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rhiwdiliel-bsd-edition · 8 months

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Camellias

An AU, where Soukoku has lived countless lives, in every one of them meeting the other.

Or, a work where I combine canon symbolism of camelias, reincarnation of soulmates trope, and a general adoration for Soukoku's suffering

19th of October, 1906

There came certain times when it seemed a strange aesthetic of gloom fell over humanity’s towns, painting them in the quiet depression, robbing them from the gentle hands of a coloured world. The flickering gaslights yellowed the grey of cracked, worn cobblestones, ones that beheld a history and memory further than that of any mortal. Their every chink, fissure and gap lamented the tragedy of the ichor that had seeped into their rifts, never to fade away till the world was changed. They lamented, and yet also they sung songs of past romance, where the tears of scarlet camelia petals had lodged themselves within the grit, ever to be stepped on by every passerby, as though it had not once burned with flames blessed with a divine intensity.

A dark, leather shoe’s heel stepped across these fragments of archaic history, ignorant of the earth it walked upon. It came to a halt beneath one of those aforementioned gaslights, peering up into its moth clouded glow. The thin wings in their flocks seemed to miraculously block out the brightness, dancing their last, graceful brush against their inevitable death. Why were they ever attracted to the fatal flames, when they only brought them an immeasurable agony? Why did they remain basking in that torment till the curse of life left them to drop uselessly to the ground?

Perhaps they suffered a philosophy not unlike that which Dazai bore, that it was more desirable to experience a worldly pleasure and have it end in despair rather than to let oneself hollow into naught more but a shell of one’s past self. It was for this worldly pleasure that he had walked on history’s veins, and it came bearing fire upon its head, adorned in a casing that made it reminiscent of the gaslight.

As Dazai approached the flame, the darkness of his shadow fell upon it, as though he really was but a moth in the face of such an attraction. He leant forward, and caught a flicker of heat upon his cigarette from the other’s, braving a proximity none dared to tread, for often did they end up amidst the moths’ broken corpses. Yet no harm fell upon him despite his daring, and he moved back, a smile caressing the cigarette between his chapped lips.

“Don’t you own a lighter, dear Detective?” The words were naught more than a low whisper, echoing in the cold stillness of the haunted street, seemingly emptied by the presence of Chuuya alone. Only the aged bloodstains, torn, dry petals, dying moths and Dazai remained. “Oh, but isn’t it so much more fun to do this? Just because I can?” His reply was equally as quiet, almost enchantingly hinted with a childish happiness. Chuuya’s gaze seemed to be foreign to this environment, bearing a blue found within the splashing waves of the sea. It was thoughtful, and his features of an equal nature were disfigured with wisps of smoke. “No, because one of these days, Detective, you’re going to miscalculate, and you’re going to pay the rather costly price in full.”

“No, I won’t. My suffering pains you, Boss.” The last word on Dazai’s tongue was a stretched, mocking drawl of a title he did not bear obligation to use, but often wished to employ it for his own amusement. How painfully entertaining, to speak such a word to one’s mortal enemy, to watch how their eyes darkened, and that scoff without laughter left their lips. “Maybe in another life, Detective.”

“Don’t be so certain, Chuuya. It’s possible that we have lived many lives, and all of them have ended with our union.”

19th of October, 1625

That cobblestone street of history seemed ever to have snaked its way across that street, which slept as though neath a blissful spell. From such a spell only two had escaped, dashing about with only the illumination of lightening crackling across the sky. It seemed that with every deafening clap of thunder, there followed that terrible, bright flash, revealing only a solitude from which there was no saviour save one another. The air hung in a cold stillness, and it seemed as though the sky itself held its breath for the two below, peeking through the near invisible sifts within the dark masses holding it hostage.

The pattering of running boots echoed through the silence, followed by two sets of gasping breaths. Still, they remained alone, without the danger of company, even as they trod across the memories of camellia petals, tainting the ground with drops of their maroon blood, shining almost black at the mercy of the heavens. It seeped within the cobblestone cracks, deep to the remnants of a past they had once known.

“Chuuya, I-I can’t, we have to be safe now, I can’t--” The words were gasps more so than they were syllables, and were followed by the dull thud of knees striking the ground, unable to support themselves and the weight upon them any longer. More of that precious lifeblood stained about them, as though marking fate’s random footsteps. There came a heavy pause, one of great hesitance, worry seeming to pierce the fog about them, before another such dull thud followed, this one considerably quieter and more controlled, and a bleeding hand reached out to caress a cold cheek.

“It’s alright, Dazai, we’ll… We’ll rest now. Everything’s going to be alright. We can rest here, they won’t find us.” False reassurances spoken from a throat that had only just reached maturity, formed by lips that had never before known even a dryness, let alone an injury. Though the youthfulness of Chuuya’s features was darker now, it seemed that as Dazai shifted forward to collapse into a breaking embrace, they returned to the age they ought to have been at, revealing the true nature of the lovers upon stone, of two youths who had experienced the fear of a soldier in war, and likewise such injury, who now sat upon the town’s essence, silently begging it for a relief they would not soon know.

“I’m... I’m so tired, Chuuya... I just... I wish, I wish things were like they were supposed to be.” Dazai’s exhausted voice was muffled against the stained fabric of Chuuya’s dress shirt, one that spoke of a peaceful, domestic night that had dwelt upon them in its kindness before any sort of horrors came to pass, before any blade or cruelty of human hand had forced itself upon them, before any such hurt had taken their blood and poured it upon the cobblestones, as though it were decorating the grey with the colour of life.

The sky released its bated breath with the relief of tears now, knowing they had lodged themselves in a temporary pocket of safety, away from life and its countless threats. It seemed each word of Chuuya’s response was punctuated by a splatter of a raindrop upon the ground, which pushed the blood to mix with the grit, till it was the ichor that was fated to remain for centuries onwards.

“I know, Dazai. Maybe in another life, we’re happier, and we have nothing to worry about. Maybe in another life, the only blood we’ll ever bleed is from paper cuts and scratches from thorns. Maybe in another life, the only tears we’ll cry are those of overwhelming happiness.”

19th of October, 25 AD

There had once been a time when the cobblestone was untainted and knew only the kindness of footsteps, be they laden with joy or otherwise. It memorised every imprint upon shoe soles, every line upon a foot, every arch that refused to touch the ground and every one that did. It basked in the warmth of the sun, and watched the travelling galaxies of stars when night fell. The path was young, and yet unrefined by time with its harsh grip. Its stone was tickled now, by the gentle brush of camellia petals that would soon come to disintegrate into a scarlet powder that would litter the ground for centuries to come, reflective of the stars dusting the darkness above.

The petals fell gently from small hands, belonging to children who had not even seen the world for a decade. Their bare feet fell lightly upon the warm stone, curving around the cobblestones. Their skin gleamed in the pale October light, still sun-kissed from the summer months. They picked at camellia flowers, unaware of the poetry falling between their fingers. They did not know that they scattered whispers of noble death, that they beckoned blood to taint those forgotten petals. They did not know that they sowed a deep and intense passion of love, one that would not come to pass till the barriers of society collapsed into insignificant flecks.

“Chuuya? I want to do this forever and ever! To run and play with you, and pick camellias all day!” The words floated upon peals of laughter that rang out across the fields, coming from the smiling mouth of a child that was, in every life, in every other instance, bandaged all over in a desperate attempt to mask the various, scarred lines of both self and world inflicted suffering, yet here, remained unbandaged, pure, unscarred.

Dazai’s eyes were as though pools of darkened sunlight, recalling the flow of sweet honey and the precious jewel of amber formed by millennia that was incomprehensible to the human mind. They shone brightly with an ecstasy that only children could know, and gazed upon the brown and orange gifts of autumn in an awed wonder. He turned to the one beside him, and beamed as he saw a mirror expression on Chuuya’s young features.

“I want to do that too! Then we’d always be happy. Mama says that there’s a story about how best friends can come back to life after they die, and they come back as new people. We’re going to have fun and be happy forever and ever!” The last words were punctuated with a sudden flurry of scarlet, and the petals floated about them as gentle rain. Some fell into locks of Chuuya’s hair, interlacing with the soft, ginger waves that fell into eyes that were reminiscent of a tranquil sea’s breaths upon the sandy shore, knowing only peace, oft highlighted with childish glee, as seashells floating upon the water.

They graced the environment with their blissful joy, and enhanced the air with peals of laughter. They let the world know of their happiness, and squealed gleefully, every drop of their merriness captured in a scarlet petal. They spread it freely, not knowing its value, not knowing the rarity of that which they gave away as though it was the most common thing, as though it was not something they would be greatly deprived of in their years to come. They were innocent, their ignorance brought them an angelic purity that they would forget, never to remember it again, never to even know of it save in dreams that would bless them only upon nights when the moon was particularly fond of them.

“Yes, we’re going to have a hundred thousand lives, and all of them are going to be happy!”

#bsd fanfiction #dazai osamu #nakahara chuuya #osamu dazai #chuuya nakahara #soukoku #bsd dazai osamu #bsd nakahara chuuya #bsd soukoku

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anime-fixation · 6 months

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A Damsel in Distress

Pt. 3 of Don’t Wake the Demon Prodigy

Read: part 1, part 2

Read on AO3: Here

Chuuya gets kidnapped after using corruption. The Demon Prodigy is willing to do what he has to make them pay for taking him. Unfortunately Aktugawa and Atsushi get caught up in the path of destruction.

That’s it that’s the fic!

Word count 2669

Rating: M

Chuuya slumped over as corruption left his body, passing out before Dazai let go of his hand. Dazai straightened up and looked around the warehouse and the group of ability users they had just taken out. They were a strong team sent from a larger group threatening to take over, but still no match for Soukoku.

Dazai started to walk over to one of the bodies Chuuya took out when the sharp crunch of glass made him stop in his tracks. He went to whip around to face the source of the noise, but was too slow, large arms wrapped themselves around Dazai.

Dazai threw his body weight around, the man holding him barely swayed. Instead, he began walking, taking Dazai out of the room into the hall. The strong man threw Dazai to the floor but Dazai was quick to try and fight back, earning him a quick punch to the face, knocking him back. Before the agency member had the chance to stand again, the other man disappeared back into the room they just came from, the door shut behind him with a loud thud, followed by the click of a lock.

“You think I can’t pick a lock?” Dazai yelled after the strong man. Dazai's smug smile fell when he heard the scraping of something heavy against the floor.

Dazai ran over to the window in the door, peering through, he looked down to where a large crate was being moved in front of the door. Whatever it was, thankfully, wasn’t tall enough to cover the small window. Dazai looked around the room, desperate to find Chuuya. He spotted him almost right away, his orange hair was some of the only color in the dimly lit room. The redhead was still slumped over on the floor, passed out cold.

