ﾟ★ NOCTURNE┊WRITING DUMP

[Seliane]

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i'll just put them all here from now on because i'm getting tired of sifting through all the threads i've posted in every time i want to reread/edit something.

List of Writings [Title ⋆ Series ⋆ Characters]
⋆* ﾟ — A Murder of Crows ⋆ Persona 5 ⋆ Akechi Goro [tw: suicide, murder]
ﾟ*⋆ — Memento Mori ⋆ Persona 3 ⋆ Arisato Minato, ft. Aegis [heavy subject matter]
ﾟ⋆* — Home Away from Home ⋆ Bungou Stray Dogs ⋆ Yosano Akiko, Edogawa Ranpo, Kunikida Doppo
⋆* ﾟ — [url=http://www.bearbonesrp.com/index.php?topic=21583.msg483786#msg483786]Wagashi ⋆ Bungou Stray Dogs ⋆ Yosano Akiko & Edogawa Ranpo
ﾟ⋆* — Heartbeat ⋆ Bungou Stray Dogs ⋆ Yosano Akiko & Dazai Osamu [tw: suicide attempts]
ﾟ*⋆
⋆* ﾟ
ﾟ⋆*

[Seliane]

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A Murder of Crows [Akechi Goro ⋆ Persona 5 ⋆ Character Study]

Anger is a secondary emotion. Something you feel when you don't want to feel something else. It's not taught to you by society, that much is true. But what if society helped in setting the stage? Where's the liability then?

He remembers his mother as a small and meek woman, withdrawn into herself as if not wanting to take up much space. Akechi watches her slowly fade as the days pass by. She talks less. Moves less. Touches him less. She simply occupies space, and lets him occupy his.

Outside of their home, she holds his hand with a tension that bleeds out from her entire body. She refuses to put her head up, as though not even the sun should acknowledge her.

(Hey, isn't that her?)

(I heard she had that child out of wedlock.)

(I heard the man left her before he was even born.)

(What a shame, wasting her life like that...)

Naivety is a privilege, not a right. That point is made when that meek woman takes her own life, leaving her meek child in the aftermath. The foster homes rush past him like a film-reel, new smiles, new welcome mats, new ways to say "You'll have to leave." And all that Akechi gathers is that he is, and always will be, his only constant.

So while naivety is only a privilege, anger, he discovers, is a right. It sits in the cavity of his chest, and like another presence, feels things for him. Initially, it bounces between his mother for leaving him, then his latest foster family, for showcasing a family dynamic he'll never have, and then the world in general for casting him out and leaving him be. It keeps alternating until it finally hits a focal point: that awkward lack of presence that lived alongside him and his mother.

Akechi only ever knows about his father through his mother, and even then, she spoke very little and retreated into her shell for days afterwards. There is no number for how much he hates the man he has never met, but it doesn't stop the unanswered questions from picking at him.

(Why did you leave us?)

(Why did you let my mother die?)

(Why don't you want me?)

(Why won't you come back for me?)

(Why do you hate me?)

Anger; a secondary emotion.

⋆ ✴ ⋆

There are adults whose only virtue is that they think they have the younger generations all figured out. All one has to do in order to earn their recognition is to follow orders and act as they do. That's why they quickly warm up to Akechi's beliefs and opinions once they realize that he builds upon their beliefs and opinions. They can count on him. They can use him.

(And that's what he counts on.)

The simple truth is, no adult will stick around you unless you have something they need. Do you have the intelligence? The charm? The air of a sophisticated gentleman? Excellent. Here is the spotlight.

(Isn't Akechi-kun awesome? A famous detective and still in high school! It's like he's living in another world!)

The young man on TV — he knows how to hold an audience. He is soft-spoken, well-mannered, and bows gracefully to criticism. Justice is his #1 cause, the wind that fills his sails.

He talks about the cases that he's helped solve and gives his opinion on on-going ones. He flagpoles his ideals of righteousness, of a society in which the people can rely on its justice system. Then he says something witty, and everyone laughs. It's a scripted win.

"Akechi-kun, what does justice mean to you?"

"Well..." Akechi sits back, lapsing into memory.

⋆ ✴ ⋆

Space and time seem to blur around him as he folds over helplessly, his body convulsing with the force of his shudders. Akechi laughs long and hard until his lungs start to burn, then laughs even harder.

Through some grand cosmic intervention — be it a demon or god, he doesn't care — he stumbles into the metaverse. An alternate world where one's desires take shape. That's good. He has desires.

As the anger seeps out of him, condensing into a solid, ugly thing, Akechi takes stock of the opportunity he now has to get back at the one person symptomatic of everything wrong in his life.

And that, to him, is justice.

⋆ ✴ ⋆

Akechi feels many nameless emotions while standing before his own father for the first time. Not a hint of familiarity grazes the man's face. Akechi supposes he shouldn't be surprised, but it doesn't keep the knife from twisting any less deeper.

A part of him wants to claw itself out and wrack the man with all the temper tantrums he's missed out on. Another dictates that he take his time and strategize before taking action. Get close to the untouchable Shido Masayoshi. Get used by him. Earn his praise. Gain his trust. Raise him to precipitous social heights... then let him fall into his own humiliation.

