#dazai angst

[s1lentpine]

the feeling of suddenly wanting to separate yourself from all of society

[akutagawascoathanger]

Tw: depictions of sh

Okokok here's some real art..... Finnaly

I still haven't gotten my stylus, but it's in the mail so yay! But I was really itching to draw dazai, so I sucked it up and used my finger....

GOD IT SUCKED, I HAVE SO MUCH RESPECT FOR FINGER ARTISTS.

anyways don't be scared to interact with me... Please, I crave validation.

[sillymeowmeowxx]

little angsty sketch....... also that is Chuuya in the back.. yummy yummy

reblogs greatly appreciated btw.....

[yayll]

~ a little something about being invited to see what's under the bandages ~

"Uh oh. Well, this is rather unfortunate for you Isn't it?"

A soft click of the door lock. Dazai's cornered you in the agency's supply closet again, except this time he's dangling a limp bandaged wrist over you like some treat meant for a dog, a smug grin decorating his otherwise unchanging face.

But for you? there's plenty of new faces to make. If only you'd let him.

He lowers his wrist just above your nose and presses a long index finger right onto the tip of it, giving you a soft touch. Your eyes widen, yet your body stays frozen before him like a seraphic statue. He thinks maybe it's time he get on his knees and pray between your legs but he gets rid of that thought as fast as it came. He leans in once more as you back up into a stack of printer paper, his voice a low and enticing whisper.

"... Don't you ever wonder what I'm hiding under all of this?"

You swallow hard, an embarrassingly loud gulp escapes you as he gestures at the parts where his bare skin would show if it werent for the perpetual bandages that cover him.

"You want to show me?"

His entire body pulls back in one motion, mostly for dramatic effect and also because he knows he's hooked you. You look delectable like this it's intoxicating. As soon as you're in frame, he's out of view again. He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his messy brown locks at you.

"I suppose I'll consider it... since you followed me in here. Maybe i'll report you to Kunikida~"

You raise a brow and release a huff, sounding a little less confident now.

Dazai notices.

He also notices your face is turning red.

"That's not—you were the one who followed me? I came in for paper and you locked us in here!"

"Mm..." His eyes drift all over the shelves and supplies. "Did I?"

A long quiet washes over and settles between you two in this small closet. It's strangely serene. Just as you're about to say something to break the silence, Dazai reaches past you for a stack of printer paper, his coat sleeve brushing up against your shoulder as he does so.

He motions for you to stick you arms out, knowing you will, and places the stack of paper to fulfill your futile little quest. He smooths the bandages that cover his hands and wrists, absent mindedly slipping his thumb beneath the edge of the bandage and twisting it around.

Your eyes betray you as you follow the movements of his nimble fingers. The way the layer of fabric behaves when he turns it malleable, you begin to wonder about how long it must take him to master the art of wrapping oneself completely... And does he ever get to touch anything else without all of these layers on.

He catches you in deep though, naturally.

"There you go."

Your head immediately shoots up and you clear your throat. You know he knows.

"Dazai, I have to go now. I have work to do."

He tilts his head.

"Ah, an admirable excuse."

"It's clearly not an excuse. You work here too."

He smiles wide. You're so cute when you say stupid things like that only waste time.

"Stay another minute."

He suggests this so casually your head spins. You can't be here much longer with him.

"Why?"

He considers your silly question. He'd consider thousands of them if only you'd ask.

"Because I asked you to."

He takes one step closer, a lot closer than the first time, and motions for you to put the papers down. He takes your soft hand in his, bringing it under his coat sleeve and up to his forearm. Your breathing gets heavy, but you can't break eye contact with him, unable to process that you've instinctively grabbed onto his arm already. You can feel a loose gap between the crook of his inner elbow, revealing the tiniesy bit of skin under the fold of fabric. A curiosity takes over you as well shameful desire. How predictable.

Dazai's cataloguing your every expression. It's priceless and pure, and he wishes to crush you under the weight of all of his coveting of you. It's sick and unfair. You mumble.

"Only if it's okay with you..."

He watches you as you feel around the slightly raised fabric, slowly inching your careful fingers towards it so you can get a feeling of the real human being that resides under this very skin. So he can get a moment of reprieve from his pathetic desire for connection. There's a split second of electricity between you two as your finger reverently slips under the bandage, almost pressing against the warmth you imagine he has...

