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anqelically-archived · 1 year

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goodbye, my darling | osamu dazai x fem!reader

word count: 2.8k

content: beast!au spoilers, angst, you take oda’s place (but aren’t exactly like him)

navigation | bsd masterlist

you were never too keen on the idea of meeting someone whose face you’d never seen. as a cautious woman, who also worked as a detective for a living, you’d normally deny a meeting with someone unfamiliar. however, to deny a gathering in your current situation could cost the life of a boy you took in as a subordinate.

the lives of those younger than you were of the utmost importance.

ryunosuke akutagawa was your subordinate, who, blindly, stormed into the headquarters of the most dangerous organization in yokohama. in order to save his little sister, akutagawa broke into the port mafia’s building by himself to get her back.

since he was a member of the agency, it was part of your mission to rescue him. as you walked towards a lone bar in ginza, you never forgot that. a cigarette burned away in your dominant hand as you walked towards bar lupin.

your aim was to aid akutagawa in what would happen after his escape from the port mafia. the reason you were meeting with the person in charge of monetary security for the mafia was to gain information. with a threat dangerous to the port mafia, a bargain can be made. the akutagawas can be safe from the port mafia, and the port mafia can be safe from the government.

the cigarette in your hand was put out when you rubbed it against the brick wall. you threw the unfinished product into the trashcan nearby before you took quiet steps down the stairs toward the bar. you were sure it was the location based on the sign outside.

the moment you opened the door, the mellow, low tune of jazz reached your ears. your (e/c) eyes scanned the almost empty bar in front of you. at the actual bar itself sat one lone man. from his stature, he was definitely not the old man you were expecting.

his hair, dark as coffee beans, covered his face before he turned around. a smile adorned the unfamiliar man’s face as he looked at you with a shine in his rich, brown eye. the other one seemed to be wrapped in bandages, just like the ends of his arms. he was handsome if you had to say. but for someone dressed like a port mafia hitman, he greeted you like you knew each other well.

“(n/n), it’s been a while,” he spoke, voice soft. “were you smoking again? i can smell the stench from a mile away, you know.”

“i suppose it’s not unusual for you to smell it,” you responded. “but you say it’s been a while... have we met before?”

the man closed his eye, an almost silent sigh escaping his mouth. once you could see his uncovered eye again, the shine that was once there seemed to dull. it was still there, but harder for you to see in the dimly lit bar. he pushed down the sphere of ice in his drink.

“no, we haven’t met yet. this is the first time. the first time i’ve entered this bar, first time i drank here, first time we’ve met here, in this crazy world. a whole lotta firsts, wouldn’t you say, (n/n)?”

“yeah, it’s a lot.”

you found yourself sitting one stool away from the man. a bittersweet silence was draped between the two of you and for some reason, you felt the urge to change it as soon as possible. you wanted to fall into a light conversation you’d normally have with someone close to you. it was odd, really. you were here for a purpose, yet you sat by idly.

“hey, i’ve got a question.” if the man wasn’t going to speak first, you would. you asked, “if we’re going to sit here, what should i call you? i doubt you’d want me to call you mister bandages.”

“well, calling me yours would be just fine,” he playfully smirked at you. “darling wouldn’t be bad either.”

“so it’s going to be like that?”

“of course it is. i have a nickname for you, and you have one for me. it’s only fair, isn’t it? but, i have a question for you. if we’re going to be here, what would you like to drink? pick your poison, belladonna.”

you let your chin rest on your hand, “well, i usually only drink with my coworkers and when i’m tired. i always have a lime margarita, if you can make that for me, darling.”

he smiled as he went behind the bar, “hm, i suppose i can make it. but since you’re here with me for the first time, how about we drink something else for the first time too? i can make a mean french martini, surprisingly. i’ve watched it get made plenty of times.”

“if you insist, go ahead. if it tastes bad, don’t be surprised when i give you 0 stars.”

“ouch, how low.”

dazai, to your surprise, began to create the drink as if he knew the bar like the back of his hand. he grabbed the right drinks from their respective places without even looking at the labels to create the cocktail. it was as if the bar was his.

while he was at it, you asked him something that had been bothering you from the moment he first talked. “you called me (n/n) when i entered the bar, so it’s safe to say that it refers to me. why call me that?”

“why?” he hummed. “i should ask you that. do you not like it?”

“it doesn’t bother me in the slightest. it’s just… no one has ever called me that before. everyone just calls me (y/n), but not you, clearly.”

he lowered his gaze and the corners of his lips turned up. that smile of his, you could read it clear as day. you were able to tell that this man wasn’t smiling from what you've said, not even genuinely smiling. he smiled for the sake of himself. you didn’t know what he was thinking or feeling, but you were sure it had to do with yourself. there was no way it didn’t.

“and no one’s ever called me their darling until you have, (n/n). it’s another first for the both of us, and we did it together. but hey, i have some stories i’ve been living to tell you. can i?”

after giving him the go-ahead, he excitedly talked about dealing with a bomb and giving his underlings firm tofu. the way he told his stories was like a little child coming home from the first day of school and telling their parents about their new friends.

once he was done, he slid the drink right in front of you and took a seat. however, it was not the seat he was originally at when you walked into the bar. getting closer than he was, he sat on the stool to your left. he held up his drink and, as if it were engraved into your body, you clinked your glass against his without a thought.

“well go ahead, taste it! let’s see if it really is worth 0 stars,” he urged you.

the way he stared into your eyes with anticipation, it was another strange thing you’ve noticed. he was genuinely happy. he was probably the strangest person you’ve ever met, and you’ve met some odd people. hell, you worked with them.

after having a thought, you picked up the glass. you pressed it against your lips and took a sip, aware of the eye on you. once you swallowed and set the drink down, you could see a satisfied smile in your peripheral vision.

“good, huh?” the brunette asked.

“it really is,” you confirmed. “it's not worth 0 stars.”

“see? what did i tell you, belladonna? a french martini suits you, though. you can always ask me to make you some if you want.”

“maybe. i’d ask if you can cook as well, but your firm tofu says otherwise.”

he chuckled, “yeah, i’m not much of a cook. i always had someone else cook for me. it was edible too. she was much better than i was at cooking. at a lot of things, actually.”

“she seems like a woman of talent.”

“that’s right, she was. i’ve missed her… i’ve missed her a lot these past years.”

“a mother?”

“nope, my mom had been long gone from my life. this woman… she was much more than that.”

you couldn’t find anything else to say, so you remained quiet. that was, until the bandage-wearing man brought up why you two even decided to meet in the first place. he asked for more details.

“a subordinate of mine is in danger, and i want to cut a deal. it’d be a miracle if he came out in one piece, let alone with the person he’s been searching for. if he makes it out, i have no doubt that the port mafia will hunt him down. i want to cut a deal that’ll benefit us both.”

after contemplating, he murmured, “akutagawa’s lucky to have come across a good teacher like you.”

“excuse me?”

“you don’t need to worry about akutagawa. after today, the mafia will never lay another finger on him. there’s no catch; he’ll be able to live the rest of his life in peace... besides, this is what i’ve had planned since the beginning... if he makes it out of the mafia headquarters alive, that is.”

what he told you had confirmed your suspicions. taking another sip of the martini, you looked him straight in the eye. you’ve let yourself come off as laid back, but now your expression was stern. he was caught off-guard.

“tell me, why did you lure him? why did you lure akutagawa into your headquarters, osamu dazai?”

it went silent, so much so that the music didn’t reach either of your ears.

“guess you’ve figured it out. i can’t fool you, can i?” he quipped. “you’ve always been quite intelligent.”

“you’re the one who gave out the hints. when talking about the tofu, you talked about underlings. you spoke like you had a lot of them. then, you talked about akutagawa without me even saying his name. not to mention how you’ve had plans from the beginning. only the port mafia’s boss would know, and be able to plan much. you’re the reason akutagawa is searching for his sister in the first place. this is over.”

“no, wait-!”

dazai reached out his arm, but he halted at the familiar click of a gun. his eye widened and he could only look at you with a horrified expression. he didn’t even have to look down to know your trusty pistol was in your hand.

“please put the gun away,” dazai begged, his face contorting to an expression of sorrow.

“i’m sorry, but i’m afraid i can’t do that. if i do, who knows what’ll happen to me? but then again, i’m already screwed if this is a trap. the port mafia’s boss is cunning, so i’m done acting like we’re close.”

“i didn’t want to become the boss! i… and i didn’t think of it as an act, not at all. it’s the truth, i swear.”

he looked at you so sincerely that you almost dropped the gun from your side. raw emotion was behind his words, or so you thought. maybe he could still be lying to you? maybe lying to himself. after all, there are liars so good that they’ve deceived themselves.

you looked down at your lap, “i guess that i’ve got to come up with another plan for saving akutagawa. well, if i can leave this establishment alive, that is.”

dazai insisted, “this isn’t a trap. i would never even dream of doing something like that to you, (n/n).”

“my name is (l/n) (y/n), not (n/n).”

your words were another shot to his chest.

“right, (y/n). you asked me why i lured akutagawa to the mafia headquarters, right? well, i did it to protect this world.”

you raised a brow, “this world?”

“this is but one of countless worlds. and in another world, the original world, you and i were… we were—“

“i love you,” he recalls the light touch of your fingers burning up his skin, “and there’s nothing in any universe that would change that.”

“—we were friends. you and i were friends in the original world. we drank at this bar and spent time together talking about the most insignificant things. it lasted for a while.”

dazai can also remember your last moments. you were laying in your own pool of blood when he finally caught up to you. when you spoke to him, you spoke in that same calm voice you’ve always had. and then, the smoke of the cigarette in your hand had dissipated into nothing, just like the light in your eyes.

“even if that were true, that doesn’t change what you did to akutagawa and his sister. you separated them, and now here we are,” you reminded dazai. “we may have been close in the original world, as you call it, but we are enemies now.”

“i love you—“

dazai’s eyes searched for something in the air that wasn’t there. his eye darted around, and his lips would slightly part and shut after a few seconds. his face twisted as he continued to remember everything.

“—and there’s nothing in any universe that would change that.”

“it was hard... it was really hard fighting mimic without you in the organization. i had no choice but to take over for mori and make enemies of everyone around me to expand the business,” dazai finally looked back at you. slowly, his hands reached for your cheeks. “everything i did was for this world’s- for you. i needed a world where you can sit here, happy with the people around you again.”

for a reason you couldn’t decipher, the hand that held your gun began to tremble. well, maybe it had been trembling for a long time and you were only now just recognizing it. dazai’s hands, cold and soft at the touch, held your face as if you were the most delicate thing in the world.

it was a touch of a lover.

coming down to that conclusion, everything made sense to you. dazai always looked at you like you were closest thing to him, a lifeline if you may. his nicknames, the flirting, talking about this unnamed important woman in his life. it was all because...

“we were in a relationship, weren’t we?”

dazai would’ve missed your words if the proximity between the two of you wasn’t this close. the way he froze in his spot had answered enough, and you could only sigh. slowly, you put your gun back into your jacket and rested your hands on dazai’s.

you gently pried his hands off of your face and held them between your own. you felt no specific feelings from the action, but you were sure dazai did based off of how his face softened.

“i’m sorry, but you have to leave your feelings out of this. i don’t know how you know what happened in the original world, and i won’t ask. i just have to tell you that i don’t feel what you do. like i said, you and i are enemies here. as long as you control the port mafia and i’m part of the armed detective agency, it’ll remain this way.”

“there’s nothing in any universe that would change that.”

“i see,” dazai took his hands back and rested them on his lap. “well, the reason i invited you here in the first place was to say goodbye.”

“you really don’t plan on ever seeing me again?”

“you said it, didn’t you? we’re enemies as long as we’re associated with the organizations we’re in. so after today, i won’t see you again. it’ll only hurt more if i do.”

“then this makes this a goodbye,” you watched as he stood up from his stool, hands in the pockets of his black overcoat.

“yes, it does. a life with someone you can say goodbye to is a good life, especially when it hurts so much to say it to them. am i wrong?”

“i guess you wouldn’t be... i haven’t said goodbye to anyone and have it pain me,” you replied, feeling bad for the port mafia’s boss.

“i hope you don’t for a long time. but one day, that time will come. you won’t be prepared for it, but all i can tell you is to let it in. feel everything, and see where it takes you.” dazai faintly smiled before he turned his back to you and began to walk away, “goodbye, (n/n).”

“goodbye, my darling.”

painfully, dazai grit his teeth and resisted the urge to look back. in goodbyes, that’s what they always do. they turn around and crash into the person they’re supposed to be leaving. he didn’t want to do that. this was his goodbye to you, even if it didn’t mean much. if he was going to keep this world functioning, he won’t leave it with you in any pain.

‘be happy, okay? even if it’s without me, be happy. as long as you’re alive, somewhere, i’ll be happy too’

it was a final thought he kept to himself.

note: this pained me sm to write, but i had to for the sake of my imagination </3

please reblog for more!

#bungou stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #dazai x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai osamu x reader #dazai #bsd beast #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs beast #bsd manga #osamu dazai #dazai osamu #angst #bsd angst #aqwriting

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everestica · 4 months

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♫ - Hi! I know this really isn't my normal content and I am very sorry for that but every year around the first week or so of the new year I go back and think about everything in the past year that's happen to me and things I'd like to change etc. As much as I love my tumblr friends and community there was some pretty shitty things that did end up happening during the year and instead of talking it out (like a normal person) I have decided that instead I would use all those emotions and turn them into writings. So for my first piece of the new year it will be a Dazai x Reader, that might or might not make you cry. (almost made me cry tbh) But before you read there are some warnings listed below!!

⚠ WARNINGS ⚠ - This fic is based off the October 1930 Dazai Suicide (The IRL one) so their is quite a few suicide mentions and reader does end up dying if you did not know about that. There is no mention of readers past and you can interpreter how you like. There are refrences to No Longer Human (The book) and to Dazai in the show (BSD).

READ AT YOUR OWN RISK AND PLEASE READ WARNINGS BEFORE READING!

Imagine you and Dazai finally decided to commit, but only you died, the love of his life and he was still stuck in this hell. Alone.

This was finally it. The thing that Dazai had dreamed about for years on end. The thing he wanted to accomplish ever since he could remember, and here you are, the person that Dazai loved so much even after getting to know you past you saying that you would commit a double suicide with him. It had all started with him meeting you on a mission and getting down on one knee asking for a double suicide, you had already had a past and wanted to escape it in anyway you could and so you agreed, shockingly to Dazai. It was the first person that had ever actually said yes? Of course he had to make sure you weren’t joking so he got your number and had talked to you countless times, and he ended up falling in love, much to his astoundment. It had been a couple months before it was finally in both your interests to go through with it, for Dazai and his port mafia background and even before that, and you, with your personal issues that you never really brought up, keeping them separated from the world. Well, the world besides Dazai. So here you were, at a beach in Kamakura, ready to end it all. You had taken the first step thinking about everything, your whole life relieving itself as you made it to the water. Did you really want this? Or was this just an escape..? Whatever it was you didn’t have time and no matter how many times Dazai looked over at you, it was all behind you. It didn’t matter now. The water keeps getting higher until at your neck, that’s when you finally saw it. The reason for living.

It had brought you back as you felt the water finally reaching up. Dazai Osamu. That was your reason for.

Too late.

It had been years, now aged 22 for the man. Atsushi had went out to go find him as he was blowing off a meeting, once again. He checked the usual places, but yet he wasn’t there.. It wasn’t until he got an update that Dazai had boarded one of the trains heading towards Kamakura. It was about an Hour before he finally found Dazai, standing at a beach of all places..? It wasn’t until he got closer that he found him putting a flower by the ocean, letting it get picked up by the waves. He looked as if he was almost crying?

Atsushi: Uh Dazai..?

Dazai: Oh.. Atsushi. What are you doing here?

Atsushi: Kunikida wanted me to come find you. We were having a meeting but it’s probably over by now.. Um if you don’t mind me asking, what are you doing all the way out here..? You’re not committing suicide again are you?

Dazai could only slightly laugh and turn back to where he had placed the flower, which was long gone by now, where only the waves could tell.

Dazai: Afraid not.

Not long after they left, heading back on the next train to Yokohama where Dazai had just mentioned somebody special was there, no more, no less. Of course Atsushi wanted to know more but it was the first time that he had almost seen Dazai cry and didn’t wanna press anymore then he had been.

But what he’ll never know is there, on that beach in Kamakura was where he also lost the love of his life. The once who not only made his life less shameful, but one who finally gave a purpose to this thing we call living.

♫ - Please if you are going to repost any of my works anywhere else, ask permission first! There will be almost a 100% chance that I will say yes as long as you just ask and give credit! Thank you for your understanding!

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bsd #bungo stray dogs #dazai osamu x reader #dazai x reader #dazai osamu #dazai #dazai angst

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silvfyre-writings · 1 year

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Fukuzawa Becomes a Dad (BSD Fanfic)

So uh, hi, I never thought I'd be writing a fic for BSD in my life considering I have not read the manga and I usually make it my personal policy to not write fics when I'm not up to date, cause ya know, important things I don't know. But then I binge watched the anime, and fell in love with the dynamic between Fukuzawa and Ranpo (season 4's beginning made me feeeeeel) and so I wrote this. In 4 days.

Word Count: 12,927

Fukuzawa had gone to work that day, expecting to complete his job as a bodyguard, just as he’d always done without any problems. It had been a windy day, and his client had been murdered, but that was okay; these things happened and even he failed at his job sometimes.

What he hadn’t expected was the unpredictable whirlwind that was Edogawa Ranpo. The fourteen-year-old orphan had quickly latched onto Fukuzawa’s presence—despite his best efforts to deter said boy—and Fukuzawa found himself being dragged through one of the most eventful nights of his life in a long time.

A long time.

And he was tired.

Fukuzawa let out a sigh, lifting one hand to rest it on top of Ranpo’s head, the boys’ tears and muffled apologies never ending, almost as if the poor boy thought that Fukuzawa was going to up and abandon him like everyone else had. Fukuzawa ran his hand through the choppy strands of black hair, ignoring the way Ranpo’s cries grew stronger at the motion. It was clear to him that it was no longer about the scolding he’d given the boy, nor was it about the close brush with death he’d just experienced; it was something much deeper, something that Fukuzawa didn’t quite understand because he didn’t yet understand Ranpo.

But he wasn’t one to just ignore a crying child, so he patiently stood there, letting Ranpo cling to him and sob into his chest, doing his best to ignore how damp his yukata was becoming, tears and snot melding together with the fabric. He’d just have to throw them in the wash when he got home.

Home.

Something that Ranpo didn’t have the luxury of, Fukuzawa remembered. He recalled what Ranpo had told him back at the café, a morning that seemed so long ago now, about the death of his parents, the jobs he’d had and subsequently been fired from, and everything else that had gone wrong in his life since coming to Yokohama.

“I have nowhere to go.”

Fukuzawa let out another sigh, the noise producing a whimper from Ranpo, small arms tightening their grip on him. A few tears still leaked from the boys eyes, but it looked as if the worst of the breakdown was over, yet Ranpo still kept his face buried in his chest, unmoving, and clearly waiting for the silence to be broken—or for Fukuzawa to just toss him away like a piece of trash, which Fukuzawa had no intention of doing. It was hard to tell what Ranpo was thinking normally, let alone in the current situation. He didn’t know if he should offer words of comfort, or if he should just keep quiet and let Ranpo sort through his emotions on his own. In the end, he chose to keep silent; words weren’t really his forte to begin with, and Ranpo was already in a fragile enough state.