Dazai watched in horror as four men walked through the door on the other side of the room near where Chuuya was passed out. Two of the men picked up Chuuya by his arms and ankles. While the other two stood watch surveying the warehouse for anyone who might try and surprise them. The strong man that locked Dazai away eventually joined them. He kept his eyes on the door Dazai was stuck behind.

Dazai slammed his fists on the door in front of him, his actions were frantic and desperate. Despite knowing he couldn’t open the door with just himself, he continued to bang on it, hard enough bruises began to form on the sides of his hands.

“When I find you, which I will, they won’t be able to identify who you are. Your body will be so disfigured they’ll need to take my world that you were once human!” Dazai shouted out at the men.

The men paid him no mind continuing to kidnap Chuuya. The two men holding Chuuya started to carry him out. The strong man kept an eye on Dazai as the last two slipped back through the door.

“You’ll fucking regret this!” Dazai screamed a final threat out as the strong man followed the others out of the room.

“Fuck.” Dazai yelled. His fists smashing the door. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

“Uh Dazai…” Atsushi’s voice broke Dazai out of his panic. Atsushi and Akutagawa stood behind Dazai in the hallway.

“Five men took chuuya,” Dazai skipped the hello’s telling the other two men the whereabouts of his ex-partner.

Aktugawa looked confused, then asked, “He’ll be fine won’t he?”

“No. He won’t. He used corruption right before they took him,” Dazai paused briefly before continuing. “They grabbed me after I nullified him, locking me out here.”

Dazai was visibly upset, something neither of the younger two were particularly used to, the older man continued on, “I should’ve seen it, it was such a smart plan to take him now, if he wakes up he’ll barely be able to stand, let alone fight.”

“Oh…” Both of the younger men said in unison. Not sure how to respond, but they didn’t need to say much before Dazai cut in.

“We need to get moving,” Dazai said. He looked over to the two ability users. “Help me open this door. It’s locked and there's a crate on the other side.”

Aktugawa nodded, sending Rashomon through the cracks in the door, slicing the lock open and the crate in half. With a strong kick Atsushi threw the doors open, sending the two pieces of crate flying across the room. As soon as the doors opened the three men took off running across the warehouse.

“He’s vulnerable right now. We’ll need to move fast,” Dazai started sharing his thoughts out loud while trying to think of a new plan as they ran, “They sacrificed some of their best to be able to grab him when he was alive yet weak. So, They won't kill him right away. That doesn’t mean they’re planning on keeping him for very long, Chuuya’s weak now, but he won't stay that way. So they will have to have something to nullify his powers or keep him contained. They wouldn’t have gone far either, Chuuya waking up too soon is a huge risk I’m not sure they’re willing to take.”

Dazai started running faster at that last thought. He bolted around a corner, before he could register the gunmen, the sound of gunshots erupted around him.

Rashomon was immediately in front of the Dazai stopping all of the bullets heading towards him. Akutagawa followed Rashomon around the corner a moment later, a thin strip of his ability shooting out and incapacitating the many gunmen shooting at Dazai. Dazai looked back at Akutagawa anger evident on his face.

“Why didn’t you kill them!” Dazai yelled at his old subordinate. There was a darkness that was creeping into Dazai’s eyes. “They were easy targets for you. Are you still this pathetic?”

“I-” Akutagawa started to stammer out, the running catching up with his bad lungs at the same moment, causing a coughing fit.

“Forget it, you’re worthless, I’ll do it myself later,” Dazai’s words were cold and harsh. He didn’t wait for the other two to be ready before he took off again. “Keep up!”

The man took off running. The other two followed quickly, Aktugawa having to use Demon Armor to help him keep moving. Atsushi looked over at Akutagawa, when their eyes met, Atsushi's confused expression only grew when he saw the panic and hurt in Akutagawa’s eyes.

“Is he okay?”

“So y-you can see it t-too. He’s not h-himself anymore,” Akutagawa managed to get out, his words coming out broken and strained between his struggling breaths.

Atsushi nodded, “Is this the Demon Prodigy?”

Akutagawa shook his head yes. Neither of them could say anything else about it before having to stop behind Dazai. Dazai had stopped just feet in front of them, peeking through the glass of a door.

“A dozen guards, two ability users, …and a glass tank filled with some sort of liquid,” Dazai relayed what he saw to the other two. “He has to be here. Akutagawa you take the guards, Atsushi the ability users, and I’ll find out if they put Chuuya in that tank.”

The two younger men nodded. Both of them shot through the door without hesitation. Rashomon incapacitated two guards in one swift motion. The commotion drew the attention of the room. One of the ability users sprung into action. Atsushi jumped over the strip of Rashomon and punched the ability user across the room. In the middle of the commotion the other two were causing, Dazai snuck his way straight to the tank, but as he got closer what was inside became more clear, it was empty.

“He’s not here,” Dazai’s voice was becoming shaky. He frantically looked around the room, the darkness behind his eyes growing even more.

Akutagawa was clearing away the guards with ease, Rashomon proving once again it was easily stronger than an average human. Atsushi was on the other side of the room dodging attacks from the two ability users, one who seemed to generate holes that trap its victims and the other who seemed to control some sort of electricity.

Dazai grabbed a gun from one of the unconscious guards as he continued his search for Chuuya. He fired a few shots at the knees of a guard that was trying to stop him, laughing at the man’s cries. The Demon Prodigy continued to look for his counterpart. He looked up at the top of the tank. “There!”

Chuuya was bound lying on a board that stretched over the tank. He was still fast asleep, blissfully unaware of the danger he was in.

“A little help please!” Atsushi had fallen into one of the many holes made by the ability user. The second ability user was at the top of the hole, his hands glowing yellow, drawing his arm back looking like he was about to shoot electricity at Atsushi.

“RASHOMON,” a quick slash caused the electricity user to fly across the room. The front of his shirt was cut open with a large red stain matching where the fabric split. He injured ability user landed directly in front of Dazai.

Dazai held the gun up to the electricity user's head. He gestures upwards towards Chuuya’s body. “You’re going to tell me why you wanted Chuuya so bad.”

“Like I’d tell you,” The man in front of Dazai lifted his hands. The yellow glow started up again along with the crisp zap of electricity.

“I think you just might,” Dazai didn’t let a second pass before he stepped closer to the man in front of him. He grabbed one of his hands, the yellow glow immediately stopping. Before the man could even process that his ability was gone, Dazai shot a bullet clean through one of his hands.

The electricity user tried to pull his hand away, blood forming rivers down his arm onto the floor. Dazai laughed at the shock and pain on the other man's face.

“You should have just answered my question.” Dazai’s words still held a lightness like he was just messing around.

“I don’t know what they want him for,” The electricity user said quickly.”They just hired us to capture him.”

Dazai didn’t like that answer, his smile fading as another shot rang out. A bullet hole appeared in the side of the electricity user, blood pooling on the floor beneath them. The electricity user’s face grew pale, from blood loss or fear or both.

“You know more,” Dazai’s face was serious. “And for your partners sake you better start talking.”

The other ability user appeared behind Dazai, bound tight by Rashomon. Dazai turned the gun until it was resting on the bound man’s forehead.

“Kill me if you want. He'll never talk.” The bound ability user scoffed at him, leaning into the gun.

“Oh I play on it,” Dazai said, then felt the electricity user go limp in his grasp. Dazai let go of their wounded hand, letting them fall to the ground. “Seems like you’re right, he won’t be talking.”

Dazai circled the remaining ability user like a predictor stalking prey. The man struggled against Rashomon, the fear now evident from how frantic he struggled.

Dazai looked over at Akutagawa who stood nearby emotionless and ready for orders, just as Dazai asked of him when the older man was still in the port mafia, “Cut him apart.”

Akutagawa hesitated, looking from Dazai to the man wrapped in Rashomon.

“Yes sir,” Akutagawa finally said. He took a moment to look across the room, making nervous eye contact with Atsushi’s who just made his way to the top of the tank.

“Rashomon.”

Tendrils of black flung out from around Akutagawa. The man he was holding screamed loudly as blood was flung around the room. Rashomon slicing through its victim with ease, it severed both legs from the knee down.

Akutagawa's gaze never left Atsushi’s. Atsushi didn’t look away either, the white haired man just nodded slightly, trying to let the mafia member know he understood why he had to do it.

“Akutagawa, that was quite disappointing,” Dazai scolded. “I was expecting more blood and screaming.

“I didn’t feel the need to torture him,” Akutagawa said in return. Normally he would be breaking down from Dazai’s disappointment but he held strong knowing there wouldn’t be any consequences later for him talking back.

Atsushi landed next to the two others, his tiger claws scraping the ground as he did so. “I have Chuuya,”

Atsushi was holding Chuuya over his shoulder. The red head, thankfully, was still passed out or he’d be screaming at being carried in such a way.

“Let’s get out of here,” Akutagawa said, already turning to the door.

Dazai’s cold voice cut in, “Not until I find that man from earlier.”

The darkness in Dazai’s eyes still remained despite the number of people he had already taken out. He studied the bodies on the ground. He cursed when none of them were the man he was hunting. A shot rang out from an unknown location. The bullet just barely missed Dazai, grazing his arm ever so slightly.

“Found him,” Dazai’s voice sounded darker than it had this entire night. He ignored the younger two’s pleas to just leave while they had Chuuya.

Dazai didn’t even acknowledge they were just speaking to him as he prowled his way in the direction the bullet just came from. The strong gentleman from earlier took this as his queue to shoot at Dazai a few more times. Rashomon blocking the shots once again. Dazai smiled to himself, pleased at how well he trained his old subordinate.

He could hear Atsushi call for him between the gunshots, “Please Dazai you don’t have to do this! We can take care of him, you can take Chuuya and make sure he’s okay. You don’t have to torture this man.”

Dazai ignored him, lifting his gun instead and aiming it at the strong man that was now in front of him. Atsushi continued to plead with the Demon Prodigy as Dazai acted like he didn’t hear him and proceeded to shoot the man in each of his limbs. The strong man fell to the ground screaming.

“I dont letting you bleed out would be a great way to leave you. I want to watch you suffer,” Dazai’s smile turned from sinister to insane.

The tendrils of Rashomon wrapped around the enemy’s man’s bleeding limbs pulling him across the room and far from Dazai.

“What the fuck?” Dazai growled, his dark eyes turned to Akutagawa. The gun was then raised at the younger man. “Do you want to be next?”

“Dazai stop!” Atsushi cut in. His voice was surprisingly calm for someone who was watching his mentor go crazy. “We won. We got Chuuya back. Let’s go.”

Akutagawa didn’t bat an eye at Dazai’s outburst. He stood like a statue staring down the barrel of the gun in Dazai’s hand. Atsushi stepped in between the two, he lifted Chuuya off of his shoulder and dropped him into Dazai’s arms. Dazai fumbled a bit to catch Chuuya. He dropped the gun in the chaos, Akutagawa catching it before it hit the ground. With Chuuya in his arms Dazai’s face finally softened.