As a person (never mind a father), it's quite easy to hate the man. He's a filthy criminal, running underground traffic, killing off competition, and commanding for a future empire built on ignorance. He is everything Akechi would expect to see in a man who walks out on a woman and child.

I'm nothing like that bastard, Akechi tells himself as he picks up the gun, heads into the metaverse, and kills in the name of his father.

⋆ ✴ ⋆

Each kill is a test of his resolve. It lets him know how far he's willing to go to achieve his goal. It helps that none of his kills are personal, but then again, Akechi Goro never lets his assignments get personal.

(Except there's the one time where he does.)

He points the barrel at Kurusu's head and takes in the unadulterated fear he receives with a too-wide smile. This assignment shouldn't be personal, but it is.

Kurusu is a truly outstanding rival, a natural in the metaverse, and most importantly a free soul, unbound by the chains of his past. He has friends who are like him, friends who ground him and see him for who he truly is. Akechi honestly admires him... but a deep-seated jealousy parallels that admiration.

He thinks of their moments spent together in civil debates regarding the Phantom Thieves. He thinks of the kinship he felt while posing as one of them. He thinks of the rare but genuine moments where he felt he could talk about anything to Kurusu. He thinks about their shared laughter, struggles, and achievements...

And then he pulls the trigger.

Leaves the room.

Abandons those feelings.

⋆ ✴ ⋆

For Akechi, everything is either black or white. You're either the slave or the tyrant. The hurt or the hurtful. Hero or Villain.

He may have killed countless victims, but in that same coin, he was simply disposing of their filth from society. He may have been a slave of his past, but it gave him a power that allowed him to rise up against villainous scum like Shido. He's the hero here.

So why does he fall to his knees before the Phantom Thieves? They're no better than criminals, just a misguided flock with an equally misguided justice.

Why is it that they have everything he doesn't?

⋆ ✴ ⋆

In hindsight, few experiences have left Akechi truly humbled.

One is realizing that Kurusu's death was just a staged act, and that control he had over him and his friends was an illusion. The other is learning that the very man he worked for and connived against had been his puppeteer the entire time, stringing him along only to kill him off later.

In the end, it's his justice that means nothing, just like his revenge means nothing. As a slave of his past, his true enemy might as well be himself.

And so he thinks it's fitting that the one who pulls the trigger is a puppet wearing his face.

---

Personal Thoughts

well. along with trying to retell a character's (akechi's, because i love my child and if you hate him then the door's right over there) life story in as few words as possible as a writing exercise (though i'm not really sure if i succeeded or failed... rip), i wanted to focus on the inner, festering aspect of him that most people won't see until near the end of the game. when i first played p5 i was kinda like "lol who dis adachi + naoto fusion of roles" but honestly... i do now wish that y'all-know-who hadn't rigged everything to be stacked so high against him. he never stood a chance against his own fate, imo it later became clear that he was doomed from the start. if they give him a chance to heal and make things right in p5r.... i'd actually cry pls atlus hear my plea take my savings just do the thing.

edit: oH MY GOD,,, I THINK P5R HAS SAVED MY PRECIOUS PANCAKE BABY.... BLESS HIS NEW TRAILER.

[Seliane]

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Memento Mori [Arisato Minato (ft. Aegis) ⋆ Persona 3 ⋆ Drabble]

[div style="width:250px;text-align:justify;font-family:timesnewroman;font-size:12px;margin-top:10px;margin-bottom:10px;color:#000;line-height:100%"]Memento mori is a Latin phrase that may be freely translated as "Remember that you are mortal; remember that you will die."

He hasn't slept in months.

His thoughts and fears keep him awake, he doesn't even bother to change out of his school uniform anymore other than to wash it. He doesn't go anywhere near his bed, only ever being in his room to change. He can't stand to see it, surprisingly. If he laid down, he'd fall asleep instantly. It was already difficult enough staying awake in class.

But he wouldn't allow himself the reprieve of sleep.

He's already the reason it was forced upon one of his allies.

He stared up at the night sky, the city's lights drowning out all of the stars — but the moon shines on, a pale reminder. He remembers the fight well enough, the exhaustion of it never leaving him. But he would take the pain in the world to give back the lives he's inadvertently destroyed. The lives he's taken. The chill of spring, the season of rebirth, couldn't be more ironic in that moment. The season of beauty, plants coming to life as the harshness of winter dies off. The season that held the aftermath of a world on the edge of death, the life inside of him dying. Slowly, painfully, he knew he was withering away. But he had to hold on to it, had to know where the future would leave his companions. Either the two beings that clawed and marked his skin were laughing, watching him suffer in pain as he had to put on an apathetic smile, or he was the stronger of the three, keeping a hold of his consciousness while the majority of it was on another plane of existence entirely.

It was the former. He wasn't strong enough, he knew it.

The wind softly pushed against him, the buzz of the city not reaching his ears as soft music played from his headphones. To keep him awake, to keep him from falling into the pain, into unconsciousness that would bring his death. The eventual screams when someone found his body, rotting away with the fate of him unknown to the world, the only thing being whispered through the years being a sudden fall. Maybe his body would just freeze, the blood refusing to move, his heart refusing to pump, and his death would be labeled as a heart attack. And yet, he was the weak one, allowing himself a moment of emotion, knowing that the extra cold on his cheeks wasn't from the wind hitting him at a perfect angle, but from the tears he let fall freely. An emotion he refused himself to feel, an emotion locked away under the watch of Death itself, only given back after the final battle. A feeling of sobs letting loose, the air that he couldn't breathe even past the pain as a simple human ability makes him helpless. He brings up his sleeve to wipe them away, it wouldn't be the first nor last time he would cry, the tears picking up on the slack that several years must've made.

