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writing-radionoises · 4 years

Text

to be loved

ship: odazai, fyodazai, kunikidazai if you squint

genre: alternative universe

prompt: in an alternate universe where when someone who cares about you touches you, it leaves a colored mark on your skin, dazai is covered in so many unwanted marks from his abuser.

notes: tw for mori typical bullshit, referenced self harm, and implied sexual content. this is also just. my au but yall are free to do whatever you want with it as long as you credit me ^^

Most people value and adore marks.

The colored hand prints and kiss marks that litter each and every person’s body, each one unique from the other.

It means that someone cares about you, loves you in any way possible.

Whether it be platonically, romantically, or familial.

However, Dazai is not one of these people who values the marks.

Being passed around from person to person has left him with left marks, most of which fade after he is passed off again.

When a mark fades, it means the person has forgotten about you, or that they’ve died.

Many of Dazai’s past caretakers have died.

However, that would be why Dazai loathes his marks or the romanticization behind them.

His body is covered in marks. Bruise-like hand prints litter his body, predominately on the wrists and waist.

He has a distinct hand print over his mouth, a hand once used to silence his screaming and protesting against the perpetrator.

Dr. Mori Ogai is the cause behind these marks. He has a tendency to manhandle Dazai, toss him around however he pleases, and use him like a toy.

Dazai hates Mori more than anything, and had always wished the marks would just disappear. He wished Mori would stop caring about him, forget about him.

He wished Mori would die.

There was nothing that Dazai hated more than feeling like Mori’s toy on display, everyone who saw him could see all the pain Mori put him through.

Dazai covered himself in every way possible. Bandages, oversized clothes, jackets in spring.

But the marks pop out against his pale skin like neon colors.

Over time, he got used to them. He got used to having no other marks than from Mori, to looking like a beaten up toy, like a broken porcelain doll.

It was, until Dazai met Odasaku.

Odasaku was a kind man, his hand was littered in little hand prints from children, like rainbow face paint. He had a warm and comforting smile, and pushed Dazai to become his friend.

The first mark Dazai had gained outside of Mori’s was one of Odasaku’s. Oda had grabbed his hand, and when he removed his hand to bid a goodbye to Dazai, a green mark remained over Dazai’s left hand.

It looked fluorescent against Dazai’s pale skin, and mellowed out over time into a pretty pastel green. Dazai would trace each where Oda’s fingers laid before sleeping in awe.

To think another person would care about him.

Many marks would follow. Odasaku was an affectionate person, he left Dazai with forehead kisses, cheek kisses, hugs, and anything of the sort.

The green of his marks popped out against the once disgusting and gross color Mori had left Dazai with.

Soon enough, the green color would be painted on his lips, as well.

Dazai grew fond of the marks Oda would leave on him, and would ignore the ones Mori had left.

More colors followed suit with Oda’s.

Ango’s was a light brown, only the slightest bit darker than Dazai’s skin tone. He left behind the ghost of hand shakes, ghosts of the memory of wiping off Dazai’s face.

A light brown lingered against Dazai’s scarred arms from Ango’s stitching, overlapping with the bruises Mori left.

It had shocked Dazai the first time he saw such marks, having believed that Ango could care less about him. But nonetheless, Ango’s marks appeared on his skin, and never left.

When Osamu had picked up the homeless and sickly Akutagawa siblings, he had noticed the younger one, Gin, was covered in blotchy and inky black hand prints. Against her cheek, along her hands, on her shoulders. Dazai found the same marks on himself later that night after carrying the older Akutagawa to his car. Sure enough, a blotchy black handprint laid against his collarbone, where Ryuunosuke had clung to him like a kitten.

Dazai had remembered reading somewhere that black markings were rare. A certain part of him was rather happy that Ryuunosuke had left one on him.

Over time, Dazai started looking more and more like an abstract painting than a person.

He loved it. He loved feeling loved.

But all good things come to an end.

Ango betrayed him and Odasaku, leading to Odasaku’s death, and eventually to Ango abandoning Dazai.

The last mark Odasaku left on him before his death was a light touch on the cheek as he pulled off the bandages covering the scar Akutagawa had left Dazai.

He asked Dazai to do one thing for him, one last thing to make Dazai happy.

To be on the side that saves people.

An unconventional request it was, hard to process among every other thought racing through Dazai’s mind.

He didn’t want Oda to disappear, he didn’t want the last person to truly love him to die yet.