“Let’s get out of here,” Atsushi said, turning on his heels and walking towards the door.

“One more thing,” Dazai said, his voice no longer held the anger it did earlier but there was still a sharpness to it. “Akutagawa, Destroy the tank.”

“Yes sir,” Akutagawa said.

The agency members were already halfway out the door when they heard glass shattering. Akutagawa appeared behind them just a moment later.

“It’s been destroyed,” Akutagawa informed.

“Good job, Akutagawa,” Dazai praised.

Akutagawa lit up from the small amount of praise, “Thank you,”

“Dazai, do you know how to get out of here?” Atsushi asked.

“Yes I do, just follow me,” Dazai answered in a sing-song voice and swinging Chuuya in his arms.

#bsd #bsd dazai #bungo stray dogs #bsd chuuya #skk #bsd skk #bsd akutagawa #bsd atsushi

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levis-wii-controller · 5 months

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Our love is God (Nikolai Gogol x Fyodor Dostoevsky /One Shot Smut/)

!! Spoilers for Chp.111 and Ep.11-S.5 !!

Tags: Necrophilia, Fingering, Spit as Lube, Disfiguration, Blood Bath, Drinking Blood, Smut, Mental Breakdown, Nikolai being Mentally Unwell, Gore, Cannibalism, Pain, Masochism, Anal Fingering, Eyeball Eating. 1k words.

!!This is just fiction because ik there's ppl out there that don't believe that a writer can create art without wanting to make it real!!

Nikolai was left alone. Dazai went off with Chuuya and Nikolai was left with the two vampire corpses and Fyodor’s. Holding his detached arm. He thought he’d be fine, he wanted this. Surely? He wanted Fyodor dead! To..prove…he was..the strongest. But he was wrong. So much regret! Too much regret! His boyfriend…his love…his god.

God is dead, now. Died in his arms. Well not exactly, but he’s holding his arm in his. He pulled the arm out of its sleeve and started to slowly kiss it. Taking the bandages off as well. The beauty of his perfect skin was destroyed by the explosion. His arm, charred and bloody. He kissed each imperfect fingertip. Each knuckle, every part of his arm.

The same arm that touched and caressed him so lovingly. He couldn’t help but cry. He hated himself for putting those two against each other, for killing Fyodor. He was crazy, he knew it, and he thought this whole thing was a good idea, but it fucking wasn’t!

He thought for a second…his ability, that’s right, he can retrieve Fyodor’s body. He was scared as he pulled him through his hand grasping the once perfect and soft hair. He placed the corpse down across from him.

Fyodor’s skull was cracked open, half his face so unrecognisable from the crushing, his other arm had a severe amount of broken bones, Both his legs were broken. One of his legs bent so far out to the side it was hard to look at, the other was only half there. Nikolai must’ve not pulled it through as it was detached, but oh well, what could he do now, no point finding it. His torso was mostly fine apart from the fact he had a huge hole where his heart had exploded from impact. There was also the giant hole from the pole he was stabbed with, and when he pulled his body through the pole had pulled through the bottom half of his body, cutting all of it in half.

Nikolai looked over his body with blurry tear-filled eyes. He wanted to scream, he hated everything, he would do anything to change this outcome, to bring back his one and only.

He hadn’t even realised how his whole body was reacting until he felt an uncomfortable tightness in his trousers. He looked down to see that he was rock hard.

‘Of course, you always did make me so excited, didn’t you, Fedya?’ he thought to himself as he reached under his waistband, starting to stroke himself.

He moved closer, kissing Fyodor’s half intact lips. Oh fuck, the still warm blood made Nikolai so horny. It felt so good as he started slurping it up off the corpse. He grabbed a fistful of the bloody, messy, hair as he made out with Fyodor. As he pressed a little too hard Fyodor’s tongue rolled out of his mouth, already a pretty blueish-purple. Nikolai moaned as he took the tongue into his mouth, sucking and kissing it.

One of Fyodor’s eyes had been completely disfigured, same with that side of his head, and the other was hanging out of his socket. Those beautiful amethyst eyes could no longer look down at Nikolai, it made him so sad. He pulled away from Fyodor’s mouth, looking at the dangling eye. He took his hand out of his pants, using it to grab the eye, looking it over thoroughly, the thick nerve still attached. He pulled at it, seeing if it would come off. It did and honestly Nikolai didn’t know why he did that, he didn’t know where to put it. Well…maybe he could keep it somewhere on him? No- he shouldn’t, he’s already taken Fyodor’s ushanka and that’s enough for him. He took the eye, finally deciding to put it in his mouth. It was a little weird at first but as he started chewing it felt like biting into a new piece of bubblegum filled with that sour juice but this was better.

As he swallowed the eye he felt a stronger sense of desperateness from his neglected cock. He could see the wet spot on his trousers, so he decided to just throw them off, same with his underwear. He grabbed Fyodor’s arm, starting to suck on his fingers as he stroked himself again. He was so close already, Fyodor’s blood from inside his arm dripped onto his lap, helping him lube up his dick as he jerked himself off.

He edged himself till he almost came, though just before he stopped, whining, almost as if mad at himself. He took the bloody and spit covered arm, placing it to his hole. He wasn’t stretched, he wasn’t even touched there recently but he didn’t care as he shoved two of the burnt fingers into his ass. Letting out a pained scream as the cold, barely lubed up fingers thrust into his hole.

It hurt like hell but that didn’t matter, what did was the fact he could have a final time with his god, feeling his touch. He grabbed the palm of the hand tighter, thrusting it into himself quicker, the charcoal on his fingers brushing against Nikolai’s insides so painfully, scratching him up from the inside. Though all the pain was so worth it, he felt so good as he cried, it was his Fyodor that was touching him, his hand, his rotting hand.

He felt his orgasm hit like a ton of bricks when he hit his prostate with one of Fyodor’s long fingers. Making a mess all over his thick thighs. Fyodor always loved having Nikolai sit on his face and letting himself get suffocated in-between them.

Nikolai took the hand out as he panted, grabbing his strewn about garments and throwing them back on, not bothering to clean himself off. He leaned back down to the corpse, kissing it once more this time softly and lovingly, a final goodbye.

“I’ll see you in heaven, my lord. You are my liberty, and I’ll always cherish the days that you’ve helped change for me; my history, our history. Through Life and Death…it’s stronger than this stupid test I made for myself. You had all the answers for me, and I had the key to your heart.”

He gave Fyodor one final kiss on the forehead, before placing the arm in the corpse's lap, and walking off.

#gay #smut #fanfic #one shot #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyolai #bungou stray dogs #nikolai gogol bsd #nsfl #content warning #tw death #cannibalistic #bsd spoilers

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pillowaya · 2 years

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Under The Rain

As the dark blue sky thundered, Chuuya grit his teeth, uneven red marks slowly washing off of his skin. wrath of Gods, melancholy of angels, it didn't matter anymore, the clouds that cried along with him, the orange sunset that faded for his own grief.

The only thing that mattered; was that, under this rain, he became a murderer.

He always was. But bound to a huge mafia, souls were just as fleeting as butterflies and flower petals. Names in italic bold placed atop his desk everyday, blood staining his favorite suits, humans begging for forgiveness every time a bullet pierces through them.

He always was. It was rather funny, that at this cursed moment, he grieved from the bottom of his heart for the first and last time. Lowering his head as tears cascaded aggressively down his cheeks, he and the rain became one, sorrowful, never-ending, insipid.

He always was a murderer. The stench of death followed him everywhere, he ruined lives instead of saving them, and buried more corpses than he could count. Yet, this history of darkness, crimson and vengeance soon became insignificant since he, for once, felt like he had killed someone he actually cared about.

It was out of his control. Corruption roared and devoured everything in its way, and someone had to stop him, a specific someone. He then realized that it was probably not his fault, but he wasn't sure, not in the least, his memory was hazy and his mind was scattered all over the place.

He had to go all out against an enemy and acknowledged that the damage would be collateral yet agreed to risk it. The entirety of Yokohama was in danger. Right, he had little to no morals but he believed in the obligation to protect his and his organization's home city. Once activated, he was no longer himself, no longer human. And ironically enough, it was the one and only no longer human that could restrain his unleashed madness.

He, ignoring his own shattered bones and ruptured organs, frantically searched for Dazai once he saw that the place was in shambles. His wounds were treatable, but Dazai's, most likely, weren't. Since he was the one to fix the situation, he was somewhere around, and he was way more broken than him. Somewhere, he had to be somewhere.

And he was, indeed, somewhere.

Blood froze in his veins at the horrid sight. Dazai, or, his lower body, was crushed underneath a ridiculously huge rubble that was once a building. Chuuya hesitated to advance and investigate. He feared calling Dazai's name and receiving no response; he feared only his echo would reply back at him.

Dazai's face, itself, was disfigured, swollen to double its size, blood under his eye, nose, and mouth. It was painful enough that his once beautiful light brown eyes were open yet dim and lifeless. Chuuya slowly attempted to lift the heavy rocks first, with the conviction that Dazai was somehow still alive, yet the false hope fled as the first rock rolled away.

His legs weren't only crushed.

They were far, far away from his upper body.

Chuuya's jaw dropped. Dazai was, literally, split into two.

Logically, there was no way he was still alive. But Chuuya had to go through the five stages of grief one by one before getting lost between them. He trembled, the rain droplets growing heavier, and he rolled away another rock. There was nothing left of Dazai's legs, humans can live without those, he didn't give it much thought. He just wanted the brunet to snap awake and tease him about his unusual anxiety at the moment, with that soft, delicate smile of his. Why did it take him so long to figure out that it was adorable? Why didn't he cherish it when he had it everywhere around him?

There was some doctor in the agency, he vaguely remembered a female with dark, short hair and purple eyes. She had the ability to revive anyone who's half dead. The devil in his mind pushed him back to reality, Dazai was half a body, not half dead. He strongly opposed it. There was still a chance. As long as he was breathing…

Oh.

He wasn't breathing.

Yes, Chuuya was stupid. How did he expect a corpse to breathe?

Dazai wasn't a corpse.

The devil nudged at the bottom of his mind once again.

Shut it.

Shut what?

Your undesired reality, Chuuya mumbled weakly.

You killed him.

You can't save him anymore.

Give up, Chuuya Nakahara.

The rain embraced his body, and he curled up, sobbing as hard as he could, not hearing himself nonetheless. Dazai has always wanted to die. He had tried to end his life over a hundred times, in over a hundred ways, but he never succeeded. Chuuya wondered for a moment if Dazai enjoyed this death.

Dazai didn't enjoy pain, and didn't die with a smile. It was highly unlikely he enjoyed it. He died terribly, to save Chuuya, to touch him one last time before his body shut off.

Hopefully, he's enjoying it somewhere else. Where he always wanted to go.

Chuuya didn't know where, but he smiled under his breath.

Wait for me. It won't be long until I join you, Osamu Dazai.

