#imagine that. nearly all the people you've known before you died. all that sense of familiarity. fuckin gone

[loving-delusions]

made a quick doodle comic bc im revisiting some old asf episodes from the show lol

picked a nice lil episode to dissect lunar like they're a frog from bio class

anyways. do u think lunar thought their interaction with moon made them feel off. like. that's not really the same guy they knew before they died, just saying.

(( reunited with lunar in vr chat episode. yeah it's 5 months ago ))

more rant in the tags as usual

#lovingdelusions #sun and moon show lunar #sun and moon show #sams lunar #not adding the lunar and earth show tag bc this happened in the sams channel. also this is before the laes channel got made lol #sams moon #tsams lunar #tsams moon #the moon with red eyes is meant to be the older moon lol. the one before he got his memories wiped and all that #I THINK!! i think lunar would miss the old moon #yeah sure he's mean but i think lunar found that a wee bit as a nice thing #it's familiar to him (cough. old eclipse. cough) and it's the guy he got along with after deciding to betray eclipse and fully side w moon #like. the old moon is the one that was there for lunar when they said 'im done working with eclipse' #and now that moon's memory is wiped. lunar would kinda notice its not the same guy he had known before #and losing that bit of familiarity is fucking scary lol #imagine that. nearly all the people you've known before you died. all that sense of familiarity. fuckin gone #killcode is off in god knows where (bc i hc that kc also kinda adopted lunar and no u cannot change my mind) #bloodmoon was dead (in this ep bm still hasn't been 'remade') #and eclipse. as much as lunar hated him. is gone. and that scares him too #im GGRGRGG #im trying to get back to the stuff i genuinely like and im using this episode to kick start that little kindling flame rn #i LOVE dissecting this little bot

[spiriteddreams]

some adepti philosophy on dreams w/xiao

"what do adepti dream of?" the question tumbles from your lips before you can stop it. you lean against the balcony railing of wangshu inn, staring off into the distance towards mondstadt as the figure next to you stiffens. xiao pauses, what do adepti dream of?

"i don't dream." his voice is rough. i eat them, he wants to say to you. he swallows them whole, savoring the sweet aftertaste that he feels guilty for enjoying. dreams are figments of the imagination, sweet nothings that dangle hope in front of your eyes, a false sense of peacefulness. they are the opposite of the life he's had.

xiao believes there is no room for him to dream, not when his mind swims with the burdens he's carried for thousands of years. each one is a reminder, a reminder of a past that never truly died, a past that shaped his being, a past that haunts him whenever he tries to close his eyes. to dream is to wander into one's desires, xiao thinks to himself, and desires are dangerous. they fill one's head with fantasies, memories of a past unburied that leaves him clinging to those fleeting moments of hope when he shoots up in bed, gasping for air as he grounds himself with the feel of silk bed sheets.

you hum in contemplation, "i don't think that's true." xiao casts you a dry look but you've chosen to pointedly ignore it. you can feel golden eyes bore into you, his silent question on the tip of his tongue.

"everyone deserves to dream." you lean further against the railing, propping your elbow on the smooth wood so you can rest your chin on your fist. "you're no exception." xiao wants to roll his eyes and bite back a dry response. you're human, he wants to spit out. to be human is to dream. it is to dream of reaching for the stars and the moon, clinging to false fantasies that drive people forward. he doesn't quite get it, how a peaceful night of sleep can offer such comfort to someone in such a world where pain and suffering is all that he's known.

in the back of his mind, xiao thinks that if he could dream, he would. he would wish his dreams were warm and reminiscent of days he spent beneath the sun, chasing after his friends, no his family, when they didn't have to worry about miasmic creatures that had climbed their way to the surface. he would dream of the mondstadt wind, carried over the green hills and into the land of geo as he hears the faint tune of a lyre amongst the breeze. he would dream of lying beneath towering trees with you, away from the bustle of liyue harbour as you braid qingxin flowers in his hair and share bowls of almond tofu.

yet he holds back his words as you turn to face him fully, a knowing smile on your lips as if you already knew what he was going to say. instead you hold up your other hand, curled into a fist with the hint of something peaking between your fingers.

"may i?" he can't tell what's in your closed fist but he holds out his hand anyways, curiosity getting the best of him. your bare palm is warm against his gloves and he nearly flinches at the feeling. but the gentle hold you have on him is enough to encourage him to stay, to ground him in the spot and watch as you drop something into his palm.

it's a small tassel, braided with a piece of mora in the middle. he recognizes the design instantly and can't help but let his eyes drift over to the matching tassel that hangs by the vision at your waist. made in the same colour as your own vision, xiao feels his heart lurch at the offering. gifts to the adepti are nothing new, a tradition that has still lived even as liyue has shifted away from its archaic times. so why is it that this gift, braided silk threads around mora makes his heart flutter?