The thought of the marks Oda left on him shattered Dazai’s heart. The last thing he would have left of Oda, gone.

… And yet, the green marks never disappeared.

Weeks went by after Oda’s death, Dazai would awaken every morning and stare into the mirror, waiting for them to fade.

But they didn’t.

Oda may have been gone, but his love wasn’t. His love for Dazai would outlive him, and carry Dazai to trying to do the right thing.

He left the Port Mafia.

He waited for Akutagawa’s marks on him to disappear. For Mori’s marks to disappear.

They never did. If anything, Akutagawa’s marks grew more vibrant against his skin.

He couldn’t tell if he was getting paler, or if the marks really were changing color.

Mori’s marks remained, much to Dazai’s dismay.

He’ll just have to wait for the old bastard to die.

The surprising part, more so, was that Ango’s marks stayed. The cinnamon color remained over his hands, in streaks against his face, and underneath his knees from being carried.

Dazai never understood why they didn’t. He couldn’t comprehend Ango still caring about him after all this time.

He wondered if Ango’s marks stayed on Odasaku, too.

He never found out the answer.

Dazai had his identity erased, now at 19 years old, and bought a cheap apartment with his savings.

No longer a mafia member, but now just a kid.

… A kid just barely under the drinking age. Which was annoying.

Dazai converted his former alcoholism into a caffeine addiction.

There was a coffee shop down the street from his apartment that he liked to go to, despite the sad memories with it.

His first get together with Oda and Ango.

“I’ve… Only had black coffee before, I don’t know what to get,” Dazai mumbled, rubbing his bandaged arm awkwardly as Ango turned to him.

Oda was already at the counter, ordering something.

“Do you need suggestions?” Ango asked, to which Dazai nodded.

Ango pulled Dazai close against his chest, readjusting his glasses as he began to narrow things down for Dazai, figuring out something he’d like.

Dazai was incredibly confused by how much Ango knew about coffee, he was certain the other had been too busy to visit coffee shops like this all that much.

“Can I have a large iced white mocha with… Four extra shots of espresso?”

“You want six in that?”

“Yeah, please,” Dazai said with a smile.

“Alright…” The cashier said, wary as she looked over the total, “That’ll be 600 yen.”

Dazai handed the woman his money, and left the line to go sit down by the window.

It’s frosty outside, winter is making its way into Yokohama.

Dazai will have to buy a new jacket soon…

A man slides into the seat across from Dazai. He adorns a clean white button up, and a fluffy white coat over his shoulders. His hair is a deep purple, shoulder length and silky smooth, a white fluffy hat atop his head. His face is soft, and his piercing violet eyes bright with curiosity, wonder with the world around him. There’s a bandage over his right cheek, and bandaids all across his fingers. It appears he has a habit of biting them.

Dazai can’t find this man anything short of gorgeous. The smile on the man’s face tells him more people think the same.

“My, my, you are an interesting looking one,” says the man with a smile, a foreign accent slips into his Japanese with easy, “Like a patchwork doll, I have not seen anyone quite like you.”

Dazai returns the smile, “So I’ve been told. You’re a strange looking one yourself, you aren’t from around here, are you?”

The man nods a no, “Ah, no. I am from Russia, though I am fluent in Japanese and English.”

“Far way from home, I see. Your Japanese is very good for a tertiary language.”

“Thank you,” replies the man, “My former teachers regarded me as a language prodigy. Ah, I’ve forgotten to ask… What might be your name?”

“Osamu Dazai,” the brunette replied, propping his head up in his hands, “Yours?”

“Fyodor Dostoevsky,” he replied.

“Dosto… Dos-”

“Fyodor is fine. I understand in Japanese you call people by their last names, however, Russian last names are hard on the Japanese tongue.”

“Fyodor-san,” Dazai corrected, “You are quite the stunning one, you know? Your beauty is incomparable to anything I’ve ever seen.”

A smile appeared on Fyodor’s face, Dazai half expected him to get flustered, though he remained calm.

“Many people say the same, I don’t quite understand. I believe I’m rather average looking, to say the least…”

The server provides Dazai with his drink, and passing what appears to be a caramel macchiato to Fyodor as she leaves, Dazai hums a thank you to her.

Fyodor pops the lid off his drink, fishing out a small bottle of clear liquid and dumping it into the drink as he stirs with his straw.

