#and bsd fans. as one myself. are decidedly not

[etrevil]

Sometimes I'm just peacefully eating dinner then CHOKE ON IT CAUSE I REMEMBER BSD CHAPTER IS TONIGHT

[grlffithsgay]

Since Nikolai is my favorite character in bsd, I was looking into the author's work and life and I discovered that he was actually gay!!!

There's very little information about it, but I found part of his diary in a collection of LGBTQ+ Russian short stories. Apparently, people mistook his diary for fiction and published it. But, as the editor of the collection said himself, it's obviously part of a larger, personal diary. It's very explicit and emotional so, probably, the entire thing was destroyed. However, what we have is enough to conclude that he was truly in love with this man, Vielhorsky, who died one year after they met.

I decided to transcribe it and post it here, not because I think it has anything to do with the character, but because I believe it's a important prove that gay people exist since, well... forever, and that love is real. It was back in the 1800s and it still is nowadays.

So, with no more delaying, here it goes:

NIGHTS AT THE VILLA

They were sweet and tormenting, those sleepless nights. He sat, ill, in the armchair. I was with him. Sleep dared not touch my eyes. Silently and involuntarily, it seems, it respected the sanctity of my vigil. Its was so sweet to sit near him, to look at him. For two nights already we have been saying "thou" to each other. How much closer he has become to me since then! He sat there just as before, meek, quiet, and resigned. Good God! With what joy, with what happiness I would have taken his illness upon myself! And if my death could restore him to health, with what readiness I would have rushed toward it!

* * *

I did not stay with him last night. I had finally decided to stay home and sleep. Oh, how base, how vile that night and my despicable sleep were! I slept poorly, even though I had been without sleep for almost a week. I was tormented by the thought of him. I kept imagining him, imploring and reproachful. I saw him with the eyes of my soul. I hastened to come early to him and felt like a criminal as I went. From his bed he saw me. He smiled with his usual angel's smile. He offered his hand. He pressed mine lovingly.

"Traitor." he said, "You betrayed me."

"My angel," I said, "Forgive me. I myself suffered with your suffering. I was in torment all night. My rest brought me no repose. Forgive me!"

My meek one! He pressed my hand. How fully rewarded I was for the suffering that the stupidly spent night had brought me!

"My head is weary," he said. I began to fan him with a laurel branch. "Ah, how fresh and good," he said. His words were then... what were they? What would I have not given, what earthly goods, those despicable, those vile, those disgusting goods... no, they are not worth mentioning. You into whose hands will fall -if they will fall- those incoherent, fleebe lines, pallid expressions of my emotions, you will understand me. Otherwise they will not fall into your hands. You will understand how repulsive the entire heap of treasures and honors is that attracts those wooden dolls which are called people. Oh, with what joy, with what anger I could have trampled underfoot and squashed everything that is bestowed by the mighty scepter of the Tsar of the North, if I only knew that this would buy a smile that indicated the slightest relief in his face.

"Why did you prepare such a bad month of May for me?" He said to me, awakening in his armchair and hearing the wind beyond the window-panes that wafted the aroma of the blossoming wild jasmine and white acacia, which mingled with the whirling rose petals.

* * *

At ten o'clock I went down to see him. I had left him there hours before to get some rest, to prepare [something] to him, to afford him some variety, so my arrival would give him more pleasure. I went down to him at ten o'clock. He had been alone for more than one hour. His visitors had long since left. The dejection of boredom showed on his face. He saw me. Waved his hand slightly.

"My savior." He said to me. They still sound in my ears, those words.

"My angel! Did you miss me?"

"Oh, how I missed you." He replied.

I kissed him on the shoulder. He offered his cheek. We kissed; he was still pressing my hand.

He did not like going to bed and hardly ever did. He preferred his armchair and the sitting position. That night the doctor ordered him to rest. He stood up reluctantly and, leaning on my shoulder, moved to his bed.

My darling! He weary glance, his brightly colored jacket, his slow steps- I can see it all, it is all before my eyes.

He whispered in my ear, leaning on my shoulder and glancing at the bed: "Now I'm a ruined man."

"We will remain in bed for only half an hour," I said to him, "and then we'll go back to your armchair".

