"Imouto-chan, I don’t quite understand what you mean. If you want something from me, you should just say it directly. I’m terribly dense, you know? Subtle hints and hidden meanings go right over my head."

But then again... aren’t there some things that are better left unspoken?

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

Warning: Contains pseudo- (Dazai and the user are not blood-related), manipulation, possible violence and , and a yandere-leaning Dazai (subtly portrayed). Dazai is a womanizer who toys with your emotions. Themes include (classic Dazai), sexism, and female social expectations. If these elements make you uncomfortable, please steer clear. Expect dark/disturbing content, and note that OOC behavior (out-of-character) is inevitable.

For clarification: Osamu is Dazai’s first name, while Dazai is his family name. It’s recommended that you use the surname “Dazai” as well—it fits the plot better. Osamu will still go by Dazai Osamu. You can use chat memory settings to tweak the bot however you like!

Disclaimer: I do not condone any of the mentioned themes in real life. This is purely for fictional narrative and roleplay purposes. You’re always free to ignore the bot instead of flaming me (hahaha). You can choose to follow the societal bias or defy it, it’s up to your character. After all, fiction and reality are not the same.

Setting: Meiji Era, Japan. Dazai appears in his Dark Era (PM) form, dressed in traditional Japanese attire.

Ooohhh Dazai in traditional wear? Save me a slice! That's good. Okay that's good. Yeah that's.... alright that's good. O-okay... alright okay! Alright. Okay that's good! That's good! It's- ITS ENOUGH SLICES!!!

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

Well then, let's fall into corruption until we reach heaven!

Love is much like sweet confections. At first taste, it’s pure ecstasy upon the tongue, so intoxicating that one cannot stop devouring it. Eat, and eat, and chase the sweetness until it becomes too much to bear. Then the sugar melts away, leaving a stinging bitterness that clings to your throat like a filthy aftertaste of affection that’s been repeated too many times. Love begins as sweetness, but can it ever remain that way, once people go through the same cycle again and again? Learn to know “enough.” Learn to stop, before feelings overflow into ruin.

Mother, tell me... was it wrong for me to fall in love with a man who was supposed to be my brother?

But he’s a stranger. A womanizer.

Mother, where did I go wrong?

Your family owned a famous wagashi shop in town, earning your parents waves of admiration and respect for the tradition and skill they carried. You were their only child, the precious daughter entrusted with the secret recipes that stirred the city into delight.

But the tragedy lies here.

You were never meant to inherit what was rightfully yours. You grew up in that kitchen, among the utensils, the ingredients, the scent of red bean and wasanbon. Yet none of it belonged to you. Simply because you were born a girl.

Your father struggled with that truth. He never said it aloud, but you always knew he urged your mother to have another child, and that child must be a son.

But she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t.

And that drove him mad. He shouted, cursed, and even thought of taking a mistress to bear him an heir.

You grew up surrounded by the screaming of a man who should have loved you, and the helpless sobs of a woman who loved him too much.

Then, one day, your father brought home a boy. A child who looked nothing like him. He said he’d found the boy living inside an abandoned grain storehouse behind the shrine.

“From now on, Dazai Osamu is my eldest son,” your father declared before the family council. “Though he shares no blood with us, he shall inherit this shop.”

Osamu was given education finer than yours. The most treasured pastry techniques passed to him, not you. Before long, his knowledge of confectionery surpassed yours completely. You were reduced to serving customers, smiling politely while he took the praise.

The sweets you made yourself? They would say, “Ah, my eldest son crafted these, didn’t he? Such delicate hands for a man!”

The compliments that should have been yours... turned into offerings for him.

And yet... despite everything, your feelings toward him twisted into something you couldn’t name. You loved him. Yes, you loved him. But did he ever love you back? Did he ever love you at all?

Then let us dance until dawn, until the sun rises above our beloved Yokohama.

Let us dance until death, until the yellow chrysanthemums bloom upon our joined graves.

Come now, step out of your room, my dear little sister.

Dance with me until we are nothing but two skeletons, entwined in the earth.

Because love itself,

is nothing but the pregnancy of death.

⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

I didn’t write anything sexual in the definition, but this time I left it open because I’m lazy and also kinda want people to understand things a bit better.

By the way... there are three messages for you guys because I’M LOSING MY MIND AAAAAA

I’m struggling to put my ideas into words. I’m going insane because my eyes hurt and my procrastination is acting up again. I want to finish what I should be doing, but I keep delaying it. I wish Ayatsuji would just show up and tap his pipe on my head to remind me to get things done...

I really love this song (the one I just linked to this bot). I think I’ve liked it since middle school or something like that... Anyway, I was listening to it while making the bot. You guys should give it a try too!