“Vodka? Isn’t it like nine in the morning?”

“I said I am Russian, did I not?”

Dazai laughs a bit.

Fyodor writes his phone number on Dazai’s napkin later.

His handwriting is crooked and messy, though to Dazai, it looks amazing.

He doesn’t quite understand his interest in this Fyodor person.

Dazai awakens in a hotel room.

He’s been in ones like these time and time again, never remembering where he was.

After Odasaku died, Dazai developed a habit of letting people take him home for temporary pleasure.

However, this one is different.

The hotel room smells heavily of alcohol, yet the place is rather neat. Coats hung up on the closet doors, lean counters, suitcases emptied and set to the side.

Dazai pulls the white sheets closer to his naked body as he glances next to him, to see the sleeping body of Fyodor Dostovesky.

His hat had been discarded, placed haphazardly on the bedside table, yet he looked incredibly peaceful when he slept.

Dazai remembered more bit by bit. Fyodor invited him to a bar, asking if Dazai would teach him a little more about Japanese drinking culture. They, of course, got drunk. He supposed Fyodor and him hooked up shortly afterwards.

Dazai wasn’t surprised, he did this with just about every man he met nowadays.

Dazai glanced down and over his own body.

No new marks. To be expected.

Yet, when he looked over Fyodor, he was a blank canvas.

He adorned no marks from what Dazai saw.

His brows furrowed in confusion, Fyodor must be a well-loved man with his beauty and interesting personality.

At the very least, he would have marks from his mother and father, right?

The plot thickens, and Dazai slides out of bed to get his clothes.

Fyodor awakens shortly afterwards, greeting Dazai with what Dazai assumes in a ‘good morning,’ though he has spoken in Russian.

He watched Fyodor brush out his hair, button up his shirt and place his hat back on, and then proceed to order breakfast in for the two of them.

Dazai comes to the conclusion that Fyodor is an amazing actor, and that he definitely has a hangover he’s not talking about.

As they eat, Dazai decides to spring a question.

“You don’t have any marks at all, do you?” He asked the other man.

Fyodor glances up from his food, shifting his head to the side as he nods.

“Yes, I have no such markings. It is a mystery to me as well.”

“Not even ones from your parents, eh?” Dazai asked, shoving a piece of omurice into his mouth.

“My parents died when I was young,” Fyodor explained, “It was my fault, it was an ability accident. I was fostered shortly afterwards by a priest, though he never left any markings on me, either. I do not know much of anyone outside of them.”

“So you’r-”

“Unloved,” Fyodor interrupted, followed by a smile, “But I do not mind. I have never left markings on another person, either.”

Dazai’s brows furrowed, “Never, huh?”

Fyodor nods, “Never. I have started to believe I’m incapable of doing such.”

“Incapable of caring for others?”

The Russian man looks up, thinking about his answer for a few minutes before looking down at his food. There’s a slight somber look in his eyes, one of loneliness and doubt.

“I suppose so.”

It’s been years since Dazai and Fyodor met. Their relationship broke off, Dazai joined the Detective Agency, and Fyodor went off to become a terrorist.

Dazai is now 22, and Fyodor is 23.

It is not the first time they have seen each other again after all their years as teens, but the first time they’ve been alone together since then.

They both escape from the prison, Fyodor now his enemy instead of a past lover or friend.

But Fyodor still smiles at him like he’s a friend.

No marks appear on Fyodor’s skin, though Dazai has gained some new ones.

Soft yellow ones from Kunikida, his partner.

A brash violet from Atsushi, his newest apprentice.

A dull green from Fukuzawa, his mentor and father figure.

Among many others from so many of the agency members. Dazai is back on his feet, he feels loved once more, and will not let anyone take that from him.

And yet, when Fyodor looks at him, he can feel the slightest bit of jealousy from the Russian man, too.

He wants to be loved, too. Dazai knows it.

Dazai wonders if he’s the only person who has ever cared about Fyodor, wonders if Fyodor even knows it.

Fyodor readjusts his hat as he walks closer to Dazai.

“Might I show you something, Osamu?” He asks.

“If it isn’t death, sure,” Dazai replied, half joking.

The smile on the other’s face softens, “It is not death, I promise.”

Fyodor fumbles with his hands before taking the left one, fingertips covering his bandaids, and gently caressing Dazai’s cheek. It feels cold, the other’s anemia leaves Fyodor with icy cold hands and feet. He used to tease Dazai with it, but this was not him teasing.