Nothing is left to separate you...

And suddenly his arm is gone from under you.

He's stepped back, hands effortlessly back in his trench coat pockets like he never took them out. He's whistling a soft tune only a lonely man would know. This moment feels all too smooth and calculated. It hits you like it always should have. You mutter under your breath, embarrassed and a little frustrated.

"You moved. I almost felt you."

He softens his voice when he responds, an unusual tenderness following it.

"Mhm. Almost."

You tilt your head, slightly more composed now as you watch him. He smiles without quite looking at you, placing the stack of papers back onto your practically limp arms. He walks towards the closet door, a soft unlocking click echoes once more as the bright office lights flood the closet, blinding you while he stands at the doorway.

Dazai stands there, paused for a moment with his back to you. He speaks without turning.

"I can't believe you were actually going to look! Tsk, another report for Kunikida."

You let out a quiet scoff, already hearing the smirk in his sardonic voice.

"You offered."

"I did. And for what it's worth... I really enjoyed how morbidly curious you looked for exactly Four seconds."

"... You counted?"

He glances back over his shoulder, smiling with an odd, wistful warmth that never quite reaches the point of confirmation between you and Dazai.

"I count everything."

Then he's gone.

You wonder why he pulled away... Or why for one impossible second you actually expected him not to.

Fated to never meet eye to eye.

Skin to skin.

Nothing.

Everything.

He spends the entire day running his fingers over the crook in his elbow.

Right where you almost touched. Maybe next time.

[acideathr]

♫ .. “ 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵… “ ★ . •° .

ılıılı reuniting with dazai osamu after a mission gone wrong request by: anon

he knew something felt off before the mission even started. dazai doesn’t trust intel blindly, no matter how official it looks - and the tension in his shoulders as you descended into the underground base wasn’t just paranoia. it was instinct. but he let you go ahead. that’s what still kills him.

the second the explosion goes off, he doesn't scream - he acts. you pushed him out of the blast, and the cave-in split the two of you apart. everyone expected him to wait for a tactical team, but dazai? he’s digging through rubble with his bare hands like a man possessed. all calm, all charm - gone.

the silence you leave behind terrifies him more than he admits. he’s lived with death for years, but the idea of your body buried in stone while he’s still breathing? it gnaws at the part of him that pretends he doesn't care. the one that secretly hoped loving you might fix something.

when he finds you, injured but alive, his relief is violent. not loud. not dramatic. just a single, ragged breath and a hand that shakes as he brushes hair from your face. you barely open your eyes, and he’s already scanning for injuries like he's afraid touching you too hard will break you further.

he’s uncharacteristically quiet as he helps you out. no jokes. no half-flirting. just focused care - an arm around your waist, voice low and steady as he murmurs reassurances. his grip on you is too tight, like he’s afraid if he lets go, you’ll disappear again.

if you try to downplay your injuries, he snaps. not cruelly - but sharp. "don’t do that," he says. "don’t pretend almost dying for me isn’t a big deal." you see the crack in him then. not anger - guilt. because he knows what you gave up in that moment, and he hates himself for it.

when you're finally in a safe place, he stays beside your hospital bed like it’s penance. he lounges like he always does, coat draped, feet up - but he never leaves. not for food. not for sleep. and when you wake in the middle of the night, you’ll find his hand still loosely holding yours.

he pretends to be annoyed when you tease him about being worried. “oh please, i only stayed because the cafeteria pudding is better here.” but the way he watches your every move, tracks your breathing, and leans in when you whisper his name says otherwise.

he doesn’t say “i love you” - he says “you scared the hell out of me.” and that’s how dazai speaks love: sideways, painfully honest. his hands tremble when he cups your cheek. his smile is thin. but his eyes - for once - don’t run from yours.

later, when you’re healing, he asks you quietly not to do it again. not because he doesn’t understand why you did it - but because the thought of losing you before he could deserve you terrifies him more than dying ever did.