He only stopped when another cold surface touched his shoulder and one of his headphones is gently removed.

It couldn't have been anybody else — nobody would go up to the roof at 1 AM anyway, nor was anybody's hands that cold. So he turned around to face Aegis, a robot-turned-human, one hand holding his headphone and the other practically gripping his shoulder. "It's unhealthy to stay up this much," she stated, the voice that should've been as dead as him being full of life that he was unable to rob. "Why aren't you in your room?"

He shrugged the hand off of his shoulder, or at least he attempted to. But her hand remained on it. "It doesn't matter." His voice didn't sound like it came from him, wavering as more tears threatened to fall. The roof was blurry past his misty gaze, the music he had been listening to suddenly stops as Aegis walks in front of him and shuts it off herself.

"It does." She let his audio-player drop back against his chest, still keeping her hand on his shoulder, the cold grounding him. "You've been in pain these past months, haven't you?"

Hasn't he, he thought with a hint of resentment, but his musings were mostly overcome with a persistent sadness. He hasn't been able to feel his apathy in the past months, putting on a false show to his companions who didn't know otherwise. His companions, who don't remember, who haven't batted an eye to the world and who haven't thought about what he did on that day.

Aegis brings him into a hug. The wind isn't a match for her cold body.

"That sounded insensitive." She stated. Calmly, simply, bluntly. "As a robot... I don't— I can't understand you as much as someone else can. I can't be treated as you, on an equal level." She pulled out of the hug, hands softly resting on his shoulders. "Maybe that is why I do understand, in the end."

He thought of her as human. She was cold, bizarre, and had guns for hands, and yet she showed sympathy in her eyes. Behind the blue gaze, the cameras he could see even from a distance, held a human emotion. They were similar, in that regard — bodies given the ability to feel.

"You still need to sleep. You seem to act like eating will take care of that need." Aegis takes her hands off of his shoulders. In one swift motion, he was in the air, her cold arms below his knees and back. Out of fear of falling, he wraps his arms around her neck. She didn't care, heading towards the open door on the roof. The tears in his eyes blurred the wallpaper, Aegis kicking the door shut and heading down the stairs.

"Put me down," he weakly protests. Being carried like a child too afraid to let go wasn't high on his wish of wants, the list itself having been crumbled and burned the first day. Aegis doesn't react, continuing to carry him down the stairs. Past the meeting room's door, past the hallway that lead to the girls' rooms. Past memories that should've died with him, memories that did die with him. Past the boys' rooms, down the hall of regrets and words unspoken, of a door he's sat outside and an urn he could never stand to look away from. He couldn't stand either, looking to his own door that sat opened. Aegis entered, once again shutting it with her foot, and carried him to his own bed.

He struggled much more now, but in the end, he was laid down. He shot up, but Aegis' hands on his chest stopped him.

"Why don't you rest?" she asked, hands still pushing him into the bed. It wasn't as strong as he knew she could be, but strong enough that his worn body couldn't fight it. "You both need and deserve it."

"I don't deserve it," he replied, voice hoarse. The tears have stopped, but the remaining sadness was still there, lurking under his skin alongside the guilt of living. If he sleeps, if he lets himself go, if he lets the pain take over, that will be like destroying everything he's done. An act of rebellion against the gods that tear him apart, and an act of selfishness at wanting to keep a hold on the flicker of life. A small, flicker of hope, wishing all of them were here, by his side, acting as if they were regular teenagers. But they're not, he wasn't, and the only person at his side was her. "I can't sleep, Aegis."

"Tell me why." She stared at him, "I will do my best to make sure you are well."

Aegis knew. Aegis remembered, there was no way the robot could understand otherwise. She had to have known, the only person able to know. He could tell her, tell her his fear of dying. Hosting Death, fighting shadows day in and day out, even battling the entity that would bring about the Fall of the world — nothing could prepare him to face his own demise. He couldn't smile at his death, couldn't fall into slumber knowing he wouldn't wake up again. All of this time, he knew he could die, he faced the feeling of death every time they went into Tartarus. The evokers were shaped like guns for a reason.

And yet, he couldn't stare down his death with finality.

"I don't want to die." He found himself whispering into the night. He's lost feeling in his arms and legs, he couldn't focus on anything other than his cheeks and chest, the coldness keeping his body in check. But surely, he knew, whether he wanted to or not, he would be forced to sleep, forced to accept his death. Forced to let the pain, the loss, take him over.

Aegis, suddenly and unexpectedly, crawled onto the bed with him. With little grace, she wrapped an arm around his neck and one over his chest, pulling herself close to him. The cold gradually woke up some of his body. He slowly moved his head to look at her, furrowing his brow slightly. "Your heartbeat," she commented, "It was slowing down. Can... Can you not sleep?" He could've sworn he heard fear laced in her voice.

