merely upturned his nose like some kind of critic whose opinion was actually warranted.

"And they should have hired a hatrack to do yours—at least it has more uses than you. And how exactly do you expect to make Akutagawa camera ready when the only thing you would accomplish by appearing in public is to go from the Wanted list to Unwanted."

"Dazai..." Atsushi tried, ever the peacemaker.

"And all you're accomplishing is contaminating your student with your filth," Chuuya retorted. "You'll make the whole country reek of Mackerel."

"I take it back. Perhaps they should have gone with a dog—at least they're more loveable than you."

Chuuya scrunched up his nose. "You hate dogs."

"Exactly."

There was a pause before the executive's eyes widened, and he suddenly glowed red. "You bastard! I oughta punch you right in the—"

"Uh uh uh." Suddenly, Atsushi found himself being yanked in front of Dazai, to be used as a human shield. "You wouldn't want to mess up our one of our stars' faces, would you?" taunted his mentor with a maliciously sweet grin.

"I think you could," commented Akutagawa.

"Nobody asked you!" Atsushi snapped back.

Chuuya glanced between student and mentor and sighed exaggeratingly, dragging a gloved hand across his face. "Whatever, we've wasted enough time."

Since Atsushi apparently came across as very yankable, Chuuya suddenly reached out and grabbed Atsushi's arm, dragging him away from Dazai and towards Akutagawa.

"Uhm, Chuuya?" Atsushi began timidly. He tried to tug his arm out of the mafioso's grasp. It didn't work.

"Shut up," spat the executive, and Atsushi decided to do that. Not because he was scared of Chuuya who could crush him in an instant, but because it seemed like a very smart idea. Because Chuuya could crush him in an instant.

Akutagawa's eyes widened suddenly as his superior approached him, grabbed him with his free arm, and commenced dragging the two of them over to the stage while the Future Stars­™ stumbled along behind him. Atsushi caught Akutagawa's gaze. The latter rolled his eyes at him. The former stuck out his tongue in retaliation.

Chuuya marched onto the stage with them in tow, shoved Akutagawa into a chair that had been set up on the left, and then Atsushi into the other one a few feet to the right.

"Alright," he said, crossing his arms and staring down at the two of them like one might stare at five year olds who have been misbehaving. "We're starting. Now. I don't wanna hear any fighting between you two, got it?"

"Understood sir, sir, yes sir," Atsushi stammered under the piercing gaze. Akutagawa, who was likely more used to this treatment from the ginger, merely nodded, although he didn't appear all too happy about it.

"He's right, boys, you have to play nice." Dazai strolled onto the stage leisurely with his hands behind his back and and a grin. "Think we can keep the bickering to a minimum?"

"You guys are fighting more than we are," Atsushi pointed out dryly. Akutagawa made a sound akin to a stifled snort. Chuuya's eye twitched. Dazai's lips twitched. Neither man made any effort to deny it.

"Let's just try to get through this, can we do that?" Chuuya asked. He sounded really tired.

"Fine by me," Atsushi replied.

Akutagawa nodded. "There should be no problems as long as the Weretiger doesn't mess this up."

"Excuse me?" Atsushi exclaimed, turning to the man. "You think I'm going to mess this up?! Who came to kill who, remind me—"

"Yes, and I almost didn't have to, because you were ten seconds away from becoming a cripple. If I hadn't been there, you would have allowed the whole city to go up in flames."

"Well, you—"

"Enough!" Chuuya flicked Atsushi between the eyes, hard enough for his entire chair to fall backwards and send the boy sprawling to the floor. He then walked over to Akutagawa, who merely sighed in resignation as he too was sent to the floor.

"Next time either of you say anything that isn't rehearsed, I'm gonna kick each of your butts so hard, you're gonna do the interview and the rest of your lives standing, you got that?!" Chuuya growled as he glared down at the black and white heaps on the floor. Akutagawa had managed to land somewhat gracefully while said butt of Atsushi was sticking up in the air. At the threat, he quickly reigned it in and sat up rigidly.

"I didn't hear a response," said Chuuya, glowing red.

"Yes!"

"Understood." Accompanied by two coughs.

"Now now, Chuuya," Dazai laughed. He placed a hand on the ginger's shoulder, dispelling the red glow that surrounded him. "You shouldn't be so stressed all the time; at this rate, you really will get a bald patch before you're twenty-five."

Chuuya scowled and wheeled on the man. "Yeah, well at least someone's putting in any effort into this interview. They're your students that you grabbed off the streets, why don't you act like a responsible teacher for once?!"

"But that's no funnn," Dazai whined. "It's way more entertaining to watch this instead."

"Wait, how'd you know Dazai found me on the streets?" Atsushi asked.

Chuuya made a face. "Lucky guess."

"I pulled you from the streets, remember?" Dazai draped his arm over Chuuya and brought him close with a light grin. "I remember, you reeked the first time I met you—"

Dazai was on in his back in the space of a single blink. The stage beneath him was slightly cracked. Chuuya's fists were clenched.

"I'll have you know that I was perfectly clean, thank you very much!" he stated loudly, "unlike a certain slimy fish I could mention whose hair was a rats' nest and whose personal hygiene rivalled that of a monkey's."

Dazai looked up at him from the floor with a twinkle in his eye. "It's funny you say that when, last I checked, you were the one hanging around farm animals—"

Chuuya pounced on him before Dazai could even finish, slapping him and shouting while Dazai merely cackled wrestled back surprisingly well, throwing in a jab or two to keep it going. Chuuya eventually got the upper hand though, and he managed to strangle Dazai hard enough for the man to pass out, all while maintaining a blissful expression.

Two pairs of eyes followed the executive as he calmly rose from the ground and brushed off his vest like nothing happened. "Now that one nuisance has been taken care of, let's get on with it."