[mqdilen]

───── ATTACHMENT IS A NOOSE ˛𑣲 ˚ .

synopsis.: your love for dazai osamu is suffocating him more than his wish to die

pairing.: dazai osamu x gn!reader

cw.: sfw, established relationship, heavy trigger warning !! ⇢ self-harm, mentions of death and suicide, depression, suggestive themes, angst, no comfort

word count.: 1.2k

۶ৎ note.: this is somewhat self-indulgent and inspired by the song smother by daughter. i highly suggest listening to it if you wanna grasp the vibe of the fanfiction. anyway, wrote this as a healthy coping mechanism:)

in the darkness i will meet my creators

and they will all agree that i’m a suffocator

suffocator, suffocator...

his skin is growing colder by the second while yours remains oppressively warm. his eyes are unfocused and glazed over, fixed on a spot too far away for you to reach.

you begin gently tracing the white lines on his arms, your fingers grazing the scarred tissue and following them down to his wrist like a path worn thin by too many footsteps, leading nowhere at all.

instead of nothing at all, however, you find dried blood and scabs forming over deep cuts. a frown settles on your face as you touch his wrist more purposefully now.

dazai flinches at the contact of your fingertips over the fresh wounds. “did you…?” you ask quietly as he pulls his arm away, seeming almost ashamed as he avoids looking at you.

your frown only deepens, and you adjust your position on top of him, reaching out to cup one of his cheeks.

“osamu, look at me,” you murmur, caressing the delicate skin under his eye. you feel his lashes flutter ever so softly against your hand as he leans into your touch.

eventually, he dares to hold your gaze. his body stiffens at the way you’re so carefully regarding him, your gaze concerned and filled with sickening affection.

your love is pure, tender, almost desperate in a way—certain that if you just hold on tighter for the both of you—no one will fall.

and dazai is brilliant at giving you the illusion of that certainty. so you mistake the quietness in his eyes for stability. you mistake his staying beside you for a desire to live. you mistake his love for you for a craving for more of your own.

but he never truly wanted your love. and every mistake claws at you, leaving your heart raw, almost burning from a hope he never meant to give.

perhaps the sex has made him more vulnerable. or maybe it’s just your eyes pleading for an answer as to why he hurt himself. again.

either way, nothing prepared you for his next words—the bitter tinge in his tone chosen intentionally.

“i did it because i needed to feel something other than… this. something lighter,” he says, looking at you and exhaling a shaky breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

you stop your gentle motions on his cheek, your hand twitching at his words. “what do you mean?” you ask, sounding somewhat confused even though deep down you know exactly what he means.

dazai only lets out a sigh, tilting his head away from you to gaze out the window. the moon shines through a cleft in the clouds, casting a soft glow across the floor behind you.

“i want to die,” he mutters, your name spoken in a hush at the end. you withdraw your hand slowly from his cheek, flinching as if burned by his words.

they sting. hard. and your vision blurs from the impending tears threatening to spill. dazai, of course, notices. he can practically feel your body shaking against his due to the closeness from your shared intimacy.

he can’t stand your tears, but at the same time, he couldn’t care less. his hand reaches out tentatively, hesitating before wiping away the glistening wetness.

“i don’t get it… why? why do you want to die so fucking badly?” you say, slapping away his hand and sitting up straight, the blanket slipping from your shoulders.

precious skin is exposed, something dazai indulges in almost mournfully before tearing his gaze away. he doesn’t have an answer to your question.

he could lie and tell you about oda, how his death and the crimes he’s done have warped his mind into not wanting to live anymore, because he doesn’t deserve it. it would be a logical explanation.

he could lie and tell you it’s just his depression messing with him, feeding him thoughts, that his earlier words slipped out by accident. it would soothe you, if only for a moment, paired with an apology.

neither of those options feel quite right, though, and neither does living or searching for an explanation.

these are his feelings and he has always felt this way. he has always seen no point in living. so why is he still alive?

for you, of course. well, not only for you. after all, you’re not the only person who needs him. that would make things too easy, wouldn’t it? no, dazai lives with intent and there are things he still needs to finish.

like guiding atsushi, praising akutagawa for work long done excellently, helping kyouka find a way out of the darkness surrounding her, and, last but not least, making sure you’re taken care of.

you deserve being loved the way you love him, even if he only drowns in it—your love. but then again, everything except the latter can be taken care of.

instead of him, kunikida could offer atsushi guidance. he could write akutagawa a letter, telling him he’s proud of him. and atsushi is doing a great job at being kyouka’s emotional anchor.

he might never fully understand her twisted mind like dazai does, but he’s sure she will make it through with him by her side.

if only you weren’t in the picture. but he supposes that’s his own fault, letting himself fall in love with you. your softness and warmth are so tempting, so alluring to his weary bones, and so cruelly soothing.

but how does he explain that to you? that he wants to disappear but can’t? that you’re holding him back more than anything? and that you’re only making things harder simply by existing—by loving him?

how does one tell another that their love is poison? probably not like this, never like this.