He gave a weak 'mhm'. Aegis held onto him tighter. "Cold wakes humans up." She put her head in between his cheek and his shoulder. "I'll keep you awake. I'm sure, as long as your heart beats, you are alive. I won't let you get to a point where you..." She didn't finish her sentence, but she didn't need to. "Go ahead, close your eyes."

He didn't want to. He really didn't want to. Sleeping brought death, yes, but for even longer sleeping brought guilt to him. He didn't want to see his guilt projected onto him, the urn down the hall taunting him with feelings that he thought he would never have, that used to be under lock and key. The death he caused — he didn't deserve to die, not because of his need to live, but he couldn't share the same space with him knowing of his fate.

Aegis' head moved to look up at him, her expression seeming to soften. "You will stay here," she promised, "I'm here... And so is he."

That brought surprise and confusion. The robot-turned-human always knew what he was feeling, if the past couple of minutes wasn't enough proof as is, but to make a bold claim, like Aegis could see ghosts. An ironic twist on the situation. Aegis continued, "You've fallen asleep in front of his urn before. You didn't talk to him much before, and so guilt is a reasonable conclusion to come to." She paused. "Did you not wonder who brought you back to your own bed those times?" He didn't care to have thought about it, those nights of emptiness referred to as dreams that should've been forgotten come morning.

"I assure you, you won't be bothered." Aegis continued to push. It sounded like a plea. "Just rest."

He couldn't, he shouldn't, and yet, his body was drifting away. His eyes were fluttering closed, without tears to stop him, the only thing in his vision the dark room and the light coming from Aegis' eyes. A soft blue glow, not enough for his eyes to stop from plunging his world into darkness; fear, guilt, his mortality piling onto him. He could hear the chains beat against the wall he's formed, the seal he's created at the cost of his life. But it was on the back of his consciousness, sleep overtaking him, and he forced the thoughts out of his mind, replacing it with the fragile, taped-together hope that Aegis would make due on her promise to keep him alive until the coming morning.

---

Personal Thoughts

hello, and welcome to sad boi hours.

just a sad boy reflecting on his life, basically. the angst in persona 3 gets me so hard. but tbvh what made me cry the most during that game was to see how much the cast cared for one another, regardless of the circumstances. they've seen each other at their worst, when they're being jackasses or being unreasonable or hysterical — it's painful to watch, but at the end of the day you know that any one of them would take the bullet for each other. they push themselves to be better people and learn from their mistakes because they don't want to cause their companions, and every single one of them would rather take suffering upon themselves if it meant the others wouldn't have to bear it (i mean that's like... every persona cast but listen: p3 has a special place in my heart). i sob hardest at good, pure, wholesome friendships — and yes, people are always arguing about who's best girl or whatever, but i really like minato with aegis —but i see what they have as not so much romance as it is the deepest form of platonic love. i love them, so much. my heart hurts. i think it's time for me to sleep too now bc my eyes are not having any more of this rn oof.

also minato is so precious......... he's my precious son. y'all know i sob at the end of every p3 playthrough bc of what my poor bean has to go through.

and LASTLY, excuse me if this entire thing is pretty much just me and my 3am p3 rambles lmao i'm running on my last two brain cells and those are dying as i type....will probably have to go back and edit some of this bc i'm prone to Stupid Mistakes in the early morning hours.

[Seliane]

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Home Away from Home [Yosano Akiko, Edogawa Ranpo, Kunikida Doppo) ⋆ Bungou Stray Dogs ⋆ Drabble of the Detective Agency's early days]

"Yosano-san!"

Haruno's sharp cry disrupts the lull of silence in Yosano's office. The doctor recognizes the edge in her tone right away, and doesn't hesitate to set her papers aside and stand to her feet — just in time for the secretary to rush in with an anticipated look of concern.

"What's happened, Haruno-san?"

"Kunikida-san — he was injured while accompanying Ranpo-san on his case!"

Yosano sets her jaw. "Where are they right now?"

"Ranpo-san was just on the phone with us — they're coming up the stairs right now!"

The stairs? The elevator is working though.

She doesn't have time to think about the details. Yosano pivots on a heel to reach for her bag. "Ranpo knows where to bring him. I'll be there waiting for them when they arrive. Thank you, Haruno-san."

"O-Of course!"

And just as she says, of course Ranpo knows where to bring the newest member of the Armed Detective Agency. The short detective pushes open the double doors leading into Yosano's operating room with a young, blond man using his shoulder to keep himself upright.

Such is the recklessness of youth, she thinks, but she can't put much fondness in the thought when urgency in regards to the current situation is a must.

"Yosano-san, sorry to barge in on you!" Ranpo greets with a lopsided smile, helping the man in his hold towards the woman's operating table to sit on it. "Kunikida unfortunately got shot by a greenhorn policeman during our case while chasing the criminal."

Yosano folds her arms, scrutinizing the bleeding wound on Kunikida's side. It has long since seeped into his dress shirt and slacks, but it doesn't seem fatal in spite of how the blond is sweating and taking heavy breaths for air due to blood loss. That's both convenient and inconvenient, all things considered.

"I'm s-sorry, Yosano-san..." Kunikida rasps, bowing his head. "I'll be in the care of your ability, I'm afraid."

"You aren't just yet."

Her words earn a confused furrow of the younger's brows as Kunikida watches her rummage through her bag.