The grip on the back of his yukata loosened, and Fukuzawa waited for Ranpo to pull away, only have the boy slump against him, his honed reflexes the only reason that Ranpo didn’t fall straight to the ground. Fukuzawa frowned, his heart beating faster because had Ranpo been injured and he hadn’t realized? He brushed back Ranpo’s bangs, the motion enough to coax Ranpo into looking up at him with half-lidded eyes, and splotchy cheeks.

“Tired…” Ranpo murmured, dropping his head again.

Fukuzawa nodded even though it wouldn’t be seen. “Alright. Let’s go then.”

“… nowhere to go.”

“You can stay with me tonight. We’ll work out things in the morning.” Fukuzawa said, dropping down so that he could lift Ranpo into his arms easier. It was strange, an action Fukuzawa had never seen himself performing, yet in the moment, it felt right. Ranpo’s arms draped over his shoulders, and his head came to rest in the crook of his neck. There were no protests from Ranpo at being treated like a small child, and a quick glance showed that the boy had already closed his eyes.

Fukuzawa sighed once again, this time with no response from Ranpo, and carefully maneuvered the both of them so that he could pick up the fallen glasses he’d given Ranpo, and also Ranpo’s hat. Once both items were secured, he turned and left the room, knowing that the moment he stepped outside of the building, his life wouldn’t be the same again.

The next problem came in the form of Fukuzawa’s apartment itself; a simple one bedroom, one bathroom accommodation that was more than suitable for himself and his few belongings, but most certainly not suitable for a growing teenage boy—if Ranpo ended up staying with him long term in the end. Still, it would do for tonight at least, and then, after talking to Ranpo, he could look into other options. Quietly, Fukuzawa opened the door, even though he needn’t have bothered, for Ranpo hadn’t moved an inch since he’d fallen asleep in Fukuzawa’s arms. It was just another sign that the boy was thoroughly exhausted—as if the patch of drool dampening his collar wasn’t enough of an indicator.

Thank god for washing machines.

Once inside, Fukuzawa kicked off his sandals, and dropped Ranpo’s hat and glasses onto the table in the entryway, before pulling the sleeping boy’s own shoes off and dropping them to the ground. How he managed to succeed without waking Ranpo—or dropping him—Fukuzawa didn’t know, and wouldn’t question. He was a skilled swordsman, a former assassin, and a well accomplished body guard; he didn’t drop things. However, carrying a sword, or a person over his shoulder was another thing entirely when compared to carrying a sleeping teen like he was still a toddler. Not that Ranpo was particularly tall for his age; in fact, he was rather on the small side. Yet still very much a child.

A child that had had a gun pointed at his head not even an hour ago.

Fukuzawa couldn’t stop the shudder from running through him at the memory. A gun. Pointed at a fourteen-year-old boy. If Fukuzawa had been even one second too late, Ranpo would’ve died, a horrifying sight to imagine, and something that the genius child hadn’t seemed to understand at the time until Fukuzawa had slapped some sense into him… behaviour that he truly regretted now. It was never right to raise a hand to a child, not even one as frustrating as Ranpo. Even if it had gotten his point across in the end, it very well could’ve damaged the tentative trust that Ranpo had placed in him, and driven the boy away from him instead of towards.

What am I going to do with you? Fukuzawa thought, stepping silently through his home towards his room. Tonight, Ranpo could sleep on his futon whilst Fukuzawa took the couch. He eyed the couch distastefully; it was a truly horrid thing—barely even a couch. But it had been cheap and provided something for him to sit and work on, and that was all that had mattered at the time when he’d purchased it. Tomorrow, he could look into getting a second futon and clearing some space so that Ranpo had somewhere at least.

It took far longer than it should’ve to get Ranpo settled, the boy subconsciously clinging to him when he’d tried to lay him on the futon, refusing to uncurl his fist from where he clutched desperately at Fukuzawa’s yukata. But finally, he succeeded, and he pulled the blanket over Ranpo’s sleeping form before leaving the room—leaving the door slightly ajar just in case the boy needed him during the night—and making himself as comfortable as possible on the couch.

It was going to be a long night.

“Fukuzawa-san… Fukuzawa-san… Fuku—”

“What, Ranpo?” Fukuzawa said, trying his best to keep the irritation out of his voice, even though he wanted nothing more than to tie Ranpo to a pole and leave him there just to get a few hours of quiet.

Which he wouldn’t do, because he’d promised Ranpo he’d take care of him.

But he could dream.

“I’m hungry.”

This time, Fukuzawa couldn’t stop the irritated huff from slipping through. Not that it seemed to bother Ranpo in the slightest. “You just ate.”

“Yeah, but, I’m hungry.” Ranpo repeated as if saying the same thing again was going to elicit a different response. As if being as annoying a humanly possible was going to make Fukuzawa cave and let him have his way, when Fukuzawa knew exactly what it was that Ranpo wanted from him.

He wasn’t going to give in.

He was—

“… there’s a bakery up ahead. We can get something there.”—going to give in. Damn, he was getting soft. It had only been a month since Ranpo had come into his care, even though it felt much, much, longer. If anyone from the time he had wielded his sword could see him now, he guaranteed that they wouldn’t recognize him one bit in his current state. Hell, there were times where he couldn’t recognize himself either, and if anyone had ever told him he’d be trading his sword in for a child, he’d have laughed at them. Yet here he was, without a sword, and a child following behind him.

But as Ranpo beamed at him, throwing his arms into the air at his victory as he dashed ahead to the bakery in question, Fukuzawa could do nothing but shake his head fondly at the antics. In just a month; a singular month, Ranpo had managed to weasel himself into Fukuzawa’s life as if he’d always been a part of it, eating all his food and emptying his wallet like it was his own. The intelligence that the boy pertained was truly remarkable; the way he could simply look at a crime scene and deduce who the killer was and how, almost instantaneously, was always jaw dropping to see. And it wasn’t just the mysteries of crime scenes either; anything with a plot hidden behind closed doors wasn’t safe. Which of course meant that trying to entertain Ranpo with movies or books was pointless; the boy had already figured out the plot within the first five minutes. The best Fukuzawa had been able to do was keep up a steady pile of snacks and sweets for Ranpo to eat so he didn’t spoil the experiences for everyone around him.

Needless to say, Fukuzawa was soon to be out of a job, since Ranpo kept solving the cases of the people he was hired to protect. Not that he was overly bothered by that fact, since it meant he could turn his focus towards the brief idea that he’d had back at the theatre that day; of a—

“Fukuzawa-san.” Ranpo’s voice ended his train of thought and he blinked down at the boy. They were standing out the front of the bakery, Ranpo tilting his head to the side. “You’re thinking too hard.”

“It need not concern you.” Fukuzawa said, for right now, Ranpo truly didn’t need to worry about what he was thinking. “Hurry up and pick something out, we have a job to get to.”

“You mean, I have a job, right?” Ranpo asked.

“Yes, Ranpo, you have the job. I am merely your protection.” Fukuzawa sighed, already pulling his wallet out as Ranpo began to list off the obnoxious number of sweets he wanted. I should just buy the bakery at this point.

“Ha! Did you see that woman’s face when called her out? She really should’ve thought it through better if she didn’t want to get caught. Even a pre-schooler could’ve figured it out!” Fukuzawa was half-listening to Ranpo ramble about the woman he’d just gotten arrested for murdering her best friend, a murder that a pre-schooler most certainly could not have solved. Not that Ranpo seemed to understand that it was only him that had been able to see the truth in the end; not even the police had been able to figure it out properly, most of them still looking confused about what had just happened, yet accepting Ranpo’s words for what they were. Just another day with Ranpo. Fukuzawa hadn’t even been needed, only tagging along in the first place to make sure that Ranpo didn’t get lost, and that no one targeted the boy.

He'd tried teaching Ranpo some defensive moves not long after taking the boy in, but his efforts were in vain. Ranpo had about as much fight sense as a newborn calf, and after a fall that had nearly broken his nose, Fukuzawa had simply resigned himself to protecting Ranpo himself.

Which had been so far successful; touch wood.

“You did well, Ranpo.” Fukuzawa praised, dipping his head in acknowledgement.

Ranpo’s face lit up. “Do I get a reward?”

“You’ll have to wait until you get paid, I’m afraid, unless you want to be eating dust for dinner.” Fukuzawa said, his words a reminder that their funds were stretched a bit thin at the moment, on account of moving into a bigger home; still small by most people’s standards, it gave Ranpo his own room and that was the main thing.

Ranpo’s face fell. “Oh. We shouldn’t have moved then.”

Fukuzawa sighed. “You needed your own space, Ranpo, the old place was too small for us both to reside in long term. And you like the new place.” Left unsaid was the fact that Fukuzawa himself had wanted a room of his own again, since Ranpo had refused to sleep on the couch after doing it for just one night; something that he didn’t really blame the boy for doing. It truly had been an awful couch.

Mostly, Fukuzawa just wanted some privacy.

There was nothing more terrifying than waking up to a face inches away from his own, loudly demanding breakfast before he starved to death.

“Yeah, but like, I’ll die without my snacks.” Ranpo complained, looking around the street as they walked, eyes open for a change. “Are you sure we can’t get just one thing?”

It’s a trap. Fukuzawa thought, refusing to give in to Ranpo’s pleas. “No, Ranpo, we have food at home. You’ll just have to wait until we get back.”

Ranpo groaned, throwing his head back dramatically, mouth open with a complaint on the tip of his tongue. Fukuzawa waited for the begging and whining to begin when suddenly, something caught Ranpo’s attention, the boy coming to a stop. Pausing beside his ward, Fukuzawa stared at Ranpo, wondering just what was going through the boy’s mind when he sprinted towards the stairs that led to a street that Fukuzawa knew, had a sweet shop on it, calling over his shoulder. “At least let me look!”

“Ranpo, wait!” Fukuzawa called, watching as time seemed to slow around him.

Ranpo tripped at the top of the stairs before he could stop himself.

Fukuzawa lunged towards Ranpo, hand outstretched, even as he knew he wouldn’t make it in time, watching as Ranpo disappeared from view. “Ranpo!” He came to a stop at the top of the stairs, watching as Ranpo tumbled down the stairs, coming to a halt at the platform halfway down. Fukuzawa stared, heart pounding in his chest as Ranpo lay there, green eyes wide as they looked up at him. He’s fine, he’s fine, probably just a little winded. He’s fine, he’s—

Ranpo wailed.

—not fine. Fukuzawa flew down the remaining stairs, falling into a crouch beside Ranpo as the boy curled up into a ball. Tears were falling from Ranpo’s eyes at an alarming pace, his body shaking with each sob, and one arm was being held protectively by the other. These tears were not like the ones from that night where Fukuzawa had scolded his charge, no, these were the kind of tears that came when one was hurting, and hurting bad. Fukuzawa ran his eyes over Ranpo’s body, scanning for any signs of blood, and thankful when he found none. Still, it had been a bad fall, and Ranpo very much could’ve hit his head on the way down. He rested a hand on Ranpo’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze to try and encourage the boy to look at him. "Ranpo, can you tell me if you hit your head?”

Ranpo only cried even harder.

A little bit of panic seeped into Fukuzawa’s being, along with discomfort as a crowd began to form around the two of them; said crowd no doubt causing Ranpo even more distress as the muttered and whispered amongst each other. Not one person stepped forward to offer assistance. “Tch.” Injuries weren’t something that Fukuzawa was accustomed to dealing with, since most of the time, injuries received in his line of work—and previous occupations—were fatal. This was all new territory to him, and for once, he didn’t know what to do.

Stop. Breathe. Think. It was obvious that Ranpo had hurt himself bad, considering that any attempt Fukuzawa made to soothe the boy was met with more wailing. The way that Ranpo was cradling his arm was a pretty clear indicator that that was the source of his pain, although Fukuzawa couldn’t see anything immediately wrong with the limb. But just because he couldn’t see anything didn’t mean that there wasn’t something wrong with it. Broken bones were quite the invisible enemy—aside from when they obviously weren’t—and Ranpo’s fall certainly could’ve broken something.

“Sir, do you need an ambulance?” An elderly gentleman broke free of the crowd, coming to crouch beside Fukuzawa.

“No.” Fukuzawa said, even though he was one second away from dialling the number himself. Yes, Ranpo needed the hospital, but Fukuzawa could get him there himself, just so long as he was careful. “I’m going to take him to the hospital now.”

“Would you like a ride then, sir? My car is just parked at the bottom. You’ll get there quicker.” The old man offered.

It only took a second for Fukuzawa to come to a decision.

“That would be appreciated, thank you.”

Fukuzawa watched with careful eyes as the doctor carefully manipulated Ranpo’s arm into the desired position for a cast; Ranpo leaning heavily against him, staring unseeingly at the floor. The drive to the hospital had been fast, as the gentleman had promised, but also stressful as Ranpo had cried the whole way, his face buried into Fukuzawa’s chest. No words had been said, but none needed to be. It was obvious that Ranpo was frightened about what had happened, and wasn’t quite sure what was going to happen next. All Fukuzawa could do in that moment was hold Ranpo close and wipe away his tears as they fell.

The verdict had been a broken arm—specifically, a broken elbow and a snapped wrist.

The doctor had called Ranpo lucky, after hearing about the fall that had caused the injury, telling Fukuzawa that while the breaks were bad, there was no need for surgery. A small win, in the grand scheme of things, although the news had still been upsetting to Ranpo. Thankfully, all that was needed was a cast to protect the injured limb, and many weeks of rest, which hopefully, Fukuzawa would be able to convince Ranpo to do.

But first they needed to actually get out of the hospital.

By the time the doctors had finished with all the scans and x-rays, Ranpo had stopped crying—which reminded Fukuzawa that he needed to apologize to the poor reception staff that had to deal with Ranpo’s loud cries in the emergency room as he’d dashed through the doors—but when the doctor had come by to wrap Ranpo’s arm, grabbing it gently, Ranpo had flinched. Hard. Which of course, jostled his broken arm, and the cries that had followed were deafening, and no amount of soothing and reassurances had been enough to get Ranpo calm enough to allow the doctor to finish the job.

Eventually, after several failed attempts, the doctor had resorted to giving Ranpo a mild sedative, leading them to their current situation. Fukuzawa had one arm wrapped around Ranpo’s waist, so that the boy didn’t fall off the bed, and his other hand was soothingly running through black hair. Ranpo didn’t seem to be aware of his surroundings, but whether that was the shock running through him or the sedative, Fukuzawa couldn’t tell. Either way, it was a small mercy if it meant that there would be no more tears.

“I just need to grab the supplies from the next room. Can you hold his arm there for me?” The doctor said, waiting for Fukuzawa’s hand to replace his own before leaving the room, returning seconds later like he’d promised and got to work. “In a week, you’ll need to come back so we can see how the bones are healing, and that’s when we’ll replace this cast with something a little more colorful if that’s what young Ranpo would like.”

Fukuzawa nodded, making a mental note to remember to return. “Worst case scenario?”

“Worst case is that the bones are showing signs of healing incorrectly, which means we would have to perform surgery to correct it.” The doctor explained. “It’s not a life-threatening surgery by all means, but it does mean a longer recovery time. But it’s only a small number of cases that are worst case. I’m confident that the arm will mend itself properly.”

“Thank you.” Fukuzawa said. “And, apologies for the disturbance we caused in the waiting room.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. He’s not the first kid that’s come through screaming like a banshee with a broken limb, and he won’t be the last. Is this his first break?”

“I believe so. He came into my care just last month.” Fukuzawa wanted to argue that Ranpo had not been screaming like a banshee, but the argument soon died on his lips when he realized that while no, Ranpo had not been screaming, he had certainly been loud enough for the comparison to be made. It had almost been enough to make Fukuzawa turn around and try to treat the injury himself.

The doctor nodded, letting the silence grow in favour of completing his work as fast as possible; probably before Ranpo’s awareness returned. Fukuzawa was content to watch the process, although as the cast took shape, he couldn’t help but frown. It didn’t look very comfortable. “This is my first time dealing with such an injury. Is there anything I should know?” He asked.

The doctor hummed. “Well, don’t let it get wet. If it does need to go near water, then wrap it in some plastic—just make sure it’s watertight. And I’d keep something long and thin on hand as well. Casts can make the wearers rather itchy. Most people use knitting needles I’ve found, although a ruler works just as well. And obviously, don’t let him use the arm, even if he says it doesn’t hurt.”

Fukuzawa nodded, filing the information away for later. He certainly didn’t have any knitting needles at home, but he was sure he had a ruler somewhere in his home that Ranpo would be able to use.

“Fukuzawa-san?” Ranpo’s hoarse voice had him looking down into eyes that were slowly filling with tears again. Oh no. “It hurts.”

“I know, Ranpo, I know.” Fukuzawa ran a hand up and down Ranpo’s back, hoping to soothe him a little before the crying could start up again. “We’ll be home soon, and then you can rest.” He turned his attention to the doctor. “Is he allowed painkillers?”

The doctor nodded. “Over the counter medicine is fine, but we’ll send you home with something a little stronger just for the first couple of days.”

“Can I go home yet…?” Ranpo asked, a sniffle accompanying his words.

“Yep! I’ll all done, kiddo, so I’ll draw up the paperwork and then you can head home. Get plenty of rest, and no more running near stairs, eh?”

The doctors’ words drew a weak and watery smile from Ranpo, and the boy nodded. “Okay.”

“Six weeks? What am I going to do for six whole weeks?” Ranpo complained, currently attacking the cast on his arm with some markers that Fukuzawa had bought on the way home. Apparently the white colour of the cast was offensive, but to whom, Fukuzawa had no idea, and he had no plans of asking; simply following Ranpo’s directions into buying something colourful to put on the cast. He was just glad that Ranpo was feeling well enough to complain about his situation, the painkillers the doctor had given him before they’d left doing their job. Ranpo suddenly looked up at him. “I can still work, right? It’s not like I need my arm to solve cases.”

“The doctor told you to rest, and that means no work.” Fukuzawa didn’t want to admit that while Ranpo’s words were true, and that he didn’t need his arm to solve crime, he simply didn’t want Ranpo to somehow end up injured further; criminals were unpredictable when cornered after all.

“But we need money. You were complaining about being poor before I fell, which is half the reason I fell in the first place anyway.”

Fukuzawa’s eye twitched. “You did not fall because of lack of money. You fell because you refused to take ‘no’ for an answer and tried to go off on your own. And as for money, we’ll be fine. I can pick up some work while you recover.”

“And, what? Leave me here all alone? No thanks.”

Fukuzawa sighed, but dropped the discussion before it could become an argument. He could tell from the way Ranpo had tensed up that the issue wasn’t because the kid would get bored if he was left behind, but from the fact that Ranpo feared if Fukuzawa left without him, he wouldn’t return. It was something they’d have to work on in the future, but for now it could wait. Instead, he sought to reassure Ranpo. “You just focus on healing. Let me worry about everything else.”

Ranpo nodded, looking like he wanted to say something else, but unable to find the words. A first for the boy that could look you dead in the eyes and bare your deepest and darkest secrets to the world like they were common knowledge. But Fukuzawa was nothing if not a patient man, so he continued to sit quietly in his chair and waited.