Fyodor’s face is soft and genuine and as he removes his hand, followed by a weak smile.

“I thought I should probably contribute to the masterpiece.”

Fyodor leaves before Dazai can say anything as he presses his hand against his now cold cheek, looking into his reflection in the glass windows.

A baby blue handprint had made itself home on Dazai’s cheek, where Fyodor had touched him.

A smile came to his face.

“So you weren’t incapable after all,” Osamu says, softly.

How peculiar...

#bsd #bsd dazai #bsd dostoevsky #bsd odasaku #bsd osamu #bsd oda #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd fyodor #bsd fyodazai #bsd odazai #fyodazai #odazai #odasaku x dazai #dazai x oda #fyodor x dazai #bsd ango

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qvalcuno · 4 years

Conversation

Dazai: For just 500 yen, I will repeatedly tell you everything is going to be okay, while slowly pressing a pillow down over your face.

Fyodor:

#anime #manga #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #dazai osamu #osamu dazai #dazai #osamu #dostoyevsky fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky #fyodor #dostoyevsky #fyodazai #incorrect bungou stray dogs quotes #incorrect bungo stray dogs quotes #incorrect bsd quotes #incorrect anime quotes #incorrect quotes

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dungoubaystrogs · 4 years

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#has this been done #probably #bsd #bungou stray dogs #osamu dazai #bsd dazai #fyodor dostoevsky #bsd fyodor #fyodazai #atsushi nakajima #bsd atsushi #bsd memes

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dazvisan · 4 years

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Dazai: ah, Fyodor’s such a rat.

Fyodor: call me that again, and you’ll find my steel somewhere uncomfortable.

#bungou stray dogs #incorrect bsd quotes #imsosorry #dazai #anime #bsd #dazai osamu #bsd fyodor #bsd dazai #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodazai

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anne-potato · 5 years

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Dazai: I'm a ninja

Fyodor: No, you're not

Dazai: Yes, I am. Did you see that?

Fyodor: ...see what??

Dazai: Exactly

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd s3 #bungou stray dogs season 3 #bsd dazai #dazai osamu #bsd fyodor #fyodor x dazai #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodazai #bungou stray dogs fyodor #bungou stray dogs dazai

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tothestraydogs · 5 years

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Me reblogging every single Fyodor post I see today

#our evil satan spawn #fyodor Dostoyevsky #bungou stray dogs #bsd #rat #osamu dazai #anime #manga #Fyodazai

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weretigerkun · 7 years

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fyodor dostoevsky/dazai osamu: inktober-based drabbles

(poison)

Dazai spits blood from his mouth.

He looks back up and sees black. Fyodor grins down at him, his teeth sharp and hair slick. A snake of a smile, the very edges of his mouth bruised red.

One heavy hand against Dazai’s unwrapped throat and another at the hardness of his belly.

Dazai’s lips still sting.

They don’t say anything, and there’s no need to. At the end of the chase their wants are primal, raw and sore, like every inch of Dazai’s battered body. He lifts a hand and grips Fyodor’s face, squeezes the threat into his jawbone—

But then Fyodor slips out of his grip, his hips swinging against the heat between Dazai’s thighs, and before the detective can dig his nails into a jagged shoulder he already tastes the poison on his tongue.

He swallows down the kiss, and wonders how else you can kill a rat.

(squeak)

He releases a shaky exhale, breath clouding out in smoke.

The wind chills his teeth. Dazai leans against the dirty wall, jaw clenching as he considers and re-considers. The city is oddly silent all around him—ominous and lifeless, with barely a scampering rat offering even a squeak.

He tugs at his coat. The stickiness spreads underneath his bandages.

Shit.

While his blood runs mafia black, only one other person has veins that contain something blacker.

A new silhouette comes into view across him.

Cornered animals are the most dangerous.

Fyodor offers him a momentary smile. His tongue drags over thin lips.

“You were waiting for me,” he says. “How sweet of you, Dazai Osamu-san.”

Dazai returns his grin, eyes glinting into something dangerous.

“Of course. I’m all yours.”

Fyodor’s coat flaps open to reveal empty hands. Dazai staggers up, dances around a jaw that bites—

He has fangs too.

(trail)

Fyodor’s thumb leaves a cold trail against Dazai’s skin.

“A world without abilities,” he says. “A world without us.”