"if you don't want it--"

"i want it." he states firmly, clearing his throat as he realizes how fast he'd replied. you watch in silence as xiao fastens it along his waist, nimble gloved fingers tying the knot tightly. and when he looks back up at you, there's a faint hue of red dusted across his cheeks. he mumbles a thanks, thumbing at the tassel as you look at him with a satisfied expression. a comfortable silence blankets the two of you as you turn back towards the railing. this time, xiao joins you, one arm pressed up against yours as he steals one more glance at your calm features.

late at night, when xiao finishes his patrol of dihua marsh he finds himself retreating into his room at the top of wangshu inn. illuminated by the silver light of the moon he finds himself following an old routine to prepare for bed. and when he finally slips into bed his eyes find the tassel and a gentle smile crosses his features. and as exhaustion finally pulls him to rest, xiao wonders if you're dreaming of something sweet too.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreaciated! a/n: when was the last time i wrote for xiao idk? i hope he wasn't too ooc!

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader #xiao #yaepublishinghouse #genshin impact xiao #spiriteddreams writing #spiriteddreams

[god1ngs]

━‎ end of the world

synopsis; a forbidden love told for generations

contains; human reader, major character death, swearing, mentions of war, spoilers

god c!technoblade / reader, 3.4k wc

note; the title doesn't make much sense but whatever lol ,, this is for @mayasimagines 's 600 event! congratulations and i hope you like this :)

   throughout the fall of countries, the crumbling of empires, there stood a man. he gazed upon the vast land, the grass stained red. buildings had crashed down, debris staining the area around them. they layed in heaps of piles, taller than most. the fallen down buildings had been a sign of the empire's loss.

   there was no one alive to commemorate the loss however.

   screaming rung inside of his head, shouting and yelling, with some other tones mixed in. displeased and ecstatic and mocking tones blended together, sounds of chaos lingering in the mind of the man. he only sighed, walking away from the destroyed country.

   he's seen this happen too many times before, the repetitive cycle of watching a country build itself only to come crashing down years later. they never lasted long. always the one for chaos, he sometimes participated in the destruction of the countries, though most times he didn't need to.

   humans were savage, brutal creatures who only cared about themselves. by studying their nature, the way they go about certain scenarios, he had figured out that much. selfish, twisted beings who would betray each other in a heartbeat. all it took was more wealth or a promise of better gear.

   how easily swayed they were. technoblade sneered, his red cape dragging beneath him as he stalked the hallways. pillars of quartz, chipped at the edges from years of standing, lined the hallway. they reached the ceiling, some even going higher. the magnificent red carpet he stalked down had ended at a throne.

   a throne made of gold, the shiniest material he could get his servants to find. emeralds and diamonds and rubies lined the top of it, the same jewels lining the gold of his crown. at last, he sat down, the voices calming down at the familiar seating area. they always got loud whenever there was destruction.

   technoblade, the blood god. also known as the god of war and chaos to many, he wasn't very popular among the peaceful people. people often worshipped him for protection, to which he rarely granted. protection from him, a god of war, was seldom. often he didn't care about the hunans enough to waste his protection on them.

   yet, one mortal, had caught his eye. they were nothing too special, middle class and usually someone technoblade wouldn't even spare a glance at. they were different though. they outshined any ray of sun, their smile proving to be the brighter of the two. he found them, despite all odds, very interesting.

   later, after wine and more sparring, the man had caught wind of philza coming over. philza, the angel of death, had been one of technoblade's good allies, even so far as to consider the blond a friend. he brought saints to their knees in their final moments, allowing them either an eternity in hell or a peaceful life above.

   he wanted to meet them, and technoblade always gets what he wants.

   even before technoblade had become the god he is now, forever cursed to watch humanity rip itself apart, he knew philza. the two fought wars together, never straying from their path of loyalty. the blond perched himself on the windowsill, his striking white wings folding on his back, as he smiled at the other. "hello technoblade." he greeted, ever the polite man.

   technoblade only scoffed, shaking his head with an amused grin. "please, phil," he drawled, looking from his red wine to the angel of death. "no need for the formalities. just call me techno." the blond threw his head back with a laugh, wide smile painting his features as the other chuckled. "of course, mate."

   silence washed over the pair for a moment, a comforting silence that allowed them to bask in the moment od seeing each other. they didn't get to visit often, one thing they mutually hated about being in the sky palace, usually swamped with other duties. philza with guiding people to the afterlife, and technoblade with causing conflict.

   "i actually wanted to talk about somethin' with ya, mate." phil broke the silence, hopping off of the marble windowsill to come lean against one of the pillars. the pink haired man, ever so interested, hummed questionably. "and what did you want to speak to me about? come on, spit it out." the man said, looking down at philza.

   he sighed, glancing up at technoblade. "you've been acting off, mate. less wars are starting, and that's weird for you. i know you also started protecting that one mortal. fuck, what was their name?" he murmured, brows furrowed. technoblade sighed in annoyance, not wanting to be pestered with questions.