“you’re smothering me,” dazai whispers softly, unable to look at you. his tone is tinged with disgust at himself, perhaps for letting those words slip in the first place. he knows that must hurt.

your breath hitches, and you glance at him out of the corner of your eyes, your chest feeling heavy. it isn’t blame. it’s the naked truth, stripped of any kind of mercy.

because how can someone end their life when they’re loved like this? when every breath they take feels borrowed from you, never truly their own? they can’t.

so dazai stays, unbegrudgingly, unintentionally forced to keep breathing beneath the weight of your suffocation.

you say his name like it might ground him, your voice cracking and bare as your hands tremble. the heavy feeling in your chest spreads, invading every inch of your body until you are just aching—aching for him.

“i’m sorry i can’t find the will to…” he speaks, letting the implication hang in the air as his throat tightens unbearably. you quickly wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

his eyes widen for a split second before he regards you with the look he always wears when he feels you near, something painful between gratitude and regret. guilt and affection linger, twisted so tightly they are indistinguishable.

his breath stutters against your shoulder, but you only hold him tighter as you feel hot tears against your skin.

and even as the thought crawls its way into your mind—this is what’s killing him—you don’t let go.

because loving him is all you are, so what else can you do for him other than further smother him with your endless, revolting love?

...oh love

i’m sorry if i smothered you

i’m sorry if i smothered you

i sometimes wish i’d stayed inside

my mother

never to come out

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ — @illchooseanamesoonipromise , @xyliskz , @justyna4a , @irlyluvosamu , @itwilight444

ノ thanks for reading! reblogs & comments are much appreciated!

ノ want more? check out my MASTERLIST!

copyright © mqdilen 2025 all rights reserved. please do not translate, plaglirize, or steal any of my work.

[osamusghxst]

Yknow....I'm super sleepy rn, but....minific idea of dazai with a fem s/o who ain't putting up with his flirting. not that I rlly think he would do that, necessarily, maybe he just wants to make her jealous or see how much she cares....but she ain't brushing it off nor amused. Just storms off, cries, won't talk to him for days. It's not just me who likes dazai having to make it up for once, is it....? feel free to ignore this request ehe.

𝐵𝒶𝒸𝓀𝒻𝒾𝓇𝑒𝒹

⌯⌲ i'm purposefully rooting through my inbox for stuff that's angst or hurt/comfort because of my mood today and found this. let's skip most of the sad stuff since we wanna make up with him ૮◞ ‸ ◟ ა they're a little toxic here.

"Babe, I'm not gonna argue with you through the door and your friend!" Dazai huffs, side of his fist pounding on the front door of your best friend's apartment, where you have been staying for the past few days. For the first time in your entire relationship, he made you feel insecure, and instead of fighting with him about it, you sobbed. Threw things at him as you packed a bag whenever he tried going near you to stop you. Didn't listen to whatever excuses he came up with to explain away what he had done. And you stormed out the front door, stomping down the sidewalk to hail a taxi that would take you to your friend's. Who is the combative type and was on the phone the entire time adding to the fight between you and your boyfriend. She didn't even know what he had done, she just doesn't like him and tells you every chance she gets to dump him.

"Beat it, bum ass wannabe emo loser!" She shouts back at him, leaving you sniffling on the couch. You haven't stopped crying, fresh tears springing forward whenever you think about it, and hearing her call your boyfriend names doesn't help nearly as much as you thought it would. "She doesn't want anything to do with you anymore or she'd be the one yelling at you right now!" She continues, banging on her side of the door, and you have secondhand embarrassment at the two of them fighting back and forth like this, worried to death one of her neighbors will get sick of it and call up the police. Which is the last thing you need happening to Dazai.

