#bungo stray drivers
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I am obsessed with finding out which characters in Bungo Stray Dogs can drive. It all started when I noticed that out of all the characters 14 year old Kyoka is shown behind the wheel almost every time the ADA is going anywhere in a hurry. Atsushi who is 18 has been in the passenger seat beside her multiple times with no mention of the fact that she is 14 and probably struggling to see over the dash and touch the pedals at the same time. How is Kyoka the driver. So.
Confirmed can drive:
Kunikida. He's shown driving multiple times as well. He probably has his license and everything. He still takes the train and taxies so I'm guessing he doesn't own a car.
Kyoka. She does not have her license but she's who they put behind the wheel when Kunikida is down or not around.
Ranpo. Of all people. Shown to be able to drive rather well in chapter 79. I'm becoming convinced this is why he doesn't know how to take the train - he drives literally everywhere.
Higuchi. Shown driving home. Probably the character who drives the most if it's part of her usual commute.
Haruno. Seen driving, is explicitly handed the keys in fact.
Ango: Seen driving (poor thing).
Teruko: Seen driving. Probably has a license since they're not big on breaking laws. (But then they weren't on a public road).
Steinbeck: Can drive in places other than Japan. Rammed his truck directly into a very obvious poll in Japan.
Mori? This is unclear. He gets into what would be the passenger side of the car that explodes, but it might have been an American car. Pretty sure it was supposed to be an American car actually. There's no logo but it doesn't seem like there was a chauffeur and he moves like he's reaching for the wheel. Also it's really old and square in the manga.
Chuuya: Flies for the most part but drives a motorcycle in Dead Apple. Not sure if I feel this is canon or not.
Tachihara. Seen driving a scooter. I guess I'll allow it.
Can drive but shouldn't:
Dazai. Apparently this is brought up in a light novel. He drives with Kunikida, implying he has a license, but apparently launched the car into something. He's called a 'bad driver' but I suspect he just needed the thing he flew the car into dead right then. May actually be a very good driver and just lazy.
Driving status unknown:
Tanizaki: Shown at the controls of a helicopter but never a car? Those aren't the same thing so I don't want to say he can drive but apparently he can fly.
Poe: Also can almost definitely drive. Can change out engines. I'm convinced he was driving the truck the agency members were hiding in during the cannibalism arc but I have no proof. Has not been seen behind a wheel.
Fitzgerald: I can't imagine him not knowing how to drive just for sports cars reasons but I also can't imagine him driving when he actually needs to go anywhere.
Fyodor: Travels pretty far a lot, seems to walk though?? It's unquestionable that he could drive a car if asked, but would he? Is he legally allowed to? We may never know.
Kajii: Driving a train like a maniac doesn't count.
Hirotsu: Travels pretty far pretty often. Could be taking trains.
Katai: Doesn't go anywhere
Natsume: Cats around
Akutagawa: Also flies. Shown walking when Higuchi was driving. Probably can't drive.
Gin: Also shown walking.
Jouno: Probably can't drive legally but could maybe drive in a pinch. Jury is still out.
Fukuzawa: Because both Haruno and Ranpo seem to be regular drivers and Fukuzawa is only ever shown walking even when it's logistically improbable I'm becoming increasingly convinced he can't drive.
Kenji, Yosano, Oda, Kouyou, Q, Hawthorn, Margret, Louisa, Melville, Lucy, Mark Twain, Fukuchi, Tecchou, Sigma, Gogol: can't say one way or another.
Can't drive won't drive:
Atsushi will literally let Kyoka drive rather than take the wheel himself.
Naomi hands Haruno the keys to their getaway car and I feel like she'd drive if she could so she goes here.
Oguri: I think he'd have a heart attack if he had to drive for more than 3 minutes. I could be wrong. Shown having a chauffeur though.
Lovecraft.
#bungo stray dogs#bungo stray drivers#inquiring minds need to know#this is all to my memory#if someone else remembers one of these people driving please share#most of the time it's more likely they got a ride from a random mook#I DISCOVERED A NOTE ON THE WIKI THAT DAZAI IS BAD AT DRIVING#driving#bsd driving post
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Minor Literally Irrelevant Background Characters Asagiri Needs to Expand More On by WatchMojo
#i love them both#Long-Suffering Train Driver#Badass old man banking accountant#stormbringer#55 minutes#bungou stray dogs#bsd#akutagawa ryuunosuke#mori ougai#their reuptations are THRIVING#the port mafia boss! railroad companies fucking despise him!#bungo stray dogs
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May 16th - 19 years of existence .... !!!
#selfshipper#self shipping community#selfshipping community#f/o community#romantic f/o#oc x canon#bungo stray dogs lovecraft#fgo tezcatlipoca#under night in-birth carmine#ninja kamui zai#HI-DRIVERS Chu Higuchi#sengoku basara katsuie shibata
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ALL I THINK ABOUT IS KARMA — DAZAI OSAMU
=͟͟͞♡ CW(s): gn! reader, spoilers for bungo stray dogs, reader is an ability user that is capable of inducing karma. short fic.
=͟͟͞♡ SYNOPSIS: in which crime and punishment is not a match for karma.
=͟͟͞♡ NOW PLAYING: look what you made me do by taylor swift and gods by new jeans
BYR ! this was written as a second part of this fic right here with the season 5 finale plot but it can be read alone.
in the helicopter, the vampirism virus coursing through your veins reached its peak. dazai's intricate plan had unfolded, but little did he know about the latent power within you.
as fyodor smirks, reveling in his perceived victory, a surge of karma emanated from your core.
crimson energy clashed with the vampiric curse, creating a chaotic dance of dark and light within you. fyodor's control wavered as your newfound ability fought against the insidious virus, and you seized the opportunity to break free.
with newfound strength, you wrestled control from fyodor's grasp, and his eyes widened in disbelief as the tides turned upon him. in a swift motion, you drew a silver dagger hidden beneath your coat, its blade reflecting the eerie glow of the vampire-infested surroundings.
as the helicopter's propeller rattled in the night sky, you lunged at fyodor, your swift yet harsh movements fueled by a mix of vengeance and the unyielding force of karma. the blade found its mark, sinking into fyodor's side, impaling him into his seat.
his sly grin turned to a grimace of pain.
a clash between the demon and the enduring will of a human refusing to succumb. fyodor's deep purple eyes saw how your ability to manipulate karma tipped the scales in your favor. the crimson energy emanating from you intensified, enveloping both of us in a swirling maelstrom.
blood seeped from his lips as he coughed in pain after being stabbed by his own and supposedly mind-controlled driver, and his blood turned cold as he looks up to see the red in your eyes flicker back into a [color] with your fangs shrinking back to its normal size.
fyodor wasn't one for surprises since he usually has everything deduced and planned accordingly, but this once, you have made that possible for him.
how could he let you slip out of his control just like the gravity manipulator too? fyodor was certain you had been infected with the virus and was not faking, especially with the way your eyes flickered back then.
"right on time, [name]!" a smile tugs on dazai's lips as he claps his hands, though the gravity manipulator was quite tense, even if everything was just exact and accordingly to the plan.
each piece across the hoard moved with calculated precision, whispering secrets of a plot that only you and dazai could decipher, leaving fyodor oblivious to the unfolding intrigue.
"how?" fyodor coughs, holding a bitter smile that was heavy with betrayal and suspicion.
the ivory and ebony chess pieces mirrored the clash between light and darkness in the intricate game. dazai, with his characteristic smirk, slid his bishop forward, symbolizing a clandestine maneuver on your part with responding with a cunning knight's leap.
"easy, i purposely got myself bitten and infected to get close to you," you met his gaze with a determined glint across your eyes, "you think chuuya was the only one?"
pieces danced across the board, and the climax of our plan unfolded in a daring sacrifice—a queen's gambit that left fyodor's defenses vulnerable.
dazai, standing nearby, couldn't resist a smirk, "to put it simply," he interjected, stepping forward with a sly confidence, "[name]'s ability is capable of inducing karma. even if they got infected, the ability within them will continue to act on."
fyodor's gaze shifted to dazai, suspicion etched across his face, "what do you mean?" he demands.
dazai's smile widened as he relished the unfolding revelation, "you might have gotten control of [name], but you can't control karma," he explains with a hint of amusement.
"it's an ability that is still dependent on the course of action of [name]'s target."
as the truth sank in, fyodor's composure faltered. the realization that his meticulous plans had a flaw, a flaw rooted in the unpredictable nature of karma, left him momentarily speechless.
"once you play god, they're gonna crumble one by one," you remark, your voice echoing with a conviction that resonated through the chaos surrounding all of you, and the words hung in the air like an irreversible verdict, sealing fyodor's fate.
"but consider this, fyodor," you continue, the whirring of the helicopter blades adding a rhythmic cadence to my words as you begin to take the helicopter to the heavens.
"in your pursuit of power, you played the role of a god, all according to your whims," you say, your voice carrying a solemn weight with karma speaking for itself through you, "but just as hubris led to the fall in tales of old, karma now unravels the threads of your false godhood."
the helicopter's descent mirrored the descent into the inevitable consequences of fyodor's actions, "attempting to control others as if they were mere pawns in your game? tch, some god you are."
you shake your head however with a chuckle, carrying the smile of the true devil, "even if crime and punishment are close friends as you say, karma, divine retribution, or the scales of justice, all point to the same truth in the end: actions have consequences, and those who attempt to manipulate the threads of destiny will find themselves entangled in a web of their own making. this is your kingdom come."
with a final, knowing gaze, you leap from the plummeting helicopter, embracing the uncertainty below. the crash, a symphony of destruction, unfolded.
"chuuya!" dazai yells as soon as he sees your figure across the smoke in the skies.
"working me like a damn dog, bastard. i got them!" chuuya hisses at the other first before he emerges from the ground, catching you with a grace that defied the chaos and gravity.
you were then brought to dazai's embrace, and you stood with him, amidst the flames of the crashed helicopter illuminating the night, a symbolic end to fyodor's ill-fated attempts to play god—an end brought about by the intertwining forces of the karma within you.
dazai, with sincerity in his eyes, pulls you into a tender embrace, his lips meeting your forehead in a gentle kiss, and as he rests his forehead against mine, he whispers, "you did it, love."
with a soft exhale, you whisper back, relieved and grateful, "we did it. all of us. it's finally over."
in that intimate moment, the weight of the world lifted from your shoulders. the chaos, the vampirism virus, fyodor's manipulation—all of it seemed to fade into the background. dazai's acknowledgment held a profound significance, a recognition of the strength within you, warming your cheeks as a smile tugs on your lips.
"tch, get a goddamn room you idiots!" chuuya interjects, making his presence known to you and dazai again after you two seemingly forget.
karma is a cat allows its user to induce karma, which can be a blessing or a curse that may or may not include the bending of reality, but it is highly dependent on the target's course of action and the sincerity of the heart around the user.
#bsd x reader#bungo stray dogs x reader#dazai x reader#dazai osamu x reader#bungo stray dogs x you#bsd imagines#bsd x y/n#bsd x you#bsd dazai#bsd oneshot#dazai x you#dazai x y/n#dazai osamu x y/n#dazai osamu x you#dazai scenarios#dazai imagines
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Society of Protection (Yandere Bungo Bungou Stray Dogs x reader x original characters) (normalized yandere au)
Chapter Twenty Two, The Genius That Leads
(A/N- I read Romeo and Juliet before writing this and now I love the idea of William being called the prince of cats like Tybalt because of their similarities and that being the story much of his character is based on)
Prologue and oc intro
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter six
Chapter seven, part one
Chapter seven, part two
Chapter eight
Chapter nine
Chapter ten
Chapter eleven
Chapter twelve
Chapter thirteen
Chapter fourteen
Chapter fifteen
Chapter sixteen
Chapter seventeen
Chapter eighteen
Chapter nineteen
Chapter twenty
Chapter twenty, part two
Chapter twenty one
“Deal.” The moment you said that a smile came across his face. You glanced back at the book you were asked to retrieve, before he could say something you grabbed it from the table. You looked back over at him, keeping the book curled up in your arm. “Not a word.”
“Only if you keep your end of the deal, doll,” Ayatsuji replied as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “You’ll have a hard time hiding that book at the party, what do you plan on doing?”
“I will be leaving early, I have my own matters to tend to.” You took out your phone, ready to call your driver to pick you up. “The Society is not the only affair that keeps me busy. There is something I need to get to the bottom of, a mystery if you will.”
“How interesting, but you are not a detective, are you?” He hums, tapping his gloved finger against his cheek. His eyes are fixed on you, scanning over your form, trying to find any sign of what you are thinking.
“Perhaps, it is a family profession after all.” You picked up the skirt of your dress and began making your way towards the door. You spared him a glance as you pushed open the door to the hallway. “Now I suppose I’ll see you soon enough and hopefully we will be on the same side of the playing field. Goodbye, have a lovely evening, detective.”
“We will see…”
You stepped out into the long hallway, slowly making your way to the garage where your driver would be picking you up. You looked down at your phone, dialing up your driver’s number. The ringing mixed with the echoing of your heeled shoes as they clicked against the floor. You were a far enough distance away from the auction hall that you knew Ayatsuji was not following you, but something still felt off. You felt yourself grow more tense as you walked along the hall, as if someone was watching you. The mixture of clicking and ringing did not help calm your nerves, only blocking out another one of your senses…
Click…
Ring…
Click…
Ring…
Click…
Ring…
Click…
Ring-
You heard the line get cut at the sound of your phone getting a call. You pulled your phone away to see who was calling you, you looked down to see the contact name as none other than William Shakespeare. You hit the bright green button on the screen without hesitation, answering the call as you held it up to your ear.
“William, I have the book-“
“(Name), I need you to come to room two-three-six, the plan has changed.” You heard William’s voice speak to you, but he was not worried, not bothered, if anything he was… happy? “Things may be turning in our favor after all.”
Did he find Miss Jane already? Thoughts ran through your mind as you made your way down through the floors of the hotel. The clicking of your heels rang through the halls, everything was silent except the clicking of those heels. Soon enough you came to the door, knocking once and the door was answered not even a moment later. It was answered not a moment later by a familiar face, just not one you were expecting.
“Joan?”