   "[name]." he answered phil quietly, not bothering to look back at the blond man. the clouds danced with each other in the sky, entertwining and morphing with each other freely. sometimes he wishes he could be as free as the clouds. "you know," phil said, a mischievous glint shining in his eyes. the blood god could only dread what he was going to say. "rumor has it that gods only protect mortals they're interested in."

   the teasing, despite only being light hearted, had a quizzical undertone. while technoblade had been acting strange, protecting somebody was something phil had never expected. either something was special about that mortal and their family, or someone had begun fantasizing. he could only hope it wasn't the latter.

   with more conversation, technoblade denying any feelings blooming for a human, phil left to go do his job. he was alone with his thoughts, the voices making him tug at his own hair to keep them quiet. they craved the mortal, despite how much he willed himself to stay in his throne room, the man had to go see them.

   it was a normal day for you. nothing was different, much less weird. it was only normal, a basket of bread in your hands as you walked home. you hummed as you stepped on the path, enjoying the peaceful walk back to your house. you were content with your life, having a few people and more deaths than you could count.

   and see them he would.

   you partially blamed philza, the angel of death, for the passing of your loved ones, but you also knew he wasn't the one to kill them. he simply took them to the afterlife, guiding them to where they would spend the rest of their days. the deaths in your family had piled up, mostly from war and some of falling ill.

   you spent your days worshipping gods now. you were always the lonely type, choosing to stay by yourself rather than interact with others. you never minded the comforting embrace of being alone, the silence enveloping you at every given moment. it provided you with a sense of comfort you couldn't get anywhere else.

   while you did worship other gods, you mostly worshipped technoblade. he was the primary god, you giving up all your offerings to him ─ ranging from bread to trinkets to gold galore. the tales of the blood god, always grand stories with daring adventures that had you on the edge of your seat, had always intrigued you.

   your favorite, the one you read the most to the slim amount of people you did contact, was the tale of the butcher army. when he was human, a detail that many didn't know whether to believe or not, he blew up many countries. it hinted at the start of him being the god of war many years later. for punishment, the butcher army hunted him down.

   they lied to the man, once they had captured him, in which they had prepared for his execution. some say he died that day, only to be revived due to the gods holy whim; others say he had never died, and broke out of the iron bars to kill the men who had hunted him down. learning about the magnificent god, a god you admired, had faced an army of four and won, allowed you to admire him even further.

   once you got home, setting down your basket of bread, you had sighed. you always liked coming home, your safe space filling you with a joy like no other. the everlasting comfort of your home, a familiar place you longed to be at constantly, helped you feel safe. the comforting feeling of being home at last filled you at peace.

   until it wasn't so peaceful anymore.

   from your kitchen came a clanging noise. there were a few grunts followed afterwards, your eyes wide. fear flooded your system, nervousness coursing through your veins. you stayed silent, hoping you'd either been dreaming or had been imagining sounds. however, once a voice spoke, you knew that was not the case.

   from your kitchen came, with his red cape dragging behind him, technoblade. you stammered, confusion replacing your previous nervousness. your grip came loose on the item you were holding, not being able to process what you were seeing. "well this is awkward." the god stated, putting your kitchen utensils he had just knocked down back on your counter.

   if anything, this was awkward. very awkward. who expected a god to come through their kitchen window? "uh, do you," you stuttered, voice measily yet you still tried to fight it out. "do you mind telling me why you're here?" it was more than odd to see a god in your kitchen, the sight one hard to believe for even yourself.

   technoblade had sighed, draping himself over your couch cushions as if he lived there. his arms, unlike your bare ones, spread across the back of your couch, the sight making you nearly sigh. "well, mortal, i had taken intrest in you." he answered bluntly, your mind still reeling from the fact that he was even here, but taking interest in you? no, this had to be some kind of joke.

   the visible confusion highlighting your features made the god chuckle. it was amusing, seeing the looks on mortals' faces whenever something odd or unexplainable happened. "what's so confusing? i took interest in you, and so i came down here to see you." the blood god explained, shrugging his shoulders. the confusion you felt only worsened.

   why was the question. why was a god in your house? why had he taken interest in you? you shook your head, suddenly feeling lightheaded. "sorry, i need to sit down." you muttered, trying to regain your footing. you sat down, going slowly as to not pass out in front of him. "so," you spoke up as soon as you had calmed down. "why have you taken interest in me?"

   a cloud of silence loomed over the two of you, technoblade falling into his thoughts. why had he taken interest in you? there was no particular shining traits in you, even if he studied you as if you had carved out the world with your own hands; he watched you as if you had brung down a fantastic reign upon everybody.

   "who knows?" he wondered aloud, a hum of amusement following his words. technoblade didn't know the reason for it, and despite itching with curiosity, he didn't bother trying to find out. he only let it be, coming to terms with the fact that you, a mortal, had piqued his interest. you kept him entertained, and that's all that mattered.

   after the two of you talking more, you still trying to get over the shock that the blood god was in your home, you had to say that he was fairly a nice guy. maybe he was kinder than all of the other ones, however you've never crossed paths with a god either, so you couldn't tell. when technoblade had stood up, braided hair falling against your couch, you knew it was time for him to go.

   he turned to look down on you, his towering figure highly intimidating. there was a reason he was feared across nations. he stared at you for a second, maybe deciding on what to say, though you couldn't tell with his blank expression. the man only sighed, wishing you a good day, and then turned to leave.