Atsushi glanced over at Akutagawa, who didn't seem perturbed in the least. Atsushi sighed.

And so, practice began.

The thing about skk being a "brain and brawn" duo is that I feel like a lot of people put them in a box and refuse to acknowledge that just because they are one half of the duo does not mean they are incapable of being the other.

Chuuya is obviously the powerhouse behind skk, but the amount of people who think he's stupid when he's not stupid, he can be emotional but that's not all there is to him. He figured out that Randou was lying almost as fast as Dazai did, it says in Stormbringer that everyone was surprised that a sixteen year old was managing the gem trade so easily but he was. You'd think they'd have someone incapable in such a high leadership position? I will truly never understand why someone people think he's dumb when like, he may not be a genius like Dazai or Ranpo, but he's pretty dang smart on his own, his highest level of education was preschool, mind you.

And Dazai is not the best fighter, but he is pretty capable. He was able to completely pummel Akutagawa (whatever you want to say about that), and Akutagawa had spent a lot of times in the slums fighting to survive. He's not the most capable fighter, but I think he'd handle himself pretty well in a fight if he had to. He kept up with Chuuya after being away from him for four years, and yeah Chuuya was definitely going easy on him, but he isn't helpless.

tl;dr: skk are more than their stereotypes.

I would like to remind everyone that this takes place after the Guild arc, meaning that Kunikida knows by now that Dazai was a Mafia executive. And that doesn't bother him in the slightest.

Dark era vs Beast

"This story is a tragedy because it didn't have to end this way."

vs

"This story is a tragedy because it was always going to end this way."

It's objectively hysterical that it took Kunikida so long to figure out Dazai was in the Mafia.

For starters, the entire Entrance Exam light novel, he and the president were commenting on how suspicious it was that this man just seemingly had no past at all. and stated numerous times that he thought he was some sort of criminal.

And then there's this scene:

Dazai *randomly gives a detailed run down of the organ trafficking business*

Kunikida: how do you know that??

Dazai: Oh i heard two people talking about it once.

Kunikida:

Kunikida: yes that makes sense.

Or that time when he ran into Akutagawa and electrocuted him:

Aku: yes you are worthy of being Dazai's partner.

Kunikida: "worthy of...?" Do I know you?? Does Dazai know you??

Aku:

Aku: goodbye now.

Like all the clues were there but Kunikida just thought this man was too lazy to have ever really been a professional criminal.

Ok so this isn't really stupid, but I do wonder if Dazai took the time to explore the world and people a bit.

Like Odasaku wants him to help people, but he's spent so much time entrenched in darkness, so he needs to start small by helping old ladies cross the street and listen to them talk about their grandkids.

Maybe he helped out at a school to learn a bit more about children.

Volunteered at a soup kitchen to observe those in need in a much different way than he's used to.

Would just sit in a park to watch parents playing with their kids, couples walking together, etc.

He's always said he wants to die, but this is different. Sort of like what he said about observing death up to close to understand what it truly means to live, but the opposite. Observing life up close to understand what it truly means to die.

And finding that maybe, he doesn't want that. Maybe, living in the light won't be so bad.

what's your stupid thing you think Dazai learned during his two years in hiding while keeping himself busy

I know I already made a post about this, but I wanted to expound on it a bit, because I'm still obsessed with the idea of Dazai being a bad person on the good side, and Chuuya being a good person on the bad side.

Because in essence, the fact that Dazai's in the Agency helping people is because he's selfish, and Chuuya stayed with the Mafia because he's selfless. Contrary to what a lot of people say, Dazai didn't leave the Mafia for Odasaku. He never promised him, never said "I'll do it for you," never did it because Odasaku wanted him to be good. He did it for himself. Odasaku tells him that he'll always be alone, something Dazai fears and knows deep down, and asks what he's supposed to do now. Odasaku then gives him advice, tells him that being on the side that saves people will make his world a bit brighter, and so Dazai agrees to leave the Mafia for himself. And once Dazai agreed to this, then Odasaku says "Man lives to save himself..." Further cementing the idea that Dazai is doing this for his sake and his sake alone. He wants his own life to be better, and if helping people will make it a bit brighter, then he's willing to try doing that.

Chuuya, however, would never leave the Port Mafia because he's the opposite. He cares more about other people than he does his own self. From youth, he became the leader of a child gang in order to protect them, because he felt he was fulfilling his duty as someone with power to protect those who took him in. And even after they betray him, Chuuya still joins the Mafia in order to protect them. To protect the kids who just stabbed him in the back because he would never betray those who did good to him. And the Mafia did that. They took him in, gave him a place to live, a job, a purpose, a family. He actively seeks to make connections with those around him, and once they have his loyalty, it never leaves. In Stormbringer, the detective wanted him to betray the Mafia, and he wouldn't do it, yet later, when the detective dies, Chuuya mourns his death and the loss of opportunity for him to leave the Mafia. It shows that he did, in fact, wish to leave, but he never would. Because why would he hurt those around him who've done good to him? It's very obvious that he's selfless and self-sacrificial, as seen in Fifteen, Stormbringer (where he gave up ever knowing if he was human in order to protect the city), and Dead Apple where he risked his own life to protect the city. The fact that he's still with the Port Mafia, still actively being a bad person, is because he never would and never could leave them, and would do anything to protect them, no matter how bad they'd treat him. Because he cares more about others than his own happiness.

And it's because of that their dynamic is the way it is now. Dazai's one of "the good guys" and Chuuya's one of "the bad guys," but the lines become much more blurred when they're together. Who's the better person in the dynamic? Someone who's doing bad for others or doing good for himself? Either way, both are morally gray characters who blur the lines of morality when they're together.