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scotianostra · 3 months

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25th January marks the annual celebration of Burns Night - a time to celebrate Scotland's favourite son, and world renowned poet and song writer Robert Burns who was born on this day 1759.

I have covered Oor Rabbie on may occasions so on this day I hope to bring you a few facts about Scotland's National Bard and his legacy.

Known as somewhat of a ladies man, Burns is known to have fathered 12 or 13 children, depending on the source, to 4 different women. His last born child, Maxwell, was born on the same day as his funeral 25 July 1796, meaning his wife Jean Armour missed his send off.

As a lad growing up in Ayrshire, Burns was always fond of supernatural stories, most of which were told to him by an old widow who helped out on his father's farm. These stories no doubt had an influence on his writings in the future and perhaps were the inspiration for his classic masterpiece, Tam O'Shanter and the lesser known Adress to the Deil and Halloween. Even in these poems he flattered the fairer sex with his words, this from the latter poem.....

The lasses feat, an' cleanly neat, Mair braw than when they're fine; Their faces blythe, fu' sweetly kythe, Hearts leal, an' warm, an' kin':

Of course Burns also gives another of his favourite subjects a mention in this verse, "the deil himsel," Look it up it's another guid yin!

Burns didn't always want to stay in Scotland - he hoped to move to the Caribbean island of Jamaica. Although following the success of his poetry collection 'Poems, Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect' (or the Kilmarnock Edition as it is known), he opted to move closer to home, settling in Edinburgh for a time.

For all his fame, Burns never forgot his humble roots. His love for farming stayed with him throughout his life and his writing often dealt with issues affecting the poorer classes, notably highlighting the need for greater social equality. Indeed he is known as the Ploughman Poet, a nod to his farming life.

And on his legacy, Burns has gathered some very famous fans since his passing, US president Abraham Lincoln could recite Burns’ works by heart. Bob Dylan says that ‘A Red, Red Rose’ by Burns is his source of greatest creative inspiration and Michael Jackson song Thriller is said to have been inspired by Tam O'Shanter.

In Japan at pedestrian crossing you don't get beeps like here in Scotland, they play a rendition of the Burns song ‘Coming Through The Rye’.

There are more statues in honour of Rabbie than any other male figure in history, only surpassed in total by Queen Victoria. (I am not including religious statues).

In 2005 Robert Burns was the first person ever to feature on a bottle of Coca Cola, about a million were made they currently trade for around £10 and I have one, unopened in my kitchen cupboard.

Arguably Burns most famous song, Auld Lang Syne, has appeared in over 170 Hollywood films including The Apartment, It’s A Wonderful Life and When Harry Met Sally. , but he only rewrote the verse, he sent the poem to the Scots Musical Museum in 1788 indicating that it was an ancient song but that he'd been the first to record it on paper. The phrase 'auld lang syne' roughly translates as 'for old times' sake', and the song is all about preserving old friendships and looking back over the events of the year.

In the US city of Atlanta, there is a life-size imitation of Burns’ first home in Alloway, South Ayrshire, although it doesn't have the famous thatched roof.

In Scotland, there are some 20 official Burns memorials dotted around the country, from Aberdeen to the final resting place of Burns in Dumfries, which commemorate his journey from Ayrshire to “Auld Lang Syne”.

‘My Heart’s in the Highlands’ was translated and adopted as the marching song of the Chinese resistance fighter in the Second World War.

In 2009 STV viewers voted Robert Burns ‘The Great Scot’, beating the likes of William Wallace, Robert the Bruce among others.

There are Burns Clubs scattered across the globe, but the very first one, known as The Mother's Club, was founded in Greenock in 1801. They held the very first Burns Supper on what they thought was his birthday, January 29th 1802, only to discover that his birthday was actually January 25th!

Since then Burns suppers have been held worldwide.

I know some of you out there will toil to understand some of Burns's poetry, don't fear you will find the Best of Robert Burns, translated into the "de'il's tongue" just Click here...

The song Ae Fond Kiss, was one of my mums favourites the words "Never met-or never parted, We had ne'er been broken-hearted" are inscribed on her grave......"

#scotland #scottish #history #makar #poet #Farmer #Ploughman #National poet #Robrt Burn

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neotaissong · 2 months

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ANGA: ART NOT GENOCIDE

Sign the letter for the exclusion of Israel from the Venice Bienniale

In 2022, with Russia’s war on Ukraine freshly underway, the Biennale and its curator issued numerous public statements in support of the Ukrainian people's right to self-determination, freedom, and humanity. The Biennale's public condemnation of “the unacceptable military aggression by Russia” included an avowal to reject “any form of collaboration with those who have carried out or supported such a grievous act of aggression" and a refusal to "accept the presence at any of its events of official delegations, institutions or persons tied in any capacity to the Russian government."