After another minute or so of silence, Ranpo lifted his head and held out one of the markers towards him. “Here.”

Fukuzawa blinked, not quite understanding what it was that Ranpo was asking of him.

“Ugh, are you stupid, come and help me turn this ugly white plaster into something better.” Ranpo waved the marker around dramatically. Fukuzawa couldn’t help but roll his eyes, even as he eased himself onto the floor and took the marker from Ranpo’s hands.

One year into taking care with Ranpo, Fukuzawa was confident that he could handle Ranpo efficiently and effectively. It was quite simple really when one gave it some thought; Ranpo was a person that snacked rather than ate actual meals, so keeping up a steady supply of snack foods was a must—although convincing him to eat at least one meal a day had been a long, hard battle that Fukuzawa had ultimately emerged the victor of. Ranpo was also someone who became destructive when bored, and Fukuzawa was amazed that the apartment they called home hadn’t erupted into flames from yet another baking experiment Ranpo had tried when he’d stepped out of the house for just a couple of hours. The solution to that was to try and keep his mind occupied. Try being the key word there, since Ranpo was a genius and he figured out things in a matter of seconds. Fukuzawa had managed to get a hold of some novels from foreign authors—ones that revolved around mysteries of course—letting Ranpo work his way through them, even if he wasn’t familiar with the language they were written in.

It had been strange to come home to an quiet house, Ranpo on the couch with his nose stuck in a book. Fukuzawa couldn’t remember the name of the author, only remembering how Ranpo had gushed about the genius way of writing mysteries this author accomplished. He faintly recalled that the name was similar to Ranpo’s own name, but he’d been more focused on Ranpo sitting still at the time.

If he ever met the author of those books though, then Fukuzawa would be sure to thank them.

Fukuzawa had heard from other parents that had raised teenagers—he’d sought out some help from some kind mothers after Ranpo had gotten upset at being stuck at home when he’d broken his arm; the kind women offering all kinds of advice for dealing with teenagers, advice he wasn’t sure he could really apply to Ranpo, but still appreciated all the same—that teens were supposed to be difficult and hard to manage, always arguing with authority figures and pushing boundaries. And while Ranpo liked to test his patience at times, the teen was more than content to hang around by his side. There’d been one day, where Fukuzawa had suggested maybe finding Ranpo a hobby so he could make friends his own age, and the look of contempt he’d received in response had been enough for him to never bring that discussion up again.

All in all, Ranpo was a rather easy child to look after, but only once you’d taken the time and effort to actually understand him.

That didn’t mean that Ranpo wasn’t without faults of course, and neither was Fukuzawa as they navigated this difficult journey that was parenting, together. There were many a times where Fukuzawa had yelled because Ranpo had pushed all his buttons in just the right way, leaving Ranpo shying away from him, even after he’d apologized. And there were times where Ranpo would sulk and become the very definition of a ‘terrible teen’, usually after being denied some kind of sweet after he’d already eaten more than enough sweets to last a lifetime. But they were just small things, bumps in the road that with some communication, could easily be navigated about.

It was the larger bumps, that were more like gaping holes in the road, that became increasingly difficult to navigate. Those larger bumps usually lasted the entire day—sometimes several—and there was nothing to do but wait for them to pass. There were days where Fukuzawa could only remember the sheer amount of blood he’d spilt in his past, seeing red wherever he looked, and would be terrified to touch Ranpo at all, in fear of hurting the boy and adding more blood to his hands. Which of course, set Ranpo off into thinking, despite how illogical it was, that Fukuzawa had finally grown tired of him and would soon abandon him, and he’d try to get closer to Fukuzawa, which, honestly, just made things worse for the both of them. They’d managed to come to a compromise of sorts on those days, where Fukuzawa would wear something tied around his wrist, so that Ranpo could grab onto it when he needed reassurance, and Fukuzawa could avoid physical contact until he was ready for it.

Then there were the days where Ranpo would not speak. At all. He wouldn’t even leave his room, no matter what Fukuzawa tried to bribe him with. Sometimes, Ranpo could be coaxed into the living room and onto the couch, but still, he wouldn’t make a sound. Those days, Fukuzawa had no idea what to do, as none of the parenting knowledge he’d gained over the past year could’ve prepared him for days where the child he’d taken in would just lay there as if he was a mere corpse. The best Fukuzawa had been able to do was to sit in Ranpo’s room by his bedside and read aloud, or sit them both on the couch and watch a random children’s movie; things that didn’t require much thought, for Ranpo at least. Those days, Ranpo’s thoughts were closed off to everyone but himself, private and only for him to know, and Fukuzawa could only sit by his side and wait for him to return.

But it had been a week of having a silent Ranpo around the house, and Fukuzawa was starting to get concerned.

There was never anything that triggered these days in his ward, at least none he could identify, but they usually never lasted more than a day, so Fukuzawa figured it was fine for him to start worrying. Everyone had bad days, but this had become more than just a bad day at this point. Right now, Ranpo was sitting at the table, slowly working his way through a piece of fruit. It was almost dinner time, and it was the first thing Ranpo had eaten all day, but unlike the previous days where Fukuzawa had had to practically force Ranpo into eating, Ranpo had emerged from his room all on his own, taken the banana, and sat at the table.

It was the perfect opportunity to observe his ward. Fukuzawa studied Ranpo’s slumped posture, the heavy bags under his eyes, and the slight glaze to his eyes; all indicators of lack of sleep. Not that Fukuzawa was unaware that Ranpo wasn’t sleeping. He was a light sleeper, so he often woke during the night to the sound of footsteps wandering the apartment at ridiculous hours, often before he’d hear the television flick on and the noise filtered towards his room. The first night this had happened, Fukuzawa had told Ranpo that he could come to him if he needed to, but so far, Ranpo hadn’t taken him up on his offer.

Silently, Fukuzawa climbed to his feet and moved towards the kitchen, going through the motions of making some hot chocolate, a drink that he knew was soothing to the boy at his table. He didn’t know if Ranpo would even drink it, but he hoped that by giving him the beverage, it would remind Ranpo that he wasn’t alone in dealing with whatever demons it was that plagued him.

Once Fukuzawa was done, he placed the drink in front of Ranpo, and was surprised when the boy’s head tilted up to look at him. No words were said, but Fukuzawa could see the faint gratitude hidden behind the exhaustion, and Ranpo silently wrapped his hands around the cup and drew it closer.

Progress.

That night, Fukuzawa lay on his futon, thinking about what he could do to try and help Ranpo, when he heard his door creak open, soft footsteps making their way towards him. Fukuzawa didn’t move, didn’t breathe, until a figure that could only be Ranpo dropped into his line of sight. And he looked miserable. There were dried tear tracks on the boy’s cheeks, and his hair was sticking up all over the place, like he’d been tossing and turning. A sniffle, and a single tear ran down Ranpo’s cheek, and Fukuzawa wordlessly lifted his blanket. Ranpo stared at him for a moment before crawling underneath the covers, burying his face into Fukuzawa’s chest. Fukuzawa dropped the blanket and closed his eyes. No words were said, but none needed to be.

The next night, Fukuzawa didn’t sleep, only because a devastating crash had him bolting out of the room to find Ranpo slumped against the kitchen cabinets with the shattered remains of a glass around him. Ranpo’s entire body had been shaking as his breaths shuddered in and out like he was being strangled as he stared with unseeing eyes at the mess on the floor. Fukuzawa hadn’t said a word, only wrapping Ranpo in his arms and holding him until he’d calmed enough to fall into a restless slumber. Fukuzawa had put the kid to bed and cleaned up the glass.

The third night was when it all came to a head, when a terrifying scream echoed throughout the apartment. In a split second, Fukuzawa had jumped to his feet and run to the source of the scream; Ranpo’s room. A quick scan of the room showed that it was just Ranpo and him, and that Ranpo was still very much asleep as he thrashed about his bedding, whimpers and soft pleas escaping him. Fukuzawa dropped to the floor beside the boy.

“Ranpo! Ranpo!” He called, reaching out a hand to shake Ranpo.

Ranpo’s eyes flew open, and one hand desperately reached to clutch at Fukuzawa’s sleeve as he shot upright, doubling over just a moment later as he retched. Thankfully, nothing came up, but it still tore at Fukuzawa’s heart to see Ranpo in such a state. Why hadn’t he realized that Ranpo had been having nightmares this whole time? “It’s okay, you’re safe. You are safe. Just breathe, Ranpo, breathe.” Fukuzawa soothed, running a hand through Ranpo’s hair to get it out of his face. “You had a nightmare. You aren’t hurt, you are safe.”

“S-Safe?” Ranpo breathed.

“Safe.” Fukuzawa was firm, as he needed to be in the current situation. Firmness would show Ranpo that his words were true and to be trusted; anything else was liable to send the boy into another panic, and that wasn’t what Fukuzawa wanted.

The effects of the nightmare were quickly fading, although Ranpo remained coiled with tension, with the occasional tremor running through his body. But his breathing was no longer fast and panicked, and his eyes were clearing as the last remains of sleep left him. With one deep breath, Ranpo slumped against Fukuzawa. “Don’t go.”

“I won’t.” Fukuzawa promised. “Let’s go wash your face and get a change of clothes, and then I’ll make us some hot chocolate?”

Ranpo’s fists tightened on the sheets, only to relax as he nodded. Fukuzawa stood, guiding Ranpo up with a gentle grip on his arm, and together they moved from the bedroom to the bathroom in silence, where Fukuzawa stood guard as Ranpo washed the sweat from his face, and now, exhaustion was the only sign that a nightmare had just occurred. The silence continued as Ranpo changed out of his sweat-drenched clothing, and was still ongoing as Fukuzawa made a drink for the both of them, Ranpo sitting on the couch, waiting.

“Would you like to talk about it?” Fukuzawa asked as he sat beside Ranpo, handing the boy the warm mug before taking a sip from his own.

Ranpo shook his head, and then nodded. Another shake of his head, and finally, a shrug. “I don’t know.” The boy finally whispered; his voice almost swallowed by the darkness of the room.

“That’s okay.”

The mug in his hand was warm, and Fukuzawa turned his attention to it. It wasn’t often that he had hot chocolate, only really drinking it once Ranpo had come into his care and demanded it of him. “How can you not have hot chocolate in this place? It’s like, the best drink you can get, other than ramune of course!” So, Fukuzawa had gone out the next day and bought what he needed to make the beverage, and it had been worth it to see Ranpo look so excited. Now it was more of a comfort drink, only really coming out whenever one—or both—of them needed something soothing to drink. Sometimes, it was tea, but most of the times, the chocolate won out.

“It was my parents.” Ranpo’s voice broke the silence after what felt like hours. “The nightmare that is. It’s… it’s close to the date they died.”

That wasn’t what Fukuzawa had been expecting, but then again, he had never asked much about Ranpo’s parents other than what they’d been like, and their names. He knew they’d died in an accident, but Ranpo had never elaborated on the topic, and Fukuzawa had never pushed for an answer. Still, it made sense for Ranpo to struggle when it came close to the anniversary of their deaths; from what he knew, they hadn’t been dead long, and Ranpo probably hadn’t been able to process the grief from then properly on account of needing to find a job to survive.

The past week and a half of silence suddenly made perfect sense.

“I see. Is there something I can do?” Fukuzawa asked, even though he knew what the answer was going to be.

Ranpo shook his head. “Not really. This happened last time too. It’ll pass.”

But you shouldn’t have to suffer alone. Fukuzawa found himself thinking. Then, an idea came to him. “Would it help if you went to visit them? Their graves, I mean.”

Ranpo’s head turned to face him, eyes widening. There was a glimmer of hope in those green orbs, but it quickly faded, replaced with a defeated look. “We have work, though.”

Fukuzawa neglected to bring up the fact that they hadn’t done any work in nearly two weeks because of Ranpo’s melancholy, knowing that it would only make the boy feel worse than he already did. “Work can wait. Your wellbeing is much more important. So, if you wish to visit your parents, we can go. But only if you want to.”

“I do.” Ranpo said quickly. There was a brief pause before, “tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow.” Fukuzawa promised. He placed his empty mug on the coffee table in front of him and turned to face Ranpo. “Do you wish to stay with me tonight?”

“Is that alright?”

“I wouldn’t have offered if it wasn’t.”

Ranpo nodded, and got up when Fukuzawa did, following him to the kitchen so that they could place their mugs in the sink, before following him to his room where he squashed himself into Fukuzawa’s side, seeking as much comfort as he could get. Fukuzawa waited for Ranpo to get comfortable before drawing the blankets over the both of them, resting a comforting arm over Ranpo’s side.

Compared to Yokohama, the countryside was vastly different; more beautiful and peaceful compared to the chaotic mess that was the city with one of the largest underground crime in the country. Fukuzawa felt a little foolish to be as tensed and alert as he was compared to the rest of the country folk passing them by, but old habits were hard to break, and well, bad people weren’t just limited to the city either. Only this time, the enemy might be a recognizable one.

For once, Fukuzawa was the one following Ranpo, the boy’s usually lack of directional sense strangely absent, although it made sense since this was the hometown where he’d spent the first fourteen years of his life. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Ranpo had had no idea where he was going, and had resigned himself to asking for directions when they’d disembarked from the train—that he’d had to purchase the tickets for because Ranpo still didn’t understand how trains worked—only to have Ranpo leave the station and start walking, Fukuzawa quickly moving to keep up lest he be left behind.

Ranpo was still quiet, but unlike the oppressive silence that had hung around the previous week, it was the kind of silence that came about when Ranpo was thinking about something; the kind where Fukuzawa would also remain silent and wait for Ranpo to speak. And if he didn’t end up saying anything, then that was fine too.

By the time they’d reached the cemetery where Ranpo’s parents lay, they still hadn’t said anything, and Fukuzawa hung back a respectful distance while Ranpo went on ahead and knelt in front of the gravestones, his mouth moving as he spoke words too quiet for Fukuzawa to hear.

He raised his head towards the heavens.

Don’t worry. Your son is in good hands.

One thing that Fukuzawa was eternally grateful for, was the immune system of steel that Ranpo seemed to have. He'd seen many a sick child in his life, and had fully expected Ranpo to fall victim to the series of colds and flus that ran rampant about the city during the colder months, only to discover that bacteria and germs seemed to avoid Ranpo like the plague. Fukuzawa was only a little annoyed that he’d gotten sick more often than Ranpo, especially since most of those times had been because of Ranpo in the first place.

So, yeah, Fukuzawa was grateful that Ranpo seemed allergic to sickness, because the last thing he wanted to see was how Ranpo handled being sick—he imagined it would be days filled of complaints—considering just what the boy was like whenever he sustained an injury. It was just a lot of energy that Fukuzawa strongly believed he shouldn’t have to exert in the first place. But he did. Because if he didn’t, then Ranpo would surely get himself into even more trouble and the cycle would never end.

But just because Ranpo had never been sick in Fukuzawa’s presence, didn’t mean that the genius detective was immune to sickness entirely. No human was, at least, none that he knew personally, which wasn’t a lot of people when he thought about it.

So he shouldn’t have been surprised that the one time Ranpo had fallen sick in his care, he’d fallen sick.

Shivers ran up his spine at the memory.

It started with a summer storm.

Wind and rain lashed at the trees and buildings, the wind rendering umbrella’s useless within seconds, and the rain soaking everyone to the bone, no matter the kind of rain gear they wore. It wouldn’t have been as bad if it had just been the wind and rain, but no, it was the kind of rain that made the temperature plummet, during the warm summer day into a freezing winter afternoon in the span of an hour. It was a truly miserable day, and not one that Fukuzawa would’ve left home for, but the police had begged him and Ranpo for some assistance with their latest case, and upon hearing the details of the case, Ranpo had become curious enough to want to brave the storm. Fukuzawa had simply sighed and made sure Ranpo was appropriately dressed for the weather before he put one foot out the door.

In the end, the criminal had been apprehended and he and Ranpo had been free to go home.

A sniffle behind him drew Fukuzawa’s attention and he glanced over his shoulder at the sodden boy trailing behind him. While the two of them were both soaked to the bone, Ranpo was more water than person at this point, on account of being thrown into the river when he’d uncovered the killer’s identity. As it turned out, the killer had had no qualms about taking Ranpo with him as he’d pulled them both over the bridge railing, a last ditch effort to escape the police. It had failed of course—thank god—and they’d extricated both the killer and Ranpo from the river, and Fukuzawa’s heart could finally stop racing. Now all they had to do was head home, get dry, and not leave the house again until the storm was over.

Another sniffle behind him. “Ranpo, are you alright?” Fukuzawa asked, coming to a halt when he noticed that Ranpo had been trailing behind a bit further than he had been just before.

“I just got thrown into a river, what do you think?” Ranpo snapped, refusing to look Fukuzawa in the eyes as his cheeks burned red. Ah. Ranpo was embarrassed about needing to be saved. It wasn’t the first time that a criminal had tried to take a shot at hurting Ranpo, or killing him, but most of the time Ranpo had already accounted for the fact that that might happen, so had usually taken precautions—without telling the people around him of course. The amount of times Ranpo had stood there and let a criminal charge at him with a grin on his face was enough to turn Fukuzawa’s already silver hair even more silver. All Fukuzawa could see in those moments was a gun pointed a fourteen-year-old boy’s face, and he reacted, just like Ranpo had planned. Fukuzawa had half a mind to let Ranpo get shot or stabbed one of these days, if only to make the boy realize that he wasn’t as invincible as he appeared to believe. But he wouldn’t. Because Fukuzawa cared for Ranpo like he was his own son and it would hurt him to see Ranpo hurt just to prove a point.

But this time, they hadn’t been able to predict the killer’s intent, not until Ranpo and killer were already falling, and Fukuzawa had stared into young, terrified eyes, ready to leap into the river after him when an officer had dragged him away, not wanting anyone else to go for a swim in the tumultuous river, and they’d dashed along the river bank with the rest of the officers at the scene. It was only because another police patrol had been upriver that they’d managed to rescue Ranpo anyway; the officers having heard the commotion over the radio and prepared for a quick rescue. Fukuzawa had thanked the officers profusely whilst Ranpo had coughed up river water beside him, looking worse for wear.

“No one expected the killer to try and escape in a flooded river, Ranpo. It was an oversight on our part to not keep a closer eye on him once he’d been cornered.” Fukuzawa said carefully, knowing that if he didn’t choose his carefully, he was going to have a furious Ranpo on his hands.

And really, Fukuzawa just wanted to go home.

“I should’ve noticed it!” Ranpo sniffed again, wiping the back of his hand across his nose in a motion that had Fukuzawa disgusted. “World’s Greatest Detective and I didn’t think of the river as an escape route? Why? Just because the river was a little higher than it normally is? That’s no excuse!”

The river being a little higher than normal was an understatement; the severity of the storm had sent it into flood, and the wind allowed the water to lash the sides of the bank viciously, threatening to snatch up anyone that dared stray to close to it. But for the sake of not starting an argument, Fukuzawa hummed and allowed Ranpo to walk in front of him as he ranted angrily. Fukuzawa had learnt that it was sometimes best to let Ranpo say what he needed to say when he was angry or upset, and then help the boy work through it all; or in some cases, just sit beside him until Ranpo was back to his cheerful self.

Ranpo was still ranting by the time they arrived home, but this time about something else entirely that Fukuzawa was only half paying attention to. “Ranpo.” Fukuzawa said, interrupting the boy mid-rant. Ranpo looked at him. “Go and take a shower before you catch a cold.”