Before you stood the maid who was one of the first people you met at the Society’s headquarters, only she was dressed in an outfit suited for business, a black suit and a blue plaid tie. Her long blond hair was down, not up in her usual bun that also let her blue eyes be on display. She smiled back at you, a soft sigh escaping her lips as she stepped aside to allow you to come in. “It seems we have quite a bit to explain to you.”
“What do you mean- Oh!” You cut yourself off as you entered the room, turning your head to see sitting at the table of the luxury room the familiar face of William who summoned you along with-
“I apologize for setting you up, (Name).” Those words escaped those lips, soft and gentle as always. You saw sitting at the table with William, the form of Miss Jane. She was not dressed how you expected, she herself wore a black vest over a white button up, a long blue skirt, it was simple but elegant. She rested her head against her hand, a smile coming across her face. “The truth is, I never turned myself into Fitzgerald, I would never dream of it.”
You heard the sound of the person you once thought to be a maid closing the door behind you as she approached the table. William looked over at you with a smile, before a laugh escaped from his lips. “Honestly it surprised me as well, but Jane, Wells, and Leroux fooled us all.”
“Wells?” You turned to look at the woman who opened the door for you, was that Joan’s real name? Who was she really?
“Ah yes, let me properly introduce you,” Jane said, reaching out a hand over to the woman standing beside you. “This is an old friend of mine from my work in England when I was looking for capable individuals to join the Society. May I introduce to you H.G. Wells, she has been the one keeping our Society safe from the shadows this whole time along with the one who has been brewing up those updates on where I was for Emma and the others that led to this elaborate planning for this ball that fit into the plan I devised with Wells and Leroux.”
“But Gaston is missing, I found his blood in the room along with-“
“Not missing, he is exactly where he needs to be in this plan.” Wells cut in, coming to sit down on the couch not too far from the table, swinging her arms over the back of the couch and crossing her legs. “Leroux was kidnapped by a well-known European criminal known as Nikolai Gogol. Due to Gaston’s time working with the European Union when tracking down Fyodor Dostoevsky, he found evidence that the two had connections to one another.”
“So this all has to do with Fyodor, doesn’t it?” You asked, glancing around the room at everyone.
“Exactly, Gaston had informed me of what happened when he was asked by the Port Mafia to look into the disappearance of one of their executives who had Fyodor in their custody. We immediately knew Fyodor was planning something.” Jane nodded to your question and answered as it all was obvious. “We knew that the Port Mafia would be wanting any information they could in Fyodor after so even before all this we had all of Gaston’s observations from his work in European Union on Fyodor printed into a book and set up to be sold at an auction, that’s the same book you are holding now. We planned on dangling a carrot for the Port Mafia to desire and for Fyodor to destroy.”
You glanced down at the book you held, this was all a ploy.
“I apologize for you having to be a pawn in all of this, but you played your role wonderfully.” Jane complemented with a smile, a giggle escaping her voice. “Now Gaston has Fyodor under constant surveillance and that rat has no idea, he will practically reveal everything to us and that bastard has no eyes on us because he is so focused on the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia.”
“I see, I have just a few questions…” You found yourself sitting down at the table along with the others, you felt yourself crew at your lower lip in thought. “How did you fake yourself leaving at the mansion all those months ago and how did you know that Nikolai would be here?”
“Ah, well the first answer is with Ms. Wells and her ability. She was disgusted as the driver who brought the two of us there. That envelope I gave her with the instruction to open when the time was right was all she needed to know what to do.” You glanced over at the woman on the couch, she was disgusted as a maid for all these months, what was stopping her from being disguised as a driver? “You see Wells’ ability is called Time Machine and allows her to manipulate time itself. So inside the envelope told her the exact time to activate her ability, when you got inside the car. She activated her ability on me, giving me 3300 seconds to go back in time myself and slip away from Fitzgerald, who was also used as a pawn in all of this. After that I returned to Europe for a few months, working with some old friends of mine in the Order of the Clocktower, but I am afraid that is trivial at the current moment.”
“I did not expect for you to be this much of a mastermind, Miss Jane.” You heard William chuckle as he crossed his legs with a closed-eyed smile. “But I suppose I should have expected that from the leader of the Society of Protection.”
“Well, I do pride myself on my understanding of the human mind, so manipulating it with both my plans and my ability is all too easy, no offense my dear (Name).” Jane apologized with a smile which you nodded to.
“None was taken, Miss Jane. After all, I have quite a lot to still learn.” You giggled along with her smile, which was true you did have so much to learn compared to the actual geniuses that hid within the Society. “But what of my second question?”
“Ah, about Nikolai, well that is thanks to your visit to Mr. Tonan with Leroux and Dr. Stevenson such a long time ago. Do you remember his assistant and the strange behavior he had?” You nodded at Jane’s question which caused her to hum. “I did not believe him at first, just a strange assistant and nothing more, at least that is what I thought at first. As you know Gaston is a composer at the Paris Opera House, a theater, he has experience with actors and the art of such so it is easy for him to tell when one is acting. He told me that he forced the attitude of a sane man to have a perfect accent, but not to one who works with actors from that part of the world every day, so detecting a fake accent was child’s play for him.”
“So Mr. Tonan’s assistant is Nikolai in disguise?” You asked, most. to yourself as you pondered the question and then it clicked. “Wait, Mr. Tonan and his assistant were invited to the ball, so Nikolai was among the guests.”
“Just as planned, they fell into our trap like rats.” Wells smiles as she speaks, running her hand through her hair. “And now we will trap them all like rats, all of them running in a maze they don’t even know.”
#yandere bungo stray dogs x reader#yandere bungou stray dogs#yandere bsd#original character x reader#bungou stray dogs oc#bungou stray dogs#bungou stray dogs x reader#yandere dazai#yandere chuuya#yandere mark twain#yandere mori ougai#yandere Fukuzawa#Yandere Edgar Allan Poe#Yandere John Steinbeck#yandere fyodor#yandere jouno#Yandere Ango#yandere tecchou#Yandere Paul Verlaine#Yandere Yukito Ayatsuji
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Bingo Bongo Bongo Stray Dogs AU??? I am so intrigued by this combination of words 👀
Tell me more!
Ahhh, thank you for the ask Charlie! <3
It's not really a full fic idea yet, just a vague outline and a few dialogue snippets but I love it so much so this'll be quite long.
Basically, it's a fusion with the anime "Bungo Stray Dogs" and it came to me in a dream before I yapped at the lovely @wanderingblindly and it solidified into a greater idea! And the Bingo Bongo ist just there because it sounds funny😆
In this AU, some people have an "Ability" basically special powers that can be very specific or very vague. Those abilities can literally be ANYTHING, which makes this so fun. In the original anime, one guy can transform into a tiger, another can make objects out of whatever he writes in a special notebook, and another can "withstand bomb blasts as long as the bombs are lemon-shaped" lmao. The only rule is kind of that the abilities' names have to reference book titles. So creating abilities for the drivers was really fun :D
It would be a lestappen murder mystery story, basically:
There has been a series of strange murders in Monaco and the police suspect the culprit to be an Ability User, which is why they ask the two detectives who are considered experts when it comes to Abilities: Max and Charles.
Charles' ability would be known quite soon because he likes to use it: "The Killer's perfume" (reference to the book "Perfume - the story of a murderer"). If people smell his scent, he can control their emotions. This is why he's often called in for interrogations, since he has learned what exactly people need to feel so they confess.
Max's ability is unknown😉 Or more exactly - people can't figure it out because it almost seems like he has multiple abilities at once (which isn't possible).
Max only gets informed that he's been assigned a partner AFTER he's already at a crime scene, and he's not very pleased that he has to work with someone. Charles also doesn't make the best first impression and his attitude is confusing tp Max. He seems so sure of himself, almost as if he's certain how Max should react to his words. For a moment, Charles is angry when he realises that Max doesn't feel the way he is supposed to, before Charles can plaster his facade back on.
In their heads, they're both suspicious of the other, maybe even thinking that the OTHER is the murderer.
Then I realised, I have to be smart to make a murder mystery story so the WIP has been dormant ever since😔
Ask me stuff about my wips
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i got really sentimental about odasaku and then i wrote this thing which is kind of formatted weird and maybe does not make sense lolol. but here u go!!
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bungo stray dogs fanfiction ~ odasaku x female reader ~ pregnancyy
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one thing leads to another and suddenly, suddenly, you’re seated at a bartop, staring at a glass of chocolate milk and waiting waiting waiting. heart in your throat, lungs in your stomach. swallow hard and fast. when will he be here? the barkeeper pours you another glass. you chug half of it. when will he be here?
swing of a door and you hear his footsteps. you don’t need to look up. it’s him.
he greets you with a kiss to the side of your head - your temple - and you feel his hands on your arms, guiding them into the sleeves of his coat. “you’re shivering.”
he sits down next to you and the bartender sets a glass down before him. his usual drink. you both wait until it’s poured, shimmering amber in front of him.
he takes a sip and glances over at you. you haven’t looked at him once.
he doesn’t ask. he doesn’t pressure you. he looks away, at his drink, at the ice floating inside of it.
“enjoying the rain?”
flash of need through you. get it out. get it out. you lean towards him, desperate for your mouth at his ear, desperate for as much privacy as you can get; and he leans forward, obliging.
you claw at him, unconsciously, nails digging into his neck as you drag his head even closer.
“i’m pregnant,” you hush into his ear, as faintly as you can. if you don’t speak it it’s not true. if you don’t speak it it’s not true
he’s silent.
you’re silent.
the barkeeper is minding his own business on the other end of the bar.
it’s just the two of you, isn’t it? just the two of you, your world rapidly constricting around you.
he’s the one not looking, now. you’re staring at him. desperate. look at me. tell me what you’re thinking.
but you already know, don’t you? he’s thinking the same four thoughts as you are.
thought one.
perfect perfect perfect perfect perfect. rush of everything golden and good. this is what you want. this is what you want. you’ve craved this you’ve needed this more than anything more than oxygen. a family. our family. our child our family me and you you and i our child our child our child our
thought two.
cold. chilling. ice down the spine.
if they target us, now, they target them.
thought three.
it’s dangerous, isn’t it? this line of work. this line of living. we’ve doomed our child. we’ve doomed our family. we’ve doomed our future. we knew this. we knew we could never have a family together. we accepted this. we accepted anything just to hold each other. there is no space in our life. there is no space in our life.
thought four.
we are lost. we are sinking. we are lost. we are sinking. we are
he does not speak. he is staring at the countertop.
you apologize, even though it is not entirely your fault. it is not something you could have helped. but your hands are shaking, and so are his, and you know that he has never ever breathed a word to you - he could never bear to - but he has never wanted needed craved for yearned for anything, anything more than to hold your own child.
you apologize again. he shakes his head.
he shakes his head.
he knocks back his drink and stands up.
“we should go,” he tells you. “go home.”
“but -”
he knows you. he knows the tightening around your ribcage when confronted with anything uncomfortable at home.
“we should go home,” he tells you, firmly.
he’s looking at you, now.
you slide off of your barstool and let him lead you off. he hails a taxi outside. usually you would walk.
neither of you speak on the drive to your apartment. how can you speak with the driver there, listening, intruding?
it takes him a few tries to get the keys into the door. you try to help, reaching out with your own shaky hands, but he jams the key in before you can do much.
the lights are off in the apartment. your hair is wet.
you don’t move to turn on the light. neither does he.
“saku -”
and he’s crashed into you, his arms tight around you, his mouth on yours his tongue on yours. he’s desperate. you stagger backwards. he follows, follows, until he’s pressed you tight against a wall, knocking over a picture frame, or a glass. who cares? he’s devouring you whole.
“saku -” you gasp, and he kisses your neck, his arms still clenching you like you’ll escape from him if he loosens his grasp even a little bit, even a little.
he does not speak. he moves to your lips again, his tongue still hot and thick in your mouth. you can hear him whining in the back of his throat.
you let him kiss you, eat you, swallow you. he loses momentum after a while, still pinned against the wall. he drops his head, panting, rests his forehead against your shoulder.
“having my baby,” he says, now, his voice husky and choked, wet with passion, love, hope, terror, reverence.
you put one hand on the back of his neck. it’s warm, and sweaty.
“i’m -” you try.
what are you?
sorry? angry? scared?
you can’t name the emotions like that, like a preschooler still learning how to feel. you want to kill something, and eat something, and watch your husband press his lips to your child’s forehead. you want to hear him tell them stories, see his eyes light up as he looks at them.
“i’m -”
he kisses you again, soft, lingering. his mouth tastes like whiskey and blood. he’s bitten through his tongue.
“i’m so happy,” he whispers. he doesn’t sound happy, does he? he still hasn’t turned the light on. you put a hand on his cheek. it comes back wet.
“saku -”
your eyes are adjusting to the darkness, just a little. you can see him looking at you. his eyes are big, wet, pleading. his lips are trembling.
you touch his cheek again. scratchy. he hasn’t shaved. his tears are warm and salty on your fingers.
“saku,” you whisper, again.
he presses his forehead to yours. his breaths are hot and quick.
he starts to say something, and stops. he’s whimpering, whining, straining sounds of pain or anger or horror or
“i think we should get some sleep,” you tell him.
he nods.
he insists on showering, first. his skin is coated with a layer of sweat, dirt, blood, rain. he stands under the water for a little too long. you sit under the covers and wait for him, folding and unfolding your fingers, nervous, nervous.
he's silhouetted in the doorway for a moment. his hair is sticking up.
he clicks off the bathroom light and crawls into bed next to you. the mattress creaks and shifts.
you lay, silent, in the dark. backs flat on the bed. eyes up at the ceiling.
he is thinking.
he can’t speak right now but his mind is so loud.
two things he wants, more than anything. writing and a family.
he’s got those orphans, holed up on a second floor. but they’re not quite the same thing. they don’t have his eyes, or her fingers. they’re not his.
he shuts his eyes, so tight that sparks flit across the back of his eyelids. she’s pregnant.
and he should be happy - he should be - but it’s hard to be happy under these conditions. worrying about the orphans is bad enough. and if they have a kid - his own kid - he’s going to wear himself out, worrying. he’s going to tear a hole through his stomach.
he turns over to look at her. her eyes are open. she’s staring at the ceiling.
he reaches out for her, his fingers brushing over her cheek. she turns her face. her eyes are shimmering.
neither of them speak. how could they?
how can you speak like this?