The Biennale has been silent about Israel's atrocities against Palestinians. We are appalled by this double standard. Israel's assault on Gaza constitutes one of the most intense bombardments in history. By the end of October 2023 Israel had already fired tonnes of explosives on Gaza equal in force to the nuclear bomb dropped on Hiroshima, Japan in 1945. In January 2024 it was reported that the daily death rate in Gaza exceeds that of any other major conflict in the 21st century.

The Israeli pavilion curators and artist have issued a simplistic statement about the necessity of art in dark times, insisting on a “pocket for free expression and creation amidst everything that’s happening.” Another double standard.

Art does not happen in a vacuum (let alone a "pocket"), and cannot transcend reality. Euphemisms cannot erase violent truths. Any work that officially represents the state of Israel is an endorsement of its genocidal policies. There is no free expression for the Palestinian poets, artists, and writers murdered, silenced, imprisoned, tortured, and prevented from travelling abroad or internally by Israel. There is no free expression in the Palestinian theatres and literary festivals shut down by Israel. There is no free expression in the museums, archives, publications, libraries, universities, schools, and homes of Gaza bombed to rubble by Israel. There is no free expression in the war crime of cultural genocide.

While the Israeli pavilion presses ahead, the genocidal death toll in Gaza and the West Bank increases daily. While Israel's curatorial team plans their "Fertility Pavilion" reflecting on contemporary motherhood, Israel has murdered more than 12,000 children and destroyed access to reproductive care and medical facilities. As a result, Palestinian women have C-sections without anaesthetic and give birth in the street.

Any official representation of Israel on the international cultural stage is an endorsement of its policies and of the genocide in Gaza.

The Biennale is platforming a genocidal apartheid state.

No death in Venice.

No business as usual.

NO GENOCIDE PAVILION AT THE VENICE BIENNALE.

More info here

#undeniable #free palestine #free gaza #palestine #anga #venice biennale #art

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adelheidvonschicksal · 1 year

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Pairing: Shouto x F!Reader

CW: brief sexual mention, brief misogyny mention (not from Shouto)

Summary: Shouto’s love language is gift giving, and he doesn’t care who complains.

Notes: Partially inspired by some blurbos I've seen floating around.

Shouto follows closely behind you as you browse the jewelry store. You’re heavy with excitement, a smile plastered on your face as you finally point to one of the many rings protected in the glass display.

“Shouto, come look.”

Tilting his head over your shoulder, he sees now what caught your attention. It’s a beautiful ring with a generous sized diamond and side stones plastered in the center of a rose gold band with thin shimmery lines around the length. He can agree that it would look nice on you.

“Is that the one you want?”

You nod fervently and beckon the sales associate over to discuss the price, and he immediately notices your face fall as soon as the number comes to light.

“Oh…that’s kind of high,” you state softly, looking to Shouto for support and approval. Shouto already knows what’s on your mind. That this is too much for a single purchase, that if the price tag ever got out about this there’d probably be some backlash towards you.

However, Shouto doesn’t really care about that even if he knows you do. This purchase is important, once in a lifetime, and if that ring makes you happy then there’s no concern about the price. After all, this is your wedding ring even if not everyone would agree with your union.

Shouto must be crazy to marry you, they’d say. His girlfriend is a golddigger, they’d say. Clout chaser, they’d say. And those are the tame things. Ironically, Todoroki was always afraid he’d hear those words from his own family before anyone else but social media and the strangers on it are another beast.

Women from a meager background like yours can only scavenge their way into high society. They ride there on the coattails of powerful men, buying an express ticket for as long as the beauty of youth will take them until time creeps in like it always does. Then, they’ll disembark, taking half with them.

You’re no exception to that scrutiny. You don’t work; no hair out of place; not one broken manicured nail. It must be an easy life for a woman dating one of Japan’s top heroes.

To Shouto, there isn’t much wrong with that.

Shouto isn’t good with sweet words. The phrases “I love you” and “You’re important to me” comes easily enough, whispered late in the dark of night and early in the fast minutes of morning. However, poetry of his love for you does not come as easy. His head knows how much he cares for you, but his mouth fails to put it together in a beautiful way; and if he couldn’t give the person who has always taken care of him since high school the flowery language of a poet then he certainly could buy flowery perfumes instead. He could buy make-up. He could buy clothes and jewelry and candies.

You deserve nice things like that, the same way you give him nice things with the comfort of your understanding words, the tender grasp of your hand when it grabs him after a nightmare from childhood, and the passionate grind of your body in the quiet of your shared home.