“You’re the one that should go first, Fukuzawa-san. I don’t get sick, remember?” Ranpo frowned as he pulled his shoes off and removed his coat, leaving puddles of water in the entryway.

“Just go, Ranpo.”

“Ugh, fine.” Ranpo shuffled off towards the bathroom, the door closing behind him with a click. Without grabbing an extra set of clothes. Fukuzawa sighed and removed his own coat, vowing to clean up the mess later once he was dry, and made his way to his room to get changed. Once he was dressed in dry and warm clothing, he carefully made his way towards Ranpo’s room, doing his best to navigate the mess that Fukuzawa had asked the boy to clean up multiple times, only to be told that everything was where it was for a reason. Fukuzawa hadn’t argued, only made Ranpo promise to keep it a tidy mess if it truly had to be set out that way—it did—and Ranpo had looked annoyed, but agreed to do so.

At least there was a clear path to the boy’s wardrobe where he dug out the softest clothing, he knew Ranpo owned; an oversized sweatshirt that dwarfed Ranpo’s already small size, some pants that Fukuzawa no longer knew the origin of, and fluffy socks. He could not and would not forget the socks; Ranpo despised not wearing socks, even during summer, and Fukuzawa had only made the mistake of forgetting socks once. Clothes in hand, Fukuzawa left the room and dropped the bundle in front of the door, knocking to let Ranpo know they were there, before making his way to the kitchen to make warm drinks for the both of them.

“Fukuzawa-san?” Ranpo poked his head around the corner, dry and dressed, but looking positively exhausted, not that Fukuzawa could blame him after taking an unwanted swim.

“Yes, Ranpo?” Fukuzawa paused in what he was doing, just about to make up Ranpo’s drink.

“I’m gonna go to bed now.”

Bed? Now? It’s only just after lunch. “Are you feeling alright?” He asked instead, a frown on his face as he crossed the room to stand in front of Ranpo, reaching out a hand to palm the boy’s forehead.

Ranpo slapped his hand away. “I’m fine, just tired.”

“Hmm… alright then. Leave your door open though. I’ll close it when I go to bed.” Usually, Fukuzawa didn’t care if Ranpo’s door was open or closed; the boy was entitled to his privacy after all, but sometimes, like right now, he’d ask the door to be left open just a bit, that way he could keep an ear out in case Ranpo needed help. And after a near-fatal swim, Fukuzawa felt like his concern was valid enough to make the request reasonable.

It didn’t stop Ranpo from turning up his nose, but when he disappeared into his room, the door was left partially open.

Fukuzawa sat on the couch alone, quietly drinking his tea. All the while keeping an eye on the room down the hall.

The next morning, Fukuzawa woke up early as usual, and set about cleaning up the mess that he’d neglected to the previous day on account of being worried about Ranpo; picking up still soaked clothing and throwing them into the washer, mopping up puddles of water, before tottering around and tidying up the rest of the house. The act of cleaning was soothing to him, it allowed him to just stop thinking for a change and perform acts that didn’t require much thought. And it was made even better by the fact that the sun was shining through the window, the storm from yesterday long gone, with the only signs of such a storm having existed in the first place being the puddles of water lying about on the roads. In fact, it was such a nice day now, that Fukuzawa elected to open the door to the balcony, allowing a slightly cool breeze to move throughout the apartment.

Usually, after such a bad storm, the weather the next day became miserable, especially when those kinds of storms happened during summer. But there was something in the way the storm was formed—a bunch of technical terms that Fukuzawa didn’t feel like trying to decipher—that brought a cool change instead of humidity and misery. It was pleasant. Too pleasant. Fukuzawa frowned, glancing at the clock from where he’d been doing the dishes. It was well past the time that Ranpo would be awake and chattering away, and yet, he hadn’t heard anything from the kids room since he went to bed early yesterday. Surely, he’s not still asleep?

Fukuzawa dried his heads and moved down the hallway, poking his head into Ranpo’s room, finding Ranpo still on his futon; dead asleep, blankets discarded like usual. Fukuzawa was about to leave Ranpo to get his rest—he had been working hard after all—when Ranpo broke out into a fit of coughing. Not the kind of coughing that one did to clear a throat, but the kind of deep, wet, coughs that could only have come from Ranpo’s time in the river. Fukuzawa’s stomach clenched; he should’ve gotten Ranpo checked out before they came home. Concerned now, Fukuzawa stepped into the room and came to kneel beside Ranpo, laying the back of his hand against Ranpo’s forehead.

A fever.

Not good.

“Ranpo.” Another round of coughing greeted Fukuzawa’s attempt at waking, the horrid sounds enough to have Fukuzawa reach underneath Ranpo’s arms and pull him upright so that the boy would be able to breathe easier.

Ranpo’s eyes flew open at the motion, and the coughing fit grew more intense. Fukuzawa shifted so that he could continue to hold Ranpo upright, but still run a hand up and down the kids spine, quietly encouraging Ranpo to try and take a breath in between coughs. Eventually, the fit died away, and Ranpo slumped against him, head drooping in a way that his hair was hiding his eyes. Not that Fukuzawa had to look into Ranpo’s eyes to know that they would be glazed over with fever. He could feel the heat radiating off of Ranpo’s body from where it was touching his own, even through the layers of clothing they both wore.

Ranpo mumbled something inaudible.

“What was that?” Fukuzawa frowned, not catching what was said.

“…n’t feel… good.” Ranpo repeated, voice a little louder, but still quiet.

“You have a fever.” Fukuzawa explained. “I’m going to help you to the couch. You’ll be able to breathe easier if you’re sitting up.” Fukuzawa waited for Ranpo to nod before he helped the boy stand up, carefully guiding him towards the couch where Ranpo collapsed against the arm of it and let out a miserable groan.

Fukuzawa tucked the blanket he’d grabbed around Ranpo’s shoulders, leaving Ranpo to be miserable on the couch while he went to find some medicine and water. He was certain that he’d kept a stock of medicine on hand that was suitable for someone Ranpo’s age in the event of the day that Ranpo actually fell ill, but he couldn’t recall where he’d placed it. Since they’d never needed to use it before, Fukuzawa hadn’t paid attention to where it had gone in the move from his old apartment to the current one. And as he searched the cupboards in both the bathroom and kitchen, he couldn’t help but sigh as the medicine eluded him. He didn’t want to have to leave Ranpo on his own in order to go shopping, even if it wouldn’t take him that long.

He glanced at his phone on the kitchen counter, an idea forming in his mind.

No, he couldn’t. They hadn’t spoken in years, and he was more than capable of taking care of a sick child on his own.

“Ranpo.” Fukuzawa crouched in front of Ranpo, a cup of water in hand. “I need to go out and get some medicine for you. I—”

“Why?” Ranpo interrupted, eyes opening to slowly blink at him. He accepted the water that Fukuzawa held out to him, sipping on it slowly.

“Because you’re sick. You have a fever and a cough, and medicine will make you feel better.”

Ranpo screwed up his face. “Don’t need it. Tastes gross.”

Fukuzawa sighed. “It will help you. Or do you want to be sick for longer than you need to be?”

At his words, Ranpo glared—well, as much of a glare as he could muster in his current state—and sharply turned his head away, only to groan and drop it against the arm of the couch.

A headache too. Fukuzawa made a note to grab some painkillers as well. “I’ll have my phone with me. Call if you need something.”

Ranpo made a disapproving noise, but didn’t protest further when Fukuzawa draped another blanket over him left the apartment. He wouldn’t be gone long, half an hour at the max; there was no way that Ranpo could get himself into trouble in such a short time frame… right?

Why are there so many different kinds of medicine? Why are there so many flavours? Just have one! Fukuzawa sighed as he exited the pharmacy when a bag in hand, everything he’d need to help Ranpo get better as soon as possible. The worker had been nice and patient with him, listening as he described Ranpo's symptoms and admitting that Ranpo didn’t get sick often which was why he hadn’t had any medicine on him in the first place. He was almost certain that some of the stuff the worker had forced him to purchase, he didn’t actually need, but he also wasn’t going to argue against someone who was trained in that field of knowledge. Besides, if he didn’t need it this time, he would have it on hand for when he did need it.

“If he doesn’t get sick often, then prepare yourself for the worst. Kids that don’t get sick often, tend to be hit harder when they do get sick.”

Those were the words the worker had sent him off with, genuine concern on their face as he’d left the store. And honestly, Fukuzawa hadn’t even thought about that scenario at all. He’d simply assumed that Ranpo had fallen ill because of the storm and the river—and he most certainly had—but he hadn’t stopped to consider just how sick Ranpo would get from his adventures. A sliver of doubt weaved through him, suddenly unsure if he was fit to take care of a sick child. It wasn’t something he’d done before. Fukuzawa took a deep breath, exhaling all his worries into the wind. Stressing would bring nothing but second guesses and harmful actions. He’d give Ranpo the medicine he’d bought, and then he’d do a bit of research on how to handle a sick child.

There, he had a plan.

Only to have said plan fly out the window when he walked inside the apartment to find Ranpo on his hands and knees, currently in the process of emptying his stomach contents onto the floor. Fukuzawa’s breath hitched, and he dropped the bag on the table before hurrying to Ranpo’s side, sliding one arm underneath Ranpo’s chest to hold him up, the other moving to brush Ranpo’s hair out of his face. Tears were running down Ranpo’s cheeks as he vomited once more, and the kid began to sob out an apology as he noticed Fukuzawa’s presence. “So-sorry—I’m—”

“Shh, it’s alright. It’s my fault for not leaving you a bucket.” Fukuzawa soothed, pulling Ranpo away from the mess once he’d stopped heaving, getting him settled back on the couch. He couldn’t help but frown; Ranpo hadn’t mentioned anything about being nauseous before he’d left, and he hadn’t looked that sick. Was he feeling worse than Fukuzawa had initially thought? “I’ve got you some medicine. Let me clean up, and I’ll give you some, okay?”

Ranpo nodded, face flushed mostly from the fever, but also embarrassment, as he wiped the tears from his eyes, sniffling pitifully. “Water?”

“Of course.”

Thankfully, it didn’t take long to clean up, although, if possible, Fukuzawa would very much rather not do it again. He returned to Ranpo’s side with the bag of medicine, a few bottles of water and a bucket, opening one of the bottles for Ranpo to drink. “How are you feeling?”

“Terrible.” Was Ranpo’s response, and not an overly helpful one.

“I’m not a mind reader, Ranpo, you need to tell me what’s going on.” Fukuzawa said, with a little bit of impatience in his voice, but not towards Ranpo; never towards Ranpo, who was feeling so sick and miserable right now, but towards himself for being incompetent to not know how to help.

Ranpo groaned, shoving his face into the arm of the couch.

Fukuzawa waited.

“Head hurts. Stomach hurts. Everything hurts.” Ranpo eventually complained.

“Anything else? Are you too hot? Too cold?”

“Hot.”

“Okay.” Fukuzawa turned his attention to the bag, rummaging through it and pulling out the different kinds of medicines, taking the time to read the boxes to figure out what medication did what, all whilst Ranpo was watching him warily. The first one he grabbed was something to treat cold and flu symptoms; all of which Ranpo seemed to have, whilst another was to combat fever, and there was even one that took care of nausea. The pharmacist really had given him everything he could’ve possibly needed. “Do you think you can keep something down?”

Ranpo’s face lost what little colour it still had at the prospect of ingesting anything. The boy fidgeted with the blanket that he’d dragged across his lap, which certainly wouldn’t have been helping his ‘too hot’ problem.

“We’ll wait then.” Fukuzawa was quick to say. “How about we get you into some cooler clothes first, and then we can try and get some of this into you?”

Ranpo let out a whine, and leaned forward to rest his head on Fukuzawa’s shoulder. Fukuzawa sighed, knowing that that was about as much of a ‘yes’ as he was going to get. Without a word, he lifted Ranpo effortlessly, cringing a little at how sweaty Ranpo was because of the fever. Maybe a shower was needed as well.

The apartment was silent, and Fukuzawa sat on the couch, Ranpo’s head in his lap, as he watched a movie with the volume low enough so that he wouldn’t disturb the sleeping boy in his lap. One of his hands was running through Ranpo’s now clean hair, soothing Ranpo while he dozed. Fukuzawa had forced Ranpo to shower, although the boy had insisted he didn’t need help with that, so Fukuzawa left Ranpo to his own devices and went to make a light meal for the kid, hoping to get some food into Ranpo’s stomach. Food was supposed to help sick people recover faster, wasn’t it? And he knew that Ranpo ate soup, since Fukuzawa had made it before, and it had been eaten. So it seemed like a safe option to do.

While he’d been cooking, Ranpo had emerged from the bathroom, making his way to the living room before he slid down the wall and buried his face into his knees. Ranpo, now wearing a t-shirt and shorts—and socks, because try as he might, Fukuzawa had not been able to convince Ranpo to not wear them while he was sick—looked at him pitifully from his spot on the floor. Soup almost done, Fukuzawa had turned the stove down and moved over to help Ranpo up and over to the couch. The blanket, too hot for how high Ranpo’s fever was, had been replaced by a thin sheet that Ranpo had quickly covered himself with.

The biggest challenge for the day had been convincing Ranpo to eat the soup and take the medicine; there’d been tears from Ranpo, and frustration from Fukuzawa as they’d argued over it, but ultimately, he’d managed to get Ranpo to eat a little bit and down the pills that would help him. Fukuzawa was just glad that the medication had been pills and not the foul liquid he remembered from his own childhood, because there was no way he’d have been able to convince Ranpo to drink his medicine.

Now, Ranpo was asleep, and would hopefully sleep off the rest of the sickness that was plaguing him.

Fukuzawa closed his own eyes, ready to catch up on some rest. It was more exhausting than he thought it would be, to take care of someone who was sick, and he didn’t understand how other parents did it on a regular basis.

Why is it hot? Was Fukuzawa’s first thought as he woke up to a darkened apartment, wincing at the pain in his neck as he became more aware of his surroundings. He was still on the couch, which explained his soreness, and Ranpo was still asleep, but something was wrong. Ranpo’s breathing was more like wheezing now, and his face was flushed a bright red, pinched with pain as he was wracked by a coughing fit.

And he was hot.

Fukuzawa wasted no time in placing a hand on Ranpo’s forehead, wincing at how high the fever at become; it was almost as if Ranpo had never taken any medicine in the first place. “Ranpo.” Fukuzawa shook Ranpo’s shoulder, sliding out from underneath the boy, only to have Ranpo not respond to him at all. “Ranpo!”

With no response, Fukuzawa’s worry gave way to fear. Ranpo was really, really, sick, and he didn’t know what to do. His phone caught his eye as he paced the room, and Fukuzawa scrunched up his face. There was only one thing he could do, really.

He crossed the room and snatched up the device, dialling a familiar number.

The phone picked up on the third ring. “What are you calling so late for?”

Fukuzawa sighed. He was already regretting his decision “I need help.”

Ranpo let out another whimper, Fukuzawa hushing his ward, even though Ranpo was completely unaware of what was going on around him. Fukuzawa could feel eyes looking at him from the front seat of the car, but he ignored them in favour of providing whatever comfort he could give. Of course, he was grateful to Fukichi for coming so quick without him saying anything, and helping Fukuzawa bundle Ranpo’s tiny form into a blanket and into the back seat of the car before climbing into the driver’s seat to drive them to the hospital.

They were almost there and they still hadn’t said a word to each other, the tension so thick, Fukuzawa was surprised it wasn’t visible. The fault was his, of course; Fukichi hadn’t made it a secret that he wasn’t pleased about Fukuzawa’s lack of contribution in the war, and Fukuzawa himself had done nothing to try and repair their fracturing friendship. They’d had limited conversations over the years, but had barely spoken to each other since Fukuzawa had taken Ranpo on as his ward.

Still, it would be rude of him to not thank the man at least for coming in the middle of the night to his aide. “Thank you for this.”

Another longer glance this time before the eyes went back to the road. “You sounded terrified. Which is a first for you, so of course I had to come.” Fukichi looked back once more. “The kid’ll be alright.”

Fukuzawa hummed, looking down at the fever flushed face resting against him. He hoped so.

Fukichi dropped them off at the emergency room, asking Fukuzawa to let him know how things went before driving off into the night. Fukuzawa made sure that Ranpo was secure before making his way into the hospital, the situation oddly similar to the time he’d rushed in with a wailing Ranpo after he’d broken his arm. And Fukuzawa didn’t know if it was fate, or if he was just extremely, but it was the same receptionists as the last time the two of them had been here, and they took one look at Fukuzawa before assuring him that help was coming.

Soon, Ranpo was whisked away out of his arms and Fukuzawa was led by a kind nurse to a chair he could wait in. So, Fukuzawa waited… and waited… and waited, before finally, the doctor came to fetch him, leading him to where Ranpo was.

Ranpo looked so tiny in the hospital bed, just laying there on raised pillows, wheezing and coughing like he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. Fukuzawa crossed the room, reaching down to grab one of Ranpo’s hands with his own. Ranpo didn’t move, didn’t respond to Fukuzawa’s touch as he usually would’ve; he just laid there, looking a little more comfortable than he had on the car ride over.

It was a chest infection, the doctor explained, brought upon by Ranpo inhaling dirty river water in the middle of a storm. The doctor went on to explain that Fukuzawa had done all the right things at the time; keeping Ranpo fed and cool, and giving him medicine, it was simply that infections could only be treated by antibiotics—which Ranpo was now on—and that they tended to flare up quickly. The doctor continued to say that Ranpo would make a full recovery before leaving the room with a promise to send someone to check on them in a few hours.

Fukuzawa sighed, collapsing into the single chair in the room. Honestly, Ranpo was going to be the death of him at this point.

“I’m sorry, Fukuzawa-san, but Ranpo-san has requested that you not enter his room right now.” The nurse said, bowing apologetically towards him as she blocked the doorway.

Fukuzawa frowned. “Why, what’s he done this time?”

“Nothing, sir! And he’s fine as well!” The nurse was quick to say upon seeing the worry creeping onto his face. “Ranpo-san insisted, that’s all. Said it was really important that you not enter for the…” the nurse glanced at the watch on her wrist. “Next twenty minutes.”

A sigh escaped Fukuzawa before he could stop it, but he nodded. “Alright. I shall come back in twenty minutes.”

The nurse bowed again, retreating back inside Ranpo’s room, shutting the door before Fukuzawa could peek and try to see just what trouble his ward was causing. He and Ranpo had been in the hospital for just over a week now, Ranpo finally fighting off the infection in his lungs. It had been a stressful week for Fukuzawa, watching as Ranpo struggled to breathe whenever he was overcome with coughing fits, watching as fever burned through his body, and watching as he cried from the pain of it all. But all through it, Fukuzawa had sat by Ranpo’s bedside, holding his hand and wiping away his tears.

It had been a relief for him when Ranpo’s fever had broken and he’d finally regained consciousness, green eyes blinking at Fukuzawa blearily before Ranpo had asked for something sweet. And if Fukuzawa had shed a few tears upon hearing that annoying request, well then that was his business. Since that day, Ranpo had improved day by day, going from sleeping most of the day to actually being alert and holding a conversation; only being kept in the hospital now until he’d finished the second round of antibiotics the doctors had given him. It was a precaution, the doctor treating Ranpo had said, on account of how sick Ranpo had been when Fukuzawa had brought him in.