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How to Survive your Haunted House
Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs
Characters: Chuuya, GN!Reader, Elise
Summary: “You look like an Emma,” you told her after several minutes of staring at each other. This did not please her. Her expression shifted from bored curiosity to ferocious rage. She stomped and ran at you, passing through your body with no more than a cool wind. When you turned around, she was gone.
Should you be more concerned about living in a haunted house? Probably. But it’s your house, ghost or no, and nothing’s going to scare you off.
Not even when she’s nothing more than a shadow watching you attempt sleep.
10.7k // AO3 // Masterlist
A/N: This is part of @thecoffeelovingfreak’s halloween collab, Season of the Witch!! I was so excited for this collab, I wrote….. a whole lot. This is the longest one-shot I’ve ever written, coming in at a whopping 10k words!!@_@ Anyway, I hope you enjoy!!
The weight is unusual.
The noise you’re already used to; your keychain is always jingling against whatever else you’ve shoved in your pocket.
But this weight? This is new.
A thrill runs up your spine as your fingers brush the metal, warmed by your body heat. You pull your pocket open to peek inside. You know you have the biggest, goofiest grin spread across your face, but you just can’t help it. You can’t stop. You refuse to stop.
Even when your boss smacks the back of your head as he walks by. Even when your feet ache as you make your way to your car. Even when you find your mailbox half-buried in the roadside weeds for the fourth time this week.
You right your mailbox with a smile and a zip tie. Lets see those kids knock it off this time!
And then you open the gate to your new house.
It’s small and old and, if you’re being honest, kind of ugly. A drab gray in color, except for the lilac window shutters. Situated on a not-quite acre of patchy grass that’s only green-ish, bordered by a tall brick fence that’s only red-ish. It’s a cliché Halloween house, and you’re proud to call it home.
Or maybe that’s just the rush of euphoria brought on by the first taste of freedom since getting your driver’s license.
The rickety steps creak under your weight, and the crooked banister sticks another bunch of splinters in your palm — six in all, one for every day since you moved in.
The key seems to burn when you remove it from your pocket.
The front door takes some jimmying (and a couple kicks) to open fully; the wood must be swollen, you decide, from the morning rain. You walk through the front hall, ignoring both the open doorways to other rooms and the little girl that stands between them, and straight up the staircase to the master suite. There, you shirk your work clothes and take the nicest, longest bubble bath in the enormous tub.
It’s the perfect start to your three-day weekend.
And then your stomach flips into your chest, and you realize you haven’t eaten in hours.
The little girl is at the bottom of the stairs when you reach the top. She glares up at you with the most adorable pout, and you can’t help but smile and wave back to her. It makes her stomp her foot and turn, mouth open to call for… well, you’re not really sure. A parent? A friend? A dog of some kind?
She begins to fade, starting from the tips of her Mary Janes and traveling up her poofy red dress. “See you later, Emma!” you call down to her. You glimpse another sharp glare just before she disappears completely.
Your stomach gives a low rumble, reminding you of why you were on the stairs in the first place.
You’d heard rumors about the ghosts before you moved in. About the house besieged with death. A bloody history filled with everything from murders to suicides to just plain tragedies. Everyone in town had a story. Some personal experiences, other general anecdotes.
The most prominent being the tale of the doctor and his daughter.
Their names have been lost to a game of historical telephone(something with an ‘R’, no, a ‘K’; wait, that was the other one–), but the story persists: one summer day, the doctor left town. He came back a week later with a child in his arms. No one was sure who the mother was — the doctor never told. But he claimed the child as his. All was well, until the doctor lost his hospital and was on the verge of losing his home. So he did the only logical thing he could think of — emphasis on ‘he’.
He killed his daughter and then himself. Their blood stained the walls in a morbid painting.
You don’t know if the story is true; all the newspapers were lost when a fire tore through the old library records around twenty years after the incident. The only thing that survived was a small photograph with a charred bottom corner. It’s hung on the wall of the current library, black and white and grainy, as part of a mural of the town’s history.
While the photo was nearly indecipherable when you first saw it, you can tell now that the girl in it and the girl in your house are the same. They have the same wide-set eyes, the same light and curly hair; they’re even wearing similar dresses — though the one in the photo is a deeper color, not the same dull maroon as the one in the house.
There were no names attached to the photo, so you had no idea what to call her when she just showed up three days after you moved in. “You look like an Emma,” you told her after several minutes of staring at each other. This did not please her. Her expression shifted from bored curiosity to ferocious rage. She stomped and ran at you, passing through your body with no more than a cool wind. When you turned around, she was gone.
Should you be more concerned about living in a haunted house? Probably. But it’s your house, ghost or no, and nothing’s going to scare you off.
Not even when she’s nothing more than a shadow watching you attempt sleep.
You peek open an eye and scan the room.
You don’t see her, at first. She’s crouched in the corner, hidden behind the closet door that just won’t stay closed. You’d probably have to nail it to keep it shut, but what would be the use of a closet you can’t open at all?
She’s not all there, right now, not even a recognizable silhouette. Just a wisp of herself, dark and vague. She doesn’t respond so much when she’s like this. You don’t know if that’s an energy thing or a personality thing. A princess that doesn’t deign to speak with a commoner. She was rather spoiled by her father, after all, before he slit her throat.
“I see you,” you say. She must have liked Hide-and-go-Seek. That closet was probably her favorite hiding spot; she’s behind it a lot.
You feel a gaze crawl across your bed to land on your face. You give her a smile, and she decides to stand–
That’s not Emma.
That is not Emma.
Or maybe it’s just the dark. Maybe it only looks three heads taller than her. Maybe she can fly. Ghosts can fly, right?
The thing in the corner jerks forward.
It doesn’t move like a human.
The closet door slams shut.
You scramble to the opposite side of the bed and fall to the floor. That thing — person? It’s person-shaped. A lithe torso. Two… arms? Maybe? And a head that’s twisted just a touch too far to one side. A person-shaped blob of smoke.
Ha. Ha. That’s funny. That’s funny, right?
You press your back against the wall.
It creeps over your covers.
One smokey tendril reaches out. It brushes the hair above your ear–
And then it’s gone. The room warms without the presence of the whatever-that-thing-was-you’re-getting-some-sage-tomorrow. Except maybe it’s not gone? There’s something heavy in your chest — ah, wait, that’s just your heart, half-exploded.
Okay. So. There are two ghosts in your house.
Emma, who you’ve only ever seen on the first floor, now that you think about it.
And whatever that thing was. It’s not the first time you’ve seen it. You thought it was her. Emma. The doctor’s daughter. It showed up the same night you first saw her.
Why did it decide to move tonight? It usually stays crouched in that corner. What does it do? It watches you, you know, but why?
Is it the doctor? Someone else? Something else?
Your heart slows to its natural beat, but your limbs are still filled with jelly. You reach a hand out on the bed and find it cold where the thing was kneeling on it.
The door slams again, and you jump a foot into the air.
Fuck this. You snatch your pillow and blanket (both still cold) and run downstairs for the living room couch.
Your three-day weekend is spent cleaning up — both physically and spiritually. You light some sage to smolder while you clear out the cobwebs you missed in your first few passes of the house. You dust and sweep and vacuum and mop. You have a housewarming party planned for later that you need a spotless house for. Then you watch Ghost Hunters: International while you wait on a load of clothes to finish washing.
It looks a lot more dramatic than the ghosts you have, but it’s on one of the few channels you get right now and it’s kind of pertinent to your situation. One of the investigators points out a white spot zooming across the frame in one of the cameras and calls it an orb. A different investigator plays back some warbly audio and claims it saying ‘murderer’ over and over. Yet another investigator takes off his vest and shirt to reveal three scratches running the length of his back.
The washing machine beeps. You turn off the tv and go collect your laundry.
Sure, the show had similar experiences — they used thermal cameras to catch shifts in temperature, and they saw an apparition of an old man in the window before they entered the house. But it just wasn’t convincing.
Your ghosts are different. The show claimed they were just leftover memories from when someone was alive. That they can’t interact with living people.
Which simply isn’t true. Emma never spoke to you, but she responded. And then that thing last night touched your hair. You felt that.
So the show is all a bunch of hullabaloo.
The day outside is clear and crisp. A gentle breeze rolls down the hill to you and your laundry. You hum as you walk out to the clothesline, glad that the sun is shining so bright. Your clothes will be dry in no time!
You hang them up and sigh as you take in the view. If the front of the house looks bad, the back looks worse. One of the boarded-up windows is empty of glass — you’ve got someone coming to take a look at that next month — and there are scraps of paint peeling away from the gray wood beneath. The grass is even less green. Two garden beds house dead or dying rose bushes. There’s a shadow in the–
Your blood runs cold. There’s a shadow in your bedroom, looking out the window. Looking at you. It disappears when it catches you staring back.
Isn’t sage supposed to get rid of ghosts? You haven’t seen Emma since you lit it. Maybe because it’s not in the same room? You haven’t been upstairs yet. That must be it! You just need to smudge it separately!
You start towards the back door–
Didn’t you shut it?
You stop a good six feet from the porch. The back door hangs open. Its hinges give the quietest of squeaks as it drifts gently back and forth as you watch.
Just the wind, surely. There’s nothing actively moving the door. And it makes sense that it’s open. You had your hands full when you left. You just couldn’t close it. Yeah. That’s what happened.
Crash!
You land on your ass. A roof tile lays shattered between your legs. It would have landed right on your head had you not fallen back.
A chill runs down your spine. You tear your gaze away from the tile to meet the eyes of the spectre in your window. Pure fear pierces your heart.
You run inside to grab the bowl of burning sage and race up the stairs. You kick the door open and thrust the bowl out in front of you as you enter.
No one is there. The spectre is gone.
Your legs shake as you step into the hall. A flash of blonde catches your eye as you start down the stairs — so Emma isn’t gone, either. You glare at the sage in your hand before tossing it in the trash.
Screw the cleaning. Your clothes are out drying, but you don’t need to be home for that. And everyone has off days; your friends aren’t judgemental and the house is presentable enough.
You leave the danger of your home for the library. The earlier records may have been destroyed, but the house has been standing for a hundred years since. There has to be something out there.
But how to search for such a thing?
You go to the computers first and type in the house’s address. It pulls up twenty years of realtor advertisements. It’s changed hands at least seven times in that period; it ends with the tragic death of a Eugene Davis, hit by a car as he exited for school one morning. The driver was never found, and the family moved out the summer after. It’s been empty since — until you bought it one year later.
Further back you find more.
Dozens of names on the victim list, at least one every two years, but often more. In no particular order: Kouyou Ozaki was shot by an ex-lover. Chuuya Nakahara was found on top of the fence, speared through the chest by the iron spikes. Michizou Tachihara was beheaded by a corrugated metal sheet during a remodel. Ryuunosuke Akutagawa was killed during a home invasion, but not before taking out the three men attempting to assault his sister.
The longest the house has gone without incident is thirty-two years — while Gin Akutagawa, Ryuunosuke’s little sister, lived there. But whatever miracle protected her ran out, because she disappeared one day and is currently presumed dead.
It’s a chilling list. Not just how long it is, but how gruesome as well. You touch your chest where the spike had gone through Chuuya, then rub your neck where it had been separated from Michizou’s head.
Gruesome.
Had they felt any pain?
There’s no way to know, unless…
Maybe the thing in your room is one of them. The people that died on the property. But there’s so many. Is there a cause for it? And why wasn’t it mentioned when you bought the damn house? You pull up the advertisements that led you to it in the first place, but they’re all devoid of any type of warning.
“You don’t want that one.” A deep voice pulls you from your thoughts. A man stands at your shoulder, staring into the computer screen. “It’s cursed.”
“Oh, really?” you say. Your sarcasm is either lost on the man, or ignored by him. His lips tighten into a thin line.
“Really. But I have a feeling it’s too late to warn you away.” Ignored, then. He takes a card from his notebook and sets it on the desk in front of you. “If you need any help,” he says by way of explaination.
And then he’s gone, stalked off on his lanky legs to some annoying-looking brunet hiding in the shelves. You examine the card he left behind.
Doppo Kunikida, it reads, Lead Investigator, the Astral Devoiding Agency. Ghost hunters, if you had to guess.
Well. Now you know the house is really dangerous.
That thought in mind, you decide to do a little shopping once you leave the library.
When you return home, your mailbox is gone. You sigh at the empty post and dig around in the weeds, but you can’t find it anywhere. The zip tie you do find, snapped just below the head underneath some… poison ivy, you think.
It can just stay there for now.
The shadows stretch in the evening sun, spreading the spiked tips of the fence across your legs. You frown up at them and wonder where, exactly, Chuuya died. It’s been… fifty years, almost. Though any evidence is long gone, you can’t help but wonder. There are rust-colored splotches all around the top.
Emma is waiting for you when you walk in. She seems to be in a good mood; she smiles and waves at you. You smile back. “What’s up?”
Her mouth moves, but no sound comes out. By the time she stops speaking, she looks excited for something. Footsteps sound above your head.
Emma hops in place.
You stare up at the ceiling. Then you pull your newly-bought pocket knife from its bag.
The footsteps keep moving. You hear them wander down the hall and into your bedroom.
There’s a great clatter, then silence. Emma points up the stairs and places a ghostly hand on your back. Goosebumps rise around it.
You make your way up the stairs, holding the blade of the knife in front of you. Your bedroom door stands open into the hall, and across from it….
Your mailbox. You stop to stare at it. The knife shakes in your hand.
“You should really lock your doors.”
You turn your knife to the man in your doorway. The only thing you see is a flash of teeth that disappear as soon as you look at it.
Later that evening, as you’re changing for the housewarming party, you notice a bruise on your chest. A dark blotch just below your collar, with five thin, spotty growths spreading from it.
It’s a bruise shaped like a damn hand.
The couch isn’t comfy. You don’t want it anymore. It’s old and lumpy and has quite a few questionable stains. (Is that one juice or wine? Or could it be blood? That one is hopefully spaghetti sauce. And, um, that one looks like…. Gross.)