His mother never got the luxury of a powerful marriage like that. You deserve to be taken care of the way she wasn’t, the way he wants you to be.

Some may call it spoiling or simping as Camie explains it.

But why shouldn’t he spoil you , he wonders.

He has the money to spend, very little he needs or wants for himself, and you’re everything, so why not choose to spend it on you? Why shouldn’t he want you to be content, well cared for, a princess, his princess?

Shouto will throw check after check onto the fires of devotion if that’s what it takes; they’ll talk, of course, but that’s okay.

They simply don’t see it: how excited you get when he comes home after a mission, how you nearly jump into his arms and fuss over the smallest scratch, how you burned your hand trying to cook zaru soba for the first time, how much you layer him in kisses until the trail of your lips become beacons of heat for his quirk to flare under.

When that happens, the name of the expensive brand of lipstick you wear is absent in his heat-dazed mind; your eyes sparkle when they capture his, forever watching as you move your body against his, shining more than the many jewels that constantly adorn your body; your skin like velvet, legs smooth around his waist – the pack of lotion you wore on that day set for delivery subscription immediately after.

You smell subtly, almost unnoticeably sweet, a bit like apples with a hint of something he can’t place but it always has him dying to stand close to you, and those pretty French-tipped nails of yours feel the best when massaging the back of his head when he comes home and finds himself wanting to rest against the cushion of your thighs.

If taking care of that cute exterior he loves, the one you maintain because you like looking nice for him, and keeping you adorned in pretty and pink clothes costs money, well, he doesn’t think there’s a price he minds paying so long as it’s within his means.

There are plenty of words people can call him for doing so much for you, for wanting and allowing you to live an overly comfortable life; many of those words he still doesn’t really understand even after Camie’s explanations, but that’s okay, too, because making you happy isn’t a one-sided endeavor.

Seeing you safe and happy, watching the cute little dance you do whenever you eat good food, and the joy in your eyes whenever you get to go on vacation - alone with him - all makes him happy in return.

So, Shouto will buy the ring. The price tag is irrelevant and so are the comments that’ll come. Those men, the ones online and the ones whose heads turn and whose mouths whisper from behind when he says “we’ll take it,” are simply jealous they can’t afford to take care of you the way he can, the way you deserve.

And the adorable, quiet cheer you make as you wrap your arms around his neck is more than enough repayment.

#todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #todoroki fluff #shouto x reader

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loiladadiani · 11 months

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Grand Duke Alexey Alexandrovich in youth.

Grand Duke Alexey Alexandrovich (1850 - 1908)

Grand Duke Alexis was the fifth child and the fourth son of Alexander II and Empress Maria Alexandrovna. Alexis was Nicholas II's favorite uncle, as well as a favorite of Empress Maria Feodorovna (and a frequent dance partner of the Empress since Sacha did not like to dance. He also acted as a mediator between her and Sacha at the very beginning of their marriage, when they had differences.) He stood as one of Tsarevich Alexis' godparents.

1. Maria Feodorovna sitting between Tsarevich Alexander and Grand Duke Alexis; 2. Grand Duke Alexis with his family, embracing his brother Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich

Alexey made a career in the Navy. Grand Duke Alexey rose through the ranks, holding many important posts. He was appointed General Admiral by his brother Alexander III as a reward for making a significant contribution to modernizing the equipment of the Russian navy. But his improvements might not have been enough. After the Russian defeat to the Japanese in the Battle of Tsushima, Alexey was relieved of his command for incompetence (he died just three years after this, at age 58.) It did not help that his expenses in jewelry for the beautiful women in his life had increased through the years, and he was suspected of corruption. He had acquired a reputation as a "man of fast women and slow ships." Of course, somebody had to pay for Russia's loss to Japan, and he was in the right place at the right time.

Admiral Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich

Was Alexey a hero or a rake? Neither, it seems. The following is the consensus of several authors and contemporaries who knew him well: He had a kind heart and would not intentionally hurt anybody. He was not a thief. He was not a plotter or acted against anybody for his own advancement, but he was, in fact, not very competent as an admiral and made a number of wrong decisions that had terrible consequences for the Russian naval forces.

Alexis was beloved by most of his family, although his cousin Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, did not have anything good to say about him in his book "Once a Grand Duke;" Sandro paints Alexey as a hard-drinking, greedy, womanizing dilettante without any redeeming qualities. Sandro very much wanted Alexis' job and was well situated to get it; I don't know how objective he could be under those circumstances (Sandro's book is used as a source for much of what is written about the Romanovs, but inaccuracies and mistakes have been identified in the information it provides.)

Alexis suffered a broken heart early in his life. Although his affairs with beautiful women were notorious throughout his life, he is the only Grand Duke, son of a Tsar, who remained unmarried. His is a life of plenty but not a happy life.

