#take him ...

“  hard to tell for sure but i think you’ve fatally misjudged the situation you’re in,  ”  dazai chatters musically, snubbing the tension of two reapers alone in a room with his formulaic nonchalance. he taps two fingers along the chiseled length of his whiskey glass. amber narrowing in and sizing the self proclaimed idol, obediently shivering away in the destitute, searching for the straws of revolution. pitiful thing; one who is so shallow to think they could move the chaos instead of climbing its fortuitous will. maybe dazai finds something admirable in that, in the minutia of disagreement that separates two creatures whilst the universe replicates itself so on and so forth. this one is becoming, and fast. dazai supposes that there’s no way shigaraki tomura works alone, and indubitably not for himself. one thing about a puppet is the strings are always visible if you know how to spot the silver sliver with a trained eye.   “  i’ve wanted to meet you for a while, shigaraki-kun. i hope you don’t mind the intrusion, you made it so easy to walk right in i thought you must have wanted me to.  ”