It came with the house, like most of the furniture, and it just needs to be thrown away. You can’t exactly afford a new one, though, so you’re stuck with this one. You just can’t sleep on it.
And that is how you found yourself back in your bed. In your room. With the mysterious shadow-ghost-man.
You hate it. But you have to work tomorrow, so you suck it up like an adult(have you ever mentioned how much you hate being a real adult?) and snuggle deep under your comforter. Hopefully it, or he, or them — how many people died in this house, again? —won’t be able to get you.
Whatever. It’s a well-known fact that monsters can’t get you when you’re tucked up under your covers.
They can, however, make themselves known.
A weight settles in behind you. An arm wraps around your waist.
“I know you’re in there, Sweetheart.”
That’s the voice. The same voice that told you to lock your door(which you totally had). You hold your breath and hope he goes away.
He doesn’t. Instead he shifts closer, close enough to chill you beneath the blanket, to whisper in your ear. “Sorry about the other day,” he says. “Just wanted to get it over with.”
Get what over with?
You give yourself approximately two seconds to think it over, then, “What do you mean?”
“I’d get out if I were you.” Is-is that a threat? In your own home? In your own bed?
“This is my house,” you scoff, “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Your funeral.”
His tone may be mawkish, but was that a hint of sincerity just below that?
His weight shifts away from you, but doesn’t leave the bed. You lower your blanket a smidge — just enough to peek.
Damn, you’re glad the sun hasn’t set yet, or you’d never be able to see how goddamn gorgeous he is. Burnt orange hair curling up to frame his face. A lithe body reclined on your bed. Toned arms spread across your pillows as he cradles his head in his hands. Long, luxurious lashes that rest against his cheeks.
He is, pun intended, drop-dead gorgeous.
“Take a picture,” he says without opening his eyes, “it’ll last longer.”
“Sure,” you say sarcastically, “let me take a picture of the non-physical entity taking up half my bed.” He says nothing, just smiles. “Would you even show up?”
“I don’t know.” He shrugs.
You stare. He opens one storm-gray eye to meet your gaze. “Here.” He reaches over you to pluck your phone from the bedside table and drops it on your half-covered face. “Picture. I’ll even turn to my good side.”
“Would that be the side that’s more or less transparent?” You roll your eyes, but take the phone anyway.
Sure enough, he’s just a smudge of darkness in the photo. If he weren’t still lying there in front of you, you’d just think the lens was dirty. You show him with a triumphant smile. “See? You don’t show up!”
“Guess you have no choice but to stare, eh?” He gives you a wicked grin that sends your heart flying.
And then you realize you’re talking to a ghost and roll over under the covers again. “I have work in the morning,” you tell him, “so be quiet.”
You don’t expect to sleep, but you also don’t hear a peep from him for the entire night. He’s gone when you wake up, but the memory of his smile remains through the day.
The man shows himself here and there, mostly to tease you. A gentle push into a counter that knocks you off balance. Appearing in a corner of the room you’re in. Even crawling into your bed at night for what you can only assume is cuddling. He hasn’t spoken since that first night, but he’s got plenty of personality.
Just another ghost, you guess. Emma and… Hopper, you decide. A dapper name for a dapper man. Emma doesn’t seem to like the name you’ve chosen for her, and there’s no telling if Hopper will, but until they tell you their names, they are stuck with the ones you made up.
It takes a month of calling him that for Hopper to show up again.
“Emma! Hopper! I’m back!” you call into your empty house. A chill crawls up your spine as you shut the door, but there’s no one in the entryway. You take a step toward the stairs.
An arm settles around your waist, pausing you in your tracks and pulling you back into his icy chest.
“Who are you calling for?” Hopper asks.
You shiver in his grasp, either from his cold or his proximity. You aren’t entirely sure.
“You,” you tell him, “and that little blonde girl.” You turn to face him but he’s not even visible. Just pressure on your side and whispers in your ear.
“That’s not our names.” The voice comes from farther away, but the hand still settles on your stomach.
“Well it’s not like I have anything else to go by.” You slip into the light jacket you’ve taken to wearing around the house. “You never gave me your names.”
Hopper is leaning against the counter when you enter the kitchen. Emma runs through you and out the door, presumably to haunt the front hall. Hopper points after her. “Elise.” He tilts his hand so his thumb points to himself. “Chuuya. Haven’t you done any research?”
Chuuya. You remember the name. Just not where it’s from.
“I have.” You start to put your groceries away around him. “But do you know how many have died on the property?”
Chuuya taps his fingers together as he thinks. “Six?”
“More like forty-six,” you correct, “and they didn’t show many pictures.” You shoo him out of the way to reach the cabinet below him. “Which one are you, again?”
“Guess,” he says, and his smile is obvious.
“Hmm…” You think as you push pasta onto the shelf. So many deaths, you have to narrow it down somehow. “Illness?”
“No.”
“Mysterious disappearance?”
“Nope. Keep guessing.”
“Can I get a hint?”
“Sure,” he says, and you can tell you won’t like his answer by the snark in his voice. “The hint is: I died.”
You tilt your head up to glare at him, but he’s completely unphased. It looks like he’s trying to stifle a laugh, actually. That cheeky little shit.
You have half a mind to tell him to keep his secrets. You have no obligation to play this little game of his.
But oh, that smug smile of his drives you up the wall.
So you cross your legs and lean back against the counter’s door to study him. His clothes are old-fashioned — gray slacks, pressed into perfect creases. A white button-up covered by a silky suit vest just a shade or two darker than the pants. Sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and black leather gloves on his hands. Shiny black loafers on his feet, and to top it all off, a fedora resting on his head. All expensive. All designer.
He could have been dressed up for a special occasion. Or, of course, he could simply be an eccentric man dressing in an out-of-date style.
You think you prefer the second option.
It’s still not a very good clue, though. “Murder?” you ask after a bit of self-deliberation.
He clicks his tongue. “Bingo.”
Okay, so. Murdered. How many people were murdered here? You suck on your teeth as you think. “In the house or out?”
“Outside.” His voice is sour. “Still on the property, though. Barely.”
“Does that matter? Whether it was here or not?”
“It does.” Chuuya walks around to lean on the island. “The last kid got lucky. He just missed the threshold.”
Got lucky. The kid still died, but he got lucky. Sure.
“What do you mean by threshold?” you ask after rolling your eyes.
“The house. Anyone who dies on the property is trapped here.”
“No way. That can’t be true.”
Chuuya shrugs. “It is. This land is a spiritual hotspot. The house is the strongest point. They can travel a few feet outside, but that’s all.”
You stare at him.
“It’s true,” is all he says.
“They’re trapped in the house?” Chuuya nods. “But you stole my mailbox. That’s outside the fence.”
He smirks. “Special privilege.” You raise a brow. “Granted by proximity to the border.”
“Okay, so,” you lean back against the cabinet door. “Why isn’t the house overrun with ghosts, then?”
His face doesn’t change much — it barely changes at all, except for a more dangerous tilt to his smile. But that alone is enough to send a sense of dread creeping up your spine.
“We eat them.”
Oh. They eat them.
Eat them.
Eat them?!
Your jaw drops. “‘Eat’ as in…?”
Chuuya’s tongue slides along his upper lip. You think you might throw up.
“What…” What happens to them after? you want to ask. Scared of the answer, you ask instead, “What do they taste like?” and immediately think you should’ve said anything else.
“It depends, really.” He takes no notice of your discomfort, or if he does, he ignores it. “Usually like mud. But there are some that taste immaculate. There’s a certain criteria that makes them beautiful.”
“And what might that be?”
“They’re brave.” He leans forward until he’s floating over the island and in your face. “They don’t seem to mind their undead roommates.” He smiles that shark’s smile and your stomach turns.
You’re listing off realtors in your head when he backs up with a more jovial smile. “Kidding.”
The air leaves your lungs in an audible whoosh and you slump back against the cabinet. You’re not sure what he’s kidding about, but you’re not sure you want to know, either. “I don’t think you count as ‘undead’. Zombies are undead.” You poke a finger through his cheek. "They come with corporeal bodies."
He tilts his head to you. "True. Dead but not gone.”
“Because of the house.”
“Yeah.” He looks away, through the window and into the back yard. He’s lost in something, some memory of his lost life or, perhaps, his new one. You give him the time he needs, studying his profile as he loses himself in his thoughts.
He’s a handsome man, you decide. Had you been born in the same time, there might have been something between you and him.
Could there be something between you now?
Ridiculous. You disregard the flutter in your stomach, choosing to believe it anxiety and not hope. It takes a lot of nerve to live with undead roommates, as Chuuya put it, and surely that nerve can falter every now and then.
He turns his gaze back to you and grins. The flutter kicks up a notch. “So you know I was murdered. What does that mean?”
You frown. “Jack shit. A murder doesn’t really narrow it down much.” The only murders you really remember are…
You eye Chuuya from your position on the floor. “You weren’t one of those guys that broke in to rape that girl, were you?”
“Hell no!” he growls, nose wrinkling with a scowl. Insult flickers across his gaze. “The fuck is wrong with you?!”
“Sorry!” You throw your hands up. “I just wanted to make sure.”
“Trust me, I would’ve done them in if I had the chance. But Akutagawa got to them first. Sometimes I swear he’s not even human.”
“He’s technically not anymore, is he?”
“Guess not.” Chuuya wrinkles a bag on the counter. “He didn’t hesitate to deal with them on this side, either.”
Deal with them?
You hesitate before asking, “You mean he… ate them?”
Chuuya shakes his head. “He ripped them to shreds. There was nothing left afterwards.”
So ghosts can die, or something similar. You stand and finish putting away your groceries. “So what’s the criteria?” Chuuya grunts and raises a brow. “What determines whether someone gets eaten or not?”
“How strong they are, usually. As long as we can fight the others off, we’re safe.”
So the stronger ghosts eat the weaker ghosts. That makes an unfortunate amount of sense. It’s just the same bs that goes one in the world of the living on a more metaphysical(and literal) level. You think of your mortgage and bills and how easy it would be for you to lose everything you’ve worked so hard for.
You start a bag of popcorn in the microwave.
“What about Elise?” you ask as the thought occurs. “She’s a child. Don’t tell me she was able to fight off the strongest person here.”
“She doesn’t have to.” Chuuya stands at the microwave, transfixed by the rotating plate. “Her dad’s the most powerful spirit. He protects her.”
“Her dad? The one that killed her?”
“Oh, so you know their story but not mine?” he jokes.
“Come on, Chuuya.” His smile grows at the use of his name. “It’s been a famous story ever since it happened. I bet even you knew it before you died.”
“Yeah, and?”
You give him the flattest look you can, and he busts out laughing. “Y’know, I think I like you. Don’t leave anytime soon.”
With company like him around? “I certainly don’t plan on it.”
You smile wide and ignore the butterflies swarming in your stomach.
Elise waits for you, every time you leave. She bounces around on your return, darts in and out of doors, appears and disappears randomly. She’s happy to play now that you know her name, and you’re happy to entertain her.
Chuuya, on the other hand, often waits for you to settle before he shows himself. He loves to drape himself across you, to make himself comfortable in your presence.
You ask him, one day, as you’re laying on the couch with his head on your chest, why he’s so touchy with you. He closes his eyes when you ask, humming in deep thought.
“You’re warm,” he finally says, and you must have a look, because he cracks a face-splitting grin.
“What?” he asks, “Think I can’t feel it because I’m dead?”
“Kind of,” you say, “I didn’t think you felt things at all.”
He opens his eyes and squishes a finger to your cheek. "Feel me touching you?" You nod. “Well, I can feel you, too. Hard to touch something and not feel it.”
“That’s a fair point,” you admit, “but I do have one question.” He tilts his head, and you poke your fingers into his cheek. They sink through his face, his skin turning more translucent so you can see them beneath it.
He waits a full minute before saying, “That’s not a question.”
“I think it’s a valid argument.”
He considers for a moment. “You don’t feel anything? At all?”
You wiggle your fingers, then pull them out of his face. “Just a little chill.”
And oh, the smug look he gives you–
“Okay, smartass,” you huff, “you’re actually touching me, though. Your hand doesn’t just pass right through me.”
“Well yeah,” he says, and you get this vague feeling that he’s about to say something you won’t quite understand. “I use a lot of energy when I want to touch things.”
Aaaand you were correct. “When you say ‘energy’, what do you mean?”
Chuuya clicks his tongue. “Same way you use energy to walk or talk. Except I feel like I’m running the whole time just to touch you. It would be ten times worse if I made it where you could touch me, too.”
“I wish I could touch you,” you mumble. “Wait,” you sit up, and he slides to the floor, “you have to– like, activate your ability to touch me?”
He hoists himself back onto the couch and turns to face you. “Yeah. It’s not automatic.” He places a hand on your arm, but it travels right through, leaving goosebumps where it hit.
You have to shiver before he pulls away.
You lift one knee onto the couch as you turn to him. “So you expend a lot of energy to touch things. Where do you get it?”
Chuuya shrugs. “It just builds up over time.”
You rest your cheek against the back of the couch. “But it regenerates quickly?” He almost nods, but hesitates.
“For me, it does. I just need a few hours of rest.”
“And for the others?”
“It just depends. Not everyone has the same reserves as me. I saw someone sleep for almost a year after using too much once.”
“Is that how you gather energy again, by sleeping?”
“Sometimes. We can also pull it from things like wind or rain, or even people.”
You furrow your brow at that. “People?”
“I could even take energy from you. It’s kind of da–”
“Show me.”
“What?”
“You say it takes a lot of energy to touch me. Let me repay the favor by giving some to you.”
“You’re reckless.” He shakes his head, but smiles anyway. Then he raises one hand straight up, palm facing you, and nods to it.
You lift your head and stare before setting your palm against his. The leather is soft, but cold where you would expect warmth. You line your fingers up with his, only then realizing that you can feel them. Your eyes widen and you look from your hands to him and back.
“A gift. To thank you for trusting me.”
“Trusting–” you start. Then all the air is sucked from your body. You gasp, trying to breathe, but your lungs are frozen.
Your entire body is frozen.
