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“Do I look like I am visiting someone’s grave, to you?”
“No.”
Dazai was expecting this answer; what he did not expect was to hear it fall like this, sharp and cold like a guillotine. For the first time since he had entered the graveyard, Ranpo looked directly into Dazai’s eyes. His were shining with a ruthless glow.
“To me, you look like you’re hiding.”
In which Ranpo finds Dazai at Oda's grave.
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🪦 4,3k words || souheki (gen)
🪦 pre-canon || set a few months after Dazai's entrance exam
🪦 of thoughtless prayers, hollow beliefs, and pious wishes for remission
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Atsushi suffers from chronic pain due to his tiger transformation crushing his bones, distorting his tendons and stirring his muscles (inspired from his transformation description from the 55 minutes novel, which is kinda unsettling if you think about it)
The only way for him to alleviate his chronic pain is to workout regularly to reinforce his muscles. Yosano gives him advice to not sprain anything and Kunikida supervises his training sessions.
In which Atsushi masters his tiger power and can fully transform while remaining in control:
When Atsushi transforms into a full tiger, he remains as tall as his human form as long as he's in control. If the tiger takes over him, he'll grow slightly taller than a real tiger.
After he's mastered his full transformation, Ranpo tried to put a saddle on him when asking him for a ride (he was only half joking). Atsushi nearly went berserk by sheer indignation.
When Kyôka is having trouble sleeping or is feeling down after a bad day, she calls Atsushi into her room, asks him to transform into a tiger and cuddles him until she feels better (totally inspired by that one official art).
^ Atsushi doesn't really know what to think about his "big plushie" condition, but as long as Kyôka's happy, he doesn't really mind.
When Atsushi is in his full tiger form and in control, his head is rounder and smaller, and his expressions are more human-like.
It's Valentine's Day? Then it's a great excuse to repost this fic I wrote last year :)
What no word can describe
Valentine’s Day. Usually, Ranpo would not give a flying damn about that stupid event, and simply wait for the next day for things to come back to normal.
However, this year, things are different. This year, the very mention of Valentine’s Day is setting him on edge.
And as much as a great detective he is, he doesn’t know what to do about it.
Today is February 10th, on which we celebrate the birthday of Hiratsuka Raichô, my BSD OC inspired by the eponym Japanese writer.
Extremely rough concept art for Raichô. Ignore the anatomy errors and the ever-changing style, I was trying things xd
General info
First name: Raichô
Last name: Hiratsuka
Skill: The view from the round window (円窓より, Marumado yori). Allows Raichô to see the memories of any dead being by touching their remains (e.g.: bones, blood, corpse, etc.)
Age (current timeline)*: 23
*"current timeline" refers to the timeline in which the BSD main story starts
Birthday: February 10th
Height: 182 cm
Weight: 68 kg
Blood type: AB
Likes: Quiet places, birds, milk
Hates: Graveyards, being left alone, having to speak up
General appearance: Raichô is a tall, slender woman with long black hair that falls down to under her hips. Since her hair is rather thick and hard to braid, she prefers to leave it unkempt. Only her friend Yaeko (another OC of mine that I shall present someday), succeeds in braiding it.
Her fine, elegant features provide her a natural beauty that catches the eye. Her almond-shaped eyes are of a deep blue color, so dark that they appear black.
Personality: Raichô is a quiet and stoic girl. Her habit of keeping a neutral face makes it hard to know what she thinks for feels most of the time. She's very serious and dedicated in any work or task she's given, but lacks initiative and imagination. Despite her aloof personality, Raichô quickly becomes emotionally attached to people, and hates being left on her own.
Raichô suffers from a speech disability that renders her unable to formulate coherent phrases in one go, as her thoughts race too fast for her tongue to follow. She usually prefers to speak in signs or by writing on a sheet of paper. If she has no other choice but to speak up, she'll do it very slowly, sometimes by saying the main word of her sentence before uttering the whole sentence, so she doesn't lose track fo what she wants to say.