If Dazai could move his limbs, he would spit out a laugh. Instead, he offers a handsome smile, lips as sharp as the blade pressed against Fyodor’s palm.

“A genocide and double suicide? How romantic,” he croons. “But predictable. It’s a shame you aren’t a beautiful lady.”

There’s a palm against his chest. Warm and solid, those fingers delicate but deadly, each tap resonating with his pulse. Dazai knows that if he could, Fyodor would pull Dazai’s ribs open with his bare hands. After the city falls, after his armies fade, all that’s left is flesh and blood.

“And a shame we won’t see the beautiful world.”

“The world can never be beautiful as long as humans exist.”

“I know. We both failed.”

Stinging pain. Light. And one final, unspoken question.

#fyodazai #fyozai #fyodaz #bsd #fyodor dostoevsky bsd #inktober 2017 #fanfinktober 2017 #what even is their ship name #ahhh the third one is.... weird i know #but it's incomplete with just the first two so D:#my fic #fic

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transsexualhamlet · 3 years

Note

To what percentage are the following ships canon? Sherliam, Hidekane, Vanoe, Lawlight, Gureshin and Fyodazai. Would you like each of them to be more canon, or perhaps less canon?

ooh, this is an interesting ask.

Sherliam- At this point, I would say this ship is as close to being canon without being utterly explicit as it can be. I think that the subtext is definitely intentional, and I don't expect it to become Canon Canon, but the author seems to be pushing it as far as they can. The main points of the series focus around the importance of them caring for each other, and it's difficult to tell because of the standards of romance and especially gay romance in that time period. But it's a very strong contender. I would LOVE to see this confirmed by the author as intended to be queer, but I don't really care if they like, kiss or anything, to me they've already completely proven themselves to me.

Hidekane- God, this one's weird. This series does have canonically queer people, however, none of them are portrayed in a positive light, and mostly just included to promote homophobic and transphobic stereotypes. I'd say that it is definitely implied that Hide loved kaneki romantically, and there's a significant amount of evidence to back it up, although Ishida might have been on the fence about this. However Ishida was aware of his Image here and made sure to make kaneki ultra hetero and keep him away from Hide in the endgame. In some ways I think Hide can be counted as one of his Badly Treated Gay Characters because of how he's shoved aside in the end and got like, no recognition for his sacrifices and legit being just there to uplift kaneki's character development. I really can't say if it would be better or worse to have the author confirm it as romantic, and unless he was willing to fix the entire ending of the story, it wouldn't be that great.

Vanoe- I haven't even finished the anime of vanitas, and I'm not caught up at all with the manga, so I can't really speak as to how much they're canon or how much I feel they should be. Eventually I'll finish it, but at this point I don't think I'm informed enough to speak on this for them. I do love the ship though.

Lawlight- Yeah, the thing with death note is that the main reason it's so gay is that it's misogynistic af. It was 100 percent not the author's intention, but because the authors were so utterly fucking clueless and deadset on not giving a single woman an honest chance, it really comes off as "wow these guys are literally gay". In no way do I feel this needed to be more canon, with those authors??? That would be horrifying. I love this ship because they're AWFUL and therefore, this should stay contained, in the hands of the fandom.

Gureshin- Ayyyyyy my literal favorite ship ever!! If you go far back enough in my blog I'm sure I've actually made a post about this however I will Talk About It Again :) So, I think if you look hard enough, I'd count this as at least partially canon. Like, with catastrophe and resurrection and the eight billion little subtext things and with as many gay jokes as there are of them, plus chapter 82… yeah, these guys are basically canon, although only the intellectuals among us know sdifhsdig. However, I'm not even sure it was intentional, I always get mixed signals from Kagami. Like I think he's closeted to be perfectly honest. I think the story would be greatly improved if he just fucking admitted that they were gay lovers and admitted that mahiru is literally an awful ex! It would make everything, so much clearer and so much better.