Ice runs from his hand into yours. It spread through your arm and into your chest. Your breath clouds before you. You can’t–
Why can’t you breathe?!
Chuuya clicks his tongue as he pulls away, and you can finally catch your breath. “I tried to tell you it was dangerous, but I don’t think it would have mattered. You’re dangerous, too.”
You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold back the shivers. Your teeth chatter when you speak. “Why didn’t y-you say it felt like that?”
“It was probably worse, since you were freely offering it to me.” He disappears from in front of you. Asshole. You wait before following him, eager to gather more heat first. A blanket drops over you, covering your head and shoulders. By the time you’ve wrapped it more properly around yourself, he’s sitting on the floor facing the couch. His arms rest on the cushion, creating the tiniest indent, and he casts a shadow you’ve never seen from him before.
He looks more alive than you’ve ever seen him.
“You alright?” he whispers. His fingers twitch like he wants to reach out to you, but you both know that will only worsen the chill.
“Yes,” you stammer out, voice as soft as his, “I’ll be alright.”
It takes him a minute to believe you, but he does, and he smiles. It’s a gentle smile, fun of warmth he can’t possess, and you feel your throat tighten again. There’s a glow to his cheeks, some sort of rosy color, and you’re not sure if that’s because of you or the energy you gave him.
“Hey…” you start once your heart slows, “were you the one in my room? Back when I first moved in?”
“I was the one that threw your mailbox from it.”
You shake your head, then pause at the bout of dizziness that causes. “No,” you say, “before that. Almost a week after I moved in. There was– I don’t know, a shadow man, or something.”
He lifts his head from the couch, smile fading. “‘Shadow man’?”
You describe to him the figure in your room. You hadn’t seen it since Chuuya revealed himself, so you thought it was him.
His souring face says otherwise.
“Let me know if it happens again,” he warns. “I don’t know who it was, but I doubt they had good intentions.”
Your face pales and he frowns. He reaches forward, offering his hand but not touching you. You reach forward, and he wraps his fingers around yours. “I won’t let them hurt you,” he promises, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.
You’re sure he can feel your pulse race with the fluttering of your heart.
Chuuya promised to keep the monsters at bay, and he has, for the most part.
Shadows disappear when you turn to look at them. Footsteps creak along the halls when you’re alone. Nightmares haunt your dreams every night. Emma clings to you more, trying to keep you close.
Your house has become more active, that much is obvious.
But whatever Chuuya is doing, it works. None of the other ghosts bother you.
You get comfy, as the days fade from summer into fall into winter. He limits his touches as the weather grows colder(your heating is busted), but still joins you in your bed. He waits until you’re snuggled under the covers to lay beside you, arm slung across your chest. You can tell — by the tone of his voice, the look in his eyes — that he wishes for more. He misses your warmth, but he’s not going to sacrifice your safety for it.
He’s halfway through a sentence, regaling you with tales of his living life, when he disappears mid-word.
“Chuuya?” You turn, but he’s not there. He’s not anywhere, you discover, as you sit up and study the room. You call out for him, increasingly frantic as he doesn’t answer.
The floor is cold on your feet. You ignore it to search for Chuuya.
And then you come to on the rooftop.
You teeter on the edge, a wisp away from falling, chilled completely to the bone. You gasp and fall back, scrambling away from the drop.
Ice wraps around your ankle and yanks you closer.
Your fingers scrape against rain-slick tile.
There is no stopping your fall.
You scream.
And then are pulled up.
Hands beneath your arms move you away from the edge. A leg kicks out against whatever’s holding you. A chill spreads across your back from where it presses into his chest.
“This one’s mine!” Chuuya growls.
It is utterly unhuman.
He pulls you into safety and steps between you and the edge. You can’t see anything there, except in the rapid flash of lightning. A boy, you think, based on the structure of their body. Whispers sound from all around you, and you can’t tell if they’re coming from the figure or from elsewhere.
Chuuya’s shoulders tighten. His snarl loosens into a scowl, and he glances back at you, searching your face.
“What are they saying?” you whisper to him, and his posture relaxes. He glances back and pushes you toward the open window you must have used to get on the roof.
“Tell ya later,” he answers. He helps you through the window. “Stay right here. I’ll come get you when it’s safe.”
“Safe?” you breathe, but he slams the window shut behind you. He’s not behind it when you look.
…safe? Is the house not–
Well, it’s haunted so–
Cursed? Is that what the ghost hunter called it? Is the house really curs–
Of course it’s fucking cursed. Chuuya told you as much. All the deaths should have told you. The house is fucking haunted.
The house is fucking cursed.
But what happened? The only ghosts to even touch you so far are Elise and Chuuya. Why did someone try to-to kill you? And who were they?
You slide down the wall beside the window. He said to stay here, right? In the attic? Or will the rest of the house be safe as well?
Are you really safe here?
Well. Obviously not.
You take a look around the cramped attic. You’ve hardly touched the place; the entrance is in the ceiling of a second floor closet and the ladder consists of half-rotted wood. All the boxes you saw on your first (and only) venture into it contain mysteries, still.
The trapdoor is open. Light leaks in from below.
You crawl closer to it, aware of every creak the floorboards make beneath your knees. Peeking into the opening reveals nothing, just the empty closet. The door to the hallway is open — it’s where the light is coming from — but you can’t see anything past it.
Until a woman pokes her head in. “I’m pretty sure he told you to stay up there, did he not?” she asks. She smiles, though, like she already knows the answer. “I won’t tell if you come down, though. I’d welcome it.”
Her hand lifts towards you with the grace of a ballerina. She stays in that position, an image of perfect beauty; golden hair framing her face, brown eyes wide and innocent. Not quite demure, but something like it.
“Um,” you squeak, “no thanks.” You back up and slam the door shut, plunging yourself into darkness.
Which isn’t any better than the woman, you think. You lift the door a crack and peek into the closet.
Nothing. The corridor is empty.
Who was she? What did she want? The way she looked… she had that same dangerous glint in her eye that Chuuya often wears when discussing the afterlife. What would have happened if you’d taken her hand? Nothing good, you imagine.
Something crashes inside the house.
A weapon. What you need is a weapon.
You search the boxes for something that could work as one. Not that any would, considering what you know of ghosts. But it’s to settle your mind more than anything.
In the third box, you find a pair of soft leather gloves. Petite, sized somewhere between adult and child. You place one in your palm, stretched out, matching your fingers to the ones of the glove, the same way you and Chuuya sometimes hold hands. They have to belong to him.
Where is he?
You hold the gloves to your chest, over your heart.
Is he hurt? Can he get hurt?
He could get eaten.
Oh, god, he could get eaten–
No. No, he has not been eaten yet. You’ve never discussed where he falls in terms of strength, but he’s survived fifty goddamn years in this house, he won’t be overcome so easily.
Another crash comes from below.
You have to get down there.
You cradle his gloves against your chest and make your way to the opening. The first step creaks under your weight, but it holds. It holds.
As does the next step, and the next. It’s the fourth one that cracks, sliding your foot past the fifth, sixth, seventh. You gasp as you slide, butt hitting each step until the bottom. You land face-first on the burgundy carpet. A quick body scan reveals a scraped nose, a sore rump, and — worst of all — a wounded pride. Surely you could have stopped yourself before you ate the rug? What the hell was that poor performance?
Never mind. It’s not important. Not as important as Chuuya, at least.
You peek through the closet door. Nothing. No shadow people, no strange women, no knight in designer armor.
Outside you venture, gloves pressed into your skin as though they were a worthy wooden shield and not soft leather smaller than your own hands.
The entire second floor is empty. You poke your head into each room several times to check, then head toward the staircase. You remember (now, after your fall) that stairs are stronger at the ends, away from the middle, so you walk with one foot pressed against the bannister. It is, perhaps, the quietest you’ve ever been inside the house.
There’s no one on the first floor, either, and you haven’t been able to find a basement. So where the hell–
Voices.
Voices coming through the floorboards.
You kneel down and press your ear against the ground.
The voices are muffled, but you can almost make them out. You hold your breath to hear more clearly.
The only thing you hear is your name, tossed about by several of the voices.
Chuuya’s isn’t one of them.
Someone shouts, crying out for blood. Their single cry turns into a chant, broken occasionally by a chilling shriek of your name.
They’re mine, you make out among chanting. After all…
“I found them first.”
You gasp and jump forward, twisting your body to see the man behind you. He towers above your crouched form, glaring down at you with something like malice. His shadow twists into yours, ignoring the light coming from the front hall. Pure hatred crawls up your spine, chilling to your bones.
There’s something deeply wrong with this man.
His fingers twitch.
Your hand erupts in pain.
You scream and hold it up. An inky black spike runs clean through the middle of your palm. You brace yourself for blood as it dissipates.
There is none, though. Just a cold white circle on your skin.
You look up at the man. More spikes rise around him.
You turn and pull yourself into a run.
They feel like bullets that pierce your legs.
You grunt as you hit the ground. The pain grows the longer the spikes are stuck in you. You don’t know how to pull them out.
Your hair rustles as he kneels and places a hand on your head. “It hurts, doesn’t it? It’s the same thing I felt when I died.” Your body goes numb. “It will be much worse for you.”
You swing backwards, fist making contact with his chest. He’s knocked off balance, and you spare a tiny moment for thoughts as to why.
And then you’re racing for the door again. The man shouts behind you, but you’re through the front door when his shadow spears your stomach.
The pain is intense, more so than before. A raging hellfire burning inside your abdomen, scraping itself into your chest and lungs. You heave into the grass; bile runs into the pathway.
You cough and look behind you, but the man stopped on the bottom step. There’s barely a foot between you and him, but all he does is glare down at you, teeth bared in a snarl.
He can’t go any farther. He’s at the boundary of the house.
Your trembling arms threaten to drop you face-first into your own vomit, but you manage to scoot away first. Then you’re laying on your back, and your heart pounds a mile a minute, and the rain is cold, and your blood rushes to your head because it’s on the downward slope of the hill, and you can breathe. You can breathe.
And laugh, apparently. Frantic, half-conscious giggles escape your mouth and are carried away on the wind. And then you groan as you sit up — the pain is not nearly as bad as it was a second ago, but still persists as a dull throb.
You shiver in the cold. You don’t have any shoes, or even any socks. You wrap your arms around yourself and feel something pressed into your shoulder.
Chuuya’s gloves. Wrinkled by your fist and dampened by the rain, they glow with a dark red light. You’re not sure what it means, but it scares you.
Where is he?
You make your way down the gravel path and to your car, sitting just inside the gates. Chuuya makes you keep it here so it wouldn’t be too close to the house. You never really understood why until tonight.
The dashboard lights up when you insert the spare key(kept taped to the underside of your seat), and the heat flares to life soon after. You wave your fingers in front of the vent until some feeling returns to them. The air does little to dry you out, but the gloves are dry before you know it. They still glow, faintly, fading, sputtering in and out.
You have to find him.
You’ll drive the car up to the porch, you decide. And you’ll stand just inside the spiritual boundary to lure out a ghost, and then you’ll step back and question them. It’s a sound plan. Probably.
You’re just swinging the car around when the headlights catch on a dark shadow above the brick fence. Your heartbeat kicks up a notch.
Then falls silent in your chest.
“Chuuya!” you scream as you exit the vehicle.
He doesn’t move. You can barely reach his hand to shake him. You pull the car closer, as close as you dare, close enough to fold the passenger side mirror against the side of the car. You hop out and up onto the hood, then the roof, and you’re finally able to reach him.
He’s not breathing–
Which is normal, you remind yourself. He’s dead. Of course he’s not breathing.
“Chuuya,” you whisper, again and again, repeating his name like a prayer. He’s laying on his back on top of the fence. Four iron spikes pierce his chest, stomach, and leg. He looks solid, there, more solid in pain than he ever has before. You have to get him down.
Your hands pass right through him. You can’t touch him.
Tears well up that you refuse to let fall.
Why can’t you touch him? Sure, it takes energy, energy he obviously doesn’t have right now, but you managed to push the other ghost! What was different now? What was–
The gloves. You were holding his gloves when you shoved the other guy.
They creak when you put them on, but do not tear.
And, miraculously, amazingly, gratefully, you grab his shoulder.
You brace your knee on the concrete and pull. His fingers twitch, and his face contorts. You whisper apology after apology as you lift him off the spikes. He grunts as you pull him forward, resting his chest against your shoulder. You’re halfway through freeing his leg when his arms wrap around you and his fists close in the fabric of your nightshirt.
“Told ya to stay… in the attic…” he rasps in your ear.
If a voice could make people drunk, you’re pretty sure that’s what this feels like.
You sob into the air, hugging Chuuya with all your might. He gasps and pushes you away. He cradles your face, studying it.
“You… You’re still alive…” he breathes. “But you…” his hand squeezes yours. “How?”
You squeeze his hand in return, then release it. You hold it in front of his face. “This is yours, right?” The glow is stronger now, emitting a dark red light.
He slides his palm up and laces his fingers between yours.
It’s the first time you’ve properly held hands with him.
He moves his face forward, pressing your foreheads together. “I thought you were dead,” he whispers. “Thought I was never going to see ya again.”
“I’m here,” you whisper back. “I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”
“You can’t stay. They’ll kill you.”
You know that. You are highly aware of that. Your bones still tremble in the cold from the rooftop, your back still aches where it was stabbed. But you don’t want to leave him. “What about you?” You pull back to look at his face. “What’s going to happen to you if I leave?”
He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “I’ll be fine. I can fight back.”
“What about this?” You grab his thigh where the tip of the spike pokes through. He flinches. “How did this happen?” you whisper.
He looks around before he answers, keeping one hand on your back and the other in yours. You shiver, despite the fact that his touch is no longer cold to you. “You need help, first,” he says, and lowers you to your car.
“What about you?” You grab the spokes to brace yourself against the wind. “You’re still stuck.”
“I’ll be down in a minute,” he tells you, “so just get in the car.” He holds your hand for as long as he can while you slide onto the hood and then the ground. You glance up at him as you open the door, but he waves at you to hurry.
Blessed warmth. You hadn’t realized how cold you were, but now your body aches in the heat blowing from the vents. Your fingers crack when they bend and your cheeks begin to thaw. You’re still shaking, though, despite holding your hands to the vents and rubbing them across your frozen skin.