#soukoku #dazai osamu #chuuya nakahara #Bsd #Bungou stray dogs #Dazai x Chuuya #Angst

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syunkiss · 9 months

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HUGE TW !!!!! /srs (not safe)

I want to kill you. I want to disfigure your face with my switchblade and cut off your fingers, getting rid of your fingerprints and then I want to take your body to the middle of nowhere so that no one can recognize you. Or I want to tie a noose around your neck and make you gasp until you're blue in the face, see the tears fall down your face and tear your eyes out, make your brains and lungs explode, drown you and torture you slowly and painfully, you, hang your body somewhere and convince everyone that you killed yourself. I want you to die. :3 (that's because I love you so much) - Chuuya

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doppelgangerjoelle · 3 years

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I received a list of prompts from @ikiyou so I’ll be posting them one at a time as I do them! They recommended BSD and Chuuya. I decided to make this one a two part-er!

Prompt 1: "Dealing with ghosts was like riding the subway: Do not make eye contact. Do not smile. Do not engage. Otherwise, you never know what might follow you home."

Read it on AO3!

Last Train Home

Dealing with ghosts was like riding the subway: Do not make eye contact. Do not smile. Do not engage. Otherwise, you never know what might follow you home.

That’s what I’ve heard, at least. No one really tells you how to avoid ghosts on the subway though. You try to be polite and give up your seat for an old lady and when she turns around her face is ugly and distorted. She thanks you with a big, toothy grin and takes the seat and you’re left standing there awkwardly, gripping the pole with your life, palms sweating profusely, as people give you weird stares. A lot of times the ghosts are obvious. They walk right through the closed doors, sometimes even when it’s moving. I never really figured out how ghosts can walk into a moving train and they don’t just get left behind. Do they automatically get grounded to surface? Ghosts never really made sense.

I’ve been able to see spirits since I was a kid. I’ve always chalked it up to my near death experience when I was seven. Or at least that’s what I assumed. Something must have caused me to have amnesia after all. I don’t remember anything about my family or even where I’m from. But it never really bothered me. I always wondered that if my parents died in the same thing that gave me amnesia would they have come to haunt me? It’s easier to think that they’re dead than having left me for dead anyway.

As I got older I realized that seeing things that no one else can isn’t all that fun. In fact children are pretty evil and will pick on you for anything and everything so when I saw “imaginary things” past kindergarten everyone made fun of me. It didn’t take long for me to keep quiet about it. I would simply pretend I couldn’t see them, didn’t talk to them or interact in any way and my life was a lot easier. Not just from the other living people, but it stopped attracting more ghosts to me.

The only other person that could see spirits was this weird old lady that I met while I was in middle school. The local fair had a fortune teller, which most people just went to for fun or because they wanted a love reading. She was the real deal though. She told me that there unseen beings all around me and that as long as I would live they would follow. She gave me advice on how keep the bad ones from doing anything. When I went outside I lied about what the old woman said to my friends. We laughed until we realized the fortune teller was on break and returned. I stopped laughing.

My usual pattern home involved taking one of the last trains available. Whenever I missed it because work kept me late I’d end up getting a ride from a coworker otherwise I’d have to walk a long way home. This time I just barely made it before the doors shut on the last train, which was almost completely empty. It was always easier when the trains were packed full of people because I didn’t have to worry about accidentally interacting with a ghost when it was too busy to interact with anyone. But when it’s empty the living and the dead almost feel the same.

Like I said, ghosts are usually pretty obvious. They’re easily distorted by whatever is keeping them from moving on. Those ones are typically gross, disfigured, and not that intelligent. Some only retain the last moments of their lives or their regrets or what killed them. Some turn into creatures, like butterflies, or possess objects. It’s the ghosts that look perfectly human that scare me the most. They’re a lot rarer than you’d think. I don’t often see ghosts that are fully human. If they’re not disfigured then they’re usually missing parts of their body and end up like floating torsos or heads.

You can always tell by their smile. It’s hollow and empty. It’s consuming. Never smile back to a ghost that smiles at you. Not even if they get angry.

The best way to combat ghosts is honestly to be rude. Never help strangers, never offer your seat, never even listen unless someone else is in the conversation. Rudeness is a taboo but when it means the difference between a living person you’ll never see again just being a bit angry and a ghost trying to steal your soul it’s an easy choice. I always put my headphones in the moment I’m alone, especially at night. I don’t even have to turn music on and deters people from trying to communicate with me, even spirits. I’ve gotten quite the reputation for being rude to strangers but nice to those I know. But if only they knew what happens when you be nice.

Sometimes being rude and ignoring a ghost doesn’t always work. Tonight was going to be a long night.

#prompt request #bungo stray dogs #fanfic #Nakahara Chuuya #chuuya nakahara

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fifteenleads · 3 years

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Somewhat related to this idea. I blame Vik and their chugmazai brainrot hours (in a good way, ofc!).

In which Dazai's a sky pirate, Chuuya's the bounty hunter after Dazai's head, and Sigma owns the casino where the shootout happens.

Dazai's a Robin Hood, albeit only for the lulz and not for Justice. He quickly rose to prominence as the most notorious sky pirate in less than a year, a feat unheard of and unmatched by far.

Chuuya's not surprised, though. It isn't everyday a former senator disappears into thin air without so much as a formal resignation. The bandages do not hide his uncanny resemblance to the esteemed scholar, however, leaving the bounty hunter wondering whether Dazai even bothers to use his brains or not.

Last he heard, Dazai's been spotted in the skycity Bhujerba. Chuuya's irked at how the Marquis hasn't bothered to do anything beyond telling him. Probably doesn't want his dirty laundry exposed, but whatever.

He wanders into the first casino he sees. Gotta blow off some steam.

The slot machines give him a good vantage point. He doesn't take them seriously, of course. They're rigged, after all.

It gets addicting, soon enough.

Much like the gentleman sitting next to him, who spares one bemused glance in his direction before expertly pulling another time.

The difference between playing the game and pretending to do so is that you win doing one and lose doing the other.

Chuuya learns this the hard way, and the debonair bastard next to him laughs at his misery.

His smile is beautiful, though, if not bewitching.

They play a few more rounds in silence, save for the occasional grunt or groan that comes with the scales tipping.

"This isn't a competition," the good Sir remarks at one point. But Chuuya isn't one to lose, so he only tries even harder for it.

"You sure know your stuff."

"I have my ways."

For someone who has his ways, he sure takes this way too seriously. Far be it from Chuuya to not respect that, though, when he himself took this spot intending to half-ass it to while the hours.

They shake hands after, one's satchel empty and the other's full. "I had intended to let you win this one, but alas, there are debts to be paid. The Marquis is not a patient man."

And Chuuya's disappointed, really, but he does sympathize. Business is business. "I'm not with the Enforcers, but I'll send word to them."

A flush, then a light stutter. "You have my thanks, ah..."

"Nakahara," he smirks, taking the gentleman's outstretched hand. "Would love to stay and chat, Mr. Owner, but I have to—"

That's when it happens: a flurry of disjointed scenes playing directly into his mind, sending him reeling until the only thing registering is the lingering pain and warmth in his hand, and the explosion blowing everything away.

Chuuya's hands are on his pistol as soon as he regains his bearings, and he comes face to face with Dazai himself, who has a knife trained on the Owner's neck.

"Unhand him," he growls. "Now."

He might have been swindled of his entire monthly keep, but far be it from him to let said swindler get killed now. No, he needs to play his cards right.

"You know what the Marquis is up to," Dazai points out— both to the owner and to him. "And you will bring me to him."

"The hell, Dazai," Owner speaks up first before Chuuya could, "Do everyone a favor and settle your family matters in private."

"Ah, yes, that wasn't exactly a secret, was it." The tip of the knife nicks the pale flesh of Owner's neck, the resulting trickle of blood staining his white dress shirt.

Chuuya fires a warning shot, narrowly missing Dazai's cheek. "Let him go, bastard."

Suddenly, Dazai becomes a blur, and his body is slammed into slot machine, the hand around his neck making it hard to breathe.

"That pistol's no good," Dazai taunts him. "And you're no good with one, either. I can teach you knifework if you want."

Chuuya would have kicked him in the shins, were his legs not entangled in place by Dazai's insanely long ones. "N-No thanks," he rasps.

Run away, Owner, dammit!

Chuuya struggles against the chokehold Dazai has him in, willing a little more strength into his exhausted limbs. His eyes dart to where Owner had been cast aside, before his attention is forcefully returned to the crisis at hand.

"You should know better than get distracted," Dazai all but reminds him— not that Chuuya needs it, even. Fucking terrorist knows exactly what he wants. Still:

"You're being pretty reckless for someone of the gentry," he manages between gasps. "No wonder you were easy to track down."

"No," Dazai sneers, "my uncle set this whole thing up. Sigma over there knows," and he glares at the poor man, "while you walked into his trap like a dumb dog."

No, Chuuya's doesn't understand what's going on, and frankly, he doesn't give a shit. "I came here for your head."

The statement fuels his adrenaline, and he finally pushes Dazai back, training his pistol point blank to the other's forehead.

Suddenly, everything explodes.

Chuuya finds himself mercilessly pinned under Dazai, who takes the brunt of the ceiling that just crumbled.

Everything's spinning way too fast.

He's then tossed aside, while Dazai hobbles to where Sigma is, grabbing him by his collar. "Damn you!"

"I did what I had to do!" Only then does Chuuya notice the blood gushing from his disfigured hands onto the remote control on the ground.

It feels like he's walked into a situation he shouldn't have— not quite the "trap" Dazai had so eloquently called it, but same idea.

Chuuya wills himself to back away, but everything hurts to move. The citywide alarm blares, and thundering footsteps rapidly approach.

"Goddamnit."

The next thing he knows, he's being dragged by the back of his collar. "Get up. I've no need for dead weight."

For a moment Chuuya finds himself questioning whether Dazai really bothers to use his brains or not.

Apparently, he likes his hostages alive, like everyone else. Wow.

He and Sigma exchange looks, burning defiance in the other's eyes even as he grudgingly complies with Dazai's demand.

They come to a silent agreement: there will be payback, and it will hurt.

For now, though, they cooperate.

(They don't know it yet, but Dazai turns out to be right. Something worse is afoot, more dangerous than the family vendetta they both think this is.

Soon, Chuuya's beliefs in the very leaders he served are shattered.

And all of this is only the beginning...)

/end.

So, um, yes, the three of them become fugitives on the run. Legally dead and all. Dazai's always been looking for co-pilots for his airship anyway.

And they lived happily ever after— once they take down the evil Marquis, of course.

(Also, yes, this was yet another attempt at BSD FF12 AU. Haha!)

#bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs au #nakahara chuuya #sigma #dazai osamu #arkastadt

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leonawriter · 5 years

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His Heart Burnt Black

Read it on AO3

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Characters/Pairing: Dazai/Chuuya

Summary: Soul-marks were supposed to make it so that one could find the person who was your match, but when they're easily hidden - especially when the person with the mark wears bandages, or gloves - it doesn't do much good at all.