---
More info about Raichô, like her inspiration or the original thought behind her creation, can be found under the cut for anyone interested 👇
Reference
Hiratsuka Raichô was a japanese writer and a pioneer feminist in Japan. The view from the round window is one of her numerous works, though not the most famous.
Original thought behind the character
I wanted Yosano to have at least one friend outside the Agency... I know she feels like the Agency is the only place "where she's allowed to exist", but I hate the idea that it she can't have other friends because of it sjhdsk. And that's how Raichô was born.
Following BSD's thematics, I searched through the author's wikipedia page to find any female writer Yosano Akiko had a connexion with, even tiny. I picked Hiratsuka more or less randomly based on that haha (I still skimmed through her wiki page to make sure the profile would fit).
Yosano and Raichô met about seven years before the main timeline, back when Yosano she studied medicine in order to obtain a diploma in due form. Originally, I imagined that Raichô would play a role similar to Poe's for Ranpo by being Yosano's "rival" during their studies; but I eventually dropped this idea. At any rate, they are close friends who inspire each other on many levels ever since they met.
As for her skill, I wanted Raichô to have some kind of connexion to life and death like Yosano. I took inspiration from some books I had read to define the nature fo her power. I liked the idea of making her see the lives of the deceased, and how it could lead her to value life in a similar yet different way than Yosano.
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No, that's not right; “hate” is too strong of a word – and far from the truth. It would be more accurate to say that the very mention of poetry evoked an unsettling feeling in her chest.
“It... it reminds me of him,” she had once told Ranpo, back when her arm was still pierced with various drips, and when her head was still full of various nightmares. “He... he used to love poetry. He would always... read anthologies whenever he... he got the chance.”
Talking about him was hard, back then. Having to remember him was hard, too.
“You're talking about the soldier who gave you this, right?”
Ranpo had gently flicked the butterfly-shaped hairpin resting in her frail, bony hands. Yosano had nodded faintly.
“I... I can't even remember his name,” she had confessed, and by voicing those words which frightened her, she had realized it was probably the reason why she didn't want to read poetry, or even hear about it.
It reminded her that she couldn't remember how the voice which had uttered the words that broke her sounded. It reminded her that she couldn't remember what the face hanged at the end of a rope in her nightmares looked like. If it weren't for the butterfly hairpin resting in her hands, she would have doubted the guy haunting her memories had ever existed at all.
It frightened her. Her memories were like shadows dancing in a dense fog, close enough for her to feel their presence, but so elusive they always escaped her reach.
However, every once in a while, a flash would enlighten the fog, and scraps of her lost memories would finally graze her tormented mind.
“...I-I... I think I used to call him 'Shun', though.”
Ranpo hadn't replied.
They never talked about poetry ever since.
Years later, after overcoming her trauma and growing up as a healthy, strong woman, Yosano took medical classes in order to get a diploma. Not that she cared about the value of that stupid scrap of paper: what she aiming for was the knowledge and qualifications that would make her able to help the agency and the people around her, all without having to rely on her skill alone.
Within her first year at school, she met Hiratsuka Raichô, one of the very few girls in her class. Despite Raichô's aloof personality, combined with her natural difficulty in speaking fluently, the two of them quickly became friends. They would often spend their free time together, either at the library or the nearby café. And it wasn't just because Raichô was a brillant student – the best of their class – and thus greatly helped Yosano with her studies. Yosano also genuinely enjoyed her company, and saw every moment spent together as a perfect occasion to improve her communication with Raichô, especially by learning the sign language with her. Raichô didn't seem to fully comprehend this friendly behavior, but never complained about it, either. Because she was rather unexpressive, it was hard to tell what she thought. But if anything, it was for sure that she appreciated Yosano just as much, if not more.
One day, however, when Yosano found her friend at the library like always, she was met with a rather rare sight: before the dark-haired girl wasn't a school textbook or one of her notebooks, but a thin pile of draft paper, and an inkpot.