Thud!
You scream when the car rocks.
“Just me,” Chuuya says, head sticking upside down through the windshield. He crawls onto the ceiling of the car, then plops into the passenger seat. He leans the seat back and places a hand over the wounds on his chest.
It’s not blood that oozes from it, but something darker, something almost black that spreads into the air like smoke. You hover your own hand over his, and he takes it with his free hand. “I’m okay,” he whispers into your palm before kissing it. “I’ll be okay.”
“What can I do?” you ask, but he shakes his head.
“You’re here. That’s enough. I just need sleep.”
You nod, and he drops his hand to the glovebox between you, still wrapped around yours. His head lolls to the side. In the reflection in the mirror, his eyes are slightly closed, his mouth is slightly open.
His body starts to fade. So does the glow from the gloves.
And that is very, very bad, you think.
“Chuuya?” You shake his shoulder. He doesn’t respond. “Chuuya!”
Your hand begins to sink through him, despite the glove.
He’s going to disappear.
You won’t let that happen.
You lean over him, hands pressed into his heart. You don’t know how he took energy from you before, but he did say it felt so bad because you gave it to him. You try to dredge up that feeling again.
It comes to you slowly, or maybe it only feels slow because of how cold you already are. All the warmth you’ve gathered since entering the car leaves you, flowing into Chuuya. His wounds close, and the fabric over them repairs itself. He grows more solid under your touch. His eyes begin to flutter as the ice spreads through your veins.
He shouts your name.
Your vision goes dark.
And then gray.
And then blinding white.
You blink against the light, squinting to see through it. Sitting up takes more effort than it should; your limbs are heavy and your head swims in circles. You raise a hand to massage away the headache that threatens to knock you out again.
“Oh, you’re awake!” A man saunters in, hands in the pockets of his tan overcoat. He calls out the door, “They’re awake! Told you, Kunikida!” He sits down in the chair beside your bed(your hospital bed; you find that appropriate, somehow) and says, as if he’s known you your whole life, “We were so worried about you! How’re you feeling? Hypothermia is nothing to take lightly, you know.”
……..You have no idea who this man is.
Kunikida, on the other hand, sparks a distant memory from almost a year ago. “You’re the ghost hunter!” you say, pointing to him. He grimaces, as does his partner.
“We are paranormal investigators,” he tells you at the same time his partner huffs, “Don’t ignore me like that!”
“What are you doing here?”
Kunikida unfolds a newspaper and offers it to you. You frown as you read over it. The article doesn’t bother you at all; it’s just a short rundown of your house’s morbid history, followed by a few sentences about the mysterious call that led paramedics to you, half frozen in your car. No, what bothers you most are the notes, written in scribbly red ink across the paper.
Your address, the nearest hospital locations, even your own name, which isn’t in the article in the first place.
You eye the two men, holding the paper like a shield between you. “Have you been stalking me?”
“Yep!” says the first man.
“No!” says the other. He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. “We like to keep tabs on the house at this address. But beyond an occasional drive-by, we don’t investigate further.”
Drive-by. Investigate. What.
“I… do not like that.”
“We’re sorry,” Kunikida says, “but it’s a necessary part of our job.”
“It’s a dangerous house, you understand,” the first man says. “I would gladly take your place, but my partner here won’t let me.” H takes your hand and holds it between his. “Unless you want to join me? It would be a beautiful double–”
“Yes, yes, you freak.” Kunikida interrupts, taking one of the man’s hands and holding it. “No one is going to commit suicide wtih you.”
You pull your hand away from his and into your lap. “I still don’t understand why you’re here.”
“We just want to check in with you,” Kunikida says. He sinks into the chair beside the first man(you should really ask his name) and, while still holding his hand, pulls a notebook from his vest pocket. “We also wanted to ask about what happened two nights ago that led to you nearly freezing in your car.”
You…. don’t trust these men. “Why do you want to know?”
“I told you, we like to keep a record of all the incidents that happen there.”
“And why is that?”
“So we know what to expect when we investigate. Ranpo and Dazai have a pretty good idea, but I like to be thorough.”
“Investigate?”
“With your permission, of course.”
Oh. They want to investigate your house.
Wh-
Why?
You narrow your eyes. “What do you expect to find?”
“Ghosts, ghouls, and demons!” the first man exclaims. He swings his and Kunikida’s hands back and forth between the chairs.
“Don’t scare them, Dazai.” Kunikida admonishes. To you, he says, “You won’t have to worry about anything. We’ll do a thorough investigation and clean up all the spirits we find.”
Well. That’s not going to work, is it? Chuuya’s gloves are right there on the bedside table. If all spirits include him and Elise, then….
“We haven’t had a chance to explore it yet. All the owners sold it when the hauntings became too much for them. They didn’t even think to look deeper into it. But we have a whole team of psychics, all of whom have their own method of exorcism. There won’t be a thing to worry about once we’re done.”
Your frown deepens with every word. Dazai has to nudge Kunikida to quiet him. In the following silence, you ask, “Why are you so interested in my house?”
“It is dangerous,” Dazai tells you again, “and it’s host to the most activity in town. It would be an interesting experience, if nothing else.”
“Is that it?” You shake your head. “I don’t feel comfortable letting complete strangers into my house for such a silly reason.”
“I assure you, it’s not silly.” Kunikida opens the notebook and starts reading off the stories he’s collected — stories you are well aware of, after all your research and everything Chuuya’s told you. It’s when he reaches the decade-old murder of a young woman that you interrupt him.
“I know the history of the house, thank you.” Did that sound sarcastic? That totally sounded sarcastic. It just wasn’t sarcastic enough. “I’m still not interested.”
“But this incident was only the first,” Kunkida says. “If you stay, you’re going to have another. And no one will be there to save you next time.”
You’re not so sure about that.
You return home the next day. You stand just outside the gate, staring up the hill to your house. You shiver in the wind that blows fallen leaves into your yard. The gate squeaks as you open it. Your car is still parked against the inner wall. You don’t know what awaits you inside the house, or even just inside the gate, but everything looks fine from the outside.
Except for your missing mailbox.
Your heart pounds as you make your way up the path and to your porch. The doorknob twists under your hand. You peek around the door, but there’s nothing behind it. It’s not even all that dark; sunlight streams through the windows in other rooms and leaks into the front hallway.
You step inside and close the door behind you.
And then are thrown back into it.
You gasp as arms wrap around you.
A face presses into your stomach.
And–
And–
And someone giggles.
You blink down at the head of blonde hair, tied back with a maroon bow. She raises her head to meet your gaze with bright blue eyes.
“Elise,” you breathe, patting her head with a gloved hand.
“You’re back!” she exclaims, and you blink — you’ve never heard her speak before.
“Well, look at that. She likes you.”
You jolt at the new voice. You have no idea who said that, but you do know it doesn’t belong to either of the two ghosts you trust.
Elise turns and huffs. “You promised!” she calls into the hall.
“Yes, yes, of course. I won’t touch them.” You blink, and a man appears at the base of the stairs. He’s tall and lanky, with slicked back hair and a piercing gaze. “I was just making an observation. You don’t usually let people hear you.”
“Well I like this one.”
“Right, right. I won’t take your toy away. Not yet.” He turns his attention to you. Your blood runs cold.
“Um,” you stammer, “you must be the doctor.” Elise’s father and murderer. “I-it’s nice to me-meet you.” You’re not sure if you should offer a handshake or not.
“I am,” he nods, “my name is Ougai Mori. I hope we can get along in the future.”
And just like that, he disappears.
You flinch. Elise huffs. “He won’t bother you,” she says, waving a hand. “He doesn't want to upset me, and he’s always trying to make up for killing me. Besides, I’m not the only one who will be angry if anything happens to you.”
Your eyes widen. “You mean–” you breathe. “How-how is…”
Something crashes upstairs.
Elise hops in place and points, setting a hand on your back.
You race up the stairs and to your bedroom. The door to it is wide open. On the floor across from it is your mailbox.
“You should really lock your door, you know?”
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—» I will be needing you to show me a photo of your ID card(driver's license works fine), with your age. You can hide everything except the day-month-year. It is just for the peace of my mind that I'm not writing for children.
—» I would prefer to do it through discord but if you don't have one, that's cool. tumblr dm is glitchy sometimes but I'm an immensely patient person.
—» STATUS — OPEN || You can contact me through ask or message me. If you have any doubt, any questions — do not hesitate to message me :>
HOW MUCH ?
$4 for additional character [ Additional characters must have a role in the plot/story that will either change the course of the story or affect the actions of the characters.] pricing is based on the word count, that is, $1 per 100 words.
$5 for 500 , $10 for 1000 word count, $15 for 1500 word count & so on. . . ( also the base payment for works above 5000-word count. Further details can be discussed in dm. I'm willing to write up to 10k maximum. )
NOTES !
prices are non-negotiable.
if you provide info about the reader’s background story or traits, that’s fine by me.
for POV, I'm willing to write about CHARACTER’S POV, SECOND PERSON’S POV, or MIXED POV i.e. character + second person’s pov.
I will accept payments only via ko-fi !
WHAT ?
✓ character x (f!reader/m!reader)
✓ character x gn! Reader;only available for sfw commissions.
✓ character x character/OC
✓ sfw, fluff, (heavy) angst, major character death.
✓ [n]sfw, dc, yandere content, cnc, porn with plot,porn without plot, sapphic content omegaverse, hybrids, polyamory, incest, BDSM, mostly ALL KINKS ( ask if you've doubt regarding any ).
WHAT NOT ?
✗ beastiality,necrophilia, pedophilia, watersports,rape, vore,scat-play, body horror.
✗Part 2's to any of my current works or additions to my stories
HOW ?
[ 𝐢 ] we discuss about the idea, length and the price. [ 𝐢𝐢 ] I'll go through the details, frame a base work and will inform you about a tentative date. Payment full / half depending upon the type of work. [ 𝐢𝐢𝐢 ] Allow me two weeks; do not rush me. I will keep you updated. however, if you do not hear from me within two weeks, feel free to message me. [ 𝐢𝐯 ] you will receive the final product via e-mail in pdf format once you have paid in full.
FANDOMS
NON-ANIMANGA —stranger things, wednesday, game of thrones, house of the dragon.
ANIMANGA — tokyo revengers , genshin impact, jujutsu kaisen, chainsaw man, kimetsu no yaiba, bleach, bungo stray dogs, vinland saga, attack on titan, boku no hero academia , spy x family, hell’s paradise, tokyo ghoul, castlevania, vanitas no carte, haikyuu, blue lock, kuroko’s basketball, obey me, psycho pass. . . my animanga spectrum is huge and I can't list them all since I'm unsure whether I'll be able to write it or not unless I hear about your idea so feel free to ask me if I’m into a certain fandom or not if not listed here. I’ll keep updating this.
special thanks to @half-baked-biscuit for helping me with this.
You can reblog this post to let others be aware. Thank you for your patience and support :>
— paradis.
#( blue scrolls )#writing commissions#commission info#fanfic commissions#x reader#x oc#ship fic#x fem!reader#x female reader#x f reader#x y/n#x male reader#x male y/n#x male top reader#x male oc#x male smut#smut fic#smut fanfiction#wlw fiction#wlw fluff#mlm smut#mlm ship#mlm fanfic#yandere#omegaverse#a/b/o smut#dark content cw#dark content#commissions#fic commissions
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FemReader x MaleHusband
Written with a female reader in mind, but the said husband is up for you to decide which character to pick.
(In the original, Osamu Dazai, from the hit series Bungo Stray Dogs, was my pick for the husband.)
Summary: A helping hand from your husband is always worth being grateful for.
Work has been more than difficult lately. Long hours spent doing challenging, energy draining tasks is no easy provocation, but in the end it pays off with the biggest satisfaction. Being a headstrong, independent, determined young woman has made me always prioritise my passions, goals, achievements and dreams…I would have never guessed though that at the fortunate point where I’m at I would have found the love of my life already while also being succesful together. My husband is truly an angel, but God, could he be exeptionally depraved sometimes…
Like many other times, he was begging me for a taste. “Please, let me pleasure you, love,” he said in a low voice right near my earlobe. “Let me take care of you. Worship you like the queen you are, my darling.” Nonchalantly placing a soft kiss on my temple. “I know how hard-working you are. How high you aim for in every endeavor you’re facing.” The next few kisses trailed down from my cheek to my jawline. “You deserve to be taken care of, so please, my love, let me be your stress relief for tonight.” He ceased his husky whisperings and places a sizzling kiss on the sweet spot below my ear, where my neck instantly reddens at his obscene wishes.
I mean how could I ever decline…he was incredulously persuasing me to give up my tough front, that he always managed to break…make my stubborn mind flodded with scorching ideas that muddled my clear thinking. I looked right in his gorgeous eyes and saw the admiration he held so dear for me in his heart. I think I could melt only by the sultry promises his glance was entailing. I grabbed his cheek gently with the palm of my hand and dragged his lips to mine. He kisses me like there is no tomorrow, quietly glimpsing on the hem of my pants and silently moving my hips towards the bed while he was muffling every moan that escaped due to his astonishing intrusion in my mouth.
He places me on the bed and gets on his knees in front of me and I already feel a sweltering heat all over my body. This feels familiar. The flaming torrid was on it’s way to get me. My blushing husband took off my top and undergarment off only to blush harder and saying shyly: “I’ll come back to these later.” His normally brooding manner made me chuckle, that I make him so nervous. The man in front of me unbuttoned my pants shamelessly and grabbed onto the fabric while stating: “Lift your hips for me, love”. I did what he asked of me, raising my hips and dropping them back delicately when I was uncovered. He slowly pushed my thighs open with his enormous, strong hands and gingerly placed silky kisses on my inner thighs leading towards my sopping center.
“Fuck, you’re so wet, love. All for me?” He inquired hoarsely.
“Of course it’s all for you, sweetheart.” I reply breathily.
He planted his blazing tongue right on me and started licking with a fever never known to man. All his fiery annihilation due to his mouth were making me a mess…a loudly moaning and grunting wreck, tugging on his locks that seemingly got longer this past time. I was gripping his lenghtier hair so forcefully I was afraid of hurting him when I remembered he likes that…so much that he growls in between my legs: “Fuck, mommy, you taste delicious. I want to devour you forever.”