   "you've got me interested, technoblade."

   you only spoke to the god more after the first encounter. seconds turned into minutes and then minutes turned to hours. he was an interesting guy, choosing which emotion to show and when to show it. perhaps it came with being a god. as he came by more, each visit surprising you, you only talked to him more.

   "as you've got me, [name]."

   soon he started telling you stories. the butcher army, the l'manberg war, how he met philza. he told you great things of philza, the angel of death, so much so you nearly stopped disliking philza. you were always interested in his stories though, no matter how long or how action packed. each further lured you in to his grasp.

   technoblade, however, had stopped visiting so often. with more conflict arising everyday, he didn't have as much time to visit you anymore ─ philza was starting to catch on as well. how he wasn't home as often or how he lied to philza each time he asked him where he was. he was getting suspicious, and wanted answers quickly.

   philza confronted technoblade on this issue a while later. his wings puffed up confidently, he was so sure something was going on with his eldest friends, the edges torn at the seams. "technoblade." he addressed politely, standing in front of his throne once again, as he did not so long ago. he would get answers out of him.

   technoblade only sighed, his cheek pressed against his closed fists as he stared at philza. "yes, philza?" he asked, voice heavy with exhaustion. the recent wars, as much as he loved the excitement and panic that came with it, have been too tiring for him. he also couldn't visit you that morning, only pissing him off more.

   "have you been seeing the mortal you told me you had interest in?"

   silence crashed over the room, violent in its malicious intent. phil's questioned nipped at the blood god, desperately pleading for an answer. philza sighed, one of disappointment and perhaps even anger. the silence was enough of an answer. "mate, are you kidding me?"

   technoblade merely sighed, eyes narrowing at the blond. "you have no say on who i take interest in, phil. that is none of your concern." he dismissed the blond, turning back to look at the window. philza had no say in what technoblade done with his life, no matter how long the two have been friends.

   "none of my concern? mate, they're a mortal and you're a god! hell, the blood god! for fucks sake, mate, you can't be seeing mortals!" philza snapped, brows furrowed and cheeks red from anger. the trouble a god could get in from seeing a mortal was irredeemable.

   if technoblade got caught with the mortal, he would lose not only his titles, but his life. he would be executed.

   technoblade merely scoffed however, rolling his eyes. "as if i'll get caught, philza. those laws are stupid anyways. what, are you going to tell on me?" he arched his brows at the angel of death, sneering at him. how dare he barge into his temple and then go off at him; a beloved friend of his.

   however, the mortal was too intresting to not keep seeing. he may of even caught feelings. how laughable ─ the blood god, feared across empires, falling for a mere mortal. philza only sighed, rubbing his temples. he weighed his options: technoblade could continue seeing the mortal, get caught, and then both of them get in trouble.

   or philza could tell the council. tell them of his affairs, tell them why he hasn't been here as often. once more, a vicious silence swept over them. only for a moment, for philza had declared:

   "if you don't stop seeing this mortal, i'll have no choice but to stop it. don't make me do it, mate."

   his evening visit was late that night. you had already prepared dinner, setting it up for when he was to arrive. from what he's told you, he hasn't had human food in a long time. he told you that gods didn't need to eat nor sleep. you had decided to make him food for when he comes, wanting him to have food even if he doesn't need it.

   the gust of wind from deceiving angel wings swept across his face. messy hair cascaded over his face, and for once, the blood god had found a problem he didn't know he could solve.

   ten minutes. twenty minutes. thirty minutes. you sighed at the mocking tick of the clock, each passing second being another sign that he wasn't going to come. perhaps he had better things to do. frowning, you began to gather the food up, knowing you wouldn't eat it all, before the familiar two knocks came at your door.

   rushing over, once you had opened it, you were surprised to see something different than you were used to.

   technoblade was there, but he looked different. more angry, perhaps even upset.

   worried, you frowned at the god. "are you okay?" you asked, hoping the man was alright. the god only nodded, staring at the ground. he came back to you after a moment of silence, sighing. "yes, just got caught up in some things. nothing for you to be concerned of." he said, brushing you off before you could even speak.

   when technoblade had gone back to his temple, rubbing his temples with a sigh, something unexpected had greeted him. there was philza, perched on the window with a firm look of coldness. "visiting the mortal again, were you, mate?" he asked once he had came into view. technoblade had half a mind to tell him to fuck off.

   that night provided a great distraction from what would come the following days.

   no words were spoken from technoblade afterwards. the betrayal of another friend, a promise to do something about his meetings, had wounded him. he didn't want to lose philza, but also had begun to realise something ─ he had caught feelings for the mortal.

   for you, who had been the sunshine on his darkest days. call it a cliche, but technoblade truly didn't know happiness if you weren't by his side. having watched countless deaths and falls of kingdoms over the many, many years of being alive, the man had never found as great of a comfort than by your side. you were the sun to his moon, a forever shining force to his immortal darkness.

   though the moon and sun are destined to never touch.

   that night, philza had technoblade bring him to your house under promise of telling the council. they had shown up to your house late at night, when the world was asleep. it had been abrupt, the two males coming into your home. you were shaking, scared as to what this meant. the angel of death and the blood god inside your home could mean nothing good.

   and you were right. that night, that forsaken night, technoblade had been cursed in front of your eyes. the wide eyed look on his face, the shock of what a former friend could do. you tried to reach out for him, but were stopped by philza. he permitted you to stay still, or else your blood would be on your walls.