Grand Duke Alexei Alexandrovich and Alexandra Zhurovskaya

Alexei fell in love with one of his mother's ladies-in-waiting at age twenty. Her name was Alexandra Zhukovskaya; she was the daughter of a poet (who had taught the Imperial children) and not an aristocrat. Alexandra became pregnant. Alexis’s father, Alexander II, opposed the affair violently and said no when Alexis asked permission to marry. The Emperor also refused his son's request to grant the mother and unborn child a title. Some historians believe Alexey married Alexandra, and the Russian Orthodox church annulled the marriage at the Emperor's behest.

Alexandra Zuhrovskaya

There are letters in which Alexis begs his mother, Empress Maria Alexandrovna, to intercede so that he does not have to abandon Alexandra; they also declare his love for her. Alexander II sent Alexey on an extensive world tour (he was away from Russia for two years; his tour included a very successful visit to the United States.) Alexandra gave birth to their son while he was away. The Imperial family continued to put pressure on her until she terminated the relationship with Alexey. She was married off to Baron Christian-Henrich von Wohrmann and sent to live with him in Munich/Bavaria. Alexis never saw her again but did not abandon her and his son. He settled a large sum and a generous lifetime pension on Alexandra and made provisions for the future of the boy.

Grand Duke Alexander Alexandrovich with General Custer - the photo commemorates their "buffalo hunt."

Before her child was born, Alexandra had secured the title of Baroness Seggiano from the Republic of San Marino, with the right to pass it to her son. After Alexander II died and Alexey's elder brother was crowned Alexander III, Alexey's son was given the Russian nobiliary title of Count Belevsky and a coat of arms.

Grand Duke Alexis' son: Count Alexey Alexeevich Belevskiy-Zhukovskiy (1871–1931)

Count Alexey Alexeevich Belevskiy-Zhukovskiy (1871–1931), the Grand Duke's son followed a military career like all Romanov males. His first marriage (he married twice) took place in Ilinskoye Manor, the state of his uncle Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich, near Moscow. The Count acted as his uncle's aide-de-camp for many years. He was well-accepted in Imperial circles. There are several candid photos of Sergei and his wife Ella, where he can be identified (he looks more like his uncle Sergei than his father.) As far as we know, he never met his father (although I doubt that Grand Duke Sergei did not, at some point, arrange a meeting between his brother and his nephew.) Several of the Count's descendants live in New York City.

It is interesting to note that the major source of relentless opposition to Alexey's marriage to Alexandra and to the legitimization of his son was Emperor Alexander II, the same man who would have children with his much younger mistress, establishing a second family while his first wife was still alive, and who would bring that second family to live in the Winter Palace where his first wife resided and where she died. He married his second wife barely a month after Alexey's mother's death.

#russian history #romanov dynasty #imperial russia #Grand Duke Alexey Alexandrovich #Alexander III #Alexander II #Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich #Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich #Count Alexey Alexeevich Belevskiy-Zhukovskiy #Alexandra Zhukovskaya

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citedesdames · 3 months

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"A vigorous debate about the ideal qualities that the New Woman ought to represent took place on the pages of the Seitō (Bluestocking), a journal begun in September 1911 by Hiratsuka Raichō, who chose for its title a name linked closely in the public mind with militant international feminism. ... Hiratsuka greeted readers to the inaugural issue with a stirring allusion to Japan's most important progenitor deity, the Sun Goddess Amaterasu: In the beginning, woman was the sun An authentic person Today, she is the moon Living through others Reflecting the brilliance of others And now "Bluestocking", a journal created for the first time with the brains and hands of today's Japanese women, raises its voice. ... One of the voices featured in the magazine belonged to the famous poet Yosano Akiko, who graced the first issue with a verse that was to inspire generations of women, both in Japan and internationally. The day the mountains move has come. I speak, but no one believes me For a time, the mountains have been asleep But long ago they all danced with fire. It doesn't matter if you believe this, My friends, as long as you believe: All the sleeping women Are now awake and moving."

James McClain, Japan, A Modern History, 2002

#womens history #journalism #activism #feminism #1910s #1900s #japan #taisho era #poetry

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andrumedus · 2 years

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Yosano Akiko, tr. Kenneth Rexroth & Ikuko Atsumi, Women Poets of Japan

[Text ID: My heart is like the sun, / drowned in darkness, / soaked with rain, / beaten by the winds.]

#literature #poetry #yosano akiko #women poets of japan #the poet's heart #japanese lit #typography #m #x

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sunbathe · 2 years

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— ‘Untitled’ by 額田王 (Princess Nukata) 7th Century from Women Poets of Japan curated by Kenneth Rexroth and Ikuko Atsumi; “When the Emperor Tenji ordered Fujiwara Kamatari to judge between the beauty of the cherry blossoms and the red autumn leaves on the hills, Princess Nukada gave judgement with this poem.”