“Uuugh….fuck, just like that, baby” I say while the burning sensation on my bundle of nerves was shambling every sense of sanity and control left. My praise relieved him, so he relishes in my essence, murmuring “heavenly” akin a frenzied, starved man.
His tongue moved so skillfully, the knot in my stomach was undoing itself rapidly. My cries of pleasure are louder and louder…deafening the lewd, obscene, salacious sounds of his meal he so truly venerated with each of his arousing lick, every lascivious suck and loving stare he was giving me while reaching the unholiest desires of his. The look in his eyes turned stormier, hazed with bliss and enjoyment.
He loved this just as much as me, loved gratifying every inch of my body that he so joyfully claimed as his first when we married and every time since then. The only one who got to see me fall apart, rip at the seems of comprehension. Not that I didn’t have the chance of seeing him lose his rationality…God, how I loved that sight.
On the brink of release I pushed his head further, moaning intensely when suddenly my vision turned white, my hearing almost vanishing, my mind thumping, my soaked centre throbbing and his rowdy eyes blurred out of my view screaming his name repeatedly…after riding out my high he kissed all the way up to my lips when he finally let me have a taste of myself on his tongue, shoving it deep like he did as before, but in another area.
Breathless I managed to croak out due to my gruff voice from the whines and whimpers of satisfaction so extraordinary: “That was so fucking good…You did such a great job, my love.” He accomplised his goal of easing my stress, relaxing my body to the verge of exhaustion.
He smiled brightly and replied: “You taste like honey, belladonna. Thank you for everything.”
I chuckled and said: “I’m the one who’s thankful. You know my body so well. I know just the way to thank you actually…” and pushed his chest on the bed, getting on top of him and already feeling his heat twitch under me…he was in for a ride and the night wasn’t over yet.
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we're all mad down here: i'm mad, you're mad...
currently playing ...
💿 wonderland; Taylor Swift
oh darling, we found wonderland
"who's that?" a resident questions, unfamiliar with the resident chaos maker of wonderland.
"my name, dear?" the cat grins deviously, ears flickering with amusement, "why, it's pudding!"
you and i got lost in it...
「I like bungo stray dogs, twisted wonderland, hetalia, haikyuu, seventeen, enhypen, and lots, and lots of chaos. as of the moment, my requests and ask box are open, but I do not have a set writing sched since school is kicking my ass, so please be patient!」
LINKS !
Edogawa Ranpo
Wrong Account!!! ( part 1, part 2 )
Chuuya Nakahara
Be Risky or Be Risky
Fyodor Dostoevsky
Grab Food Driver Rizz ( part 1, part 2, part 3 )
『 I love BSD's Poe (he's so cute and hot??), I will love to hear rambles and to vibe here! So feel free to message or chat me i don't mind! Also p.s I am very very sorry for my terrible humour T^T 』
#pudding’s intro post#pudsintro#intro post#puds is always sleepy#pudslink#dividers from @/cafekitsune
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Looking for blogs to follow
Hi all,
I wanna get using my Tumblr a bit more so please feel free to give me a follow & i'll follow you back if you like any of the following things:
Anime (Bungo Stray Dogs is my favourite, but I love loads more)
Kpop & Jpop (Seventeen, TXT, Twice, WEST, Naniwa Danshi are my mains)
Breaking Bad
F1 (Fave drivers are Charles Leclerc, Oscar Piastri and Yuki Tsunoda)
Doctor Who
Star Wars
Transformers
Pokemon
#f1#anime and manga#bungo stray dogs#kpop#seventeen#txt#twice#johnnys west#naniwa danshi#breaking bad#formula 1#charles leclerc#oscar piastri#yuki tsunoda#doctor who#star wars#transformers#pokemon
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youtube
Look how they massacred my Sigma!
Before jumping into the audio commentary, a friend helps me figure out the name of Oguri's getaway driver--and after struggling to figure out how Studio BONES is going to fit so much content into one episode, I jump into an audio commentary where I quickly realize Studio BONES is just going to cut a lot of stuff.
SPOILER WARNING for content up to Chapter 106 of the "Bungo Stray Dogs" manga, as well as all "Bungo" films, audio dramas, light novels, and other content.
I get into the audio commentary at around 17:50, which you can listen to while watching the episode on the Crunchyroll web site.
Am I being too hard on this episode? Did you still get why Sigma is appealing and human despite being so dehumanized in this episode? Please share your thoughts in the comments section.
Thanks to Ko-fi and Patreon contributors Emily Lauer, Ellak Roach, and Alexis Duran!
A transcript is available here.
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Society of Protection (Yandere Bungo Stray Dogs x reader x original characters) (normalized yandere au)
Chapter Seven
Two Sides, Part Two
You all have chosen A.) Gaston and Dr. Stevenson have a meeting scheduled with high ranking Japanese government officials, the vice minister of the Ministry of Justice, Tonan, who may be willing you listen to your Society about some change
Prologue and oc intro
Chapter one
Chapter two
Chapter three
Chapter four
Chapter five
Chapter six
Chapter seven, part one
“Gaston and Dr. Stevenson .”
Miss Jane nodded and looked over to the the two on the opposite couch for approval and Gaston nodded in approval. “Very well then, I suppose I’ll be off with Alexandre and Victor. I am quite handy with a hand gun.” Miss Jane said, smoothing her gown, “besides my ability isn’t well suited for combat.”
Now that you think about it, you have never seen or even heard about Miss Jane’s ability besides in passing that she has one at the very least
So now you decide to ask. “Miss Jane, if I may ask, what is your ability?”
The room fell silent and everyone turned to Miss Jane, except Dr. Stevenson who leaned back on her seat, her eyes shut, a smile on her face, and her hands folded in her lap. Miss Jane also smiled but she walked over to you, peeling off her silk gloves as she did so. She extended her hand to you for you to take. “If you may, touch my hand.” As she said this you got a worried expression on your face. She noticed this and gave a little chuckle. “It’s alright, I won’t hurt you.”
You trusted her words so you placed your hand in her own and immediately you felt a relaxing pulse flow through your body, washing away all your stress and fear you had building up with in you for the last few weeks.You saw a light flow admitting from where Miss Jane’s flesh touched your own. You tried to wonder what was going on but your mind felt far too muddled to think. Then Miss Jane released your hand and put her glove back on, your mind returned to you but of course you still felt so calm, so calm, almost unnaturally so. There was a hum heard from over the couch, Dr. Stevenson. “Miss Jane’s ability, Pride and Prejudice, when she touches someone she is able to read their emotions and thoughts and manipulate their thoughts and emotions as long as she is in physical contact with them.”
“Yes, but it doesn’t last very long though after its usage, its effect on you will probably only last a few minutes.” Jane added with a bit of an embarrassed smile. “I may be the leader of the Society but my gift is the weakest out of us all.”
“Don’t sell yourself short, Jane. You know what your gift can do.” Gaston stepped in with a push of his glasses, the light reflecting off them just right so that you couldn’t see his eyes. “It’s how she got away from Fitzgerald, she used it to the point of nearly passing out to sedate him. From what I heard he was in a haze for almost two days.”
“Yes, but Gaston remember if it wasn’t for Dr. Stevenson being nearby I would have passed out myself or worse.” Miss Jane stepped back over to the table in between the couches and picked up a cream file and handed it over to Victor. “Changing the subject now, this is your case. It contains photos of the the individuals you will be keeping an eye on.“ Victor opened the file, looking it over and then tucking it away in his bag that he kept at his feet. Miss Jane then looked at you, Gaston, and Dr. Stevenson. “Dr. Stevenson is in charge on this mission. It is a simple meeting with Mr. Tonan.”
Gaston stood up, dusting off his jacket. Me reached into his pocket and jailed out a set of keys with a smile. “Alright, but I’m driving.”
—————————
The drive to the the government building Mr. Tonan’s office was in was quick enough, Gaston drove and surprisingly he was a very good driver. On the way there you watched Dr. Stevenson go over her notes, seemingly nervous for a meeting, apparently Gaston noticed it as well and spoke as he drove. “Doctor, don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”
She sighed and set her notes down. She reached a hand up and rubbed her temples as if she had a headache. “Yes but Louis would be much better at this than I.”
“Louis is an ability, not an actual person.” Gaston snapped back, almost scolding the doctor, his eyes still firmly fixed on the road. “Your ability is not you as a person, it is just an extension of yourself.”
“Louis? Is that your ability?” You questioned, stepping into the conversation. The doctor nodded looked back at you from her front seat.
“Yes, my ability is called The Strange Case, call it… giving birth to another personality of mine for lack of better phasing. Letting my alter ego take form via my shadow.” She looked away from you, her eyes back to her notes, rereading them over again. “Do not ask me to use it unless the situation is dire, she tends to be a bit… insane.”
—————————
You three arrived at the government building without a problem. Gaston had parked the car out front, making it not too far of a walk from the building to the car in case anything did go horribly wrong. You three made your way inside where of course with most government meetings you had to fill out a form, and wait… and wait… and wait. Until finally a young man with black hair came over to you all, he looked like somewhat of an assistant but something… some small thing felt off about him, maybe it was his smile? You didn’t know but you weren’t the only one to notice, you glanced over at Gaston and his eyes were fixed on this man with almost of a glare. The man came up to you all and extended his hand to each of you. “I am so sorry for the wait, I’m Mr, Tonan’s assistant and you must be Dr. Stevenson…” he gave the doctor’s hand a firm shake before letting you and his eyes fixed on Gaston. “You’re the famous Gaston Leroux of the Paris Opera, can I just say how big of a fan I am. Your work is something of the angels.” He said shaking Gaston’s hand with an enthusiastic laugh and smile… then he turned his unsettling smile to you and extended his hand to you. “And you are?”
Something about his voice gave you chills as you extended a hand back to him. “(N-Name)”
“Well that’s a very lovely name, Miss (Name).” The assistant shook your hand with a firm shake and that same unsettling smile. After a long moment of silent staring at you with that same uncomfortable expression he turned back to the rest of the group. “Now if you would just follow me, Mr. Tonan is waiting for you in his office.”
You three followed him down the halls of the buildings, both Gaston and Dr, Stevenson picked up on his strange behavior so Gaston stepped in front of you and the doctor stayed at you side, all of their eyes fixed on him. He lead you to a large office where an older man was waiting for you, he was a bit on the heavier side but still seemed kind, genuinely kind, not like his strange assistant. You assumed this man was Mr. Tonan from how he treated Gaston and Dr, Stevenson with a friendly greeting like old friends, but everything they said fell on deaf ears to you because you could feel the assistant’s smile and eyes on the back of your head. It wasn’t until you heard Gaston introducing you to Mr. Tonan that your mind snapped back into reality.
Mr. Tonan had some tea brought up for you all as you talked and over all Mr. Tonan seemed very receptive your case and when you brought up the break in at your apartment he expressed genuine concern. “Honestly I stand with you with how our system is set up. That is why I took this position in office. I have been friends with Miss Jane for years and when she told me about your society a few weeks ago you know what I said, I said, finally someone is taking the action that needs to be done.”
“You don’t know how much that means to us, Mr. Tonan.” The doctor said with an excited smile. “So you’ll help us?”
Mr. Tonan nodded with a wide smile. “I will certainly try. You are good folk and your cause is just.” He paused and frowned, his expression changing from one of hope and excitement to one of worry and dread. “I must warn you that what you want to achieve will be dangerous, people will try to dig up your pasts to exploit you. You’ll need to prepare for what comes next and-“
“Dig our heels into the ground. Trust us, we know.” You cut Mr. Tonan off, finishing his sentence. “Sir, in the last few weeks I have encountered members of the Guild, Port Mafia, and Armed Detective Agency. Two of which threatened me the last of which tried to convince me that this wasn’t a big deal and I shouldn’t worry my pretty head about it and you know what I took it, I took their threats and words and just stayed silent. I don’t want to be silent anymore, because this is my life.”
“I couldn’t agree more. For now we need to build a case.” Mr. Tonan reaches into his desk and pulls out an ordinary cream paper file. “Miss (Name), I’m going to ask you to be a lab rat in this case. Any time something happens to you. You are going to document it and place it in here in either words or photos. Be as descriptive as you can. If we gather enough evidence we could stop this once and for all. I know this is scary and you don’t have to do this if you don’t wish to but-“
“I’m in.”
“Very well, I’ll have my assistant to stay in touch with you then, you can report things to him that you document. If we play our cards right, then their actions will destroy themselves. They’ll eat each other alive.”
—————————
During the rest of your meeting, Mr. Tonan’s assistant slipped out into the hall and walked it a bit, out of ear shot from everyone. He pulled out a phone from his back pocket and dialed up a number, a wicked smile, more sinister than before comes across his face as the person answered. The assistant spoke, completely dropping the fake accent he used, going that that of one more European in origin. “Dostoy, seems there is a bit of trouble brewing from your little мышь. Seems like she’s aligned herself with that French composer, what was it you called him… oh yes, the angel of music.”
There was a chuckle on the other end of the line and then the voice of a Russian man responded. “Oh really? I should have expected something from him after all these years. No one like him simply gives up. Seems like this game is going to get interesting.”
—————————
After the meeting you all made your way back to the car, hearts feeling full and a new found spring in your step. You finally had hope that things would change for the better for once. Gaston himself held his head up high and the Dr. was no longer nervous like she was in the car, looking over her notes overly so. “So Gaston, what’s our next game plan? I over heard you and Miss Jane talking about something in her office last night.” Dr. Stevenson questioned her French friend. Gaston smiled, the sort of smile that was scheming but not in the evil sort of way.
“Easy, we’ll gonna see what we can do about an alliance with the Armed Detective Agency and the Port Mafia, if all of us work together we’ll unstoppable against the Guild. I honestly can’t wait to see the look on…”
Then you saw it, on a roof top nearby. It was a man… holy fuck that was a sniper, aiming right at Gaston. As Gaston spoke you began to run in an attempt to push him out of the way and then…
BANG!