And that's not even allowing for the people attached to them.

(AKA, mutual pining, because idiots.)

...

Dazai was born with a black burn mark over his heart, and when people started to notice how odd he acted, the way he didn't respond in the way people thought he should, all cold and bored and lacking in any care or compassion at all, their first thought wasn't to connect it to the soul-marks that many people would manifest by the time they started interacting with others - some earlier, some later - and instead spoke in whispers behind their hands of how it was such a shame, for such a boy so young, didn't it just look so much like his heart had been burnt out?

Doesn't it just make sense, then, that his ability is one that takes and takes and takes, and leaves a person powerless?

The war, then, would be a good place for him, they said.

No one, after all, needs a heart in the middle of a war.

...

The first time he meets Chuuya, he gets kicked into a wall, and the air is rushed out of him by the foot that's kicked onto his chest again before he has a chance to recover.

The so-called King of the Sheep looks down on him, and he feels something flare up inside, and later he'll see it as novel in its newness, but in the moment, he's just consumed by annoyance.

...

In the heat of the battle, he doesn't get a good look at Chuuya's hands, and they're vanished again before he can get a proper look - not that he even thinks to, because other than what Chuuya himself had said about them himself, he doesn't assume there being anything special about them.

After that, they're covered up by gloves - or at least, they are whenever he doesn't use Corruption.

And after Corruption, they're usually covered up by blood and dirt and gods alone knew what else.

Which doesn't bother him, honestly, because he sees no need to pry, since he knows he'll find out anything he needs to know sooner or later anyway.

...

It's years later, when Dazai's cleaning up after Chuuya's first use of Corruption in over four years, and one that pushed him to his limit at that, when he first gets a good look at Chuuya's hands, as he's cleaning the blood off.

Normally, in the past, Corruption wouldn't take this much out of him, or there'd been other people around, or... more likely, more often, he simply hadn't bothered, and had just dragged his partner's limp body back to the extraction point as he was.

The pale skin on Chuuya's left hand sticks out, looking so much like an old scar, a burn that had long since healed, yet without any of the disfiguration that should have come from such an injury, and just touching it without bandages or damp tissue in the way creates a reaction like electricity, raising the hair on the back of his neck.

Something about it feels incredibly personal, and he hesitates, before leaving that hand alone, to clean the rest of what he can.

Chuuya, he realises as he searches for his former partner's hat and coat, had a soulmate somewhere.

Chuuya, he realises, had a life outside of Dazai, and always had, and maybe that was better.

...

He doesn't speak to Chuuya directly for a while after that, and it has nothing to do with not knowing what to say, though he wonders at times if it has anything to do with Chuuya being angry that Dazai had pried into something so private.

(Then Shibusawa happens, and Dazai dies, for a while, and Chuuya comes for him, like a prince in a fairy tale coming to wake Snow White, and he can find it a little beautiful, at least, and feel at least a little reassured, that Chuuya will still do such a thing for him.

Maybe it's wrong, to feel so possessive of someone who isn't even his, when he shouldn't act in such a way, but he's selfish like that, and he'll take what he can get.)

Events happen, and the world doesn't end, and life - whether he wants it to or not - goes on.

...

How they got there doesn't matter, and Dazai isn't about to jinx the situation with too many questions, in case it falls apart, because after all this time and all these years there are things he's afraid to lose, and a part of him is afraid to fight for, because he doesn't know the lengths he'd go to if pushed. The Agency's one thing, with everyone who's accepted him for everything he is and everything he's been.

Chuuya's something else entirely, with the way he's already half dressed while Dazai is still getting out of bed.

This is new, and it's strange, and he could wake up like this every morning for the rest of his life, however long that'll be, even if he does wind up with Chuuya drooling onto his bandages while he sleeps.

They don't bring up the matter of the soul-mark on Chuuya's left hand, and Dazai prefers it that way, something clenching in his chest at the idea that it might come up one day and Chuuya will say that he's one of the people who believes that it'd be only right to leave whoever you were with just because you've found that one person at last.

Dazai only realises that Chuuya is staring at him when he follows his eyes to his own chest, bandages (slightly off-colour in some places, thankfully just from drool instead of reopened old injuries) visible with the way his sleepwear had pulled down, and-

The black mark can, just about, be seen.

It's never changed, never faded or grown.

"How... how long have you had that?"

Dazai blinks, nonplussed, not entirely sure if he's comfortable about this.

"As long as I can remember," he says, which is the truth. Longer, he thinks to himself privately, which is also the truth.

Doesn't it just look like someone's burnt his heart out? he remembers, and maybe-

"That long...?"

Chuuya is barely whispering now, and Dazai doesn't understand, although perhaps he does, because horror and discomfort had always sounded similar, even if something doesn't sound quite the same here.

"Is there something wrong?"

Chuuya starts, and blinks, looking up at his face again, and that wide-eyed look is still there.

"It's just - it looks like black fire," Chuuya says, sounding like it's hard for him to speak. Dazai doesn't understand, because that's what everyone else who's seen it has said - what makes this any different? Something sparks in the back of his mind, tickling the tip of his tongue, but the thoughts and ideas are blotted and blanked out, and then everything is when Chuuya holds out his left hand, the one with the soul-mark. Reaches for Dazai's right hand. "Come on, Dazai," Chuuya says.

Understanding dawns.

"Chuuya." He laughs, because of how ridiculous it is, because of how long they've waited, because of all of that unnecessary worry and fear. "My Chuuya."

"Mmph. I'll allow it this time." Chuuya's voice is somewhat muffled, what with the way his head is resting against Dazai's chest, their hands still linked. "'n only because I've been waiting so long, idiot." He sighed, and Dazai's heart warmed. "Thought it was just me."

The moment is broken by an alarm going off, which Chuuya reaches out for and turns off with a frustrated groan, and there's something different about the kiss they share for just a few seconds that makes it closer, more intimate, than any of the ones they've shared before.

He isn't afraid anymore, Dazai realises, halfway to the Agency, as the sun rises in the sky. Not for this, at least.

He isn't so afraid, and the barriers, that had already started to weaken, have had their foundations cracked with the way Chuuya had said Come on, Dazai, like a more beautiful repetition of the first time his partner - his soulmate - had ever said his name.

Atsushi blinks, when he turns around at Dazai entering the office later than usual, and perhaps he should feel a little ashamed of that, but he can't bring himself to feel shame right now.

"Eh? Dazai-san? You look - happy."

"I do?" He touches his face, wondering what it looks like. "I suppose I am," he says, the smile he gives being one that comes without invitation, but is welcome all the same.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd stuff #soukoku #bsd dazai #bsd chuuya #Leona fic

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misstinfoilhat · 5 years

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The Boy in the Belfry Pt. 4, a Bungo Stray Dogs fic.

The structure was still as ominous as ever. It didn't help the grim picture that he was standing in the middle of a storm. The thunder and lightning made his scars ache as a reminder of what had transpired inside of this church, many years ago.

But, he wasn't here for nostalgia.

He hobbled carefully towards the locked gates of the black-painted fence that protected the graveyard surrounding the run-down church. In one of the lockers in his hospital room, he’d been relieved to find his tan coat, cleaned and hanging nicely on a wooden hanger. Luckily, the old brass key he’d received in the letter was still in one of the pockets.

He picked it up.

Once again, like the week before, he turned the key in the rusted lock, though, with a bit more trouble. It released the chains keeping the gate together and fell to the ground.

Dazai cursed under his breath at his failed attempted to catch it. The strain had been a little too much for his back, and now he would have to bend down to pick it up when he left. If he left.

Well, he would have to deal with that later.

He closed the gate behind him to the best of his ability with his limited range of movement, not wanting to raise the suspicion of anyone else that would possibly venture by at this time of night. Idiots like himself.

The short stairs to the large wooden door also proved to be a challenge in his weakened state, but with a little bit of patience (that he truly didn't have right now), he managed to get up, only to be greeted by a very much bolted-up-door.

'No, why did he bolt it shut?' The familiar anger started to clutter his vision. Despite himself, he tried to knock.

“Hey!” He knocked harder. “Hey! Come on out, you... you... fuck!” His voice broke as his knocks against the door grew to desperate thunder. With one hand. Then two. “You're such a fucking coward!” Crutches fell from armpits and landed on the stone flooring with two separate clangs. Instinctively, Dazai lowered his broken leg to keep his balance , bones still attached to the external fixation device.

The amount of pain that shot from his leg through his entire body was inhumane. The moment his leg touched the ground, he collapsed. He couldn't keep himself from screaming out from the agonizing sensations and violent spasms, as he thrust on the ground in anger and hurt. ...

After some time, he was able to calm himself. He had finally managed to execute his stupidest stunt yet. Probably. It definitely was up there.

The rain was pouring, and every inch of the pitiful man was soaked. If the fall hadn't killed him, pneumonia was a pretty good contender right now. He needed to get out of this mess.

There was no way he could get up by himself. His back opposed to any movement, and his leg seemed to have pinned itself stuck in a crack in the stones he was now, miserably lying on.

'I have to do it... I don't want to. But, it's not the best time to die right now. It would be rather inconvenient actually... Goddammit.'

Painfully, he was able to reach into his pocket and retrieve his phone, mindlessly scrolling through numbers until it came to a stop in the last part of 's'.

Slug.

... Chuuya's phone was ringing. It was in the middle of the night, and the high buzzing sound and a default ringtone woke him from a deep sleep. Hazy, blue eyes looked at the display- which said; Mackrell.

Nope.

He went back to sleep.

A few minutes later, his sleep was again interrupted. This time by a text message.

“Fucking bastard,” he growled and picked up the phone to see what could possibly be so important that his mortal enemy would text him in the middle of the night. If it was another fucking video of a cat playing the piano, he would (secretly be pretty amused) unleash his ultimate power on that stupid walking roll of toilet paper and he didn't even care if he'd die if he could just...

- I need your help.

Chuuya pressed his face brutally against his pillow and groaned audibly.

He texted back and pressed send.

- Fuck you.

Then he turned around on his back, phone in hand and waited for some whiny and annoying response or some 'witty' reply with an invitation to do just that.

A couple of minutes went by. 10 minutes. 15.

Chuuya rolled his eyes and sighed. 'Great, now I'm getting worried.'

He reluctantly opened the message again and texted.

- Where?

A couple of moments went by before his phone rang. Chuuya pressed on the accept button so fast, that he got embarrassed for a moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, placing the phone to his ear.

“What? Why the hell are you calling me in the middle of the night! I swear to God, if you're not already dying, I'll personally make sure that you-”

“I might be dying,” Dazai's hoarse voice cut him off.

Chuuya kept silent, a bit set back by the deadpanned reply. A guttural cough was heard on the other end.