"That's right, Kunikida, you can't be in her care just yet!" Ranpo agrees with a cheerfulness that feels unsettling all of a sudden. His hands rest on Kunikida's shoulders, reeling the young man back until he's laying flat on the operating table. "Here, lay back like this so she can work more efficiently!"

"What do you...?"

"Hm, what shall I use today, Ranpo-san?"

"Uhhh, whatever will get it done the quickest. We have another job in the afternoon."

"Er... hello?" They're ignoring him. His seniors are ignoring him as he's bleeding out on a table—

"I see. Then the chainsaw it is."

...hold on, the what?

Blue eyes shift to focus on the doctor who has her back turned to them. She bends down, picking something up from the floor — and when she turns around, there's a chainsaw with a striking red motor in her hands. Kunikida attempts to sit up, but is quickly shoved down again by Ranpo. Now, the man looks far more devilish than his puerile appearance would allow people to believe. Kunikida feels dread settling into his system the same moment Yosano pulls the chain of her chainsaw and revs it to life.

"R-Ranpo-san?!"

"Well, that's how 'Thou Shalt Not Die' is, you know. If you're not already half dead, she can't heal you. That being said..." The detective smiles. "So sorry, but please die a little, Kunikida-kun."

His own expression of terror reflected in the polished metal of the chainsaw is the last thing he sees before he passes out from shock.

⋆ ✴ ⋆

"Yosano-san. Oiiii, Yosano-san, snap out of it!"

Ranpo's voice and the snapping of fingers wakes the woman from her daze. She blinks once, twice, then gives a quick glance of her surroundings - she's in her office, standing in front of Ranpo and Kunikida who are sitting in one of her infirmary beds. There's a small pile of bandages soaked with blood in between them and their shirts are either covered in dirt stains or in tatters.

Her violet gaze lifts slightly to meet their faces, and she is met with the sight of a pair of blue and green eyes studying her curiously.

"Sorry. What were you saying?"

"Well, letting go of the applesauce packs would be a good start before talking." Ranpo answers. He tugs at something in Yosano's grasp, and she finally remembers: she was giving them something with vitamins mixed in to help make up for the blood loss they suffered before being healed.

Yosano releases both packs silently in favor of crossing her arms over her chest, watching as the detective eagerly takes the cap of the applesauce pack into his mouth and makes an audible, annoying sucking sound.

"You looked rather out of it for a moment there, Yosano-san..." Kunikida follows, mimicking Ranpo's actions, though he's more polite about making any obnoxious noises.

"Ah... I was just remembering something."

"Remembering something?"

Yosano smiles. "The first time you were healed by my ability, actually."

Kunikida promptly chokes on his applesauce and coughs into a palm to gather himself. He can feel Ranpo's amused gaze on him, which he answers with a small squint of his own. "I'd rather not remember that time in particular... it was more horrendous than it should have been."

"My, my, don't make Yosano-san seem more terrifying than she really is!" Ranpo scolds, wagging a finger.

"Ranpo-san, you were the one behind my being shot that day," Kunikida counters. "You went through the trouble hiring someone to pose as a policeman on the force helping us that day — and then you purposely used the stairs so I bled out more."

"But you lived! And anyway, I was testing you!"

"There were hundreds of other ways to test my deduction skills and resilience without paying someone to shoot me!"

"Kunikida, you lost quite a bit of blood. Don't get too excited." Yosano scolds.

Her words effectively make the blond relax. He casts a lingering frown at Ranpo, but it doesn't last long. He can't remain angry at Ranpo long, not when he understands that, in the long run, it was for a reason. "That was some time ago, though... it's been four years now, hasn't it?"

Ranpo throws his head back with a sigh. "Feels so much shorter when you work as much as we do."

"Back then," the blond's expression softens. "I remember I flinched away from Yosano-san's touch because of the additional harm that needed to be inflicted so she could use her ability. It's embarrassing to think about now... surely I hurt your feelings quite a bit, if Ranpo-san's reaction wasn't enough."

"Ahhh, that's right," Ranpo follows, speaking with the cap of his applesauce caught hanging from his teeth. "I got real irritated you kept avoiding her and wanted to emphasize how amazing her ability is and why we need her, so I stabbed myself."

"You looked like you were trying to commit seppuku."

"If it's for Yosano-san's sake, I have no problem cutting myself open and ripping out my insides!"

Kunikida heaves a sigh, lifting a hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose. "Yes... you certainly made that point very clear, but I'm sure both Yosano-san and I are just as happy if you don't attempt that again just to prove a point. You're the pillar of the agency, Ranpo-san — you can't be reckless." The bespectacled man's shoulders sag a bit. "Well, that aside though, it truly is a relief that younger, foolish me could adapt to at least that much so quickly. The agency really wouldn't be what it is today without you two. Maybe it wouldn't exist at all."

"That's exactly right! It's good that you know that, Kunikida!"

Yosano breaks into a laugh that causes the duo to look at her. Their expressions blatantly ask what's so funny, so she takes that as voiced enough to answer, "It's nothing, I just... I'm glad we're friends." And then, she smiles, wide and warm. "I truly am."

Kunikida and Ranpo smile in return without hesitation. Ranpo, despite how much of a mess he is, leans into Kunikida and nudges at his side with an elbow. "Yosano-san's smile makes this all worthwhile! I'd say a job well done - I love this job!"