As you pushed him to the ground to felt a burning pain sear through your left leg. You let out a loud scream as you toppled to he ground, Gaston beneath you. Dr. Stevenson was. The second to notice where the sniper was and she pulled you and Gaston up, carrying you to the car and leaving the composer to his own devices. She threw you into the back seat along with herself. In your pain you didn’t notice Gaston quite literally walk through the car like a ghost and into his seat where he materialized fully and stepped on the gas, trying to put as much distance between you all and here. You were laid on the back seat row of the car and Dr. Stevenson reached into her bag and pulled out a first aid kit. She took a cloth and bandages and placed the cloth on top of your bullet wound.
“I need to stop the bleeding, I can get the bullet out at the apartment with my equipment there. Fuck how did this happen.” She said that last bit under her breath as she started to wrap the bandages around your leg, this made you cry out in pain but she squeezed your hand to help you deal with the pain. “Gaston, do you have any clue who did that?”
“The Guild, no doubt in my mind. They were after me, I’m the one who keeps out society’s secrets well hidden. Fitzgerald told Alexandre and Victor that he would exploit us until none of us had a cent left to out names, all of us. With me in the way he can’t find shit out on any of us, he doesn’t know about you in the war, he doesn’t know about me, he doesn’t know about Alexandre’s family, he doesn’t know shit besides me standing in his way.” Gaston made a rather sharp turn as he spoke. “As for the sniper, his name is Mark Twain I believe. I don’t know much about his ability unfortunately, I just remember Miss Jane talking to be about him joining the Guild not to long before she escaped.”
“Noted, for now just drive, I have a new patient it seems…” Dr. Stevenson’s words became hazy as you fell unconscious.
—————————
Meanwhile Alexandre, I for had run into the Guild members, John Steinbeck and H.P. Lovecraft, trying to kidnap two girls, they were able to team up with two members of the armed detective agency, Junichiro and Kunikida, to help the girls get away. While Junichiro and Kunikida kept Steinbeck and Lovecraft busy, Alexandre, Victor, and Miss Jane, helped them run and board a train, fending off vines that came from Steinbeck’s ability. They boarded the train with the girls, Miss Jane helped calm them down with her ability when a little boy ran right into them.
“Oh I’m sorry little one.” Miss Jane said looking over at the boy. They were a strange looking child, wild eyes, two colored hair, and a horrific looking doll. They child looked over to Miss Jane with a curious smile.
“Did you say sorry?” The child asked and Miss Jane nodded. The child looked at her with a smile. “I should apologize, are you hurt.”
Miss Jane and the child whose name was Q, or nickname anyway, got along splendidly. He absolutely adored her accent and her old fashion personality, he said it reminded him of a princess. Alexandre and Victor were talking to the girls, Naomi and Kirako, making sure they were okay and just reviewing over the situation, making sure they had a safe place to go. Apparently they had members of the Armed Detective Agency picking them up at the next stop, which was also the place where the Society had their car that was waiting for them. Soon the train came to a stop and everyone got off the train, Q holding onto Miss Jane’s hand, dragging her along like mother and child. Waiting at the stop was a young man, he had whitish gray hair, with interesting eyes, purple and yellow. He ran up to the two girls wondering if they’re okay. Apparently the two girls were clerks at the Armed Detective Agency.
“Honestly if it wasn’t for Kunikida and Junichiro as well as our new friends we wouldn’t have had escaped.” Naomi said gesturing to Miss Jane, Alexandre, and Victor. “Atsushi, this is Jane, Alexandre, and Victor. They’re visiting from Europe.”
“Thank you so much ma’am, sirs.” Atsushi said, bowing slightly. Alexandre shook his head and waved Atsushi off.
“It’s alright, just doing the right thing. Also don’t call me sir, I’m probably not that much older than you, kid.” Alexandre said, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Just call me Alexandre.”
Q let go of Miss Jane’s hand and walked up to Atsushi, bumping into him. As Atsushi went to go look down at Q, he began to unroll his sleeve, revealing razor blades taped to his arm. Miss Jane screamed at this sight. They all watched Q tear their doll in hair and a look of madness came across Atsushi’s face, blood coming out of his eyes. He ram to strangle Kirako, but Alexandre and Victor began to restrain him, grabbing each of his arm. Miss Jane ran towards Q, touching him on his cheek, at least weakening his hold on Atsushi. All three society members knew at that moment that this child was insane. Atsushi clawed, literary clawed, at Alexandre and Victor, like cat. In all this panic a young man came forward and grabbed the doll with one hand and touched Miss Jane’s shoulder with the other, disabling both Q’s and Miss Jane’s ability, it was Dazai.
Miss Jane collapsed at that time as Q ran off back onto the train that was starting up again, but before she hit the stone, Dazai caught her, holding her up as he glared at the child. “Mr. Dazai’s friends are so weak, they broke so easily. But that’s fine, cause I’ll be saving Mr. Dazai for last.”
The rest of the conversation went in one ear and out the other for the society members as Victor and Alexandre ran to Miss Jane’s side, helping her get back up after the large use of her ability, taking her away from Dazai. Victor gave Dazai a nod as they walked off, but Dazai grabbed Victor by the wrist and pulled him back to whisper. “I know Gaston is planning on making an alliance with us, just remember nothing comes for free, nothing.”
—————————
Everyone finally returned to the headquarters and Victor and Alexandre sat down with Miss Jane to get her something to drink. At the same time you were waking up in Dr. Stevenson’s office, your leg bandaged up, Gaston and Dr. Stevenson by your side. Gaston was the first to notice you were awake, rushing over to you and hugging you, squeezing the life out of you.
“What were you thinking? I could have gotten out of the way, you worried us so much.” You felt something wet on your shoulder and you realized he was crying. “Don’t do that again.”
“Luckily it’s only a wound, nothing broken. The bullet did cut through some nerves that allow movement in your leg so you’re gonna be in that wheelchair for the foreseeable future.” Dr. Stevenson added and sighed when she saw Gaston wasn’t letting go. “Gaston, let (Name) breathe.”
He let go and you saw his face tear stained, you reached a hand up and whipped his face off. “Don’t cry music man.”
Dr. Stevenson helped you into a wheelchair soon after to get you back into your room to rest in a more comfortable space. As she rolled you down the hall you heard the front door of the building open and close, and quite a few footsteps walking in. Dr. Stevenson’s eyes narrowed and she quickly made her way to Jane’s apartment where everyone had gathered. “Miss Jane, did you hear that?”
Miss Jane nodded, this was only odd because everyone who lived here was in one room. Then when she was about to saw something there was a knock at the door. Miss Jane looked at the maid, Joan and gestured for her to open it. So Joan went to the front entry, opened the door and you heard a gasp as someone walked in. Everyone looked at each other with worried eyes. Then… you heard Miss Jane drop her tea cup and it shatter on the floor. You all saw a few people who came here uninvited, but in front of them all was a man, a blond man in his thirties and dressed up to the nines. There was a look of horror on Miss Jane’s face and he walked up towards her, like he lived her. He went up to her side, grabbed her chin and made her look at him.
“Hello Zelda.”
…The Guild had found you all
#yandere bungo stray dogs x reader#yandere bungou stray dogs#yandere bsd#original character x reader#bungou stray dogs oc#bungou stray dogs#bungou stray dogs x reader#yandere dazai#yandere chuuya#yandere mark twain#yandere mori ougai#yandere Fukuzawa#Yandere Edgar Allan Poe#Yandere John Steinbeck#yandere fyodor
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Bungo Stray Dogs Light Novel 1 : Osamu Dazai’s Entrance Exam by Asagiri Kafka
5⭐️/5
This novel covers episodes 6 and 7 of Season 1. However, this is the story of Dazai’s entrance exam, which is something that is not covered in anime, since the plot includes Atsushi. So, a lot of scenes were omitted from the novel. The novel was from Kunikida Doppo’s point of view regarding the case of Azure Messenger, which is the first case of Kunikida working with Dazai Osamu.
The story starts with the Prologue, which was include the inner thought of Kunikida, an idealist who lives in reality and a realist who pursues ideals. This is during the time Kunikida works together with Dazai, a man with unknown origin and capabilities but obsess with suicide, after Dazai joins Armed Detective Agency.
In Chapter I, the story tells how Kunikida, was introduced by President to Dazai, a mysterious man who happened to get a job through Chief Taneda, top brass from the Special Division for Unusual Power of Home Affairs Ministry. Working only four days, the President already asked Kunikida to prepare for the entrance exam for Dazai, which is mandatory for every detective in the agency. Kunikida was mentally exhausted by Dazai, who acted like a child and suicide maniac. To Kunikida, Dazai was a disaster. However, Dazaiwas acknowledged as an intelligent and skillful person but has nothing on his past which made Kunikida and President became suspicions of him. Kunikida received an order from the President to fire Dazai if Dazai was a spy and kill him if Dazai had any signs of wickedness in his heart. Dazai, being Dazai already made a wreck by eating a poisoning mushroom (but it was not a poisonous mushroom at all). After that, Kunikida received a request to check the building from anonymous clients. With that, Kunikida paid a visit to the teenage hacker, Taguchi Rokuda to get the information. Basically, this is the same scene as the anime. Including the scene with the taxi driver, the fight at the abandoned hospital, the scene of saving Sasaki Nobuko and the killing of all abduction victims, minus Atsushi.
Some trivia from this chapter, do not let Dazai drive. Yes, Dazai’s skill is terrible (I guess he purposely drives very fast to become the wind). And we know that Kunikida wants to get married at 26, after two years of dating. Good to know, Kunikida.
In Chapter II, the story continues to the part of the missing people case, in which the agency heavily criticised about the death of the abduction’s victims. Kunikida, not discouraged at all decide to continue investigate the case. Kunikida finally found out the taxi driver was the kidnapper and confront him (as per anime, minus Atsushi). I think this is the first time Akutagawa Ryuunosuke appeared in front of Kunikida, after Dazai ran after the taxi driver who run away when the Port Mafia ambushed them. However, after they turned the taxi driver to Military Police, Kunikida received another threat about bombing which could kill over one hundred people.
In Chapter III, the Agency has a meeting regarding the threat that was just received by Kunikida (as same as anime). Unfortunately, Ranpo was in Kyushu because of the case and was unlikely to return on time before the bombing. So, Kunikida asked for Rokuda’s help. While having a discussion with Dazai regarding the case (together with Sasaki), Kunikida had a wrong impression of Dazai and Sasaki’s iteration and indicated that he was jealous. However, this story includes the scene that has been omitted from the anime the scene at the embassy. Dazai made a scene at the reception of the embassy as someone who want to seek refuge and Kunikida was undercover as a Security Police officer. However, their cover was blown. Turn out, a man of Japanese descent, Zadkiel Alamta, a bomb purveyor from the Middle East had entered Japan without being informed to Japan’s authorities. After finding all the information that they need, the foreign secret intelligent agency’s officer was very impressed with Kunikida and tried to recruit Kunikida, which Kunikida rejected.
Unlike anime, Ranpo managed to get back to the agency and help to solve the case only by looking at the documents that Kunikida had prepared. Turn out, Dazai touched Ranpo while Ranpo uses his gift and tells Kunikida that Ranpo doesn’t have any gifts at all, which impresses Dazai. He is simply too smart. Both of them went to the fishing-gear shop, as per Ranpo’s deduction to stop the bombing. There, they found Alamta’s body, with a look-like tattoo of ’00’. At the same time, Kunikida received a call President regarding the death of the taxi driver with the same of ’00’ all over his body and a call from Rokuda that the email of threat was from Dazai’s computer inside the detective agency. With that, Kunikida bring Dazai to a deserted mountain path and killed him with a gun. But after killing Dazai, the agency still gets the threat email. But all of that was just a ploy. They have to destroy the listening device naturally since the fountain pen of Dazai was swapped with the listening device during their trip to the embassy.
This scene was not animated, which is the scene when they managed to get in contact with the airplane that fell from engine failure and was purposefully sabotaged. They only have one hour to save the plane. Using the tracker, they managed to track the criminal to air-raid shelter and attack like in the anime scene. After they managed to stop the interference divide, they finally save all the passengers of the airplane from being crash at Yokohama City.
In Chapter IV, all is well. They managed to solve the case of the plan hijack and found the organisation that was responsible for the organ and weapon traffic. Kunikida decided Dazai pass the examination, even though Dazai have many problems. However, Dazai lures Kunikida out on his day off to abandon the hospital and reveal that the arms dealer was the Azure Apostle. Rokuda, who read Dazai’s email also went to the meeting point, only to find out that the person who behind the case was Sasaki. Sasaki shoot Rokuda and told Kunikida that the Azure King was her lover. Rokuda, who wants to get revenge for his father who was killed during the investigation of Azure Apostle killed Sasaki with the gun that was brought by Dazai. Indirectly, Dazai killed her, believing that she deserved it. Sasaki was dead, and so with Rokudo.
After that, Akutagawa in Chapter Interlude II was still looking for someone who has the ability to nullify others’ skill upon contact. Turn out, Dazai was Akutagawa’s mentor and former Port Mafia Executive.
In Chapter Epilogue, turn out Kunikida told this story to Taniguchi about his first case with Dazai. Since that, they became partners who can trust each other.
This story was interesting, as we managed to know more deeply about Kunikida and Dazai’s partnership. Both of them were skillful and diligent in doing their work, although Dazai can be a pain in the ass. However, I can tell that this book also told readers why Kunikida trust Dazai when they were working together, as I believe Dazai was the first person who told about there is no ideal belief and the ideal world seriously to Kunikida.
Disclaimer: All the opinion about this book is based on my personal view!
#book review#BSG#Bungo Stray Dogs Light Novel 1#Osamu Dazai’s Entrance Exam#Asagiri Kafka#Harukawa Sango#5/5#Light Novel#Fantasy#Mystery#Fiction#miliyaread
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!SPOILERS FOR BSD S4!
Watched the new episode for Bungo Stray Dogs and it was AMAZING!!! :D I also watched if on Zoro.to if you are looking for a website to watch it on!
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Also I noticed that the taxi driver from season one was also in the episode! When he was younger he said that once he was done becoming an actor he would probably become a taxi driver and in season one he said that was an actor but his career never took off!
S4 for BSD going good so far! Can’t wait for the angst to roll in!
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