   "technoblade, the blood god and the god of war, i hereby sentence you to an eternity of reincarnation. as long as you are alive, your lover, [name] [last name], will be killed and reincarnated. only ever letting you get close enough to hardly touch them."

   your words were caught in your throat, the cruel punishment knocking the wind out of you. philza's eyes shone, bright in an unholy way, rising up with his wings behind him. technoblade had felt the burning sensation of a marking, a forever sign of the curse, on the side of his neck. a flower had been burnt into the side of his neck, your favorite flower.

   "i'm sorry, technoblade." were the last words you heard before a sword made of light had stabbed through your stomach.

   the blood god had frantically scooped up your body in his arms, panicking for the first time since you've seen him. he tried to get you to say anything, although the words were too hard to say, no matter how hard you tried to get them out. he reassured you would be okay, despite knowing the inevitable would happen.

   "you should've listened to him ... heh, you're a dumbass, you know that?"

   you took your last breath seconds later.

#dream smp x reader #dream smp x you #dream smp x y/n #mcyt x reader #mcyts x reader #technoblade x you #technoblade imagines #technoblade x reader #dream smp techno #technoblade x y/n #angst #c!technoblade x reader #( ♡ ) + bones writes #( ♡ ) + oneshots

[joeys-piano]

odazai :3c or if you've already been asked for it, then dazatsu!

I only have enough energy to do the Odazai one, Luka~ Since this ask is pretty long (nearly 4k!), here’s the gist if you’re unable to read the full version at this time:

Far from being a perfect couple, what’s emotionally intimate and personal about Dazai and Oda’s relationship is that despite their differences and their faults, they make strides in understanding each other and in recognizing each other’s boundaries. It’s not always perfect, there are mishaps and mistakes along the way, and certain things are a rather sore subject to them both. But something admirable and important to take away from this is that Dazai and Oda make an effort to listen to each other, to understand the undercurrent of tension and stress that lapses between them at times, and they’re both gradually moving forward with what they have learned and that adds vitality and strength to their relationship.

Send Me A Ship, And I’ll Tell You…

who is more likely to hurt the other?While it would seem contrary and even OOC for me to say this, I believe that Oda would be more likely to hurt Dazai. Before you stab me for my hearsay, let me explain.  The term “hurt” can be used as an umbrella term for different types of pain: physical, emotional, mental, etc… Oda wouldn’t physically or mentally hurt Dazai. He has no reason to, and it’s not in his nature to lash out in those ways. The only pain that Oda ever dealt to Dazai was emotional.

We see this towards the end of the Dark Era arc when Oda bids his final farewell to his children before confronting Gide. In the silence of that moment, with desperation rising in his throat, we watch and listen as Dazai asks – no, pleads – for Oda to think this over and find something else to live for. For the first time, the demonic mask of the Port Mafia Executive falls. Left behind and hardly unscathed is the face of a child, of a young man who had nothing to live for but is desperately clinging onto the one person that his world wouldn’t be the same without. Despite all of this, despite this probably being the first time Dazai has ever broken from his usual composure, Oda tells him that he can’t do that.

To Oda, if he was to go back on this, his children would’ve died for nothing. Their deaths would forever haunt him if he couldn’t avenge for them, himself. What’s even more emotionally painful about this scene is that this is one of the few, poignant moments where Oda doesn’t yield to Dazai’s words. It’s hard to put up a nonchalant front and casually go along with what your friend is saying when you’ve lost some of the most important people in your world. With that established and mutually understood, Oda leaves behind a gaping hole within Dazai’s heart before departing from the scene.

But even if we forget that canon exists and we’re lawlessly frolicking through the land of AU, I still stand by the idea that Oda is more likely to emotionally hurt Dazai. Not in a sense where there’s a lack of respect or trust in the relationship, not in a sense where everything’s on the rocks and hearts are on edge, but in the sense of honesty. Of the duo, Oda is more of an honest man and Dazai knows this. So when Oda says something, the weight behind his words is even heavier because there’s no hidden agenda to obscure anything. Oda means what he says. So sometimes, whether intentional or not, what he says hurts.