Chuuya let out a deep breath. “Where are you, bastard?”

“Church,” was all he said before the connection got cut.

“Church...? No. No, no, no. Dazai? Dazai!” Chuya looked furiously on the screen and tried to dial back, He waited. No reply.

“Fuck, Dazai, you stupid...” he sneered to his phone and got up from the bed, pulling on the first pieces of clothing he could find and sprinted out the door.

The big black landrover was almost comically opposite its small red-haired owner. There was nothing comical about the man’s expression of absolute terror though, as he sped through the dark street towards the church that he usually planned his trips to avoid at all costs.

He was about to pass it before he stepped on the brakes, and he jerked forward, only stopped by the seatbelt. The rain was pouring down so heavily at this point, that he could hardly see through the windows. He opened the car door and ran outside.

He saw him. Dazai was lying on the ground, right outside the door. 'What the fuck is he even doing here?'

The gate was slightly open, so he had no problems pushing past it. He looked wearily to each side, as he jogged the couple of feet between the gate and steps.

“What are you doing, you scrawny idiot?” he tried calling out, hoping to get a response.

He didn't.

Shit.

He kneeled by the limp man's side.

“Hey, Dazai. Come on.” He slapped his cheek tryingly. His cheeks were so cold. Chuuya looked him over quickly, only then noticing the metal sticking out of his left leg.

“Jesus Christ, you really are an idiot,” he mumbled.

Dazai was still holding his phone, so Chuuya took it from his hand to make sure it wasn't already broken from all the water. To his surprise, it lit up when he touched the screen, only to realize that it was a message for him there, that he apparently hadn't been able to send before falling unconscious.

No hospital

Hatrack :-)

“You rather took the time to... fucking bastard.” ...

In spite of his moderate size, Chuuya was more than strong enough to carry Dazai from the car to his dormitory. There was no way in hell that he would show him where he lived.

Chuuya was a man with a plan. He had already found Dazai's keys while in the car, and without too much struggle he retrieved the right one and got them inside.

He didn't bother to show the courtesy of taking off his shoes before grimy loafers stepped inside, aqua eyes scanning his surroundings.

Dazai had a modest apartment. It was a small kitchen corner with an island for eating, a brown leather couch placed to face an old-looking bookcase and a kotatsu in the opposite corner. A sliding door lead into what Chuuya figured was the bedroom and lifted Dazai inside.

The bedroom was even more modest, only decorated with a futon and a small dresser.

He walked across the wooden floor and carefully placed the passed out man on the bed, lifting the blanket up and threw it on top of him.

Then, he stood up and looked around. There really wasn't much to look at. The dresser had endless boxes and rolls of bandages on top of it, and a pair of glasses. Chuuya chuckled and lifted them up, trying them on.

“Jeeze, Dazai. When did you go blind?” He proceeded to squint around the room, realizing that there wasn't a single mirror. Of course, there wasn't.

Chuuya placed the spectacles back onto the dresser before he heard something stir behind him.

He turned to look at Dazai, now with eyes half-lidded, peering up at him.

“Look who finally decided to wake up. Pretty conveniently after I've struggled to drag him up the stairs.”

“Just wanted you to carry me over the threshold, chibi,” the weak voice snickered, before letting out a painful sigh. “Chuuya, would you mind handing me some clothes from the dresser. Whatever's fine.”

“Glad you're finally ready to listen to my fashion advice.”

“If I wanted to join the circus, perhaps.”

Chuuya grimaced but opened the first drawer. The only thing laying there was a grey cotton shirt and a pair of black joggers.

“You literally have one shirt and one pair of pants.”

Dazai shrugged and forced himself to sit upright with his teeth clenched.

After a short break dedicated to catching his raspy breath, he started to take off his soaked jacket.

Chuuya turned with the clothes in his arms, first now noticing that Dazai was wearing a hospital gown. With the back showing, he could see that the ties in the back had come undone, and the soaked bandages underneath had started to loosen.

“Did you... escape from a hospital or something?”

“Yeah,” Dazai breathed and disposed of the gown. The bandages were completely loose now, and Chuuya could clearly see the familiar disfigured back. The scarring that embroidered every inch of Dazai's body.

Dazai couldn't reach around to cover it back up. His fractured spine made his movements very limited, and he had realized that it just wasn't going to happen.

Chuuya noticed the fresh surgical scar in the middle of his back.

«I can't reach,» Dazai said silently, but suddenly turned his face towards Chuuya with a cheeky grin. «Hah, it must be nice hearing someone else say that for once.»

Chuuya snorted but finally chipped his shoes off, returned to the dresser to pick up some new bandages and crouched behind his former friend, giving him a slap across the head and not holding anything back.

Reaching for a piece of gauze, he peeled off the protective layer and carefully placed it along the scar.

«Do I even need to ask what happened?» he mumbled, reaching for a set of fresh bandages on his right.

«I didn't try to kill myself,» Dazai answered with a faint smile.

«Really? Are you telling me that you're finally maturing?»

«Tch, never.»

Chuuja continued his work in silence, covering every little blemish on Dazai's back, as he knew he needed.

«Are you in pain?» he finally asked.

«I'm fine,» Dazai sighed.

«That bad, huh?»

A melancholic smile appeared on Dazai's face. Chuuya had always been able to read him like a book. He probably knew him better than he knew himself.

«There, is that okay?» Chuuya asked, fastening the last piece of the bandage.

«Sure. Thank you, Chuuya.» Dazai hesitated and turned to face Chuuya. «So, about today...»

«Yeah, I'm kinda curious. Spit it out, patchy.»

«He's back.» The small red-head looked thoughtfully on the slender man on the bed.

“Fuck... Yeah, I kinda figured. And I'm guessing it has absolutely everything to do with your sorry-ass-state?”

Dazai didn't answer. Chuuya sighed.

«I need alcohol. Do you have any wine?»

«Aren't you driving?»

Chuuya shot back with a venomous stare, telling him not to go there.

«In the kitchen cabinet. Do you mind bringing me some sake?»

«Aren't you on pain medications?»

Dazai gave him a stare, telling him not to go there right back.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #fanfiction #Boy in the belfry #Dazai Osamu #Nakahara Chuuya #dazai centric

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fraink5-writes · 6 years

Text

Human Qualification- Chapter 7

September 19

Chapter 7 is here! This time featuring your favorite, Nakahara Chuuya (obviously)!

As always, thank you to @missmizpah @gracieuxetoile and @deathly-oreos for beta-reading!

Summary: To slowly lose all your functions until you are nothing but a trapped mind in a deteriorated shell, that’s what it means to be ‘No Longer Human.’

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

“I’m sorry, Chuuya,” Dazai muttered inaudibly as he watched an endless supply of enemies filter out from their hiding spots. There were supposed to be less than 30 of them according to Dazai’s intel, yet like a hydra, after the initial body was blown up, they respawned in greater numbers.

“What the fuck is this, Dazai?!” Chuuya gritted his teeth as he pulled out his knife. “I thought you said thirty.”

“I thought there’d be thirty.” Dazai shrugged. In the back of his mind, he ran through all his plans, all his sources, all his conclusions, looking for an error. His shame berated him ceaselessly. But in the front, he couldn’t worry about his mistakes nor his dignity; he pushed those concerns aside to deal with the copious enemies at hand.

One after another, Dazai shot down nameless opponents, but at the gravesite of one, another was born. The endless nightmare zapped the energy out of Dazai rapidly, and as the faces of his enemies blurred so did his vision. His unscathed body ached and weighed down heavily. Even so, he continued to work; the monotony of each kill became another body function.

A jolt brought the dream to an end. A cold blade churned in his back. Dazai whipped around and opened a hole in his attackers skull. Outside of the trickle of blood, he felt the presence of enemies on his spine. He glanced over his shoulder to get a better grasp of the situation, but by that time, the enemy had encircled him. From their ring, knife after knife was thrust at Dazai. Escaping one only lead to another. With his gun, he rapidly eliminated adversaries, yet the circle was constantly closed with reinforcements, and it only grew tighter.

Suddenly, gaps began opening in the ring. Dazai pointed his gun at one of the remaining enemies, finger near the trigger, but his opponent had already fallen to the ground. From behind, a man with bloodied, orange hair and a sharp gaze emerged, holding a crimson knife. Stuck with relief, Dazai fell on his knees.

“What’s the plan? I’ve killed about 20, and you… about 10—”

Only 10? Dazai stared at his feet, counting the pathetic amount of bodies. He was certain he had defended himself against an entire army, but the evidence suggested otherwise. Upon the realization, he was overcome by a defeated exhaustion.

“—There doesn’t seem to be an end to them,” Chuuya grunted as he crushed the skull of an opponent with his foot.

“I don’t know. There’s not much we can do… unless...”

Chuuya, who had been preoccupied with an enemy, snapped back to Dazai. “Oh.” He picked up the enemy and thrown him to the ground, creating a crater. “You fucker!” He shouted at Dazai as he utterly disfigured the corpse’s face.

“We’re out of options. Either way we might die.”

“You can say that because I’m putting my life on the line to save your ass!”

“Thank you.” Dazai exhaled.

“Huh?”

“I won’t let you die.” The brunet forced himself off his knees in order to add some weight to his words.

“Fine,” Chuuya scoffed. “But you better stop me right away. Otherwise, after I kill these fuckers, I’m coming for you.”

“Of course, partner.”

Chuuya snarled again then stepped to the side. Muttering a small comment, he slowly removed his gloves, hands trembling, and let them fall to the ground. With beads of sweat precipitating on his forehead, he inhaled sharply before exhaling slowly. “O grantors of dark disgrace, do not wake me again!”

Although he had seen it several times, Dazai was always shaken by Chuuya’s transformation. A dark rash had crept over his partner’s body, tainting, but not entirely destroying, his soul. What was left was a killing machine.

In his normal state, one could have perhaps considered the redhead to be a machine—he was extremely powerful and efficient at his job and had unquestioning loyalty. But there was a spirit which powered him—one that stubbornly argued about every plan, one that never refrained from whining about Dazai, one that wore an obnoxiously confident smile with every victory. There was an unpredictable element too, which Dazai had given up on figuring out. This facet always caught Dazai off-guard, whether it was a surprise birthday gift or inexplicable determination to keep the brunet alive. Chuuya was a wild card, and despite the meticulous effort put into his plans, the Mafia Executive received a thrill when Chuuya contradicted them. Chuuya’s unpredictable nature gave him indescribable value.

Using Corruption, Chuuya lost all of that. His soul was replaced with a simple code, one with a virus. Corruption was neither cocky nor high-maintenance. It destroyed with unhuman efficiency, and despite its unruly nature, it was always subject to Dazai’s will. The perfect pawn. Yet, to Dazai, it was worthless, for it was never more than that. It simply obeyed the logic of the situation, which Dazai had already foreseen. There was nothing innovative nor exciting. It bored Dazai immensely.