Kunikida laughs softly, tilting his head to rest his cheek against the detective's messy head of black hair. "That's true. I don't regret joining the agency, and I'm always thankful Yosano-san has our back. We could call her a saving grace, even."

"That I do... To think, until Kyouka came along, I was surrounded by reckless stupid male ability users." Yosano dramatically presses a gloved hand to her forehead. "She's my saving grace."

"Ahh, that's rude! Yosano-san, don't bully us! We were on the brink of death just a few hours ago, you know!"

Yosano laughs, reaching out to ruffle the duo's hair with each hand. "Relax, I'm only joking. There isn't anything in the world I wouldn't do for the agency, especially you two." She leans forward, lightly flicking both of their foreheads. "I haven't regretted joining for a second...

"I'm happy I'm here."

---

Personal Thoughts

i will never stop raving about how much i love the og trio... omg.... bless them. this short thing i wrote is just about yosano, ranpo, and kunikida reminiscing about the first time kunikida was healed by yosano's 'thou shalt not die' ability lmao... i.. shouldn't laugh @ his trauma, but sgdhfjksdfh...

✴ reposted from another thread.

[Seliane]

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Wagashi [Yosano Akiko & Edogawa Ranpo) ⋆ Bungou Stray Dogs ⋆ RanYo Drabble]

Aside from Fukuzawa, Yosano is the one person in the agency that Ranpo has known the longest — and the one person that knows him best. She's his best friend, his partner, and he had no qualms in calling her his soulmate in every sense of the word that wasn't romantic. (He wasn't particularly interested in anyone in that way, and she was fine with that. He wasn't her type either, as she wasn't interested in being the one spoiling her significant other as excessively as the detective expected to be.)

Ranpo knows of her life before they met, its pleasant moments and its nightmarish moments. He never asked her about it out of respect for her feelings, but as the world's greatest detective, there wasn't anything that could escape his mind.

So, he knows that before being forced into the army by Mori's controlling, relentless hand, Yosano had been nothing more than an endearing worker of a confectionery — a wagashi shop, to be precise. It made complete sense, of course, given her obvious preference for them when Ranpo went out to buy sweets for them both.

Yosano was quiet about her pain. Mentally, emotionally, and physically she was strong — but equally so, she didn't confide in anyone about it usually either. She wanted to believe it was behind her, and all that mattered now was that she was a part of the Armed Detective Agency. Ranpo understands this sentiment, as his own life before Fukuzawa and founding the agency wasn't exactly pleasant, but...

He couldn't bring himself to dismiss it either.

He loved his parents. They were his whole world, and even now, a part of him chased after the shadow of his father that was known throughout the world as an exceptional detective he intended to surpass.

Deep down, he knows Yosano hasn't completely pushed away her past either. There are things she's able to look back on fondly as she did right now, a gentle smile on her face as careful hands mold the anko in her palm into a circle. Ranpo sits across from her on the other side of the counter, chin resting against the surface as emerald-green eyes study her movements.

There's no wasted movement, her steps are exact. Even though she hasn't worked at a wagashi shop in over a decade, she hasn't forgotten about her former occupation at all.

"You really like wagashi, don't you, Yosano-san?" Ranpo asks as Yosano sets her finished treat down, adding the finishing touches of a small leaf-shaped candy atop her creation that mimicked the shape of a sakura flower.

"What do you mean, Ranpo-san?" Yosano asks, hands resting on her hips as she studies her handiwork.

"Wa-ga-shi." He repeats slowly, drawing out the syllables. He positions himself to sit upright with a content hum. "You look pretty happy while you're making it."

"Do I?" The doctor's expression seems contemplative, staring down the sweet before she pushes it towards Ranpo. An action he doesn't need to question, as they both know he intends on eating it before she can do anything more with the finished product. "Well, it takes a certain amount of concentration so it comes out right—"

"I know that!" Ranpo chirps, plucking the sweet off the small plate it was sitting on and taking an energetic bite. The taste of the various flavored anko mixed with mochi is a very controlled sweetness. "But you love it, don't you? It's something from your past that can still make you happy."

She scoffs, raising a brow. "My, are you saying you and the agency don't make me happy? You'll hurt my feelings if you misunderstand them that way."

"Ehhh, aren't you the one misunderstanding?"

No, she's not misunderstanding him. She understands him completely. Rather, she's merely trying to change the subject as cleverly as possible to avoid lingering on a topic that could easily lead into something unpleasant if they weren't careful...

Luckily, Ranpo is, much more than he lets on — if only for her.

The two of them share a stare, silence falling over the room. Yosano gives in under the pressure of the unwavering green gaze, head bowing as her eyes close.

"Well... I wonder. It doesn't exactly matter much now, does it?"

"It does!"

Ranpo jumps out of his chair, making his way around the counter and pressing the wagashi he had bitten into against her lips. Her surprise allows him to push it into her mouth without much resistance, watching as she chews with a confused blink. His smile breaks into a wide grin. "It's good, isn't it? You can taste how much care you put into it. Even if you like what you do now, it doesn't mean you can never say you loved what you did before everything was messed up. I liked mine too."

His life was perfect, even if he was blinded by his own love and devotion for his parents. He was happy, enjoyed every single day... and it took a while, but Ranpo has found a new life he can be happy about. He wants that for his most cherished and most trusted friend, as well.