“What are you doing?” Yosano couldn't help but ask, prompted by curiosity – and also a strange hunch.
Despite having noticed her arriving by her side, Raichô started as if roused from whatever she was doing. Noticing the way she frowned and darted her eyes around her nervously, Yosano quickly waved her hand in an apologetic gesture.
“Ah, sorry... I didn't mean to be nosy. It's just... rare to see you with something else than a book in your hands.”
Raichô tilted her head to the side, like she would always do when she failed to comprehend the hidden sense behind people's words. She was smart, yet had a candid side that Yosano couldn't help but be fond of.
“Haha, don't look at me like that! I'm just teasing you,” she chuckled softly.
“... Poetry.”
Yosano froze. She knew that, when she wasn't speaking in signs, Raichô usually uttered the main word of her thought before constructing a coherent sentence around it. But the word she pronounced, "poetry"; it plunged her mind into a brief, yet dreadful state of terror – so much that she barely registered the sentence that followed.
“I like... writing poetry... from time to time...” Raichô slowly uttered. Then, noticing Yosano's expression, she hesitantly called out to her: “... Akiko?”
Roused from the dark clouds of panic threatening to fog her mind, Yosano shivered.
Raichô tilted her head again, this time with a concerned frown on her face.
“You look pale. Did I say something that upset you?” she signed.
Yosano pursed her lips. It was always when Raichô wasn't voicing out her thoughts that she revealed how sharp-witted and straight-to-the-point she was. Not that Yosano had been very good at concealing her uneasiness this time, though.
“It's... nothing,” she lied, while perfectly aware she could not fool her friend. Especially not when her voice was wavering and her hands shaking as if she had seen a ghost.
A ghost. Like the one haunting her mind. Like the one she felt standing behind her, silent but attentive.
Just like he used to be when he was alive.
“...”
“You don't like poetry?” Raichô signed again.
Before waiting for an answer, she proceeded to put away the draft papers in her bag. Yosano quickly waved her hands and shook her head.
“No, no!! It-it's not... Hold on, even if I did, why are you putting your stuff away?”
“… Bother...?”
“No, that's not bothering me. And even if it did, you don't have to stop what you were doing for me... Especially if you like it.”
It was always easier for Yosano to speak when if she put others' emotions first. Hers were trickier to phrase... at least for her.
Raichô frowned again, but obediently stood still.
“Look, I'm sorry if I disturbed you,” Yosano exclaimed, her liveliness a bit too forced. “Y-You can keep going, don't mind me!”
Since her friend only stared at her silently, Yosano felt her embarrassment turning to irritation.
“H-hey, you know what? How about I take a look at it? Just a peek, alright? You’ll see I don’t actually hate poetry. And I'm sure you're good at that stuff, anyway. You're good at almost everything!”
Oh boy, what am I even saying? This was so typical of her. Blurting out things without thinking and regretting it the second after. Ranpo often teased her about it, and as much as it irked her, she never found the way to cure that embarrassing weakness.
Raichô pensively played with a strand of her long black hair.
“Are... you... sure...?” she asked.
No, I'm not. But now that I've said that, I can't just back down... Refraining from phrasing that aloud, Yosano sat next to her friend, and shrugged in a gesture which she hoped looked casual.
“Why, of course. Do you mind?”
Raichô tilted her head once more. Her expression was as unreadable as ever, but Yosano still spotted a hint of confusion in those dark blue eyes. Eventually, she shrugged as well, and gave her the draft.
What happened after that was both the best and worst feeling experience Yosano ever went through since she got out of the hospital. Raichô's talent for poetry was unquestionable: the lines were well-crafted, the rhymes harmonious, and the content poignant. Yosano was far from being a poetry connoisseur, but something in the way the text was written stirred her like nothing had stirred her before.
“She's got the way with words, don't you think?”
Yosano shivered in the summer heat. She knew no one had spoken in the thick silence prevailing the library. And yet, she did hear a voice as clearly as if someone had been standing behind her.