Not to mention, it was an extraordinarily fragile machine. The rash had consumed most of Chuuya’s face by now, and blood dribbled from his mouth, nose and fingers. The ground at his feet was spotted with craters and littered with the body parts of former adversaries. Those who were still in one piece scrambled to get away, but the darkness inevitably devoured all of them without mercy.

Without a clear opponent, Chuuya was even more directionless than before, shooting black holes at random. Dazai needed to get to him. But the executive’s legs could hardly support his weight, much less walk. He lifted his right leg millimeters off the ground and slogged forward insignificantly. He repeated this process (alternating legs) several times until he crumpled onto his hands and knees and couldn’t lift himself again. As he crawled, his vision faded in and out, so he depended on Chuuya’s hollow laugh for guidance. He weakly grabbed Chuuya’s dangling hand before letting go.

Chuuya fell besides Dazai. He sputtered out blood. “You fucking asshole.” His body shuddered with every cough. “I almost died. Why didn’t you stop me sooner?” Dazai could hear his partner’s chest heaving, desperately expelling the blood from his lungs.

“...I’m sorry,” Dazai barely whispered.

“You better get me back safely, shithead.” Chuuya collapsed next to Dazai. His unconscious body continued to quake even though Corruption was over.

Dazai took Chuuya into his arms, but he couldn’t lift him any further. He couldn’t stand. He couldn’t do anything. He was powerless. He stared with guilt at his helpless partner, wanting to help him, but he couldn’t even save himself. He was completely out of control. Was this what it was like? To completely lose control of your body? To be entirely vulnerable? Was this what Chuuya felt every time he used Corruption? Dazai had always assumed he felt nothing, but at that moment, a deep fear set in along with his realization, one that would cause ceaseless trembling. A fear of powerlessness, of vulnerability, of betrayal by your own body, and of death. But it wasn’t just a fear, it was Dazai’s current reality, one Chuuya must have confronted every time.

Dazai’s brain began glitching and eventually crashed as he fell uselessly next to his partner. I’m sorry, Chuuya...

← Previous All Next →

#Bungou Stray Dogs #Soukoku #Human Qualification #Dazai Osamu #Nakahara Chuuya #Angst

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andregidesuggestions-blog · 7 years

Text

((This is another short fic based on discord’s comments and the prompt this time is the following:

“consider: oda lives au and then he also adopts kyouka”))

It was strange how things were.

Dazai wasn’t there for most of Odasaku’s life, but he felt like they were meant to be friends. Once he used to think that he could only wonder what went in his friend’s mind, not really being certain of it, but after all that they went through…

To start with, Dazai wasn’t there for Oda for most of his life. And even worse, wasn’t there when Oda needed him the most.

He could only imagine what would be of his life now if the bullet that hit Odasaku hadn’t barely missed his heart. If Dazai had arrived a few minutes later, maybe his friend wouldn’t be here anymore.

Maybe he wouldn’t have been beside Dazai for the most important moments of his life.

Come to think of it, Odasaku was always there for him, and never seemed interested in getting anything from that. It reached a point where Dazai started to forget what his life was when he still hadn’t met Odasaku.

He sat on his usual seat on the Lupin’s balcony and sipped on his drink. Everything was empty and silent, except for the presence of the bar owner that polished a glass and hummed to himself.

Dazai stared blankly at a picture on a wall in front of him, and tried to remember everything that they had gone through together after Odasaku almost died.

Odasaku had been there beside him when Dazai tried to recover his trust on Mori. Had been there when Dazai himself slit Mori’s throat and manipulated his pieces to become the mafia boss.

He had been there when another war broke out and Dazai’s head was the most coveted item in the entire city.

Was there when enemy organizations ambushed Dazai, and almost literally pulled his ass out of the battleground.

He was also there when Chuuya used his corruption and exterminated half of the organizations that had been targeting Dazai. When Dazai had been too slow to come for his ex-partner’s aid and Chuuya could not make it.

Odasaku was also there besides Dazai when a truce was made for Chuuya’s funeral to be held. There were quite a number of people that attended to the ceremony. Many were interested in seeing the coffin of the famous and infamous ability user being lowered on his grave.

The coffin had been sealed, of course. In the end, Chuuya’s body had been so disfigured by the backfire of the ability that it wasn’t possible to let the coffin open.

Oda had also been there when Chuuya’s subordinates had suddenly lost their leader and had no one to guide them. Dazai thought that it would be a good idea to let Odasaku take care of them.

The sound of steps coming down the stairs of the entrance of the Lupin pulled Dazai out of his trip through the memory lane and back into the reality.

He looked at the newcomer and smiled.

“Ah, there you are. I was wondering if I had arrived too early or if you were too late.”

Odasaku sighed and shook his head, “It was hard to lose the people who were following me.”

He swiftly went to Dazai and took a seat beside him. Odasaku took a moment to ask for a drink and then turned back to Dazai, “Isn’t it dangerous to meet here?”

Dazai sighed, “I was feeling a bit nostalgic.”

Oda takes a moment to ponder his words and then his stare falls on the picture on the wall.

“Hm…”

“How are Chuuya’s subordinates faring?”

Odasaku returns his stare to Dazai, but only for a short moment before he turns to stare at his drink.

“They are doing well.”

“Really? And here I thought you would have a few problems with Akutagawa.”

“He didn’t hurt me so far.”

“Oh? Did he try to attack you?”

Odasaku remains silent for a moment; it seems he’s trying to recollect all his experiences with Akutagawa so far.

“Only during training sessions.”

Dazai nodded. It was clear that Akutagawa must’ve tried to attack Odasaku at least a few times, but also clear that Odasaku was willing to let that slip. Even now that he was back to killing and had risen through the ranks of the mafia to be Dazai’s right-hand, he was still too kind.

Dazai raises his glass to his lips and absently sips on his drink.

“Did you call me here to talk about Akutagawa?” Odasaku asks. He already knows the answer, but he still asks anyway.

“Nope. I actually called you here to talk about Chuuya.” Dazai replies.

“Yeah, yeah. Let’s talk about me. Preferably about when I will be able to return from the dead.” Another voice echoes in the air.

Both men on the balcony look at the entrance to see Chuuya coming inside. Even though his appearance is different (he’s wearing a black short wig, using brown contacts and wearing different clothes), his voice is still the same.

“Ah, and here I thought death would manage to finally change you, but you’re the same loud and annoying hat rack as ever.” Dazai comments seemingly disappointed.

Chuuya huffs, takes a seat besides Odasaku and asks for a drink for himself. Odasaku nods at him in greeting, and Chuuya respectfully nods back. They aren’t close, but also aren’t strangers.

“So, Dazai. For how long will I remain ‘dead’?” Chuuya finally asks.

“Ahhhh… Odasaku.” Dazai ignores Chuuya.

“Hm?”

“I think I’m becoming insane. We lost Chuuya so recently that sometimes I can still hear and see him, you know?”

Odasaku stares at Dazai.

“O-Oi! I’m still here bastard!” Chuuya protests.

“I can still hear him insulting me.”

“Tch!”

“If you can still hear him,” Odasaku starts, “Then maybe he has something important to say to you from the afterlife.” Odasaku knows better than to indulge in Dazai’s antics, but he still does so anyway.

“What the-”

“Ah. That may be true. Let’s talk about important things then.” Dazai’s expression suddenly becomes serious.

Both men in the room shift slightly on their seats and try to face Dazai when he speaks.

“Our enemies think that with Chuuya dead we are weaker now, and have lowered their defenses. Soon I will call all the executives in to deal the final blow on them and end this war once and for all.”

The air on the room seems to stay still as Dazai speaks. The weight of his words is heavy and the consequences of his orders are clear.

“So that’s how it’s going to be?” Chuuya asks.

“Exactly. Now that we are done with the serious business… Shall we enjoy this moment?” Dazai replies with a light smile.

The two other men nod and then the three of them remain silent, just occasionally sipping on their drinks.

“Hey, Odasaku.” Chuuya finally breaks the silence.

“Hm?”

“How is Akutagawa doing?”

Odasaku takes a moment to think again, scratches his chin a bit and then stares blankly at the wall in front of him as he replies, “He is doing fine. The boy grows stronger by the day, even if he’s a bit difficult sometimes. Also… He’s got a new subordinate recently.”

“A new subordinate…?” Chuuya asks.

Odasaku hums in response, “A little ability user girl.”

Both Dazai and Chuuya stare at Odasaku in silence.

“Tell me you didn’t adopt her too.” Chuuya says.

Dazai already know the answer to this question, but he’s interested in hearing Odasaku’s answer. He knows that Odasaku had already unofficially adopted the Akutagawa siblings.

Odasaku stares at Dazai first and then turn his head to stare at Chuuya.

“Is there a problem…?”

Both men on his left and right sides exhale audibly, and it is clear that they are internally facepalming.

Really, is there any kind of person that Odasaku isn’t willing to adopt?

#my writing #Oda Sakunosuke #Osamu Dazai #Nakahara Chuuya #Akutagawa Ryuunosuke #Izumi Kyouka #((can you tell I had a lot of fun writing this 4am ;3 ))

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akutagawaprize · 7 years

Note

What do you think about the Cannibalism Arc?

Yes, I haven’t said anything about the new arc, have I?

Let’s see. 48.5 was short and not at all what I expected, but as a lot of people have no doubt already pointed out, it was a good chapter to get into the character’s heads even for just a bit. They each have their own reasons for fighting/not fighting, but what interested me the most was Kenji.

We are led to believe that Kenji is this innocent and hopelessly simple boy through and through, but the absence of a sense of right and wrong gives one pause. His reason for fighting is simply because he wants to help his friends, even if meant murder. We don’t see any troubled expression too, just his usual smile. Come to think of it, even before this chapter, he wasn’t phased by the grisly details surrounding his investigations. Exploding cars, disfigured bodies… That’s pretty much the norm for him? Wait, what kind of place was his hometown anyway? Like St Mary Mead? I’m willing to bet if you placed him in the situation Kunikida was under a few chapters ago, he’d still be as nonchalant about it. Or maybe he’d be disappointed in himself, not because he failed to save all those innocent children, but because the incident would make the Agency members sad. That thought is… disturbing.

Moving on, there’s Mori and Yosano’s connection. I’m excited about this, and I’m all in for a possible past with Yosano almost joining Port Mafia before changing her mind the last minute and giving Mori the middle finger. Ranpo taking control is wonderful to see too, because all this time a lot of people were sure it was Ranpo who’d first break down but the reality of it was that it was Kunikida who is taking it so much harder.

Speaking of Fukuzawa and Kunikida, I think there is now a slim chance of Fukuzawa not making it, as opposed to my previous opinion that Asagiri would never kill anyone in the present timeline. The reason was because of the heavy foreshadowing in Ch. 40, plus the callback said chapter received in Ch 47.5. Mori’s death wouldn’t do anything much aside from Port Mafia probably self-destructing, but Fukuzawa’s? It can lead to many different directions, and it would firmly establish the BSD world as a world with consequences much more than all the other arcs preceding it.