Yosano swallows, arms folding over her chest as she turns her head away. "Shoving something you already bit into in my mouth — you really aren't polite, are you?"

"Whaaat? Perish the thought! Besides, we share drinks and stuff all the time." He sniffs. "This isn't any different. I'm not sick, so who cares, right?"

Same as always, she thinks. From the day they first met when he had invited her to the agency, up until this very moment, Ranpo has always been unapologetically himself. He's blunt to the point of rude at times, yet honest and trustworthy. Equally so, he can be sadistic and cruel, jaded towards the world that has failed him (failed them both).

Yosano has long since been aware of his cruel side, but she doesn't condemn it. If anything, she feels that he is the perfect foil to herself, who wishes to save and protect life, while he revels in the intricacies of death and murder.

What an interesting pair they were.

The woman can't help but smile at the thought, at the truth in his words. There are things in her past she still loves today, despite the pain, the heartache, the trauma she pushes down underneath her desire to persevere.

She reaches out, grabbing Ranpo by his sleeve and guiding him to stand beside her. "Help me make the next set. I want to bring some back for Kyouka-chan."

"Ehhhh? But I thought you said it took a lot of concentration and patience? That's like telling me to sit and watch!"

"I don't want to make them all by myself." Then, Yosano nudges at his side with an elbow. "If it's for Kyouka, you'll do your best, won't you?"

Ranpo pouts. There's no denying he views the former assassin as a little sister, dotes on her in a manner Yosano finds so familiar. (Once upon a time, he had done the same to her. He's always wanted to be an older brother, but was born an only child.) "Mhhh... okay. But you'd better teach me right! Come on, put me to work, wagashi-sensei!"

Yosano laughs, merely leaning into him contently as she begins to instruct him on what to do first.

---

Personal Thoughts

tl;dr: ranpo watches yosano make wagashi (traditional japanese sweets). it's canon that she worked in a confectionery... but they didn't specify anything else, so i used my own headcanon. aaand... this started in ranpo's pov, but somehow ended in yosano's while i was writing... i didn't bother to go and fix it though, since it seems to work. it feels right.

✴ reposted from another thread.

[Seliane]

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Heartbeat [Yosano Akiko & Dazai Osamu) ⋆ Bungou Stray Dogs ⋆ Drabble]

[div style="width:320px;text-align:justify;font-family:timesnewroman;font-size:12px;margin-top:10px;margin-bottom:10px;color:#000;line-height:100%"]trigger warning for a brief description of a suicide attempt, it's not just mentioned in passing like in some of the other drabbles in here because it's dazai we're talking about here (elaborated on more in the section for my thoughts). i don't go too in depth, however, because graphic descriptions of suicide — whether they be successful or not — make me somewhat uncomfortable too.

"Honestly, what is it with you, Dazai," Yosano looked into the brunette's eyes as she finished the last stitch from his latest suicide attempt.

Dazai mumbled something incoherent under his breath and looked away. It wasn't like Dazai to be without words, without that ridiculous grin (that fooled no one, Yosano thought), or without eye contact. But when it came to his interactions with her, this was entirely normal.

There was something about her, her fierce sense of self, her seemingly uncontrollable thirst for living, that scared him. It went against everything he'd built up for himself.

"Do you talk to anyone? Who do you trust outside of the agency?"

Flashes of Odasaku rushed through his mind before he sent them hurtling back.

He beamed and played around with his arm, now stitched and taped back together, "Aaah, I know I can trust you to always do such a fabulous job!"

He stood with a flourish to make an exit, and felt something tug at his robe.

"Sit down. I'm not done with you yet."

The moment fractured, the two eyed each other. The endless amount of time it took Dazai to reseat himself on the stool in his kitchen felt like slow motion through a whirlpool; shockingly cold, disorienting, and without mercy.

His eyes darkened, "...and what aren't you done with?"

He hated being cornered unexpectedly. He hated it almost as much as he hated himself, and he especially hated it when it was about how much he hated himself.

Yosano closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn't sure if this was a good idea. In fact, she knew it was a terrible one. But, these attempts were whittling away at her sanity, and while most of the rest of the agency had written Dazai off as a childish good-for-nothing with a flair for the dramatic, she knew all too well the horrors that haunted him. She couldn't let this go. If it just meant that even once, he hesitated, that would be enough for her.

Dazai sat still as a corpse, eyes deader still, and waited for Yosano to respond.

Inside, however, he was screaming and begging to be released from this moment.

The last time someone took any particular notice of him for more than what he put out in the world, they were murdered as a pawn for a larger game. Intellectually, Dazai knew the two weren't the same. Intellectually.

However, Yosano was no stranger to the workings of Mori and the horrors that dwell beneath the warm glow of the daylight of Yokohama. If she prises too far... if she sees too much... if she cares...—

Dazai stopped himself there.

Echoes of the echoes of gunshots, so final in their rhythm, rang in his mind as he found himself back in that dusty, bloodied mansion. He ran through the halls as quickly as his legs carried him, headed straight for that cacophony of death. He was always too late. If only he hadn't let Mori keep him for so long, if only he acted faster, if only he saw through the ultimate plot quicker, if only he sought to find protection for those little ones; if only, if only, if only.