Fyozai- This is just a ship I personally enjoy, it's in no way canon or even implied in any way to be a queer relationship. The only ships that I'd say have canonical evidence towards them in bsd are probably soukoku and shin soukoku, though even then it's not that much compared to some of the other ships in this ask, just a good amount of homoerotic tension. In canon, those two are parallels, definitely, and there is a lot between them, but to say there's any subtext that they're romantically involved isn't really there unless you're talking about dead apple. (I'm still working on that essay, it's in my drafts, they ARE pretty gay in dead apple i will admit but I don't think it was intentional, it was just a big oversight as to how the whole situation could be seen. Yknow. More on that later.) But in general, it's not the main focus and not what they were going for. However I think it would be extremely funny if they were gay and it would add to the plot a lot :)

#rowan gets yelled at

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lovingnikiforov · 6 years

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okay this is random but am I the only one who is surprised more people don’t ship fyodazai??

fam idk if you’ve taken a peek at bsd twitter recently but that’s where all the fyozai shippers are 😂

#i personally don't ship it but i know quite a few people who do #since i don't ship it i don't have an opinion on its popularity #and i can't say how big it really is since i don't seek it out #t: answered #anonymous

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writing-radionoises · 4 years

Text

empathy

ship: none, fyodazai but toxic

genre: character study

prompt: fyodor has a hard time with emotions

notes: i really love fyodor.

There are many things Fyodor lacks.

Emotions in general seem to be one. Happiness, sadness, and most of anything are distant, barely even there.

Occasionally, Fyodor can feel a watered down version of happiness, contentment.

It's so small, it's barely even there.

But at the very least, happiness can be faked.

Empathy is a foreign concept to him. Fyodor cannot recall ever feeling empathy. With most things, Fyodor goes by the saying "fake it until you make it." It works for things like happiness, anger, admiration, ect.

Though he cannot seem to create empathy. He will fake it, over and over and over, and never once feel it.

He never feels regret, remorse, or anything of the such.

Desire is the only thing on his mind.

Desire to cleanse the world.

Though, truthfully, he's thought about what it'd be like to feel other things.

He has no one to confide in, no one to ask what it's like.

Fyodor is left alone with piles upon piles of psychology books and his own thoughts.

He can't seem to figure out the concept of emotion.

He can't seem to figure out why he's empty.

Osamu Dazai is another foreign concept to Fyodor.

The man is both the exact opposite and one in the same with Fyodor.

He thinks about this as he types away on his computer, lines and lines of code, eyes beginning to get tired.

If there was a valid ability user somewhere in the world, it would be Osamu Dazai.

The ability to take away other abilities is about the closest thing an ability user can get to purification.

Though, it isn't just Dazai's ability that Fyodor was interested in.

Dazai himself was the closest Fyodor had gotten to someone like himself.

He lacked regret, lacked regard for his own safety.

Maybe it's not supremely similar, but it's the closest Fyodor had ever gotten.

He felt emotions, and buried them so deep that they never truly came to the surface.

Fyodor recalls their off and on relationship as teenagers.

The truth was that Fyodor never felt romantic or sexual attraction to Dazai, it was pure interest in his mindset.

Though, Fyodor could tell that Dazai was simply using him to fill an empty space in his heart.

They were using each other to try and fill a void.

Fyodor can recall the young Osamu Dazai clinging to him as if life depended on it.

He was warm against Fyodor's cold, empty heart.

And though Dazai clung to him like a child with a teddy bear, Fyodor always knew Dazai was not thinking about him.

There was someone else on his mind, and Dazai was simply trying to force himself to move on.

And for a split second, in that thought, Fyodor wondered what it's like to be wanted.

He shook his head, shaking off the thought and rubbing at his eyes.

His and Dazai's relationship never lasted long.

Eventually, Dazai would leave him, like everyone else did.

Fyodor bites his lip, closing down the coding program and pushing away from his desk.

There was nothing appealing about Fyodor.

Fyodor can remember the first time he experienced the feeling of hurt.

It was at the time that his and Dazai's relationship fell apart.

They were at Fyodor's personal living quarters, sharing a cup of tea together when Dazai spoke.

"You're using me, aren't you?"

Fyodor was not struck odd by this, setting his cup of tea down to look back at Dazai.

"Of course, and you are using me in return. I thought we established this."

A frown formed in Dazai's face as he nodded a no.

"We didn't establish jack shit, Fyodor. I was never using you, where did you even get that idea?"

"You are missing someone," Fyodor explained, the sentence falls out of his mouth, sounding wrong with each sentence.

His Japanese was getting rustier, he had been in isolation for so long, just himself and his thoughts.

"That person is not me," he continued, "You are just trying to fill an emptiness with me."

"That's bullshit, don't even go there!" Dazai argued, raising his voice, "I've been trying to make you happy for weeks, months now! You just sit there and watch me, you go weeks without talking to me. I don't understand how your brain even works, you react to nothing I do!"