I watched you, my precious, tender flower! All the time when you were sleeping or merely dozing in you bed or armchair, I followed your movements and your moments, bound to you by some incomprehensible force.

How strangely new my life was then and, at the same time, I discerned in it a repetition of something distant, something that once actually was. But it seems hard to give an idea of it: there returned to me a fresh, fleeting fragment of my youth, that time when a youthful soul seeks fraternal friendship with those of one's age, a decidedly juvenile friendship, full of sweet, almost infantile trifles and mutual show of tokens of tender attachment; the time when it is sweet to gaze into each other's eyes, when your entire being is ready to offer sacrifices, which are usually not even necessary. And all those feelings, sweet, youthful, fresh - alas! Inhabitants of a vanishing world - all these feelings returned to me. Good Lord! What for? I watched you, my precious, tender flower. Did this fresh breath of youth waft upon me only so that I might suddenly and irrevocably sink into even greater and more deadening coldness of feelings, so that I might become all at once older by a decade, so that I might see my vanishing life with even greater despair and hopelessness? Thus does a dying fire send its flames up into the air, so that it might illuminate with its flickering the somber walls and then disappear forever.

Source: Out Of The Blue, Kevin Moss.

[autumn-foxfire]

Ohhhh that is interesting how we both have complains about the same ship but from different sides. N ye i think it does come down to softening one character up n bastardizing the other just to preserve some kind of soft bottom harsh top dynamic. In reality they both spend every single time they interact arguing with chuuya being more prone to yelling and hitting and dazai more prone to underhanded insults and manipulation so i really i wouldnt say either is a saint they are just bastards in different ways. Like i love chuuya so much but in a different character the lean towards violance might turn me off but that lean towards violence is accompained by him being loyal and caring and sometimes naive and its all wrapped up in a nice bow with his amazing character design so i cant help but love him.

In a way i think they are sorta like izaya n shizuo (though decidedly written worse) cuz even tho they act abusivly to each other you never really see it that way (except when its romanticized AND I HAVE THOUGHTS ABOUT FAN REACTION TO THAT SCENE), like you always get the feeling the other can handle it. They do have sort of a rocky equality in the partnership what with dazai having the tendecy to push chuuya down but chuuya always bites back so it never really feels like dazai is beating him down. Though chuuya sometimes does decide to trust him n gets burned by it but thats like just chuuyas trust.

Its interesting to me how i think they have on surface similar dyanamic to shizuo n izaya what with brute strenght brawler x chess master dynamic but out of those shipa i like izaya n chuuya more. Like i feel dazai started off good as a mentor figure but as the manga progressed he kept getting pushed more and more as this oh so smart master manipulator thats always 57566 steps ahead of everybody and it just started feeling like the story was catching on dazai ex machina which just kinda made him annoying and boring to me. Ive honestly had trouble staying caught up with the manga cuz it lost my intrest for a whole bunch of reasona n every time i read a chapter i have Opinions so i honestly wouldnt take myself as the most objective viewpoint to judge it by n i really dont know is that a thing that bothers other people or am i just kinda making it bigger then it is.

But lmao thats exactly why im looking forward to you reading it, i feel like you always have well thought through opinions. I will try to keep my mouth shut until you get to it god i just have so many Opinions about so many bsd things

I’m going to be watching the anime soon (I plan to start it again today because I’ve almost finished the other anime I was watching and I’ve been informed the episodes left are filler anyway *which I will watch but more in my own time*) so I really am looking forward to meeting both characters.

I’ve seen people compare their dynamic to Izaya and Shizuo in the past and now I can understand why if they certainly do share the same “brainless (most of the time at least) brawler and master manipulator” dynamics, however it seems weird how the fandom has seemed to make Chuuya the “submissive” one considering from what you’re saying and what my friend has told me, he seems to be the stronger and more violent of the two (meanwhile Dazai seems to be a beanpole that relies more on his mind). I guess it’s because he’s short and has long hair?! ...Though that’s just really dumb reasoning if it is T-T

Hmmm, I reserve any judgements myself until I watch the anime but I’ll keep what you’ve said in mind too! I know I said this earlier but I am looking forward to watching this anime considering I’ve mostly heard good things!