#literature #poetry #poem #額田王 #lit #autumn

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timefospookies · 2 months

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so. fnaf x bsd anyone?

“A reopened case, huh?”

As Dazai spun around on his chair, scanning the pictures in his hand, Atsushi glanced at the files laid before him.

“And so far out of town!”

“The woman who hired us paid a very hefty amount of money for us to go take a look,” Kunikida stated as he flipped through his own documents. “It’s a missing persons case, from over a decade ago. Children. The victims were presumed dead, though their bodies were never found.”

“And neither was their killer, I take it?”

Kunikida nodded grimly as Dazai puffed out a sigh. The poet offered the documents to his partner and he took it gingerly.

“It’ll be our job to find out who did it, then” the bandaged man said.

“This is terrible,” Atsushi muttered, horrified.

“Tell me about it,”

Dazai tapped on the table as he half heartedly read through each paper, expressionless. His protégé, on the other hand, looked visibly disturbed, and could feel the sweat soaking through his dress shirt. He shakily reached for a glass of water on his desk to swallow down his dread. Suddenly, with an exaggerated groan, Dazai hopped off his seat and whined as he stretched.

“Well, I suppose we should pack and get going then!”

“Right,” said the poet, as he absentmindedly scratched his lip, “Pack for about a week or so, and we’ll meet at the station tomorrow morning. Be sure to do your research,”

Then he added, much more sourly,

“That means you, Dazai.”

The bandaged man perked up, eyes wide in indignation.

“Huhh? Homework?” he protested, “You’re not a teacher anymore, you know!”

“Shut it!” Kunikida said through gritted teeth, stiffer than usual, "This case is particular because it hasn’t been touched for years. So be sure to prepare properly if you plan to be of use, damn it!”

Dazai pouted but seized to press the matter further, opting to pick up the files on Atsushi’s desk instead. He tapped on the young man’s head with the folder, snapping him out of his absentminded spiral.

“Hey, Atsushi, you free? We could study together,” the man grinned.

“Ah! Yes, of course…”

And so, while Kunikida dedicated himself to his own independent research, Atsushi stumbled after Dazai as they headed down to Uzumaki Café. ---

“Keep an eye out for when we exit the plane,” Kunikida said, “Our client should be waiting to take us to the scene.”

The other two men nodded. Their client, Atsushi recalled, was Kira Breed-Wrisley, an American immigrant who came to settle in Japan with her daughter, Charlotte.

“What a curious choice,” Dazai muttered, back at the café.

Atsushi glanced up from the documents they’d gathered and cocked his head in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, Atsushi, you sweet oblivious soul,”

The boy arched an eyebrow almost involuntarily.

“Think,” his mentor cooed, leaning in, “why would she decide to move all the way from the US to Japan, of all places? Business women weren’t a very welcome sight here back in the 80s, you know? Hell, they still aren’t now… but Dr. Yosano can tell you all about that feminist stuff,”

“S-Sure,”

That’s right. The scene they were sent to investigate…it had been a restaurant co-owned by Breed-Wrisley herself. A family pizza place with friendly animal mascots that wowed the public with their fun-inviting nature. Well, that and the fact that their entertainers were highly complex robots, for the time anyway.

Atsushi took a second to arrange his thoughts.

“Well, Japan has been known to be very technologically advanced in the past…” he mused, “So, maybe Mrs. Breed-Wrisley moved here so she could create better robots with the best materials available?”

Dazai hummed, satisfied. He plopped back down on his seat.

“Very good,” he said.

From what they found, though, she hadn’t originally intended for her creations to be made for a restaurant.

Dazai read off a news article,

“Upon being interviewed, Mr. Cawthon claimed he ‘saw great genius and value in her work’ and ‘suggested it must be brought to light, so after tossing around some ideas, [they] decided on a family diner’.”

He slid the paper towards Atsushi.

“How charming!” he said, “Englishmen, am I right?”

William Cawthon, also an immigrant, was in charge of the finances of the business, while Breed-Wrisley focused more on the entertainment and management. He was a rather plain man, and single father of two boys. He also has been missing for the last 16 years or so.

When the three detectives got off the plane their search for their client began. Kunikida tried to reach her with his phone, but didn’t have much luck with the connection. Dazai, on the other hand, would run off every chance he got to snoop around the airport stores, leaving Atsushi in charge of both his and his mentor’s luggage. And babysitting duty.

“Mr. Dazai, please could we move along? I’ve already lost sight of Mr. Kunikida,” he urged.