"Is it really that hard to tell?" He asked, tilting his head, "I do not feel happiness, Dazai."

Dazai's eyes widened, looking down at the floor and then back to Fyodor.

"You're a sociopath. A fucking sociopath, Jesus Christ, what did I get myself into…"

Fyodor rose a brow, "A sociopath?"

"Do you feel anything for me at all?"

There's an expression of pain in Dazai's eyes. Fyodor can feel nothing but confusion, he's only spoken the truth.

Why is the other so hurt by this?

"Interest," Fyodor admitted, "You are an interesting person, I wanted to know more."

Dazai looked away, his fists ball up and eyebrows furrowed.

"You're a fucking monster, my god. You probably can't even feel compassion, or empathy, or anything. I wasted my time with you."

Dazai leaves Fyodor's living quarters, and Fyodor takes a breath, sitting down.

It feels as though something is sitting on his chest, and it later comes to him that Dazai's words truly did hurt him.

His heart sinks down, and Fyodor can process the emotion as sadness.

Compassion.

Dazai had once said that Fyodor was incapable of feeling compassion.

Fyodor stirs his tea, looking up from the tea to see Ivan putting away groceries, and cello music playing in the background.

Fyodor isn't sure if he can't truly rule out compassion as things he cannot feel.

By definition, compassion is to feel pity and concern for those suffering.

Though it was occasional, Fyodor could say that he had felt compassion.

Ivan was one of those cases.

He looked down at his tea once again, continuing to stir the honey colored liquid.

He was unhappy when they first met, Fyodor could see that. His knowledge of psychology told him that Ivan likely suffered from depression.

Helping people was not in Fyodor's schedule, nor was it part of his plan to cleanse the world.

But he could sympathize with the other.

Perhaps what he did to Ivan was simply just Fyodor seeking an outlet. At the time, his heart was still heavy from Dazai's words.

Perhaps, Fyodor was just lonely.

To be isolated close to eleven hours a day, and then plagued with thoughts about his own emptiness 24/7 was a painful experience.

Even if he had to hurt Ivan to fix it, at least it was something.

In the end, Fyodor knew well there was much more he desired than to cleanse his world.

Above all else, he desired to be wanted.

Not for his looks, his intelligence, or anything.

Wanted for who he is, for everything he has and everything he lacks.

He sighs, and sips at his tea finally.

"Master, is everything alright?" Ivan asked from across the room.

"I'm perfectly alright," Fyodor reassured.

He isn't, but he'll say that.

Perhaps it will become true.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #bsd fyodor #fyodor dostoyevsky bsd #bsd dostoevsky #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodazai #bsd fyodazai #fyodor x dazai

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writing-radionoises · 4 years

Text

remember my name

ship: little bit of fyodazai, mostly ango & dazai

genre: hurt/comfort

prompt: post fyodor’s suicide, dazai contemplates life without him

notes: sequel to disappear, obviously tw for suicide and implied sexual content. song is remember by name by mitski

The cafe is mostly empty, likely because it's late and just about closing time.

The sun is setting against the horizon, and Dazai watches as he idly stirs his tea.

The cafe radio is playing some sort of English song Dazai can barely make out. He had asked if they would mix up the stations now and then, to hear more foreign music.

"I gave too much of my heart tonight.

Can you come to where I'm staying,

And make some extra love?

That I can save til tomorrow's show."

Dazai hums along with it, propping his head up with his fist.

It's so hard to live now, knowing that Fyodor is gone.

Dazai can't pinpoint why he misses the bastard, he's had hundreds of exes and so many people who mistreated and used him.

Yet, Fyodor stayed in his mind.

Fyodor was unique. In the end, that's why Dazai thought about him so much.

He was different from any other person he met. He was determined to get his way, to become great, and killed anything that stood in his way. He was a genius who learned whole languages within a couple of months, who mastered the art of hacking and manipulation. Fyodor had read twice as much as Dazai had in his life at the age of 15.

He was talented in so many ways, though also, he was poisoned with traumas and perhaps even a hero complex.

And most importantly, he threw his own life away.

That's what haunts Dazai the most. When he closes his eyes, he can see the empty rooftop again, Fyodor's last words forever ring in his mind.

Dazai was well versed in suicidal thoughts, and never once saw Fyodor to be plagued by them until that day.

And there wasn't anything Dazai could do to cure them at that point. It was a fatal condition.