"You're so tough running that damn mouth with the door closed!" He falls for her provocations, completely blinded by his irritation and anger and confusion on the entire situation to not recognize she is trying to rile him up so she can call the police. "Let's see you say it to my face!" His fist hits harder on the surface, making you jump in place, and you furiously wipe at your eyes as you get to your feet.

"Quit pissing him off!" You hiss, jerking her arm to turn her around, and her face is red with fury. "He hurt me, not you!" You roll your crimson eyes, feeling as though you are watching their breakup instead of your own.

"Hey, we are best friends," she folds her arms, huffing some from her prior screaming. "That asshole hurts you, he deals with me. That's how friendship works." She reminds, gearing up to turn back toward the door that he hasn't stopped hitting, you internally worried he'll ram it down if he doesn't get his way soon. However, you grip her shoulder and turn her around again. "What?" She almost whines, the audacity dripping off of her that you can't believe she has.

"Just go away," you scoff lightly, gently pushing her off toward her room - not without her protesting every step of the way until you are having to shove her into her own bedroom and closing the door in her face. She gasps, offended, and instead of following you out, she just pouts on her bed with arms folded. You sigh heavily, scratching at your forehead, trying to collect yourself, but Dazai is still aggressively arguing with himself on the other side of the door, and this is probably the first time you have ever witnessed him acting like this.

A hand rests on the knob, clearing your throat and raking your fingers through your hair, you prepare yourself, readjusting your expression and features to be semi-neutral, put together, as if you hadn't been crying to three or four days straight. He bangs on it once more before you yank it open, standing there with a furious impression, and your brow lifts. "Oh? Was the girl from the market not enough?" You ask, rhetorical, voice pitched. He stands there in silence, eyeing you up and down, his bright red hand slipping away in his pocket. Girl from the market?

"What are you talking about?" He has the audacity to play dumb, but he truthfully doesn't understand what you're talking about. "What girl?"

"The girl! The market girl that was all over you that you were flirting and giggling with and she twirled her hair and you-you touched her!" You rush out, all of the words spilling together, the pain you've been holding tight and close to your chest, about ready to explode. He blinks, giving you a sincerely confused look, whoever you're talking about someone that never got the opportunity to take up residence in his brain quite like they did with yours. "You tucked her hair! You were... You were flirting with her! In front of me! While were together!" You emphasize, actually hating the fact he is pretending to not know what you're saying. He does listen to you though, eyes scanning and bouncing around as people he's seen all his life are flying through his mind and behind his eyes, trying to pinpoint the root of the problem, some girl at the market.

With the both of you acting overdramatic for days, Dazai hadn't remembered what it was that upset you so much, the only thing on his mind being trying to get you back home. Until now, blinking rapidly when he vaguely remembers some girl that bumped into him at the market, made a passing comment that she thought he was cute - and he thought nothing of her until he saw you on the other side, not caring, and for whatever dumb reason, that bothered him. It bothered him that you never seemed worried about others going near him, the potential possibility that you could lose him. It bothered him you weren't the jealous type, not like he is. So, stupidly, he thought that maybe he could try to see if you actually cared about him and your two's relationship, and he flirted mindlessly, meaningless, back with the girl whose face isn't even coming back to him. A blank slate of a person. He doesn't even recall the color of her hair he supposedly touched.

But he remembered your face, the twisted expression as you watched him, and a strange emotion stirred up in him when you both locked eyes, one he didn't experience often: guilt. He has been riddled and cursed with guilt after noticing the heartbreak visible in your tear-filled eyes, and he hated himself more than ever for doing something so idiotic. Something he didn't remember doing because his brain had been shrouded with a thick smog of rage that was only self-induced from his own inability to comprehend not everyone needs to be put through a loyalty test.

"It wasn't..." He starts, lightly shaking his head. "It seriously wasn't like that. I don't want her; I don't even remember her!" He defends, weak, and your eyes roll. "I was being an idiot! You never seem bothered by the idea of me being with someone else, and that bothered me! It's not fair that I have to walk around with you, worried some other guy might come along wanting you and very capable of taking you away from me but you don't have that same fear!" Your brows knit together at that blatant confession, definitely not under the impression this was something he "feared", considering he never made it known outwardly. A hand comes up, gradually, to rest on your hip, staring at him, and your tongue clicks after a painfully long period of silence as you replay what he just said over and over again.