Never again, did Fukuzawa want to go through such a thing.

Never.

Before he knew it, twenty minutes had passed, and like he’d promised, Fukuzawa made his way back to Ranpo’s room, knocking politely on the door. He heard a series of coughs—so different from the horrific ones caused by the infection—come from inside before Ranpo’s voice called for him to enter. Fukuzawa opened the door and entered—

—and was greeted by a cake?

“What is this?” Fukuzawa blinked down at the cake in the nurse’s hands. It was chocolate, and was decorated with sprinkles and what looked to be a couple of stick figures; he couldn’t quite tell exactly what it was supposed to be. He looked up at Ranpo, only just noticing the way that there was icing smeared across the boy’s face and fingers, and the slightly hesitant look in his eyes.

“It’s a cake, duh! What else did you think it would be?” Ranpo said, coughing only twice before crawling out of bed to come and stand in front of Fukuzawa. Only a second passed before arms wrapped around his waist and Fukuzawa became even more confused as Ranpo hugged him. He didn’t hesitate to drop one of his arms to rest on Ranpo’s shoulders.

“And where did you get a cake from?” Fukuzawa asked.

“I baked it!” Ranpo looked up at him and grinned. “The nurses helped me!”

“I see.” Fukuzawa took the cake from the nurse, who bowed and scurried out of the room. “Why did you bake a cake?”

Ranpo’s face went bright red, and he hid his face. “It’s to say thank you.”

“Thank you?” Fukuzawa had an idea now of where this was going and smiled. He wanted to hear what Ranpo wanted to say without the boy making him try and guess.

“Yeah. For, you know, taking care of me and all that.” Ranpo said. He sounded a little embarrassed now, and Fukuzawa realized that this was the first time that Ranpo had done something that was for Fukuzawa and not for himself.

“Did you decorate it yourself?”

Ranpo nodded. “It’s us.”

Ah, so it is. “Well. I definitely can’t eat this all on my own now, can I? Why don’t you give me a hand?”

Ranpo’s head shot up, embarrassment gone like it was never there in the first place, and he nodded, always excited at the prospect of eating sweets. “The nurse gave me forks since I knew you’d suggest that!”

Fukuzawa rolled his eyes and followed Ranpo back to his bed, sitting beside his word who was already hoeing into the cake. Fukuzawa picked up a fork and began to help, listening as Ranpo began to talk about the latest hospital gossip, making sure to listen and nod in all the right places.

Finally, it seemed like he was getting this parenting thing under control.

#bungo stray dogs #bsd #edogawa ranpo #fukuzawa yukichi #dadzawa #bsd fanfic #bungo stray dogs fanfic #hurt/comfort #angst #injury #illness #nightmares #writing #fanfiction

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bluemoondust · 1 year

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✧Devotion in Writing✧

Decided to out together all this for some form of introduction for these bsd ocs. I decided not to say their names just yet since I'll be giving them proper introductions on my art blog at some point. So look forward to that!

Even so, if you have any questions about them, feel free to ask! I'll be happy to answer anything regarding them. 😊

Edit: Names revealed! :D

✧J.D. Salinger✧

Comin' through the rye, poor body,

Comin' through the rye.

She's draggin' all her petticoats

Comin' through the rye.

The world was filled with those who are never genuine. They only sought for those who'd offer benefits to their lives. That is the way the J.D. Salinger thought of the world. Those who did no wrong or are untainted by the cruelties of this plane of existence were always snuffed out of it too early. He thought of it as his mission to protect the innocent when he can.

That is probably why he sought after you. There was no other reason than keeping you away from the corruption at first. Sure, he works for the Guild, but it wasn't like he valued the leader's beliefs. It never changed his own values at all. He would endlessly follow you or stay by your side, always stating that being out and about while the two groups in Yokohama were against the Guild was dangerous. It wouldn't be smart to be alone.

Love was not something he expected to come out of all this, it scared him for a bit. He didn't even realize that his feelings were twisted at all. What scared him was the idea of such. It was a precious thing, love, but he believed he did not deserve such a thing ever since he left home all those years ago. The thought never leaves his mind as he continues to talk to you.

He takes in everything you do. Even the smaller things not many would notice. He wasn't one to find fondness in the normal things in life. The way your face scrunched up in thought would be among the things he enjoys as well as how you speak. You're a genuine person in his eyes through and through. He just wants to take you with him so the two of you can live alone for the rest of your lives.

That...sounded nice. Fantastic even. He loved the idea of living with you and no one else. Somewhere private. No one deserves you since...they don't understand you. They'd just love you for your looks. Just for eye candy or any other shallow reason. It makes him sick inside to think of people like that ever wanting to have you. This was selfish coming from him but...those fakes don't know how to love someone like you. With all their heart.

"There's nothing else in the world I'd rather be than a protector of the innocent...a guardian. It sounds so idealistic but it's better than wasting your life ruining yourself because you want to please others. Being a fake in the world. I...don't want that for you so please...take my hand."

✧Shirley Jackson✧

One for sorrow, Two for mirth

Three for marriage, Four for birth

Five for laughing, Six for crying

Seven for sickness, Eight for dying

Nine for silver, Ten for gold

Eleven a secret, That will never be told

The devotion of one such as the woman dubbed The Witch, is said to be a dangerous thing. They would be right, given the actions she took before escaping the village she resided in. Minds of sheep never think for themselves before following the orders of a shepherd, as she says, when remembering the events.

You were never a target. Just a normal citizen, another face in the crowd. Her fellow Guild member killed by the Port Mafia as she was told before she set off to gather information. A shame. She stumbled upon you while doing so, it wasn't meant to happen, but she did predict something unexpected would happen. It was a frequent occurrence with her, after all. With a smile, she slipped into her polite, lady like persona as she apologized for disturbing your day. You saw how she held herself up with grace and her appearance was striking. She could catch the eye of anyone if she wanted.

Another unexpected event was when she harbored feelings towards you. It would take much time for that, but it does not change the fact that there was some twisted magic behind this. Ah, how peculiar. It seems like instead of falling for her spell, she has fallen for yours. Interesting. To feed her curiosity, she stays within the shadows while watching you carefully. You're certainly a fascinating individual and she'd love to see how your mind worked.

Is this wrong? She laughed at the question. Of course not. Love knows no bounds as they say. The same is said for her. You may not be aware of it, but she cuts down the feeble hearted fools who dare attempt to bring harm upon you. People would look down upon such measures, but she couldn't care less. The opinions of others mean nothing to her.

Having you close to her is essential, given that her greatest fear was losing you. Despite enjoying the time she was alone without judgement looming behind her, the weight of loneliness made her shoulders and heart ache. People were easy to fool, but it seemed like you were a little sharper than them. That could mean that you're aware of her true nature, right? You accept her, right?

"I had once wished to have been a werewolf, you know? It's a whimsical thought. Pale moonlight, dark forests, nighttime ambience. You occupy my mind. Do you know that? Do I you? If you do then there's an answer to that. I don't ever want this spell to break... People should keep their noses out of other's business."

✧T.S. Eliot✧

Through me the way into the suffering city,

Through me the way into eternal pain,

Through me the way that runs among the lost.

Life had been difficult, to a man who can read people so easily. There was so many who had ulterior motives behind their honey coated words. No one else could see this or maybe...some of them are pretending? Well, T.S. Eliot can play at their game. It was better that way then being called dull. They may not be aware, but he does listen carefully. He can learn to understand their speech patterns. It was entertaining if he had to be honest—hearing the words of the arrogant.

This is why he doesn't go out much. Was it really worth it when there are people like that or that some things bore him? Well, at least there are other things to enjoy such as how people work. He wonders if people even understand what he's saying. Probably not. What a bother... Social gatherings weren't even his scene, so why did he come in the first place?

Meeting you was a pleasant thing. Unfortunately, he never spoke a word to you, nor approached your figure in the distance. All that was done was staring from where he stood, watching your every movement as the man ignored everyone around him. How could he even approach you? He'd likely make a fool of himself. You might even be repulsed by his appearance as you may be able to catch the concealer hiding the dark circles under his eyes. Ugh, he was a mess...he feels a little dizzy and the taste of coffee sounds enticing right about now.

He realizes that you're gone and his mood shifts. It wasn't meant to be then. Ah, once again he prevents himself from pushing his boundaries. What a fool he is. It would take a while for another chance to see you would come up. This man partakes in isolation and only gets out of his private home when he wants to. Which isn't often. It's not just because of reclusive nature, he would argue, but also for his own safety due to how useful his ability would be to other organizations.

When meeting you again, he's a little hopeful. Maybe this was a sign? Though, once again, his doubts eat at his thoughts on how everything could go wrong. He manages to finally talk with you, but only because you dropped something. He finds himself unable to fully make conversation with you, stumbling over his words a bit. You're so much more magnificent up close and your voice is nice to hear. He wonders what you think about. He just had to talk to you more no matter what.

"I promise, I didn't just want more from you because of your appearance. No. I have no idea what to do but I'm fully aware that this is...You know. If I had other intentions, more physical ones, my approach would have been different...I think. Still, believe me when I say that this is real. No going back now."

✧Oscar Wilde✧

I would not wish

Any companion in the world but you,

Nor can imagination form a shape,

Besides yourself, to like of.

A man such as Oscar Wilde is aware of the concept of love and everything that comes with it. It's familiar and at the same time not. He has experienced every corner of the concept, but he didn't expect to find a new dimension to it. There are darker variations of love, and he admits to almost falling into them during his time living. People are like that, after all. Sometimes someone can fall victim to these things until they are no longer the victim in the situation. Now it is his choice on if he should follow the path into the rabbit hole.

You're an interesting person, he must say. Conversations with you lighten his mood as he tells you small folktales of his homeland and succeeds to make you laugh. It's a wonderful sound. You will admit, this man is an oddity as he pops up into your life. His presence oozes charm and charisma, so much character to him that intrigues you. That's how he likes it. Life is all about living to the fullest and being able to do things that make you happy. It's exactly what he's been doing for so long. Now that he's had frequent meetings with you, he knows what to do.

Although it is not his agenda to commit to something like this nor is it the safest choice he's making, he could care less. He can talk his way out of getting in trouble with the boss, especially since she is a reasonable woman. The man chooses to court you like any other person, but with his own personal flair. Rejection is not something he had in mind, even if he would be able to take it in stride. He would try to piece together why. Another person, perhaps? Did you not love him? Hm.

A sigh escapes him. Oh, well now, you really make him want to step into the darkness. He has learned over the years that acting so recklessly will only bring more problems. Live and learn he has, so he uses that to an advantage. One thought does worm its way into his mind: was all this worth it? Of course it was, though, he had to think about the long term consequences of this. Never did he test out how long he can hold a relationship and now he wants to so...he knows he'll lose you one day.

Frightening is that thought and a highly selfish part of him wants to prevent that from happening. It could possibly be done with the right materials and people for the job. Well, that can wait. His priority was to bring someone to a low standard. Everyone has a persona that is taken to face value. It can crumble with the right methods and you'll be able to realize that the person was never right for you since the beginning. It's alright. You're with someone who wouldn't dream of lying to you.

"Darling! How has the day treated you? I hope it has been well, or else I might have to change that. Ah, they really did that, didn't they? Well, it's important to move on. They don't deserve your attention after all that. It's what give people like that power even after defeat. So, let's wipe that frown and have some food! I'm sure it'll cheer you up."

✧Susanna Rowson✧

Ah, why should all mankind

For one man's fault, be condemned,

If guiltless?

Having a kind heart can take you far and push past obstacles. That is what Susanna Rowson has always believed in. It may seem like a naive ideal, but it was taught to her since she was young. Although that was the case, her ability doesn't make it seem like it, which saddens her. An ability like hers surely would paint her as a cynic should it be revealed. That is why she doesn't use it too often, despite being a member of the Guild.

With that, she also does not question what is going on. Love is love, right? You have given her the butterflies in her stomach, made her face flush, brighten up her day, oh and so much more! There is so much she wants to do with you! It seems rather abrupt, but she welcomes these feelings since she has been waiting for this day. Oh, she does hope you feel the same way. She does her absolute best to aid and comfort you whenever she can. This way, you're aware that the young woman is a grand partner! It's...enough, right?

Despite all the hope she has, there is a gnawing anxiety deep within her. People come and go, yes, but...do they really have to? It hurts. It hurts so much. Especially when the person is ripped away from you so suddenly. Why did it have to happen? Even though she tells herself that life is just like that, she can't just ignore how unfair it is. Maybe if more effort was put in, you'd stay. Yes...You definitely will.

Every little sign counts for her. You wouldn't just keep hanging out with her just for...for pity or some other painful excuse, right? That's not you at all. She should know. You are a sweet, admirable person and...No one would actually be that cruel...yeah. She tries to keep herself from thinking of the worst because that would mean she has little faith in you. Which is just not true at all! There is so much trust placed upon you and she'd never forgive herself for doubting you.

All she just wants is for you to finally say the words she's been waiting to hear. Then, every bit of fear will be washed away. For now, she'll be patient. Even with your other friends, she knows that you love her deep down. R-Right?....there's no way she can allow herself to use her ability for such an obvious answer because...because of course you do!

"A-Ah, no. There's nothing on your face. I was just lost in thought. I'm having some troubles. May I share them? Well, I want to be more honest with you. I'm sick to my stomach because I thought of using my ability on you. My...c-coworkers say I should use it for liars but...you're not one! So I must ask...do you love me?"

✧Robert Louis Stevenson✧

O human nature's marked duality

Emerges in symbolic myths and dreams.

For the troubled heart is often torn between

The mystical rose and the wild, black beast.

No. No, no, no, no! This can't be happening. This cannot be happening right now. Why does every corner of life have to do this!? Did some higher being have it out for him? This was the question that ran through the mind of Robert Louis Stevenson when he discovered his tainted desires. He tried to convince himself that this wasn't him, but that monster. Or maybe you were some enemy that the boss didn't tell him about. Whoever you are, he needed to stay away from. At all costs.

Well, aren't you an intriguing little thing. To bring a man to such a state of panic just because he is scared of what he can do. Love...is it? Hm, okay then. Love can make someone do crazy things and hey, he isn't complaining. Tearing down others in the name of someone seemed fun. Especially if they're people who even so much as glanced at you. What? Of course other people would also have their eyes on you. It's just annoying, is all. He can't just wait to the look on your face when you know.

No! You absolutely can't find out! It's important that you stay away. He can sense your worry as to why he's not going outdoors lately. Work is keeping him busy, love. His job is very high maintenance after all. Just don't...ask too much about it. Still, how could he let this escalate? He was supposed to stay away but now look at him. He's lying to your face. The man can't believe you haven't caught on at all. Do you have suspicions? Oh, you're a fun one indeed. What the hell is wrong with him!? No, it's not him. Ah, but he can't deny that this is what he truly wants.

He can't deny how much his blood boils at others spending so much time with you, or how much fear he has just thinking about how you'll react to what he is...what he's done. Ugh, you should just accept your fate. There's no way you can run from him at all. A good chase brings the best out of him. Ah...it's okay, he'll patch you right up. It's nice that you depend on him in these types of things, even if he caused them. Just stop, it'll make everything easier and no one has to be in pain. Try to understand that.

Understanding you will. He has treated you so kindly before. You know that, right? Why be afraid of him? Don't you trust him? You can't just view things only on the surface, love. That's narrow minded of you and he is aware you're not like that. Don't tell him that he's mistaken? After what he has done? Oh, darling that's not even the worst of it. You have no idea. The lengths he would go for you is undescribable. Well, maybe they are. Ugh, so graphic...

"There is nothing to be afraid of. I just...don't know. Yes, I do know! You see love, you are special. So, so, so special indeed. Because of that, you're going no where. Y-You understand that, right? I'm trying to make this easy, really I am. So don't you dare try to leave...please. I dare you, little dove. If you're brave enough, let's see what happens if you do try. Even...with all that, know that I love you and I do this because of that."

✧Nora Ibsen✧

A doll is a witness

who cannot die,

with a doll you are never alone.

Or did we make them

because we needed to love someone

and could not love each other?

Nora is still trying to grasp why she feels this way. She never thought it was possible in the first place, given her origins and who she used worked for. That was in the past, but despite her freedom, she remained trapped. Maybe that is why you're here; to make everything better. Oh, not that you'd be able to fully assist in the situation. No no, she wouldn't allow anyone to put you in harms way. This was her responsibility.

There is a thought as to why she's grown attached to you. The only other person she has done that with is dead, which only gives her more of a reason to protect you. Even if you're not aware of that. Still, if she's feeling like this, then it is not a problem. It's better than the sense of dread she feels when something from her past shows up. You're a breath of fresh air. Make no mistake, she will do whatever it takes to ensure your safety.

In the meantime, you don't have to worry your pretty little head. She keeps interacting with you as if nothing is going on. Allowing you to show her anything in the city since it all was new to her. Staying by your side made her feel complete in some way...which felt right. This was it then. This was meant to be! There was always this empty feeling she had after leaving behind the pains of the past. No matter how happy she felt, it wouldn't go away. But now you're here! Everything can be just like it used to, but better than before!

If there comes a time where the past comes to haunt her, and she has to face someone familiar, they will be dealt with. Apologies to them, they might not see you as their target but that doesn't mean there's no chance they'll hurt you. You shouldn't be exposed to these sort of things. No anger fuels her actions, just a sense of protectiveness. Her happiness will not be ruined again. She won't be merciful this time around...nor will she let herself be controlled. It is her turn to pull the strings.

Everyone desires something in life. However, will the guilt of the past allow them to fully embrace them? You feel like you have been dead even while living since then. That is the sense of dread that most feel when she confronts them. Meanwhile, she's never felt more alive. It's all thanks to you, really. You've given her a sense of purpose without doing much. To her, it doesn't matter what role she plays in your life, though she does wish to be your significant other...what matters is that you'll stay with her forever. So please, don't toss her to the side.

"Who...was that? Oh, that was no one important. Don't worry about it. All that matters is what we'll be doing later this afternoon! So—he seemed familiar? Ah, that makes some form of sense. He kind of looks like that one man you mentioned. So bizarre...but it's all good. He isn't important. Why do you keep asking questions?"

#yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere bsd #yandere bsd x reader #yandere bungou stray dogs #yandere bungo stray dogs #yandere bungo stray dogs x reader #yandere bsd ocs #yandere bungo stray dogs ocs #yandere ocs #yandere oc x reader #yandere oc #yandere male #yandere female #male yandere #female yandere

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shirosfics · 7 months

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My thoughts on the BSD S5 finale (what I did not like, and what I liked, and how real-life issues might have influenced BSD)

⚠️ spoiler alert!

Late to the party because I was busy (and still am, so I've only seen the main spoilers for the last episode). Now, I have loads of mixed feelings.

Spoilers below!

*Takes a deep breath* Now.

The finale violates so many rules of story-writing and characterisation:

First, characterisation: Fyodor, our genius Fyodor, could not simply be defeated by a pair of contacts and fake fangs that even a normal person can tell apart). That is not the same person who had tricked Ace, nor is that the same person who was able to speak with Dazai in code. If Asagiri had made the contact-lenses-and-fake-fangs decision, he had truly done Fyodor dirty. There is an alternative take on this specific plot that I agree with, more on that below in Fyodor's section.