The only person to listen to him, even when he rambled purposeful nonsense. The only person to see him for more than the disgusting "black blood" that ran through his veins. The only person to not let hierarchy get in the way. The only person he ever let in.

"...azai, Dazai?"

Yosano handed him a tissue.

He looked down at it, dumbly, not quite sure what it was or what he was supposed to do with it. Something itched on his face, though, and when he lifted his hand to touch his cheek, he realised what it had been.

Yosano pulled Dazai up and guided him over to his futon. He followed without much expression, still lost in that waking dream.

She allowed him to feel his way onto the bed, where he first sat before descending onto his side, away from the pale sun of the spring. The light from the window created shadows that stretched long into the room. It covered Dazai's back like a blanket, but left his face and chest in chilly darkness that accentuated his thin frame. He was like a skeleton, like this. She wondered when he last ate. She sat near the end of the bed and looked down at her hands.

"I won't pressure you to say anything you don't want to, but I want to know why you're so desperate to leave," she says, quietly.

"Wake me from this oxidizing world of a dream," he mumbled into the pillow. It sounded hollow.

"...what do you expect to find when you wake?"

Silence. Heartbeat.

"I believe you told someone once that we have possibilities, that we aren't omniscient. If you can see that potential in somebody else, why are you not drawn within that line as well?"

Silence. Heartbeat.

"Let's say you open this door to eternal mystery and offer yourself, what or who do you expect to receive you?"

Silence.

Heartbeat.

Yosano looked down at Dazai, barely recognisable, even for her, even after all those times before. His frame wrapped into itself, eyes were cast down. Brows suggested that he was searching for something, but she didn't know what. She couldn't begin to imagine what.

Ever since Dazai stepped into the agency two years ago, he'd managed to make a mark — a messy, wild, infuriating mark — but a mark nevertheless. The first time he went missing for over a day, the entire agency threw themselves into trying to find him. However, by the fourth it started to become something of a joke. They stopped looking for him, calling after him. Stopped retracing his steps and breaking into his apartment.

It unnerved Yosano desperately. It happened so often that after awhile she was able to gauge how alarmed she needed to be by the little things Dazai would do. If they'd had a rather exhausting day of his antics, that was usually the sign of a passive attempt and she didn't need to get involved. If he'd been quieter than usual, that usually meant that he was off investigating something on his own and that he'd make it back eventually.

It was the days that he seemed, on the outside, "normal". "Relaxed". "Calm". Those were the days that really worried her. Talkative, congenial, willing to work with Kunikida... it was these days that she had to stitch him back up, pull him back to consciousness, soothe wounds. It was those days that she spent extra time keeping tabs on him. It was days like today, when she found him in his bathtub; lips blue, breath shallow, barely coherent. Heartbeat unnervingly slow. It was these days that his "clean and painless suicide" didn't seem to matter. He'd try just about anything if it meant he wouldn't see tomorrow.

"When the flesh is weary, the spirit too gives up; and somewhere within the body a sense of indifference takes root," Dazai looked up at the ceiling, tracing the lines of the light hanging over him.

It was Yosano's turn to be silent.

"I don't have an answer for you. Or, at least one that you want," Dazai said finally, and turned his head to look at Yosano's shape at the end of his futon.

"It's not about what I want, Dazai. It's about what you need."

"No one can give me what I need."

"Not if you don't let them."

"..."

Yosano sighed, "I'm staying the night. I'll have Kenji bring some fresh produce and I'll prepare something for you that isn't canned crab and sake. You stay there, I'll get the other futon out."

"You don't have to do this, I'll be fine," he already knew it wasn't worth the argument.

"I don't have to do a lot of things. I want to do this," Yosano offered a playful smile and leaned over to gently brush Dazai's cheek with her palm, "you'll find your spirit, I'll help you. And I don't give up easily."

"I know."

---

Personal Thoughts

tl;dr: this is basically yosano fixing/having a post-suicide-attempt talk with one dazai osamu. she may be a little bit of a sadist, but she's still a brilliant doctor who knows what she's doing; the people of the agency are truly in good hands.

bungou stray dogs may paint dazai as a suicidal maniac and some of the attempts in the series may be shown in a humorous light, as he is based off of the real author — dazai osamu — who attempted suicide many, many times; but once again suicide in real life is certainly nothing to take lightly. this is just a little thing about one of the not-so-funny suicide attempts... sure, he may do it to mess with the agency members sometimes, but i feel as though he probably has seriously tried to take his life at least once. anyone familiar with his character knows that what he puts up in front of people most of the time is a well-put-together facade — he may provide a lot of comic relief but that doesn't change that he's for certain one of the darkest characters in the series thus far.

this was written as a challenge request from a friend: write two bungou stray dogs characters interacting and make references to both the manga, as well as the works by or about the authors the bsd characters used were based off of (so in this case, the two authors would be dazai osamu and yosano akiko). i won't explicitly point them out, but i will list the references made:

— "Dazai Osamu and the Dark Era" Light Novel
— "Bungou Stray Dogs" manga, chapter 35
— "Bungou Stray Dogs" manga, chapter 65
— "Akutagawa and Dazai: Instances of Literary Adaptation"
— "River of Stars: Selected Poems of Yosano Akiko"

✴ reposted from another thread.

[shizuknya]

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