Dazai isn’t someone who’d flourish his heart at his sleeve. Or in other words, he’d rarely admit if he was hurt by something Oda had said. I’d imagine that Dazai would take Oda’s words into consideration and resolve to do better if disappointment is what’s lingering in the air. Having known him for a considerable amount of time, Oda would notice the slight shift in Dazai’s words and body language and realize that he had hurt him.

who is emotionally stronger?At a first glance, it seems 50/50. Oda and Dazai both possess an incredible amount of resilience and resolve, so I have no idea who would be emotionally stronger than the other! I’d say that they’re both equals when it comes to this^^

who is physically stronger?At first glance, you’d think it’s Oda. Former-assassin, former glorified handyman of the Port Mafia, and probably dragged a very drunk-off-his-ass Dazai from the Bar Lupin after a long Friday night…

This question ultimately depends on what you mean by physical strength. If we’re talking about endurance and physical prowess, I’d say that Oda has the upperhand in that department. If we’re talking about endurance in regards to physical pain and taking into account the body’s rate of healing after being afflicted by a series of injuries, Dazai wins in that department. They’re both physically stronger than the other in different ways.

who is more likely to break a bone? Dazai has probably broken as many bones in his body as there are stars in the sky.

who knows best what to say to upset the other?Dazai. Sometimes, whether he means well or not, he knows exactly what to say to garner a rise from Oda. Sometimes it’s through a careless phrase or a careless set of words, sometimes it’s through an overly elaborate explanation when only a word or two would suffice or sometimes, Dazai drifts a little too far and Oda is reeling him back. Oda is a writer, after all. He can decipher many of the nuances behind Dazai’s words.

who is most likely to apologise first after an argument?Dazai is aware when he takes an argument too far, so I could see him being the first to apologize. There are moments where he’ll fixate on a little thing and an argument escalates as a result of that fixation. Oda would’ve grown tired of it and would try to move on, but Dazai would reel the topic back into the foreground of the conversation until A] Oda tells Dazai that he needs some time to himself or B] Oda may have to raise his voice so Dazai would know that he doesn’t want to continue the conversation anymore.

Dazai never realized he had a habit of fixating on certain things in conversations until he saw how upset Oda was during one of its first occurrences. Before Oda could apologize for raising his voice, an air of exasperation at his tongue, Dazai apologized first. He’d apologize for not paying attention to Oda’s boundaries, for pushing Oda beyond his comfort zone, and for ignoring his repeated asks/requests to change the topic of conversation. Dazai initially ignored these things because this is the same tactic he’d used to whittle information out from traitors, criminals, and hostages that had found their way into one of the Port Mafia’s interrogation rooms. He didn’t think that old tactic would emerge in his and Oda’s relationship, but now he knows.

who treats who’s wounds more often? Oda is one of the very few people that Dazai trusts enough for this job. Dazai is intimately aware of how vulnerable he is while his wounds are getting treated, and he trusts Oda enough to know that the man won’t stab him while he’s getting stitches or rubbing ointment over his bruises.

who is in constant need of comfort? Having forsaken his humanity while living under the Port Mafia’s name, there are moments where Dazai reaches out for Oda and cuddles into the man’s arms. Because within that moment, while surrounded by Oda’s warm and tight embrace, Dazai feels a little more human. He feels like he’s able to continue on this path of being a good person, a person striving towards the light. He feels a little safer, able to let down his guard and simply be himself. He feels whole, even though he’s a few cracks away from falling apart. Oda is the embodiment of Dazai’s strength, so Dazai snuggles against him to regain that strength.

who gets more jealous? I can see slight shades of this from both of them. Where for Oda, the jealousy manifests as a want to protect Dazai from others that might be using him for their own good or for worse. And for Dazai, the jealousy manifests like a calm before a storm when he quietly confronts someone on what their intentions are with Oda. Jealousy, especially when in regards to love, isn’t an emotion that I write about often so I’m not sure how to answer this^^

who’s most likely to walk out on the other? Dazai. Not because he wants to, but because it’ll protect Oda and the world that Oda believes in. 

who will propose? It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a man with everything to live for would want to share that everything with the man he has longed for. For someone as exquisite and as eccentric as Dazai, marrying him in a church was one of the last things on Oda’s mind. But to marry him like this, with Life and Death as their sole witnesses, perhaps it wasn’t a strange idea after all. In a beautiful yet peculiar way, it made sense to die together in order to live together.

So after an unsuccessful attempt at leaping from a bridge and falling into a river, while Dazai fished him from the edge of the embankment and congratulated him for surviving his first suicide attempt, Oda proposed right then and there. When Dazai reached out his hand, Oda clasped a wet engagement ring against his palm and asked if Dazai would marry him. The only sound that registers to Oda’s ears are the quick, short breaths that unfurl from Dazai when he realizes what the latter has just asked. He mumbles quietly, more to himself than to anyone else, that he’d only bring Oda trouble. Without missing a beat, Oda replies that in loving someone for who they are, to know their flaws and love them too, was an honest kind of love. That’s how Oda described his love for Dazai, and Dazai just stares at him before a smile threatens to break his expression.

who has the most difficult parents?Considering I know nothing about their family history, I can’t answer this question with confidence! If I were to guess, I’d say Dazai.

who initiates hand-holding when they’re out in public? During the soft lulls where they’re walking together, occasionally brushing hands because they’re walking so closely to one another, Oda reaches out for Dazai and Dazai intertwines their fingers together. They fit so naturally, hand in hand, as if there’s nowhere else that their hands could be.

who comes up for the other all the time? I don’t know what this question means.

who hogs the blankets? Occasionally, but more often than Oda could count, he’d sleepily climb into bed and discover that all the blankets are gone. The fleece, the cotton, the synthetic wool, the heater-blanket that Dazai has cherished during the past four years of their relationship, and the thin sheet that Oda often drapes under because his body overheats at night are gone. Disappeared. Vanished, like they were never here. Patting his hands around the bed, eyes still closed and heavy with sleep, Oda tries to figure out where everything had gone. Eventually, his hands meander from his side to the bed to Dazai’s. Where his fingers thread through Dazai’s hair, where his palm lightly taps Dazai’s snuggled cheek, and….where Oda’s hands discover a large and fluffy blanket cocoon where Dazai’s body should be.