Second, storyline progress: as of Dazai's death in Chapter 109 (and S5E10), we're at the climax of the DOA storyline. There is a rule in story writing that it must always be followed by a "falling action" phase, and it is severely lacking in the finale, and as a result everything feels rushed.

Number 2 leads to loose ends. Lots of them. Sigma is a glaring one. Crime and Punishment another. Nikolai's motives too.

Oh, and that poison Dazai and Fyodor injected. Given that there's no explanation given, the poison violates the rule of Chekov's gun. Asagiri put so much focus on the poison when it was first introduced, and it was just hand waved away? Asagiri, what are you doing? Please give me an explanation soon, this is unlike you.

ALSO, Sigma's death. Really? Asagiri? Bones? Another rule of storytelling is to never write in a character and hype them up only to kill them, unless there is a damn good reason why. And I will be waiting for the damn good reason why. Or for you to write Sigma back to life. That's all I will say about Sigma for now. Give me my precious cinnamon roll!

My first thought when I saw the spoilers was pure anger, because the rushed finale = shoddy writing and is seriously not up to Asagiri's usual standards. I hope this was (at least) partially Bones' own creative adaptation of Asagiri's storyline. I have no qualms about Bones and Asagiri making Dazai turn the tables. After all, BSD still falls into the shounen category, so it doesn't really take a genius to figure out Dazai is going to live and the Yokohama tripartite was going to win (even if I panicked a lot when I saw Chapter 109). However, again, what I do have a lot of qualms with is the abrupt ending, and the way Fyodor's characterisation and the details were handled.

The only believable thing in the S5 finale was Fukuchi's change of heart and motive, and that's only because BSD is still a genre-savvy shounen series.

The main problem is how quickly Bones has written the rest of the DOA arc out, squeezing them into a span of one episode. To make an apt comparison, the storyline exploded like Fyodor's helicopter :-/ There was simply too much buildup (two seasons worth! And around 50 chapters worth of storyline development in the manga!) for it to end this way. It's like that horse-drawing meme (if you don't know what it is, look it up), and it leaves a really bad taste as a viewer. I was expecting a grander scheme or method of reveal, only to be disappointed.

It's unfair to blame Bones and Asagiri entirely, however. There are a few things that might have caused this, but it's highly possible that real-life factors have influenced the way the anime and the storyline were handled.

Harukawa-sensei is not at her best right now, which means progress for the manga is slow, and the anime had only been advertised until Season 5. Which means unless Bones ties everything up quickly, we’ll be left with an incomplete finale.

The intellectual rights for BSD are held by Kadokawa, and the manga for BSD is selling well. They are also getting a lot of money from the anime (from Bones as well since Bones has to pay them royalty fees), but less so compared to their other IP that have been turned into anime (Oshi no Ko is very popular right now, and is top 1 anime IP revenue for Kadokawa according to their most recent report). The BSD anime, however, has struggled with dwindling sales* in comparison to the manga and Bones' other series. One of these said series is an undated, upcoming project (I will refrain from naming it because fandoms are sensitive sometimes) which I think will be announced soon. From an investor and profit standpoint, it's better for the company to finish BSD quickly and focus their efforts on that, especially since updates for the manga has stalled and Bones has done nothing but focus on BSD this year. This means they are feeding Kadokawa money at a loss.

*I wasn't able to find an official investor report for Bones Inc., because unlike Kadokawa, they are not a listed company. If anyone has the official data, please let me know.

On Fyodor:

Right now, I think it's highly likely that Fyodor and Dazai's last scene is Asagiri-canon instead of Bones' own creation. While Bones has deviated from manga/LN canon occasionally, the changes they make are usually not big. This is no longer an era where animes have their own storyline adaptations. However, due to the limitations of an one-cour run, Bones might have changed the details on how Dazai and Fyodor got there. Otherwise, I can't understand why Asagiri would do both Fyodor (and by extension Dazai) dirty like this, this easily. Even his blunder with NLH in the Fifteen Light Novel was more forgivable compared to this. (Yes, I am in severe denial over Asagiri being able to do this to one of the smartest characters in the series. He had hyped up Fyodor's intelligence and observational skills too much for him to fall for this specific trap.)

This does not necessarily mean that Fyodor is completely dead and gone from the storyline. We now know that he's not the final villain (a development that leaves me feeling conflicted because Fyodor is a great villain), which means that there is a high likelihood he will return as an ally given, ah, Fitzgerald's development and the typical shounen manga storyline progression. Or, if he is truly dead, he will continue to influence the storyline in some manner. I based this guess on his lines under the night sky. It's only a wild guess.

Another possibility that's worth mentioning: It has been theorised (and hinted) that C&P is an ability that creates a doppelgänger of Fyodor in a way. There's a chance that it was the ability that died. Maybe. There's also a guess going around that Dazai knows it's not the real Fyodor but the doppelgänger that died, but as of the finale, we don't know for sure. I personally am unsure about this one, because Asagiri has indicated that NLH also works when Dazai touches abilities (see his battle with the Number-ability user in the Azure King/Apostle case, as well as Soukoku's battle with Rimbaud), and Dazai actually held Fyodor's hand after his helicopter crashed. If that Fyodor was an Ability, he would've dissipated the moment Dazai made contact…unless the bandage and cloth act as a barrier (which also does not make sense because Dazai had stopped Steinbeck's ability through his clothes…unless Asagiri had forgotten about that…which he has before.)

Or…C&P allows for body-switching, and Fyodor’s mind/soul switched out before his death? Idek I’m just throwing out guesses at this point. I’m still confused as to what C&P actually does.

This last one, which is my favourite, is that Fyodor fell for the trick on purpose (which, alright, I guess he's choosing the greater good over himself) and chose not to expose Dazai and Chuuya for whatever reason. Perhaps because of the other person he had mentioned. So he's basically acting to the bitter end and paying with his life. If this is true, fine, it absolves Asagiri of his guilt of making Fyodor fall for such a simple trick.

I'm a Fyodor fan, but even I gotta admit he's as resilient as a cockroach (ahem) Dazai, so there's a chance he's really not dead. (This might be my wishful thinking, aha.)

Now, onto things I actually like about the S5 finale:

Soukoku. Enough said. Nice to see you two going about your business as usual. Imagine how much effort Chuuya had to put into not laughing when he shot Dazai.

Aya and Bram's relationship. It's been heavily implied that Aya is the reincarnation of someone important to Bram (manga), more specifically, his daughter (anime). You don't get a lot of relationships like this in anime, and I am stoked (geddit?) to see their relationship development from here. Not from a shipping point of view, but from a familial and platonic (and a knight-and-lady) point of view. Aya is a character filled with possibilities, and Bram seems like a fun character. They have so much potential together. Asagiri, don't ruin it.

Dazai's characterisation: Dazai and Chuuya's little act, and Dazai's influence on Sigma. He could have had Chuuya kill Fyodor immediately, but held off, possibly because he wanted to turn Sigma to be sympathetic and emotionally-attached to the thought of joining the ADA. Now, Dazai is on the side of good, but we know it is within his character to be manipulative enough to do this. Had Dazai made Chuuya kill Fyodor immediately, that emotional connection would have never been established. This is very much in-line with Dazai's method of doing things, and with his characterisation. If that farce actually worked, this is actually a great way to demonstrate how Dazai's darkness can be used for the side of good.

On Fyodor and Dazai: After one movie and three seasons, Fyodor finally acknowledged Dazai! He went from underestimating him to enjoying his battle with Dazai, to finally acknowledging him upon his defeat. Nice.

There's more coming based on Fukuchi and Fyodor's lines, and Akutagawa and Atsushi's last scene, which is great, because I need to know more. There's so much left unexplained and/or unexplored: the Transcendents, Christie, Crime and Punishment and Fyodor, and the Book, just to name a few.

(Also, I quite like Aku's new design :P)

I don't know when we'll be able to see the anime again, but as long as Kadokawa doesn't drop BSD, and Harukawa-sensei takes her time to recover carefully, I'm sure, one day, we'll get an anime adaptation of the upcoming seasons.

Still, I'm desperately hoping that the manga storyline will offer us a more complete explanation.

#shiro's ramblings #bsd spoilers

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nilesmoon · 1 year

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as a bsd fan it is my responsibility to come up w a oda lives au so here's my two cents. he survives the gunshot and decides to take this opportunity to straight up fake his death. (more under read more)

ditches yokohama starts living in a small town, works at an orphanage and writes in his free time. All the kids adore him and they love to read his stories :]]

dazai visits him at any given opportunity bc that's his clingy little sister. oda is glad that dazai seems happier in ada and that he has found friends. he also knows about everyone in the agency bc dazai keeps talking abt them. (also in this au, the first person dazai saved was oda so. yeah.)

ango helped fake the documents for odas death but feels too guilty to visit him, one day oda says fuck this and decides to visit ango bc he almost died once already. he's not gonna let anything stop him from being with his friends.

on the exact same visit oda meets ada members and much to everyones surprise, ranpo & him are already besties. noone knows how this has happened and they'll probably never learn how the reason the agency exists is bc oda helped save ranpos life.

he hits it off w yosano immediately they're drinking buddies now. he adopts kyoka on the spot like it takes him 5 seconds to make his decision. he asks kenji about how to grow his own herbs & spices. kunikida thinks he seems normal at first but then immediately realizes that oda is very much a Weird Guy like dazai.

since hes working at am orphanage atsushi would be hesitant near him even though he is dazais older brother and that means he can trust him But he just can't bring himself to talk with him without being stressed. oda of course notices this then they talk about it for a bit. oda tells atsu that it's fine if he doesn't feel comfortable talking with him right now, maybe they can do it later. And they Indeed become friends later, just not that day.

meanwhile in the port mafia only mori and the executives know about this. mori is surprisingly chill about it, he doesn't mind as long as oda keeps his head down and goes on with his peaceful life.

kouyou is probably the only person in the mafia he still talks with every once in a while but I think him, kouyou and verlaine should unionize as the older siblings and have little tea parties.

Ok I'm done for now sorry if it's messy it's late. I didn't think that I'd write this much. If u have any questions feel free to ask them

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd odasaku #nile talks

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anti-dazai-blog · 2 years

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1.1– Why would Dazai assume Atsushi could swim (and other complaints)

A quick but necessary philosophical sidetrack:

A really big question arises when trying to decipher every Asshole move Dazai makes throughout bsd, and that would be

What level of premeditated is all of this?

How much of bsd was planned out by Dazai? How many “reveals” were already known? At what point exactly did he plan out the events he manipulated? Of course, you can’t hold someone accountable for things they weren’t aware of. But Dazai, being Dazai, is practically omniscient. Should I just assume he knows everything, and every event is part of some big master plan of his? If that were the case, then he wouldn’t be held morally accountable for any of it, since he would know that the actions he is taking are the only ones that lead to the desired outcome he has in mind (something that we, the audience, can safely assume is necessary for the safety of Yokohama).

There’s no real way of properly answering this question. So, since this is an anti-Dazai blog, I’ll be assuming whatever it takes to hold Dazai the most accountable. Or, in short, Dazai knows everything, so long as it’s both a) Convenient to me, and b) reasonable enough to assume he knows the information in question.

The question of what Dazai does and doesn’t know in advance, and what situations he did or didn’t manipulate to his liking, will come up over and over again. We’ll deal with that later. NOW, ONTO WHAT YOU ALL CAME HERE FOR: A BREIF YET THOROUGH RUNDOWN OF EVERYTHING DAZAI DID WRONG EVER

………………………………………

And we’ll start with the title of this post— why and how did Dazai assume that Atsushi would know how to swim? Dazai’s plan was to fake a suicide attempt, while the thing he was actually attempting to do was to catch Atsushi’s attention. However, if Atsushi didn’t know how to swim, he’d have two options: ignore the guy who’s probably half-dead already, or jump in and risk his own life. Either option would be unnecessarily emotionally or physically taxing on Atsushi— either he’d end up assuming he just watched some guy die without doing anything to help him, or he’d half-drown himself to try to rescue a stranger.

Atsushi grew up in an orphanage. Who taught him how to swim? When was he taught? Why was he taught? Did he not know how to swim until that very moment, and when he jumped in his instincts kicked in? I myself didn’t know how to swim until I was around 13. Up until then, I doubt I would have survived if I had been suddenly dropped into a body of water.

Either this was presumptuous on Dazai’s part, or he simply didn’t care whether or not Atsushi could swim, so long as the river delivered him safely to the tiger he was after.

Which leads us to another fault of Dazai’s here:

For any normal person, watching a person drown (whether through suicide or through accident) would be a highly traumatic experience. It’s played for laughs in the anime and manga— “Look At The Silly Bandaged Man, Casually Drowning In The River! How Silly Of Him!” Imagine you were walking alongside a river, and witnessed someone drowning. That’s not the sort of thing you see on Just Another Tuesday. That’s the sort of thing that will leave a lasting impression in your mind- that would haunt you at night for years to come.

So why would Dazai choose to approach Atsushi in such a manner in the first place? maybe because he’s a capital-a Asshole who straight up doesn’t give a sh*t how his actions affect those around him.

[now, I’m not saying he never had a real suicide attempt in his life. Chances are he had many. I will say, however, that all his attempts while his fellow agency members are around are Just For The Meme Of It.]

But enough about his mistreatment of his tiger-boy for now. Especially since at this point, they’ve barely even met each other. Onto his mistreatment of his dear work partner, Kunikida (and oh boy. We have a lot to unpack here.)

Let’s assume that the whole point of his “drowning” was to find the tiger he and Kunikida were looking for, and eventually recruit him into the agency.

Wouldn’t it have been a lot easier. And a lot more, shall I say, decent, for him to tell Kunikida his plans of recruiting this stranger as their new member?

He really doesn’t like making things easy on Kunikida. But matters of recruitment involve everyone in the agency, not just himself or his partner. Things like this are relevant and necessary for him to discuss with others in advance. As we know from Atsushi’s entrance exam, things like this are not decided on by a single person.

Dazai’s bad habit of withholding crucial information extends further than that though— Why didn’t he tell Kunikida that this boy is the tiger they’re after?

That piece of information is arguably more important than mentioning his plans of recruitment. Surely he could let Kunikida know that the case is solved and there’s no need for any additional work he’s inevitably putting in on the side to try and track down our local elusive tiger boy. Surely any decent person— or even any not-so-decent person— would have the courtesy of announcing that the job has already been completed and there’s no need for additional work. Actually, I’ll take this a step farther- it’s the natural instinct of any human being to inform the person who gave them an assignment when the assignment is complete.

Think about it, if your boss tells you to go fill out some forms, you’d either tell him when you’ve completed that task, or put the forms in the assigned place. You would do that because that’s the way things are done: you get a job, you complete a job, you submit what you’ve completed. You’d have to make the conscious decision not to submit your work once it’s completed, and for what purpose would you choose to do that? Do you enjoy when your coworkers and boss encounter setbacks because of you? Possibly, if you really hate your workplace. But in Dazai’s case, I’d say it’s pretty clear he doesn’t. But what does an Asshole know of friends and enemies, when everyone’s equally a target for his torments?

And so he doesn’t tell Kunikida that this boy is the tiger. And so he keeps this crucial piece of information from him. Alright, that makes him an Asshole, but that doesn’t make him cruel. And as promised, I’m here to prove that his actions go beyond simple Asshole-ery and cross the border into cruelty. Which is pretty obvious, considering Kunikida is actually not the number one person on the list of People Who Should Be Told That Atsushi’s The Tiger. See, he also neglects to tell Atsushi.

At this point of the story, Atsushi isn’t entirely aware that he himself is the tiger he’s so afraid of. All Atsushi knows is that this tiger is following him— haunting him— as a constant shadow looming over his shoulder. It’s following him around. It’s causing some level of destruction. And he’s scared. He feels like he’s cursed. He’s just been kicked out of his orphanage, he’s living on the streets, half-starved to death, and he has no idea if he’ll even survive the week.

If it were anyone else, I’d say that maybe they don’t understand what Atsushi’s going through. But this is Dazai. This is someone who worked in the mafia with Chuuya, Q, and probably countless others who have abilities they can’t fully control. He has plenty of first-hand experience witnessing how terrifying it can be when your own biggest enemy lives within you. You can never escape it— the only option is facing it head on. And Atsushi cannot do that until he’s made aware of where his worst enemy— the tiger— truly resides.

Yet Dazai chooses not to tell him. And for what? For the sake of a fun reveal later? For the sake of dramatic tension? Honestly, at this point I’m starting to suspect that Dazai might just be a very messed up theater kid. Although that’s not so far from the truth, considering his favorite hobby is lying acting.

And so Atsushi suffers a few hours longer than he had to, to feed this Asshole’s need for Big Dramatic Reveals.

Now onto a more petty complaint. Dazai’s first words to Atsushi.

You’d assume a person trying to convince someone to work for them would have the sense to be at least a little nice to the guy who’s potentially gonna be their new coworker. But Dazai has no sense, at all, ever. (And no cents either, but we’ll get to that when we talk about how he’s always spending Kunikida’s money).

The first thing he says to Atsushi- the kid who risked his own life to try and save his— is scolding and harsh (and somewhat belittling). It’s understandable enough if he speaks that way to people who already know him. They expect nothing less, they expect nothing more. Of course Dazai, the suicide-obsessed Asshole Of Epic Proportions, would scold someone for interrupting his wonderful river bath. But Atsushi didn’t just interrupt him; he saved him. He jumped in and pulled him out. He took action that put himself in danger to try and help him. And his reward for this selfless deed? Some idiot he just met complaining to him— calling him rude for interrupting his self-imposed untimely demise.

Not only that, but he goes as far as to start mocking his savior. Atsushi asks “what- Drowning?”, surprised that the man he just saved wanted water in his lungs more than CPR to get the water out. Instead of, say, confirming Atsushi’s (rightfully) surprised reaction as correct, he goes “Oh, you’ve never heard of drowning?” and begins explaining the concept— purposely misunderstanding Atsushi’s question as a request for a definition, rather than the rhetorical type often exclaimed in shock.

Really. That’s just not the sort of thing you’d want to do to someone who’s confidence levels can only be measured in negative numbers. Sure, there’d be a laugh track playing in the background at that point if BSD had a laugh track in the first place. Sure, it’s supposed to be comedic. But we’ve all had our moments of low confidence, and we all can understand easily enough: if your words are constantly twisted— if they’re then used against you to mock or belittle you— you’ll very quickly learn to shut the hell up. And for those to be the first words Dazai chooses to say to Atsushi… well, it doesn’t bode well for Atsushi gaining his much needed confidence in the future. (Luckily he has a bunch of friendly agency members who’ve got his back. If not, he’d be beyond doomed.)

Now this is around the point when Kunikida shows up.

I really dreaded writing about Kunikida, Akutagawa, and Chuuya. Because with most other characters, the wrongs Dazai commits are arguably Perfectly Fine Things To Do (I mean, you’re wrong if you believe that they are, but still. They’re arguably Perfectly Fine.) But with those three characters? The wrongs are OBVIOUS. They’re BLATANT. They’re really in your face. And yet, with two out of three of them (Kunikida and Chuuya), Dazai’s torments and tortures are often outright overlooked.

I hate to be the one to break it to you, but Dazai’s treatment of all three of them is horrendous and shouldn’t be discarded as a joke.