He tried to grab hold of the man’s arm, but he was slippery with his movements.

“Atsushi, look! A survival handbook! Do you think if I reverse engineer it, I could find some new method-”

“Dazai!”

Upon hearing that call, Atsushi wearily looked over his shoulder at Kunikida, who approached them at a dangerously rapid speed. The man zipped past him and gripped his partner’s shoulder with little trouble, shaking the book out of his hands.

“You idiot, what the hell is your problem?!” he yelled, “You can’t go running off! Need I remind you that we’re on a serious case?!”

“Ah, Kunikida, I was planning on buying that…”

“Enough! We don’t have time to slack off! Now get your luggage and act like a grown-up for once!”

“Having a child-like spirit is quite good for you, you know?” Dazai announced, “If you don’t allow yourself to relax every once in a while, you’ll get chronic conditions at an early age,”

Kunikida twitched with sudden interest, taken aback.

“S-Seriously?”

Dazai nodded slowly and wisely as he gestured at the man’s pocket.

Oh boy…, Atsushi thought as Kunikida reached for his notebook and began to write it down. Dazai watched over his shoulder with a smirk, when the realization hit his partner.

“W-Wait, why you!”

A swift and hard hit to the head left the bandaged man writhing in pain on the floor.

“Agh! What was that for?! I wasn’t lying!” “You can’t fool me, you little-”

As their squabbling went on, Atsushi felt uncomfortably aware of the amount of people staring at them and began to fear their client might be somewhere in that crowd. He looked at his watch and began to squirm. Had they agreed on a meeting time? Or place? Kunikida didn’t mention either. Could he have forgotten? Could the client have forgotten?

“Um, hey…you guys?” he stammered.

“What?!” Kunikida snapped, holding Dazai limp under his chokehold.

Atsushi swallowed hard as he gingerly pointed over his shoulder.

“Sh-Shouldn’t we, y…y’know,”

The poet didn’t have time to answer as his phone began to ring. He was immediately on his feet as he tossed Dazai to the side, now completely composed and focused on the call.

“Mrs. Breed-Wrisley,” he said. “Yes, we have arrived. I apologize for not contacting you earlier, we haven’t been able to reach you. Yes. Of course. We’ll be right there, please excuse us.”

As he snapped his phone shut, he looked Atsushi in the eye.

“Let’s go,” ---

“Again, I am so sorry for not planning this out earlier. I’m…not very good with organization,”

They found themselves at the airport café sitting before their client.

“It’s not a problem, madam,” Kunikida assured her, “We’re here now,”

So this was Kira Breed-Wrisley, the genius robotics engineer. With how much Kunikida insisted they be on guard around her, the woman who sat before them wasn’t at all like what Atsushi had expected. She was so small she looked almost ill, and though she must’ve only been in her early 50s, her braided hair had nearly completely grayed. It was hard to hear her over the airport chatter because of how softly she spoke- each sentence she uttered was accompanied by gentle gestures of her bruised, scraped hands (Atsushi wondered how they'd gotten to that state). He knew it had been years, so of course her physical state wasn’t going to mirror her past actions, but still, if he didn’t already know about it, Atsushi could’ve never guessed she’d just been released from a fifteen year aggravated assault sentence. The only traces he could see in her that could’ve hinted at it was that though she smiled and chuckled during their polite chatter, behind her glasses sat a pair of dull, dark eyes- devoid of light, like they’d seen too much.

“I can’t thank you enough for coming all the way out here,” she said quietly, “I apologize in advance for every inconvenience.”

“Please, you’re doing us a favor,” Dazai cooed, “It’s always nice to visit new places! So much to see and learn…surely you know a few places?”

He flashed a charming smile and Kunikida eyed his partner as a warning. No flirting with the clients. Or else. Dazai sighed off the telepathic threat and sat back on his chair.

“Harikēn isn’t too eventful I’m afraid,” she replied, “But I do hope you enjoy your stay. The housing offer still stands, if you ever wish to change your mind,”

Kunikida stopped her with a wave of his hand.

“We appreciate the offer, but we wouldn’t want to burden you,”

“You’re too kind,” she whispered with a bow of her head.

She sat up straight and observed the three for a moment. Was she analyzing them? Her eyes seemed so sad.

“I realize I haven’t formally introduced myself to your partners,” she said suddenly, “Though you probably already know all about me. Either way, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you in person,”

Atsushi chimed in with a start.

“Right! I’m Atsushi Nakajima. Nice to meet you!”

“Osamu Dazai, at your service,”

“Mr. Nakajima, Mr. Dazai,” she repeated, “Thank you both. Shall we go?”