It takes about fifteen seconds before Oda feels like he has enough energy to open his eyes, and what he sees makes him wonder if he’s dreaming. Dazai had wrapped all of the blankets around himself, and he’s currently snugged like a burrito on his side of the bed. If the light snoring is of any indication, Dazai is fast-asleep and has already drifted off to La La Land. Sinking into the bed slowly, Oda carefully rolls onto this side and tries to peel the cocoon off from his husband. He knows that Dazai gets cold at night, but this is rather extreme. Especially since the heater-blanket is so closely snugged to Dazai, Oda fears that his beloved will be dead by the next morning because of overheating.

One measly inch at a time, pausing every now and then when Dazai moves or wiggles around, Oda takes his time as he slowly unravels the cocoon. With each layer that he manages to peel off, Oda can discern a sweet smell. It’s faint, almost like the vanilla body wash that’s in the shower right now, and Oda can find the smell on the sheets and it’s even stronger with every blanket-layer he manages to pull off from Dazai. Ah, Dazai must’ve fallen asleep as soon when he got out from the shower. Probably cold from the lack of steam around him, it would’ve prompted him to fashion this blanket cocoon. It all made sense now. The last blanket-layer, the heated-blanket, remained untouched as Oda gathered the rest of the cocoon and lazily dispersed the layers around the bed. Draped under his thin sheet, now secure and slightly protected from the cold, Oda can finally sleep.

But oh, he’s roused from his slumber and it’s barely been five minutes! As he opens his eyes, Oda realizes that he’s slowly being turned. Somewhere in the midst of sleep, Dazai had instinctively reached out for Oda and is currently tangled yet snuggled under the man’s arms and legs. It was as if Dazai could sense that his blanket cocoon had been destroyed, so he carefully crafted another. Where instead of reaching out for the sheets, Dazai reached out for the warmest thing in the vicinity. So that’s how a very toasty Dazai and a very sleepy Oda would fall asleep on most nights. Where Dazai is secured, warm, and affectionately cuddled while Oda tenderly embraces him and feels a little colder when Dazai steals his thin blanket and is too tired to fish for it again.

who gets more sad? Sadness isn’t the only thing that lingers when Dazai is upset, but frustration crackles like a fire if he’s left to his own devices. Maybe sadness and frustration aren’t the only feelings, caged within his heart. Perhaps, there’s a note of exhaustion that unfurls as a whisper because Dazai keeps it to himself.

Sometimes, there are moments where he doesn’t have the energy to be a good person. Sometimes, he feels less inclined to help others and wishes for them to figure out what they need to do instead. Sometimes, it really bothers him how others have a much easier time of being a good person while this is something that Dazai still struggles with. Two, four, six years down the line. He’s tired, emotionally and mentally drained. Unable to put up his usual antics at the office and is aware of Kunikida and Atsushi are staring at him, brows knitted with concern. Dazai leaves the agency early that day and when he gets home, he’s writhed with shame and disappointment with how he’s been acting.

When he left the Port Mafia with Oda, he knew it’d be hard. He knew he’d struggle with being a good person, he knew he’d have to persevere and push through whatever he was dealing with, and…Dazai’s thoughts are interrupted when the front door opens and Oda is watching him with a peculiar glint in his eyes.

The door had been unlocked, but no one was coming inside. That was why Oda opened the door, concerned that something must’ve happened. And he looks at Dazai and sees the weariness in his eyes, Oda takes Dazai by the hand and slowly leads him to the kitchen where he can sit down. Dazai is so stiff that he’s unable to ease into his seat, even with the helpful coax of Oda’s hands at his shoulders. A series of tight, worrying knots are hitched at Dazai’s back so Oda massages the aches with a delicate touch.

During moments like this, Oda knows better than to ask Dazai of what’s bothering him. During moments like this, Oda’s first priority is for Dazai to feel comfortable. And then after that, they can work through and talk about whatever is on Dazai’s mind. Oda gives Dazai a choice on when he wants to talk about these things and tries his best not to urge Dazai to speak if the latter doesn’t feel like speaking. By taking things at a slower, more flexible pace, Oda knows that Dazai will be more honest with him when they’re finally speaking. He knows that Dazai won’t be hiding anything from him, and he knows that Dazai won’t be putting up a front to seem strong in Oda’s eyes.