Anyway. Dazai has now “lost his wallet in the river”— a statement which we, the audience, don’t buy, just like Dazai doesn’t buy anything. Ever. Because he always leeches off of everyone around him and scams them into paying for all his needs.

But that’s no surprise to anyone. At this point, we already know Dazai and can easily expect him to do things like this. The problem isn’t that he’s a leech— if he were leeching off of someone rich, then honestly? Good For Him. Eat The Rich. The problem lies in who exactly he’s leeching off of.

Of all people, his most popular victim is Kunikida. Kunikida, a man making the same paycheck that he himself is making. And a man does double the work to earn it.

Let me say it louder for those in the back: Twice the work. For the same pay. And who is responsible for this? Who is responsible for the tragic fate that has befallen this poor man? ((At this rate, he will literally be a poor man.))That’s right. Ladies and Gentlemen, it’s none other than our man of the hour, Dazai Osamu himself.

THIS is the man he chooses to extort money from.

THIS is the person he chooses— someone who he’s singlehandedly responsible for both the increased workload and diminishing finances of.

And that’s not even the worst part. Universally speaking, no one likes work and no one likes losing money. So giving Kunikida more work and less money is not exactly a Saw-level personal punishment for him. And of course, Dazai isn’t satisfied with himself unless it is. So he goes and targets the thing Kunikida cares about the most: his schedule.

There’s no word for that other than cruelty. What did Kunikida ever do to Dazai, to have to watch something he puts so much time and effort into get destroyed right before his eyes?

And what does Dazai gain from it, other than some form of twisted satisfaction, to go out of his way to ruin his partner’s day?

Dazai’s fun little dive into the river is more costly than it may seem at first glance (monetarily, physically, and emotionally. For multiple people). All of Dazai’s antics are more costly than they seem. And before the series ends, I’d love to see him pay in full for all that he has done.

Next>

#AND THAT’S IT FOR SCENE ONE #Listen I’m gonna say this a billion times. I don’t hate dazai AS A CHARACTER #he’s very well written #ok now that that’s out of the way #dazai’s the worst lmao let’s all hate on him together #anyway onto tagging this properly so people can find it #bsd #bungo stray dogs #dazai bsd #atsushi bsd #kunikida bsd

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tender-rosiey · 3 years

Note

Hi there, just wondering if I could put in a request for Ranpo, Chuuya, Akutagawa, Atsushi and Kunikida working with (and maybe even falling for???) someone who is super energetic and boisterous (reminiscent of bb nishinoya)?

I hope this makes sense 🥺 have a good day/night

❥ Bsd Characters working and falling for an energetic reader

Includes: Ranpo,Kunikida, Chuuya, Atsushi and Akutagawa

ᴀ/ɴ: I hope you like this 🥺❤️ I hope you have a wonderful day/night as well dear! This will be fun since I am a Nishinoya kinnie 👀

Ranpo Edogawa:

This adorable bby

“CAN I GET PAIRED UP WITH Y/N?!”

Chaotic duo

You guys are literally the sunshine’s of the Agency

He loves hanging out with you

You are the only person he shares his snacks with

Ranpo, yosano and you are a wonderful trio

Your missions together are always enjoyable and fun

Makes you laugh because he loves the sound of your laugh but you didn’t hear that from me

So yeah he would love working with you

It always brightens up his day

He literally subconsciously smiles when you enter

You guys like to buy candy and stroll the around the city together

Now falling for you

It will be a very fun rollercoaster for our dear detective

You can sometimes be unexpected even to him

Despite being an open book and being the most energetic and sunshine bby in the agency

Sometimes he gets surprised with stuff you do

If you hug him out of excitement then he will be normal in front of you and hug you

With a cute “YAY Y/N-CHAN HUGS!”

But after you turn your cute face away he wil be a blushing mess

And alone

He will be reconsidering his life choices and thank the heavens about blessing him with you

Let’s talk about when someone makes you sad

He will guilt trip them and ruin their self-esteem

“Are you stupid enough to make Y/N sad?”

He will give you his candy so your cute smile can be present again

Kunikida Doppo:

opposites attract check ✨

Yes queen

However he finds you somewhat more tolerable than another bandage wasting machine

He does keep your hyper state at bay though

“Y/N calm down.”

“YES SIR”

Smile at him though and he will let you do anything you want

Except blowing up the city 🤡

Enjoys your company when you are calm

Doesn’t mean he doesn’t when you are energetic

He enjoys it nonetheless but likes calm conversations between you two

Likes to softly smack you on the head with his book of ideals

SOFTLY AND LIGHTLY THO

He doesn’t like people who hit innocent ladies

Smiles at you when he sees you happy

Behind your back tho

A fond soft smile

Soft kunikida yay <3

He is like your legal guardian

“Y/N GET OFF THE ROOF!”

“COME AND GET ME hehe~”

Speaking of “hehe” or giggling

He loves it

And when he falls for you, your personality would be a major reason

“She doesn’t meet 13 of my ideals...HOW DID I FALL FOR HER”

Cue you laughing and greeting him

“Oh yeah that’s why”

You balance out the serious or stern attitude of his with the bubbly and energetic attitude of yours

Ruffles your hair when he is proud

Is kunikda the type to wink?

Absolutely not

Unless ;)

Sometimes you prank our dear blonde here so yes he gets a little mischievous with you

You are buried in a lot of work?

Kunikida will pass by and wink at you

Yes that fine man is what got you the work

And that’s the only time you will find him winking at your perfect figure (yes you are perfect and if you dare oppose then I will hug you to death)

Kunikida winking pls 🤭

He will scold anyone who dares and make you sad

“WE HAVE A RULE THAT LITERALLY SAYS NEVER MAKE Y/N SAD”

They don’t but he hates seeing you down

Chuuya Nakahara:

You are his child that he will beat anyone that will touch or make sad

He sees you as this precious day of sunshine in the port mafia

That literally makes everyone smile

He protects you with his laifu cause you are a potential waifu

But we will talk about that later on

He enjoys working with you

You make the mission much lighter to deal with

But

If he is annoyed and can’t handle any noise around him

Then he will calmly ask you to calm down and tell you that he had a rough day before

He loves how you are understanding and nod smiling

Pets your head

“AYE AYE DONT MAKE Y/N SAD OR I WILL FUCK YOU UP”

Kouyou taught elegance for nothing 😔

He starts falling for your cute self

At a point chuuya will view your smile as a blessing

Specially if he is the one who causes it

Loves your personality and how you never fail to cheer him up

Soft smiles whenever you aren’t looking cause my man has a reputation to keep

He adores your hugs btw

“Thanks sunshine”

Yes that is his nickname for you even before getting together

You know how sometimes people run their knuckles onto someone’s head when mad?

He does that when you do something stupid

But he does it gently

When you are sad

Then all hell is let loose

At everyone but you 🥰

And Mori cause Chuuya isn’t fucked up in the mind so he can mess with that guy

Will let you hug him out

Tries and make you smile by telling you funny stories about dazai and how stupid he is

“You are my sunshine. My only sunshine.”

A line he had wrote in his diary while describing you

Yes I believe he has a diary but it will die with him

Atsushi Nakajima:

He adores you

Like another bby that will protect you

You are like Kenji but more energetic

He can never say no to you

Gets beyond flustered when you hug him

Likes seeing you hyper

Watches over you in case shit goes down

He enjoys missions with you

They are so much fun :0

You guys even go around Yokohama and get whatever you want after you are done

These cutesy smiles whenever you are super excited over something

Will get you anything and everything

Will apologize on your behalf if someone gets harmed by whatever you did

Per example

You broke a vase in the blinds of being so excited for the mission

Atsu will put you behind him and apologize

The owner of the bar of course will forgive you cause

A cute innocent boy and a ball of sunshine standing in front of him

He can’t be a cruel little shit to you so he lets you go without anything

Probably gives you something as a souvenir 🤡

He will do anything so you don’t ever feel down

However if you do then he will be by your side trying to making you laugh

Comfort you

You name it

He treasures your smile dearly even before loving you romantically

But as bby fell for you

He payed attention to little things you do even more

If he isn’t working on something on the agency then he is staring at you with a smile and releases a dreamy sigh

He could be going through a shit of a day and he will be at his best when he sees you

You know how he got flustered over hugging him?

Yeah now he becomes a tomato and lays on the floor fanboying

Simp

Whenever you greet him then he will blush, rub the back of his neck and waves shyly

His crush on you is so obvious though

Y/N RELEASE THE BOY FROM THE HELL OF BEING OBLIVIOUS TO YOUR FEELINGS AND TELL HIM YOU LOVE HIM

Akutagawa Ryuunosuke:

It’s heaven and hell for him hen he works with you

You are a great duo

But that’s not the actual heaven part

So what’s good about it is that he finds your presence sort of comforting

But GOODNESS IF YOU ARENT SO NOISY

He can’t handle it

Literally like tsukki to yams

“HEY AKUTAGAWA”

“Y/N shut up”

“No :D”

Little glares when you are too loud

He doesn’t really care about anyone around him

But

It slightly bothers him when you are down

He is so used to your bubbly and energetic attitude so to see something opposite to that is

Annoying in a sense or another

Flicks your forehead

“Cheer up idiot, it’s weird when you are sad”

How considerate wow

And falling for you would be something that surprised him

Aside from Higuchi trying to kill you

Aku started to savor your energetic attitude or aura

Slowly liked it

He even smiles a really really smol smile when you are looking at something

And like YOU ARE REALLYYYYY EXCITED

Pats you on the shoulder when proud

Yes he is copying “DAZAiIIIiiiiIi-sAaAaAAaaN”

Also now he can’t say no to you

“AKUTAGAWA I WANT CHOCOLATE”

“No”

Keep jumping around while smiling and saying please

And akutagawa will go “tch”

And let you get whatever you want

Oh yeah now that he likes you

Anyone that makes you sad loses an arm 😽

Overprotective

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

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pillow-anime-talk · 4 years

Text

traditional & maternal s/o.

synopsis: You as a beautiful, traditionally dressed and perfectly behaved woman who shows maternal behavior towards your partner’s subordinates.

# tags: headcanons; current relationships; mature!reader; romance; fluff; slice of life; sfw

includes: female reader ft. yukichi fukuzawa, ougai mori & francis scott key fitzgerald {bsd}

— YUKICHI

↘ Fukuzawa is also a traditional man, so when he met you for the first time, he was genuinely delighted with your grace and your way of speaking. Your delicate tone of voice and perception of the world made a huge, positive impression on him. On top of that, you were really beautiful, and your flowery yukata perfectly highlighted your pretty smile, eye color and hair.

↘ You were adults, so your feelings towards each other were slow and mature. However, when you finally got into a relationship, shortly after that, you lived together in a beautiful old minka with a huge engawa, where you loved to relax and talk about his day at work or plans for the future.

↘ You made the most delicious tea in the whole world and you were a great housewife who loved to cook, bake and take care of others. Yukichi was even happier when you brought to home a homeless little kitten with a twisted paw one day. You took care of him together, considering the pet as your first baby.

↘ More than six months after you moved in together, you visited your partner at the Agency for the first time. Fukuzawa talked to you about his subordinates more than once, showed you their photos and always smiled slightly. And when Kyouka – who was wearing traditional Japanese clothes just like you – joined the Armed Detective Agency the man said that you two looked quite similar.

↘ When on that day, you crossed the area of the building and then knocked on the wooden door, you sighed a little, a bit stressful about meeting new people. Shortly thereafter, a tall, blonde-haired boy with a green notebook in his hand appeared on your doorstep and greeted you. You bowed as well, and then with his consent, you entered the office.

↘ “Have you had an appointment on any case, Lady? How can I help you?” Kunikida asked in a polite tone, and you shook your head.

↘ “I came privately. I made some mochi for you, kids.” You responded warmly. Your person immediately interested Ranpo, Atsushi and Dazai. “Ah, I didn’t introduce myself, I’m so sorry. I am Y/N Y/L/N. Nice to meet you all. Also thank you for taking care of our beautiful city.”

↘ “... How did I deserve to meet such a wonderf...” Osamu began with a broad smile, but the newspaper that hit him on the head silenced his happy lips immediately.

↘ “Stop scaring my partner, Dazai.” Fukuzawa walked towards you, standing next to your figure. “Something happened that you came?”

↘ “Oh, no, Yukichi. I just wanted to meet your almost adopted children.” You smiled at everyone in the room. “And I’ve done too much mochi.” You added when you went to one of the desks to lay out the colorful sweets. The members of the Agency were fascinated with you from the first second.

↘ Yosano was really happy to see her President with a woman who was so perfect for him. Kyouka immediately saw her deceased mother in you and held your yukata with each subsequent meeting, following you step by step. Naomi and Kirako loved hearing your stories and always asked you for tasty recipes. Atsushi, Kenji and Ranpo were your little babies to you, while Jun’ichirou was like your eldest son. Kunikida, on the other hand, was terribly ashamed of you, but finally overcame his shyness, stating that you were a wonderful woman and the future wife of his master. Dazai liked you, of course; even though you often scolded him because of his behavior, he still adored you and respected your person very much.

↘ Your beloved was more than pleased to see that you had such a good relation with his subordinates. You even had great contacts with Fukuzawa’s mentor, Mr. Natsume. It all confirmed Yukichi’s thoughts that you were the best woman he could ever meet.

— OUGAI

↘ Mori wasn’t surprised that another woman around him dressed in traditional kimonos and tied her hair in beautiful buns or braids. After all, he had Kouyou under his command, and before that, also had the sweet Kyouka.

↘ However, what got you all his attention is your kindness and dedication to others.

↘ Neither you, nor Ougai, nor even Elise will forget the day when three of you met in the middle of the street and at the same moment a thief ran out of the bank and his hand with the gun was automatically directed towards Elise who standing next to you. You covered her with your own body, fearing that a stranger would hurt her, but luckily nothing like that came, because Mori personally knocked him out and then calmed your terrified thoughts.

↘ He sincerely thanked you, then suggested a walk and a coffee in a nearby bar. Elise held your warm hand all the way and you were literally the first person the girl liked and trusted so quickly. I think she saw the mother in you, though she shouldn’t have thought so, since she was only Mori’s ability.

↘ But now we are here, a few weeks later, when you recognized the girl as your beloved daughter, and at the same time you became the wife of the boss of the Port Mafia, knowing very well what could happen to you.

↘ But even that, your relationship was really nice and warm; the man finally had someone to come back to, he had someone to talk to about something more than just work, he could cuddle someone and watch a movie or cook a delicious dinner together. Additionally, Elise could finally feel like a real, normal girl and could protect someone more than her own creator. They were both sincerely in love with you, albeit on different levels of this feeling.

↘ Your meeting the rest of the Mafia members was totally unplanned, because one afternoon your beloved husband called you to ask for important documents that he left in a locker, in his office, in your shared small apartment. Of course, you agreed to bring them to him, and on the way to the building you also went to the bakery to buy him and the cute girl something sweet to eat; you chose tiny fruit tarts and a few donuts.

↘ Ten minutes later, you entered the huge building very calmly, looking around to find an elevator or stairs. When you moved another few steps, you immediately stopped when the figure of blonde-haired Elise with a huge syringe appeared in front of you, and a black-haired – unknown to you – boy was thrown hard against the nearest wall.

↘ “Akutagawa senpai!”

↘ Your eyes widened when Elise hugged your stomach, covered by flowery, long yukata. You were still looking at the boy lying next to the white wall, who a second ago wanted to overpower you, probably considering you a threat from outside. You understood it perfectly well, after all, the Mafia had many enemies.

↘ “... Don’t touch my okaa-san!” The girl screamed, squeezing your body a little tighter. You touched her smol head, stroking the blonde locks, and smiled warmly.

↘ “Elise, my honey, you shouldn’t treat others like that, okay?” You asked softly, to which the girl nodded uncertainly. The security staff next to you, as well as Akutagawa and Higuchi, were shocked by Elise’s polite behavior towards your person. Who were you? “Where’s Ougai, my honey?”

↘ “He’ll be here soon. I was faster than him because I sensed you entering the building. I just wanted to say hi.” She replied with a blush and you laughed softly. “It’s for me?” She asked suddenly, pointing her finger at a paper bag with the smell of icing and kiwi. You nodded and handed her the brown bag full of sweets, then headed towards the still-lying boy and woman with the two guns in her hands.

↘ “Are you okay? I’m so sorry to cause the confusion, I didn’t want to look suspicious.” You whispered, stroking his head while guessing that the Mafia man in front of you is quite young. “Does something hurt you?”

↘ “... Oh, Y/N-chan, what happened?” Finally Ougai came downstairs and you smiled once again.

↘ “There was a little misunderstanding, but it’s okay now.” You answered softly, patting the twenty-year-old’s dark hair one more time. Ryuunosuke found your touch really soothing.

↘ “B-Boss...! Excuse m-me, but...!”

↘ “Hmm. I guess, all of you have already met my lovely wife?” He asked rhetorically, walking up to you, helping you to get up and kissing your forehead. “Be nice to her, otherwise you know what awaits you.”

↘ Akutagawa and Higuchi nodded slowly, swallowing the saliva in their mouths. The boy was really glad that day that Elise had stopped him, because it could end up really... bad.

↘ Needless to say, you gradually got to know more and more people and every member of the Port Mafia liked you; you were especially close to Kouyou, Gin and Yumeno, who became another baby to love for you. And also, despite the first meeting, Akutagawa adored you very very very much. You spoiled him as much as your daughter.

— FRANCIS

↘ Fitzgerald met you in the store when he was at one of the many sales. You watched him with a soft laugh as he selected pots and other cheap things.

↘ Of course he noticed you quickly; how could he not do that? Your traditional, long kimono and breathtaking hairstyle immediately caught his eye, as did your warm expression and amused, shiny eyes. So he replied with a big, manly smile, then started a conversation about how delighted he was with the items here and their prices. You two talked for a long time that day, and in meantime, he invited you for coffee at the nearest coffee shop.

↘ (Of course you had to take him there and teach him to use the menu card because he never has been in the cafe, lmao.)

↘ After eating a sweet, delicious cake and drinking a warm drink, you left the small building and moved on, still talking about your life and plans for the coming days. In the middle of Yokohama city, both of you found Miss Alcott who looking in shock at her leader who was so kind and affectionate turning towards a woman he had barely known.

↘ Louisa, as a great mind, immediately stated that you are a really good human, full of warmth, empathy and respect for other people. All of this was even more true when you offered two newly met people to use your own home to devise a plan for their actions to regain their good name, social status and money. Francis was more than grateful and Louisa genuinely happy that she didn’t have to rent something ugly and dingy.

↘ They stayed with you for more than a few days, and you, as a good housewife, continued to delight them with your tasty meals, desserts and scented tea.

↘ The natural course of things was that the man fell in love with you. However, before confessing his love to you, he first wanted to earn to ensure you a decent life; as his future, wonderful wife.

↘ That’s why he first returned as ‘The Great Fitzgerald’ and then as the man who took your heart and promised to treat you like a Queen.

↘ Of course you agreed; not for money or gifts, but only for him and his honest heart, because the whole situation has brought you closer to each other like nothing else. You supported him very much in his return and you were really proud and glad when Francis came to you one day in a fancy suit, took you in his arms and sincerely thanked you for the last weeks of support.

↘ Shortly after that, you became a couple and later, you became his fiancée. The man thought you were just his personal guardian angel and your getting to know each other was simply planned by fate.