Somehow, it has to be Dazai's fault.

"Dazai," rang a familiar voice from behind him, "You've been staring for a while. Are you alright?"

Dazai's skin crawls from the touch on his shoulder as he looks back to see the familiar face of Ango Sakaguchi.

Ango has been like Dazai's emotional support friend for what seemed like decades, the little conversations they held were always about Dazai. Ango hated talking about himself, claimed he was boring and unplagued by most of any trouble.

"Just thinking," Dazai replied.

"About what?" Asked the brunette, sitting beside Dazai at the window.

"Dostoyevsky," he answered simply, "... God, it feels weird to call him that. He always insisted I call him Fyodor, saying that 'Russian last names are hard on the Japanese tongue,' or whatever. I think he just hated hearing me mispronounce it…"

"You two used to be friends, yes?"

"Something like that," Dazai nodded along, "We used to date like ages ago, it was only for a couple of months and it… wasn't an amazing experience, but it worked out for what I needed…"

"You'll have to elaborate more, Dazai," Ango replied, brows furrowed in confusion, "When was this?"

"After Odasaku died, and after you abandoned me. I left the mafia and realized that I… didn't have any friends. I didn't even know how to make friends, and developed a chronic case of loneliness," the bandaged man continued, "It's not good when you have suicide on your mind 24/7, but I was determined to stay alive. Long story short, I hooked up with a bunch of random guys, most of which I never really knew. Bartender called me the Lord Of One Night Stands, I'd let people take me home to try and forget about my loneliness. Fyodor was my first real relationship after all that, we met in a coffee shop. He cracked a joke or two, he was really cute, and I needed another person to fuck me so I wouldn't go home and hang myself that night. It worked out."

"I thought you said it wasn't that great of a relationship earlier," Ango said.

"It wasn't," Dazai said with a sigh, "He was a sociopath who didn't really know how to interact with people. I was one of his first real friends and he used me to learn about human interaction. Though, I think the worst part was when he actually called me out on my terrible coping mechanism. He was confused why I was so offended by him using me when I was using him in return. I left him after he said that, but I've been thinking about it ever since. I use just about everyone around me for my own personal gain, and sometimes I do it without realizing. I still don't know if Fyodor ever saw me as a romantic partner, or if he was just mirroring my feelings because it was what I wanted to hear."

"You wanted someone to care about you, regardless of how temporary or fake it was," Ango simplified, and Dazai nodded, "So, why are you thinking about him tonight?"

Dazai falls silent, drumming his fingers against the counter.

The music continued to play in the background.

"'Cause I need somebody to remember my name.

After all that I can do for them is done.

I need someone to remember me."

"... He knew me at what I would say was the shittiest part of my life," Dazai said eventually, continuing to tap his fingers, "I don't care how fake it was, but he made me feel cared about. I was nineteen at the time, the love of my life died in my arms, and I had years of unprocessed childhood trauma, I was a fucking unattended oil fire. He… he couldn't put the fire out, but he at least tried. It meant a lot to me, and now I can't seem to process him being gone…"

Ango gave a simple hum as Dazai laid him head against the counter with a sigh.

"I'm starting to think everyone I care about just dies in the end. This entire Decay Of Angels thing was my fault, if I had just tried to tame the rage in Fyodor back then, all of this could've been avoided. He could be still alive today."

Ango places a comforting hand in Dazai's shoulder, unsure of what to say as Dazai closes his eyes.

The empty rooftop stands before him, with the sun setting in the background.

He knows there was no avoiding this. Nothing he could've done would've tamed Fyodor.

The Russian had said it himself, he was born to be a villain. "Destined to be a thorn in God's side," or something like that.

And even though Dazai has grown so much past the crutch that Fyodor once was to him, it feels terrible for him to be ripped away so soon.

Another sigh escapes Dazai.

"He asked me to remember him. And maybe it's selfish to say this, but now that he's gone… Who's going to remember me?" Dazai says, "Not as the agency member or the mentally ill mafia executive, but as the nineteen year old with more baggage than he can carry, and a desperate need for love?"

Ango doesn't respond, because really, there isn't an answer.

Dazai knew that.

#bsd #bsd dazai #bsd dostoevsky #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd osamu #bsd osamu dazai #bsd fyodor #bsd fyodazai #bsd fyodor dostoyevsky #bsd ango #bsd sakaguchi ango

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