"That's what you're turning this into?" You question, valid, reasonable. "You did what you did because you're insecure? You needed some other girl's attention because I don't give you enough? I don't make you feel like I want only you?" Each new inquiry thrown at him feels like daggers to the heart, and he winces with the end of every sentence.

"I'm not justifying it," he murmurs, suddenly not wanting to yell anymore, not needing to. No long in a place to. "I'm just explaining why I did it."

"Well, it's a shitty explanation and doesn't fix anything," you tell him, point blank, beginning to shut the door on him before his forearm shoots out to stop you. The impact jerks you backward, startling you, and his jaw is tight as he stares at you; you both have a stare down, you waiting for whatever it could possibly be he feels the need to tell you, and him trying to buy himself more time to convince you to go home. "Dazai, just go-"

"I'm sorry," a faint whisper. The words lost to the wind, a last-ditch effort to prove to you he means everything he said before. What were once empty sounds with letter jumbled together int fits of anger and irritation are now laced with sincerity. A man's final hope is the thing he has always avoided saying - no matter if he should have long before this. He swallows, biting down on the inside of his cheek before his lips part. "I'm sorry." He repeats, louder, steady. Your eyes widen in skepticism, disbelief, and you eye him up and down.

"Did you just apologize?"

"Yeah, twice. I can do it a third," you hold up a hand and shake your head, waving him off.

"No, I couldn't live with myself if you dropped dead from your ego shriveling up," you comment, more under your breath, but he hears you and the corner of his mouth twitches. "You must mean it if you're saying you're sorry."

"Like I said, I'm just an idiot," he shrugs, daring to step one foot over the threshold, getting closer to you, and fight with yourself from taking a step backward. "I don't want anyone else but you. Everyone else is a blank slate to me, not knowing or caring enough to remember what they look like. But I can pick your face out in any crowd, even when you're purposefully hiding from me." You sigh, listening to him, knowing deep within your heart and soul he is telling the truth, but you're still hurt - which is understandable.

"I guess I can come home," you mumble, folding your arms but avoiding looking at him directly. "You have a lot of making up to do, though. And I mean a lot. I'm going to think every girl now wants you."

"Don't worry. Apparently, all I have to do is just open my mouth and they run off," he grins when your eyes narrow, now glaring at him, and his head tilts. "Not that I would ever dare looking in another woman's direction, let alone speak to them. I'll wear blackout glasses so I can't see anyone and duct tape my mouth shut under a face mask so I won't talk. And then no girl can see my stunning good looks because I will be in disguise." You lightly hit his chest, the absurdity of it all making a smile finally appear on your lips.

"That's a good start," you agree, letting his arm drop down to wrap around your waist. "Especially the taping your mouth shut. That might be an added bonus for me." He takes the proximity as an opportunity to lean down and place a kiss on your cheek, grateful you aren't running away again.

"How am I going to kiss you if my mouth is inaccessible?" He hums, brows raising as he waits for an answer, but you don't give him one - just another narrow-eyed glare. "You have nothing to worry about. I know you're out of my league." He kisses your nose, engulfing you fully in his arms for a hug, hiding his face in your hair, and your arms follow suit to breathe in his cologne and clean clothes.

"Gross," your friend's voice groans behind you, but Dazai doesn't lighten up to set you free to look at her. "If you're back together, get out of my apartment." She huffs, holding your packed bag in her fist. Her and him share an equally hateful glare, her tongue sticking out at him, and he flips her off. "Get loss before I call the cops." His eyes roll then, leaning down to lift you off the ground and throw you over his shoulder, legs kicking in the air with your protests falling on deaf ears while he reaches to grab your bag.

When he turns to go, careful not to have you hit anything, you are faced with your grumpy friend that you offer a sympathetic but gracious smile, waving goodbye. "Bye. Thank you for letting me stay here."

"Any time," she sighs, waving back and watching you two begin to disappear. "I hate your boyfriend!" She adds, standing in the doorway, and you shrug, dangling in his hold.

"Yeah, I get that a lot, actually."

brought to you by my strange sadness and the tortured poets department.

- ghxst

mini fic masterlist

tag list//: @dazaisfavoritemistake @luanniidae @starr3i @grubluunch

[nori-draws-sometimes]

I need to stop. at what point does my obsession with beast become self destructive?