“Right,”

---

They followed the small woman to her equally small car and on the ride to the location, she gave them a little run down of the case (though they wouldn’t dare interrupt her to remind her that they already knew all the details).

“It was over the span of two weeks,” she recalled, her voice nearly a whisper, “I remember it so clearly…when the news of the first child going missing broke. How the restaurant slowly emptied out...how all those parents cried after the search was called off,”

She shook her head, trying to avoid reliving it all again.

“I never thought...” her grip on the wheel tightened, “No- I never wanted for things to turn out this way. I can’t… I just can’t let this case go until those children are brought to justice.”

Then she let out a grim, loathing sort of snort.

“I’m partly responsible for their misfortune, afterall.”

Kunikida was silent. He sat so tense in his seat that Atsushi could feel that pressure on his own limbs, and Dazai, who had his nose buried in his new survival handbook, seemed lost in thought.

“It must’ve been terrible,” Atsushi lamented, “Having lost your daughter yourself, I can’t imagine just how…”

“Atsushi.”

A whisper. Dazai glanced up at him, expressionless, and subtly shook his head in disapproval.

“No, no, it’s okay,” the woman said, and she gave him a saddened smile through the mirror, “Thank you,”

Then she fell deathly, like she’d left the present entirely. ---

“I should mention that I’ve hired a night guard for the week,” Mrs. Breed-Wrisley called over her shoulder nonchalantly.

As the detectives slid off the small car, the woman fiddled with her keys at the entrance of the rundown restaurant. The afternoon sun served as a spotlight for the display. The windows were scratched and the walls graffitied. Whatever remained of the signs that would’ve spelled out the name of the place instead communicated gibberish. Nature had overtaken the lot, as sprouts of grass peeked through the cracks on the concrete and vines climbed up the grayed walls.

“And why would that be?” Kunikida asked, vaguely irked at the sudden news but attempting to stay polite.

The woman didn’t answer as she swung open the gates and soon the glass door. Dazai was the first to set foot inside and though the intense smell of mold on the crusty carpet spoke the truth of how long this place had been abandoned, the place itself…looked frozen in time. The tables were arranged in neat lines, with colorful (though faded) tablecloths. Confetti and glitter stuck to the old checkered floor, with attractive promises of delicious treats decorating the walls. Alongside these, drawings were scattered about the place, painting the happiness of a birthday, of children surrounded by friends and soft animals sharing slices of pizza. Stars hung from the ceiling and arcade machines called for their next player. The curtain of the main stage shone a vibrant velvet and the smaller side stage sparkled purple. Atsushi, though he’d never lived something like this, could almost feel himself in the moment, the smell of freshly made food cuddling the air, the laughter, the lights. But the joy that this place once contained was now stuck to the corners of each wall, caught in the cobwebs, rotting away with time.

“You said you just hired a security guard?” Dazai reminded her, as the rest allowed themselves to roam the place.

“Ah, yes,” the woman said, “I thought it would help make sure nothing is moved, or stolen”

Who’d wanna rob a place like this?, Atsushi thought. Though it’s nice, there’s nothing of much value here, unless you’d want to sell the mushrooms growing from the carpet…Although, the arcade machines could have a lot of money in them. Not to mention the things themselves are probably worth a fortune.

He hummed, deep in thought.

“This restaurant featured robot mascots, is that right?” Kunikida asked.

“That’s right,”

“Where might they…be?”

Kunikida trailed off as he spotted Dazai, who found himself entranced by a big golden button at the side of the main stage.

“Dazai…” the man growled.

Dazai straightened up and put his hand to his chest.

“I wasn’t gonna do anything, honest,” he lied.

Mrs. Breed-Wrisley chuckled quietly.

“It’s alright, go ahead,”

He didn’t need to be told twice. With an excited push of the button, the curtains of the stage suddenly drew back, as music boomed from the speakers and the performers hidden behind sprung to life. Dazai let out an amused laugh as he stepped back to admire the spectacle, resting his arm on Kunikida’s shoulder. A blue bunny waved its hand in front of its guitar in sync to the song, along with a bear with the top hat, whose mouth moved up and down to make it look as if it were singing. On the other side of the stage, a duck of sorts showed off its cupcake, and moved its torso from side to side when suddenly the side stage swung open, and a fox slid out, waving its hook enthusiastically.

“Wonderful, isn’t it?” Mrs. Breed-Wrisley whispered.

“Yeah!” Atsushi said

But she didn’t seem to hear. Was she talking to herself? When he looked at her it seemed like her gaze was glued to the stage. What was that on her face? Her head tilted to the side and a fond smile plastered on her face. Her eyes shone with the lights. Ah. Infatuation. That’s what it was. The red guitar the bunny held suddenly clicked. It sounded metallic, or almost like a lighter being turned on. Before they knew it, a boom escaped the guitar, causing Atsushi to yelp in surprise. A crackle of light shook the room, as the music slurred and they were all suddenly drowned in darkness.