After about an hour, after an early dinner, after a warm and lazy bath where Dazai messed with a rubber duck while Oda shampooed his hair, and after spending nearly the entire evening snuggled at Oda’s side while the latter is reading a book of poetry, Dazai finally speaks. His voice is quiet, his words are murmured into Oda’s skin, but Oda listens to him. He closes the book of poetry and gives Dazai his full, undivided attention as Dazai whispers what’s been bothering him. He confesses his fears, his worries, and everything in between while Oda rubs small circles along his back.

After hearing Dazai’s concerns, Oda talks to him. This is one of those rare and few moments where Oda speaks a lot more than he usually does while Dazai is quietly listening. Giving advice isn’t one of Oda’s strongest points, so he talks from his own experience and how he kind of figured out that being a good person is more than just being good. You can still be a good person, even if you have bad thoughts or impulses at times. You can still be and become a good person, even if your past wasn’t grounded in a good place. Oda tells Dazai that sometimes being a good person involves struggling through, working against, or even despite these things. That Dazai isn’t any less of a good person because he has to work a lot harder than others, but that he’s grown into a stronger and more self-aware person that recognizes where pitfalls are and consciously makes the choice to do more good rather than harm.

Despite being a writer, sometimes words aren’t Oda’s strongest points. He hopes that what he said helped Dazai, even if it was a little bit. Because in truth, Oda’s still trying to figure this out for himself. He’s been through whatever Dazai’s feeling right now, he’s thought the same thoughts, and felt the same frustrations that would leave him out of it for weeks. During those times, what helped Oda the most was having Dazai with him and having someone to talk to. During moments like this, Oda wants to be there for Dazai even if he isn’t quite sure of what to do. But the effort and company sure helps.

who is better at cheering the other up? Considering the above, I think it’s Oda.

who’s the one that playfully slaps the other all the time after they make silly jokes?A glass or two of whisky has been dropped on multiple occasions because Dazai doesn’t know his own strength when he playfully slaps Oda on the shoulder. The two would be joking about something and Dazai would tell the corniest, worst joke in the history of all jokes. And while he’s laughing his butt off, his hand starts flying and makes an impact with Oda’s shoulder. After a few times, the couple has agreed to an unspoken rule that jokes should be reserved at home. Where the cups are made of plastic, where the alcohol is much cheaper, and where there isn’t a bartender to apologize to whenever a portion of whisky goes flying across the bar.

who is more streetwise?Dazai without a doubt. He knows where all the local gangs are and used to antagonize them when he was younger, more brash, and more trigger-happy with a gun. Since joining the ADA, he has mellowed out and has used his street knowledge to aid the agency when they’re busting arson loots and drug trades.

who is more wise?Dazai has more wisdom when it comes to life, death, and the role of violence when the opportunity is in one’s hands. Oda has more wisdom when it comes to experience, philosophy, and the role a person takes if they’re wanting to reform their life. It really depends on what kind of wisdom you’re talking about.

who’s the shyest? People would say that Oda’s the shyest out of the couple because he’s quiet, he doesn’t speak very much, and he isn’t one for rowdy environments. They would say he’s shy because most of his activities are very introverted (writing, reading, preferring home rather than going outside, etc…) People would often say that if it wasn’t for Dazai, it’d be a wonder if anyone would notice Oda at all. While these assumptions have some truth to their foundations, anyone that knows Oda knows that he isn’t shy.

Oda’s quiet because he’s observing the world, the people, and the environment around him and acts accordingly depending on that observation. He doesn’t speak very much because often, he doesn’t need to speak at all. Or if he does want to speak, he’s carefully choosing his words and deliberates if what he wants to say makes sense, if what he says is polite, and if what he says is meaningful/necessary to the discussion. His activities are rather introverted because he’s a writer. He spends his days at home, working on his manuscript or reading a good book to entice his imagination, and it’s pretty hard to write on the go when you can’t control the weather or the people around you. Oda’s quiet and stoic nature is one of the first things that distinguishes him from a crowd, and people are often drawn to him because there’s this mysterious allure and atmosphere surrounding him. Were it not for Dazai, it’d be a wonder if anyone would talk to Oda at all.

But when the world sees that this dashing young fellow, tackling Oda into a surprise hug, all of the people can breathe a little sigh for Oda’s not as intimidating as he looks.

who boasts about the other more? If Kunikida had a notebook for every moment Dazai talked about Oda, he’d be drowning in a lot of notebooks. Without fail, Dazai would boast about a lot of Oda’s accomplishments. No matter if they’re big or small. Since Oda rarely goes out because he’s working on his manuscript, Dazai takes it as his duty to remind the world of what a good, sweet, caring, and hardworking person his husband is. In which Kunikida will argue how such a good husband married a slacker like Dazai. And in turn, Dazai will have a hand at his chest and dramatically accuse Kunikida of such slander! They would be at each other’s throats were it not for Oda, calling in at the right moment to calm Dazai down and to apologize to Kunikida on behalf of his husband’s behavior.

who sits on whose lap?The simple answer is that they take turns. Dazai sits on Oda’s lap during soft, calm moments where they’re both reading or watching the TV. Oda sits on Dazai’s lap when the latter wants a good cuddle session and claims that he has an easier time when Oda’s on his lap.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd #oda sakunosuke #dazai osamu #odazai