↘ Miss Alcott was more than happy to see you two smiling and so beautifully in love.

↘ Now all you have been waiting for is a wedding and the enlargement of your little family.

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my-introvert-hideout · 4 years

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Nakajima Atsushi: ISFJ [BSD]

Si > Fe > Ti > Ne

*Based off Season 1 of the anime [Chapters 1-12] with character-based spoilers from the Wikis. I’ve also read a synopsis of “The Untold Story of the Founding of the Detective Agency,” which gives lots of insight into Fukuzawa and Ranpo in particular, and also I know Yosano’s backstory. The Onsen Drama will also make an appearance occasionally. I feel like I have a good enough grasp on their characters for this and will only add more examples rather than changing types in the future. (At least, I think so.)

I’VE ALSO SEEN HIM TYPED AS: INFP, ENFJ

Si is a main aspect of Atsushi’s character. It’s true he seems to have mild PTSD but he also displays this function in a way that’s detatched from that. Atsushi first refused to join the ADA because it’s such a chaotic workplace that demands a lot of Se and situational adaptability. However, since Se is his fifth function, he can deal with it well enough and we see him switch into this function relatively easily during more dire moments. He just much prefers Si. Atsushi is also very in-touch with his past and it often dictates his actions as well as self-worth. His mild obsession with money stems from his upbringing, as well. He also displays a sentiment of not wanting others to experience what he has, which is Si working with a feeling function. Atsushi is also a bit naive, believing things at face-value and showing not much affinity for Ni -- which eliminates ENFJ (they also have an Si blind spot, so that doesn’t work with him). He’s also often seen as one of the more ‘normal’ members of the agency, probably because ISFJs are the most common type if the statistics are to be trusted. As an INFJ, I never really found the others to be weird per se. When trying to figure out ADA members’ previous occupations, Atsushi stuck strictly to sensory things like clothing, which is not what I would’ve gone to at all. I would’ve needed more time, as well. (But that could just be that the creators didn’t want to dwell on the scene too long.) I’m also trying out this theory that generally someone’s likes and dislikes correspond to whether or not they’re a sensor or intuitive.

LIKES: Yokohama, cats, chazuke, chameleons

DISLIKES: Himself, his old orphanage

These are all pretty sensory, but of course there’s room for intuitive arguments; perhaps he likes ‘feel’ of the city rather than anything concrete. Still more physically dominant, though.

Fe is very expressive, as Atsushi definitely is. He has pretty exaggerated reactions to the ADA members at times, which probably also stems from his Si since he hasn’t met a lot of people like them most likely. Despite being a bit timid, Atsushi has a quite extroverted side to him. INFPs can be extroverted, as well, but in an Ne way that doesn’t necessarily need people to be fulfilled. Atsushi likes being around others in an Fe way, with a bit of Si comradery / community sprinkled in. It doesn’t seem enough for him to be an ESFJ, though. He also tries to accomodate people often, like when Kunikida’s onsen advice wasn’t really being listened to. I feel like his Fe is one of his more obvious traits, so this doesn’t need much explanation.

When I first started watching, I was prepared for a pure, somewhat clueless protagonist and was pleasantly surprised when Atsushi’s kinda snarky Ti made an appearance. He can cycle between thinking and feeling pretty well, as shown when he decided to leave the ADA early on in the series; Atsushi seemed rather cold and determined in a Ti way.

His Ne is most blatantly obvious when he was trying to guess Dazai’s possible occupations; he was kind of all over the place with random guesses. Atsushi’s inferior Ne could also be drawn to Kenji’s auxillary Ne.

Te Blind Spot: Tension between Atsushi and Kunikida mainly come from their Fi-Fe Te-Ti differences. His decision to leave the ADA at the beginning was greatly due to his Fe-Ti axis, which is perhaps a reason Kunikida was confused as to why Atsushi was acting the way he was; they use different judging functions. ESTJs use Fe the least, after all, and an Ni blind spot probably didn’t help in figuring Atsushi out. This difference was also seen in relation to Kyōka, both in terms of bringing her to the police and on the boat.

Si-Ti Loop: ‘An ISFJ in a Si-Ti loop will replay past events, usually traumatic ones, and relive these past experiences in their head. They will also try to come to a logical reasoning for why these things happened, and overanalyze the situation. However, they would not be able to come to a conclusion and would instead become stuck in this loop of recalling memories and analyzing them. In addition, they lose some of their ability to interact with the outer world in a healthy way, and instead withdraw into themselves and neglecting to talk over their feelings with others in their life.’ source Atsushi’s Si-Ti loop is a main reason he has such low self-esteem; it reasoned that those things happened and he was treated so poorly because of a fault with himself. While that may be somewhat true, it’s not completely accurate, especially not to the degree that Atsushi seems to think it is.

#atsushi nakajima #bsd atsushi #mbti personality types #mbti types #isfj #isfj personality #bungou stray dogs #bsd nakajima atsushi #character analysis #typology

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rokutouxei · 4 years

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in a way that would make you proud

bungou stray dogs dazai osamu (& oda sakunosuke) | T | 2913 | [ao3]

warnings: post-canon, alcohol, dazai-typical suicide references, implied/referenced self-harm, oda is still dead, also everything is in lowercase. spoilers for dark era / 黒の時代.

notes: this was supposed to be for dazai’s birthday, but i started it way too late. i didn’t want to rush it, so i took a week to write it and now it’s just a long angsty love letter from me to him (in a way.) + first bsd fic so i wanted to make a good impression LOL

summary:

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 23. hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15. everyday he would wake up wondering (hoping? believing?) that he’d be dead the next day. he never really does. alternatively: june 19th, every year, just feels like a long, long night.

(midnight.)

dazai doesn’t celebrate his birthdays, at least in his head. it’s just another likely-humid day in the country’s short rainy season. every birthday is just another reminder, no, a testament to a year of failed attempts to take his own life. it’s miserable at the worst. today, it’s just numb. he doesn’t even wake up feeling any different.

but he doesn’t let that train of thought stop everyone around him for celebrating for him.

dazai considers, for the first few minutes after waking up, skipping work altogether. it’s not going to be surprising, or anything new from him, really. and an earful from kunikida is just going to be cheap fun for the next day. but as dawn slowly gave way to the sun, he figured dealing with the pleasantries (as in, the “surprise” party that had stopped being a surprise a week ago) and sitting in his office chair would make him feel a little more put-together, at least more than just lying in his futon with his new roommate, a growing stack of empty cans of ready-to-eat crab.

dazai sighs, shuffles out of his bed, hearing the imaginary shackles that bind him there clink around.

(one o’clock am)

besides, the members of the armed detective agency think of themselves a small family at best, and for families, birthdays are special. (dazai hums this to himself on his way to work, like it’s a fact he’s learned, not a lived experience.) he’s spent the past two years carving himself a spot in this mismatched little group, and even if his space feels just as impermanent as anything he’s ever wanted, it’s still a place. he isn’t going to lose all that hard work over a random day.

budget is tight this quarter, but when he gets to the office, he’s welcomed with, salad, karaage… and even crab! there’s no alcohol because kunikida is too strait-laced for that and he insists there’s still work to be done. dazai whines and makes complaints, as everyone expects him to.

most of his colleagues have small gifts for him, like an orange from kenji, a candy from ranpo (quickly taken back), his favorite bandages from yosano… nothing really spectacular. kunikida gets him nothing, but the wordless glance they share with each other says otherwise.

atsushi feels indebted to his mentor, so he splurges to get him something nice: a scarf. which is hilarious, to say the least, considering it’s basically summer, but since scarves are off-season they are cheaper, and that’s the only way atsushi can afford something as stunning and high-quality as this—a nice thick cotton one in a deep blue shade. he passes the credit to kyouka for choosing which to get and for wrapping it nicely.

dazai’s eyes flicker with something for a moment before it’s gone. he thanks them with as much heart as he can muster, then does his usual dramatics. asks if the scarf is sturdy enough to hang himself with.

atsushi begs him please don’t and dazai feels something squeeze in his heart.

after the feast, the rest of the day goes as it usually does: dazai smiles and makes jokes and laughs and drives kunikida batshit insane. it’s just a normal day at the armed detective agency office.

just not for dazai.

(two o’clock am)

a work day is still a work day, though, and there’s no getting away from kunikida even on “personal holidays.” there are reports to be written and things to be followed up. dazai isn’t being efficient about it, but he still does his share—at least enough so that it’s even a bit fair for his begrudging partner, who is always gentler to him on this particular day.

an extra serving of patience—that’s what kunikida always gives him on his birthday. and even on this year, dazai’s quick to claim it; two hours before the work day officially ends, he’s already packing up to leave.

not that kunikida’s screaming will really stop him, but it feels a little better when dazai can afford to leave a little early with permission.

atsushi’s a little surprised no one stops dazai from leaving, but he asks no more questions when kyouka shushes him. kunikida only tsks when dazai is out of the building.

(three o’clock am)

out of the office and back into the rush of the city, dazai’s feet bring him to a beeline to that place, like on autopilot. he’s humming all the way there but his brain’s only echoing a sort of static. that is, until the imagery of sitting next to empty seats begins to burrow into the haze of his mind—and it hurts. numbness is okay, but pain? it hurts the same way squeezing into old shoes that no longer fit you does.

and dazai hates it.

so he steels himself, says, no one’s there anymore, insists, there is nothing to come back to.

even if he knows he will find himself there again one day. he always, inevitably does.

but not today. that’s not where he feels safe enough to break.

this time, dazai’s a little more purposeful, a little more awake.

he drops by a liquor store to get whiskey. just goes up the aisle and picks up the first one he finds. it’s not like he’ll remember what it tastes, anyway. the cashier doesn’t make small talk. dazai smiles at them anyway.

he contemplates buying flowers, but he feels a pang of pain at gifting something that’ll die before he does.

and so he begins the long, slow walk to the seaside.

(yesterday, today, and tomorrow)

yokohama is too familiar to him now. he’s lived here too long.

every street bears his secrets. every crosswalk has a memory.

every inch of the city has a weight.

when he was still learning to maneuver the ins and outs of the city, a little boy barely filling in the hollow of his new uniform, there was darkness everywhere. everywhere he entered, everywhere he left. dazai was sure the darkness would quickly consume him.

dazai didn’t think he’d live up to the age of 22.

hell, he didn’t think he’d make it to 18. he was sure, at 10, that he would be dead by 15.

every day he wakes up wondering (hoping? believing?) if he’d be dead the next day.

today, he’s 23.

odasaku died at 23.

dazai should have died at 15.

or better yet, it should have been him who died at the hands of mimic.

he’s sure.

(four o’clock am)

even if odasaku had acted of his own accord, he was still given a mafia’s burial. the details, of course, were hushed: it didn’t matter that mori had orchestrated the entire deal with gide. what mattered is that odasaku’s death had led to the granting of their prized business permit.

a piece of paper in a stupid black envelope.

in the months between the port mafia and the armed detective agency, dazai struggled to find a way to put into words what the experience left in him. it was like it was him who was shot clean through the chest. he was walking down the path the end of odasaku’s life had pointed him towards, but then what? at what cost? to what end?

his friend’s death left no trace of him, his private files burnt, the ones still useful to the mafia kept in confidential locations. (dazai knows where everything is.) to the outside world, all that was left of the man named oda sakunosuke was a headstone, on a rather beautiful gravesite on a fancy cemetery overlooking the sea.

it was dazai who overlooked all these tiny details, even while on the run, in hiding.

honor the dead, they said.

he figured it was the least he could do.

dazai always felt like he could offer too little to the only man who ever really knew him.

so now he offers it all, stumbling along the unfinished path of a dead man, even if he didn’t know where was he going with it.

“ya, odasaku.”

(ten minutes past four)

not much of anyone comes to visit this grave, really. ango, maybe, dazai bitterly thinks, but he’s gladly never had the chance to see the man here. (he hopes he never gets to.)

because this is the only place dazai truly feels quiet.

he doesn’t really stop thinking. he doesn’t know how to. there’s always too many things to consider, so much going on, and even when his brain lets go of the tangible, of the here and now, there are other things for thoughts to latch on to, like old wounds that suddenly seem fresh if dazai closes his eyes hard enough, or the phantom sensation of a noose, or the sudden realization that he’s drowning, just not in water.

dazai’s long mastered the art of keeping his forever-rushing thoughts in neat compartments. he doesn’t usually lose track of his spirals, except when he’s here.

here he counts down, 18, goodbye, 17, 16, 15, hello, he is young again, he isn’t wounded in the places that hurt when he’s alone, he is meeting odasaku for the first time. (he’s walking down the port mafia headquarters and he sees him, and something deep within him, six years away from the future, shouts: don’t! spare him! meeting you is a death sentence!)

and then he is meeting him for the last time.

like freshly pumped from a weakened heart, stuttering, begging to live, the spurting red blood is still warm. it sends those in dazai’s veins boiling. there is no rationalizing here—no amount of reason brings the dead back.

he knows that.

but dazai breathes easier when the lines are less muddled, and he can point the criminal to the judge and sentence them to death.

it was mori ougai, sir.

it was gide, sir.

it was me, sir.

it was him—it was oda sakunosuke’s fault, sir.

(it was him who pulled me out of the dark, sir. who forced me to deal with the mess we made, sir. who told me i belonged here, sir.

i don’t want to be here, sir.)

it is only here where dazai’s mask really breaks.

shatters cleanly in half, then falls down with a thump on sacred ground.

(twenty minutes past four)

dazai rests his back against the headstone, staring out at the ocean, the sunset dyeing yokohama bay a lovely vermillion. the tendrils of loneliness cling to his limbs like they’ve sprouted out of the ground, when really it’s from deep inside his heart.

only here does dazai really feel seen: his transparency only to a man buried six feet under.

dazai’s given up on it, now. it doesn’t matter that people don’t “get” him, as long as he’s able to do what he has to do. this is a luxury is long past him, now that he’s slipped into someone else’s unfulfilled dream. he’s trying to be what odasaku would have wanted himself to be.

if there’s one thing, one thing he would ask for, it’s faith: and with his subordinates’ faith comes success—and that’s all he needs.

just bargaining chips he’s collecting under his pillow as he says, “look, odasaku, i’m doing good, look, cruel god, this duty’s given my life meaning, forgive me, forgive him.”

meaning?

no, there is no meaning here, no metaphor, no hope.

just a gaping void.

(four thirty am)

the sun slips under the bay and the sky is a beautiful lavender-violet; the sea breeze makes him chill. rainclouds have begun to crawl over the horizon, hiding the moon.

dazai feels old. too old. he feels too old for someone in a body that’s only twenty-three. he never expected this body to last as long as it has. he was ready to retire at ages much younger than this. his hands crave death with the same vigor his mind races to write strategies for situations where he survives. now, he lives in a world he never expected or planned to be a part of.

he wonders if odasaku felt this exhausted when he was at this age.

all dazai does here is think. until the thoughts stop.

the cap of the whiskey bottle is screwed on tight but when it opens, the smell takes him back to bar lupin so fast that his head spins. dazai takes a swig of the whiskey straight from the bottle.

and he was right. he can’t taste it.

only blood. the blood in his hands, the way it stained his bandages, odasaku’s dead weight, the red pooling on the floor. dazai only tastes blood in his mouth.

blood’s always been the only thing that’s filled him.

and he hated it. felt it thrumming underneath his wrist, his jugular, blood that said try as you might, you insolent mortal, you can’t die, that so many times he’s tried to wring himself dry of it.

he never does.

because if he loses his blood what else would be left in him?

odasaku once told him that the emptiness inside of him will never be filled, not by anything that he’ll ever find in this world. and odasaku was right—dazai knew. dazai knew long before he was told. no amount of money, no amount of power, no amount of whatever will get him out of the edge of the cliff he was dangling on.

for a moment, dazai wonders if odasaku knew and was so sure of it because odasaku was aware he was taking it away with him.

whatever “it” was.

(the sun begins to paint the sky violet)

dazai remembers an afternoon a million years ago when the hollow in his heart didn’t have the shape of oda sakunosuke’s hands. ozaki kouyou was teaching two jittery fifteen-year-olds about literature.

well, just one, but dazai’s really only there because he wanted to mess with chuuya, and kouyou spotted him first.

with not a single year of formal education on chuuya’s back, kouyou’s work with him was nearly tenfold. she was tasked not only to refine his abilities (he’s good, but he can be better, a touch of elegance will not hurt), but also teach him other valuable skills.

being part of the organization, after all, was not just about violence and murder.

dazai knew that. chuuya was yet to learn it.

arithmetic and history and science—the redhead had tutors for that. but literature, kouyou had taken into her hands.

it’s not the text itself, or the language and vocabulary, she said, what we’re honing here is critical thinking, and the bits of philosophical thought to be picked up that’ll shape you into a brilliant mafioso in the future. pretty words, dazai thought. she sipped tea while chuuya read. she tapped his back with a fan when his posture broke and he began to slouch.

chuuya read the books religiously, without complaint (at least not in front of kouyou). dazai never really understood all this. he let his mind wander. why didn’t she just let the boy read war strategy books—the kind mori made him devour? oh, but chuuya wasn’t really a strategist, and well, he’s obedient, that’s why he’s a dog—

the silence of the afternoon was broken by chuuya getting up to ask about a phrase he didn’t understand. kouyou smiled in a way that left dazai unsettled. and somehow, that afternoon was burned into dazai’s memory like it was something he mustn’t forget.

the phrase was 無我夢中.

to be totally absorbed in something, you lose yourself in it.

that is, dazai’s long known what he’s doing, he just doesn’t want to admit it.

(the sky is a weak light blue, giving way to an inevitable morning)

the whiskey bottle is empty now. dazai shifts to stuff it into his little paper bag of gifts when his fingers graze the soft cotton of his new scarf, deep blue.

save the weak, protect the orphans, he was told.

he pulls the scarf out and clutches it in his hands.

feels its weight. imagines rope.

please don’t, atsushi said earlier.

and dazai is trying, and trying, and trying, and—

is it enough?

is he enough?

will he be enough?

“odasaku,” dazai says, hums it under his breath like the wind will take it, bring it where he needs it to go, “would i have made you proud?”

(dawn)

fat droplets begin to pour out of the dark clouds. there are no stars out. yokohama glimmers under the thin sheen of rain.

nearby, a child hurriedly grasps his father’s free hand as he digs into his bag for an umbrella, and the little boy goes, “papa, the sky is crying!”

and maybe the sky is. maybe the man sitting behind the gravestone is.

but there are two sure things about rain:

one, that it washes away any and all things if you let it.

two, that it will always, somehow, at some point, stop.

(morning’s just beginning)

dazai gets up on his feet, with just a little sway from all the alcohol. but the night’s still young, and there are better stuff to drink than whiskey out of a bottle. he looks back at the grave with eyes promising he’ll be back soon, a little better, a little wiser than he is, and then off he goes, into the city he far-too-well knows.

maybe he can bother someone into treating him to some good, expensive, old-fashioned wine.

#bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #osamu dazai #dazai osamu #bsd dazai #文豪ストレイドッグス #文スト #um hi i dont know the tags #also look at me projecting onto dazai going PARKOUR at every sad statement #fic #i've been in otome game hell for a bit so i haven't written anything not x reader in a while so #THIS WAS FUN #also i forgot to add! 無我夢中 is mugamuchuu. :)

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