“Ah,” the woman chuckled, “They’re a little rusty, I’m sorry about that…”

Atsushi composed himself and joined his coworkers’ sides.

“Their glory days are long gone,” she said.

---

“Atsushiiiiii! Get over hereeeee!”

“Hold on!”

As the boy dried off from his shower and slipped on his sleeping wear, he hurried to exit the bathroom to attend to his mentor’s calls. They had settled in a hotel for the rest of the week. That’s how long they had to solve the case.

“A-A week?!” Kunikida cried.

“I ask that you understand,” Mrs. Breed-Wrisley sighed apologetically, “Lately, I”ve been having trouble keeping the wrecking companies away from this place and…well…”

“We can do it in a week!” Dazai assured her, and Kunikida looked at him with wide-eyed desperation. “You can count on us!”

Now the two detectives laid on their respective futons, each in their own little world. Kunikida muttered to himself as he looked over every word of every document in every file, scribbling his thoughts and theories into his notebook. Dazai, meanwhile, was humming to himself, laying belly down on the futon and kicking his legs while he too scribbled on his own book. His new survival book.

“Ah! Atsushi, check it out!”

The man waved him over and Atsushi reluctantly approached. He looked down at the page, where Dazai had drawn right over the words into the empty space of the page.

“Wh-Why couldn’t you have drawn it smaller so it would fit on the empty part?” Atsushi grimaced.

“And let my creativity be restricted like that? I could never!”

Atsushi sat down beside him and the man then promptly pointed at his doodles.

“I drew my favorite!”

He tapped on the drawing of the pirate fox they had seen earlier on the stage. It wasn’t a horrible drawing, funnily enough. A bit on the abstract side, but recognizable enough. The rest of his scribbles consisted of the fox doing several things, such as eating pizza, or being a pirate. There was a doodle of the fox’s stomach hatch, but Atsushi didn’t dare ask why he’d drawn that.

“Which robot did you like?” Dazai asked.

“You sound like a child,” Kunikida said, still not looking up from his notes. “And, the term, you’ll find, is animatronic. Not robot,”

“Oh, what’s the difference? Isn’t that just the cooler name for it?”

Kunikida snapped upright just to glare at him, but he held the vile poison on his tongue for some other time. As the man shook his head and tried to focus again, Dazai turned his attention back to Atsushi.

“Well?”

“Ah…eh…” he thought about it, “I thought the duck was cute,”

“I think it’s a chicken,” Kunikida muttered.

“It looks like a duck,” Dazai countered.

“But it’s a chicken,”

“But it doesn’t look like one,”

Kunikida glared again.

“Must you make an argument out of everything?!”

“Fine, fine, here I’ll make it so we both win,”

Dazai took to his book, the sound of his pen scratching the paper filling the room. Atsushi tried to look over his shoulder, curiosity taking over. Upon finishing and revising it, he proudly revealed his drawing to his partner. It looked like some sort of duck-hen hybrid with the same bib the robot wore and a cupcake on its wing.

“See? It’s a chuck! Or a dicken? Or…”

Kunikida’s mouth dropped to the floor, completely horrified.

“Did you just draw on the book?!”

The bandaged man blinked.

“Oh. Yeah?”

The other stammered.

“Why would you do that?!”

“I didn’t have any paper,” he stated matter-of-factly

Kunikida’s face transitioned through several different emotions at once.

“Wh-wha-you! You don’t draw on books!”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s! It’s!” the man couldn’t find his words in his bewilderment, “Because it’s practically a crime!”

“Says who?”

“S-Says everyone?!”

The man was less angry and more just. Genuinely confused. And much to Atsushi’s relief, the interaction didn’t lead to a one sided boxing match as his two seniors chattered on about nonsensical nothings. Atsushi felt his chest grow warm as he relished in this strange comfort. It was the first time he’d ever gone on an overnight mission with anyone. To go on one with these two almost would seem like a train wreck, but in this moment he felt grateful to be there. Maybe this was what a sleepover would feel like? The boy barely noticed himself dozing off as he leaned on Dazai’s side and shut his eyes. With a content sigh, he thought:

Tomorrow is another day.

#spooky talk #I HOPE YOU ENJOYED LOL #this is my first bsd fic ever so I hope I characterized everyone okay #I kind just used the first season dynamic as reference #anyway I might post more but yeah!!#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf au #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd au #dazai osamu #atsushi nakajima #kunikida doppo #henry emily #william afton #bsd x FNAF crossover au

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