As for Fyodor’s plan itself, it’s all coming along wonderfully. Fyodor’s goal is to obtain The Book™ so he could’ve chosen to just set his sights on ADA to get to Atsushi, but involving Port Mafia was an inspired move. This way, he creates chaos and confusion while removing a scenario where the two factions could form a temporary alliance against him, something neither Fitzgerald nor Alcott took into account when they went into the 3-Way War. And as Ranpo said, Fyodor is a cunning enough tactician to lay out intricate webs of false information leading to dead ends, discouraging both parties in catching the virus ability user. Add to that the time limit, leading to more frantic and more careless movements. This also means they don’t have the luxury of going over detailed plans to be the ones springing a trap. All this works out for Fyodor because his camp doesn’t have the numbers nor the power the Guild once possessed to combat ADA or Port Mafia head-on in their home turf. Looks like someone drilled it into their head the 36 Strategems.

With all this talk about Fyodor’s knife-sharp intelligence and unbelievable foresight, to me it seems strange he didn’t off Dazai (HEAD SHOT, HELLO??) when he had the chance. Obviously sparing Dazai’s life would bite back Fyodor at the climax of this arc, but I’ll just assume he would need Dazai later on so he only temporarily took him out of the game. Mori also opted to not kill Dazai even when he knew Dazai was 99% ready to leave the mafia. Could it be that Dazai is even more of a special snowflake than we thought he was? Oh Asagiri!

Other things: - Atsushi’s growth. If this happened at the start of the series, he would question Ranpo’s decision, but would most likely end up following the detective’s plans despite his misgivings. This chapter, we finally see him as a strongwilled, take-charge hero who listens to his own sense of right and wrong. It’s always nice to see some character development. - Tanizaki’s ability allows him to project illusions in a certain range of area around him. What are illusions? They conceal what is real. And what about Tanizaki? Can we say for certain his timid persona is his real self, or is it the illusion to hide a darker personality?- Katai: [hacker voice] I’m in.- People have been theorizing since Chapter 42 came out that Fyodor’s gonna force Chuuya to use Corruption. I like the idea, but I don’t remember Fyodor expressing any interest in Chuuya or his abilities, just Mori’s. At that time he was already making preparation. Sine Mori’s ability is a great secret, securing Ace’s list meant making sure there wouldn’t be any surprises that could ruin his plans. I suppose Chuuya using Corruption would be a good moment to bring Dazai back, but I’d rather we don’t go down this route because it seems predictable already.

scanlation credit: Dazai Scans

#asks #bungou stray dogs #text

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fraink5-writes · 6 years

Text

Human Qualification- Chapter 2

June 19

Happy New Year, everyone! Here is the second chapter to Human Qualification. As with the previous, thank you to @missmizpah for beta-reading!

Summary: To slowly lose all your functions until you are nothing but a trapped mind in a deteriorated shell, that’s what it means to be ‘No Longer Human.’

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

It was the most dreadful day—the birthday of his intolerable partner. For only one and a half months after he was born, Chuuya had lived in peace, and, every year after on the anniversary of Dazai’s birth, he was unfortunately reminded of the ruin of his happiness. Of course, he did his best to ignore the events of that day. He envied the people he saw on the streets, bustling about their days, oblivious to the horrible event which had occurred years ago. Whether they smiled or frowned, Chuuya thought that somewhere inside there was bliss, simply by not knowing Dazai Osamu. In the beginning of his life, Chuuya had also known bliss, but it had since died and was repeatedly murdered. In fact, on such loathsome days like this one, Dazai made great effort to further disfigure Chuuya’s calm.

Dazai was not discreet with his hints. He wouldn’t let a moment of Chuuya’s forgetfulness slip by. Along with his constant reminders, he was oddly insistent that Chuuya celebrate with him, an invitation which Chuuya would turn down without hesitation. For Chuuya, that insistence was the most grating. Was Dazai really that desperate for attention? No, that was impossible for Dazai, the cold mafia executive. With the exception of Chuuya (regrettably) and two acquaintances, Dazai was distant and usually cruel to most other organization members. Not to mention, the need for attention was too simple a reason for Dazai Osamu. There was definitely an ulterior motive. Chuuya suspected that if he ever did anything for Dazai’s birthday, the brunet would make a fool out of him. So, for that reason and his general dislike, Chuuya ignored every single invitation. That day, he intended to do the same.

But strangely, no invitation ever came. The sun was already setting, and Chuuya had heard nothing from Dazai so far. In part, he was grateful, but (he would never admit to this) he was also troubled. This was so uncharacteristic for his partner that something had to be brewing—either an ultimate plan to finally humiliate Chuuya or actual trouble. Unfortunately, the latter nagged at Chuuya’s mind.

This was the fault of some words which Dazai had uttered a few days back: “I’m going to die soon.” Even without saying a single word about his birthday, somehow Dazai managed to annoy his partner. Was this too part of some elaborate plan? A premeditated scheme to trick Chuuya? If so, the redhead saw right through it. But, even then, he found himself walking right into the trap. The moment in the bathroom seemed so genuine—so serious—that Chuuya’s convictions wavered. For once, he wanted to believe Dazai. Even Dazai wouldn’t stoop so low as to make a joke about dying just to humiliate Chuuya, right? Chuuya scoffed; he was definitely putting too much faith in the Mafia executive.

With the best nonchalance he could muster, Chuuya strolled into the liquor store. He didn’t have the slightest hint about what Dazai wanted, and, frankly, he didn’t care either. Thus, he turned to his fallback gift: booze. It was the universal gift. Chuuya searched the shelves with great attention, not to quality (as he would do when shopping for himself), but to price; he was going to buy Dazai the cheapest in the store. Then, at least, if Dazai died shortly after, Chuuya wouldn’t have the guilt of having bought nothing. That was his sole motivation. He wouldn’t have cared whether Dazai liked it or not had he not had his reputation as alcohol connaisseur to worry about. For this reason, he ended up leaving the store with a fairly expensive bottle of sake in his hand.

Hating his gullibility, Chuuya trudged towards Dazai’s apartment. He enviously watched the young adults starting their night out, the working parents returning home to their families, the kids loitering. They would probably live long lives. For mafiosos like Chuuya, that chance always threatened to disappear. When he was younger, he used to fear dying on even the tiniest missions. He had long since outgrown that dread. And yet, Dazai’s story had revived it. Suddenly, death seemed so close, almost tangible. Did Dazai feel the same way? Was he afraid? Chuuya doubted it. Even as a child, Dazai never showed apprehension. It was completely foreign to the brunet. Chuuya suspected that was the case for all emotions, and it caused him great disdain.

As he climbed the stairs, Chuuya saw two familiar faces heading down—Dazai’s acquaintances. Not wanting to be seen, he shadowed his face with his hat and proceeded up, eyes unmoving from the step in front of him. Finally, he arrived at the door and knocked just hard enough to make a noise but light enough Chuuya hoped Dazai wouldn’t hear.

Dazai swung open the door with a grin which startled Chuuya—though perhaps not as much as Chuuya’s presence had done to Dazai. “Oh.” The smile on the brunet’s face was quickly replaced with a confusion. “...Chuuya?”

“Uhh..” Chuuya was at a loss for words. His reason for being there wasn’t at all convincing, even for himself. Blood rushed eagerly to his face, so he pulled his hat down further. “Happy birthday, asshole.” He thrust the bottle of sake at Dazai and waited anxiously for the taller man to take it into his hands, so he could make his escape.

Unfortunately, Dazai was taking his sweet time about it. “I.. I’m surprised you’re here. You never come.” Dazai smiled slightly in a way which made Chuuya want to leap from his skin and fly down the stairs. “Thank you, Chuuya.”

“Uh, yeah, I’m your partner, after all.”

“You want to drink it?”

“Huh?” Chuuya blinked at his partner. “You’re not planning anything, are you?”

“Hmm? No, and if I was, I wouldn’t tell you.”

Chuuya was beginning to see the layers of malice underneath Dazai’s grin. Normally, he’d say no immediately, but it was difficult to pass up expensive alcohol, especially a bottle that he had spent money on. “Fine.”

A few cups in, and Chuuya was certain he had made the right choice. It wasn’t the best bottle of sake he had tasted, but it was for Dazai, so it didn’t need to be, and it was enjoyable at least. That enjoyment had flooded Chuuya’s brain with a tempest of emotions, which he channeled into idiotic banter with Dazai.

“Chuuya, really,” By the rosy color of Dazai’s cheeks, it was obvious he was drunk. “Thank you for coming today.”

“Yeah. You know, that story you told me the other day? I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Even now, after this, it still persists.” Chuuya poured himself another cup. “How fucking annoying!”

“I’m surprised you believed me.”

“What? No! Do you think I’m that stupid?! I’m still waiting for the trick. I’m fucking prepared. Fucking...”

“There’s no trick. It was the truth.” Dazai sighed, “Well, I didn’t expect you believe me, and certainly not like this...”

“Is that right…” Chuuya’s head flopped onto the table.

“Now, if you want me to humiliate you, that can be easily arranged. But, you’re practically doing it all by yourself.”

Chuuya briefly lifted his head—“Fuck off!”—before resting again. Without any thoughts, words rose to his mind and flowed from his lips like a fountain. “Is it terrifying? Doesn’t it horrify you to know that you’re going to die? Do you feel anything? It’s scary, isn’t it?” The tears had begun to accumulate in his eyes. In his stomach, there was a horrible churning, also threatening to spill over. He pounded his fist on the table in frustration.

“Chuuya.” Dazai looked on pitifully, which infuriated Chuuya. The redhead flew to his feet and lunged at Dazai’s collar. Before he could say a word, he jerked his head to the right and vomited.

Dazai sighed again. “I think you’ve had too much. You’ve basically drank all my sake.”

“I bought it.”

“It’s my birthday.”

“Oh right… happy birthday.” Chuuya dropped Dazai’s collar and stared at his feet with shame.

“Oh, nevermind that. Just make your way to the bathroom.” Dazai put his arm around Chuuya and acquainted him with the toilet. With an arm on his partner’s back, he groaned. “Gross. I can’t believe I have to be doing this...”

“You’re a bigger pain on a daily basis!”

“Ow. What a mean thing to say, Chuuya!” Dazai smacked Chuuya’s back extra hard. “Well, one day you’re going to owe me for this.”

“If you think—” Chuuya started before Dazai seized his hair and threatened to drown him in the dirty water. “Okay! Okay!”

Chuuya didn’t say a word as he continued to empty his stomach along to the rhythmic pats on his back and sadistic cooing “There, there.” Slowly his senses blended together like paint until they created a shade of black.

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#Bungou Stray Dogs #Soukoku #Human Qualification #Nakahara Chuuya #Dazai Osamu #Angst

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