“… Akiko?”
Yosano's entire body was trembling. A devouring urge to turn around and look behind her gnawed at her chest, chewed at her heart. Nevertheless, she didn't budge.
She didn't want to look. Whether what she would see was thin air or a ghostly vision, she didn't want to see it.
“… I… It's…”
Yosano tried to speak, but emotion put a choker on her throat. She felt like if she tried to force it open, something would break inside of her, and leave way for tears to flow from her burning eyes.
The feeling of something poking at her arm stirred her from her passive state of mind. Raichô had slid a paper towards her; and now that she had her attention, she pointed her finger at it.
Something was written:
You didn't have to go so far.
“…”
Yosano exhaled slowly, and pinched the bridge of her nose – a gesture that didn't completely help push back the tears, but still had the merit of helping her regain some composure, if only a bit.
“… Sorry. Even if it's beautifully written, I shouldn't be reacting like that over some text, right...?”
She tried to laugh, but the heart clearly wasn't at it.
“... But really, it’s beautiful. You got talent, like I suspected.”
Her voice died down, and silence lasted between them. Only the faint sound of crumpled paper troubled it, as Yosano’s trembling hands wrinkled the paper in her hands.
“… I bet he would have loved this poem you wrote, too…”
It was only when a paper poked her arm again that Yosano realized she had said that aloud - albeit in a breath. Raichô’s silent message read:
Are you thinking about someone?
Yosano took another deep breath, and let go of the paper. Crossing her fingers together, she nodded.
“Yes… Poetry… reminds of someone I… I used to know. Someone who’s no longer there…”
Raicho's eyes widened ever-so-slightly, as the subtle shadow of surprise veiled them.
“Loved…?” she inquired vocally.
“Huh? Ah, um…”
The nature of the full question was ambiguous, yet Yosano could guess what it was. Suddenly, her heart felt like it had turn into lead, and sunk deep into her chest. A dreadful cold seized her – the same cold that had invaded both her body and mind after his death.
“… Yes. I cared about him a lot.”
Her mouth felt doughy; the smell of blood progressively invaded her nose down to her palate as haunting memories flashed before her eyes.
“… Akiko?”
“Sorry. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Yosano’s knuckles had turned white. She kept her head low, unable to look at anything but them.
Then, something slowly appeared in her field of vision. It was a book, with a folded note resting on the cover. Yosano confusedly glanced at the book, then at Raichô, then at the book again. When she pushed the note aside to look at the cover, emotion squeezed her throat again.
It was a poem anthology.
“The note…” Raichô’s deep, melodious voice guided Yosano’s eyes to the folded paper, like a wave gently pushed a bottle on the shore. “… Read... the note.”
After another hesitant glance to her friend, she did as instructed.
The note was written in the same elegant writing, with curves so well-traced it gave a certain charm to the words. Although, it was less the form than the content that hit directly at Yosano’s core.
The living should not disregard what the deceased loved.
Because what they loved is what made them who we loved
The living shall cherish what was dear to the deceased
Because as long as it makes us think of them
They will keep on living inside our hearts
Forever
Yosano had her gaze glued to the paper. She read the words again, and again, and again; until they became blurry.
A teardrop fell on the desk. Its flat thud abruptly broke the spell imprisoning Yosano’s mind.
“… Raichô…? You…”
Her friend tilted her head, her expression still undecipherable.
“… Keep… You can keep… the book…” A pause. “… Want… if you want.”
In a heartbeat, it became clear. The fog shrouding Yosano’s memories was still as dense as ever… Yet it felt like she was looking at it with brand new eyes. Suddenly, it didn’t appear as scary as before.
It takes more than a voice or a face to make a person. Sometimes, the little things that mattered are enough to let a memory live on.
Yosano wasn’t forgetting ‘Shun’. She would not forget about him as long as she kept on holding onto the few memories of him she could gather.
And though it didn’t allay the pain born from the memory of his death… It still took one of her many burdens off her chest. It wasn’t much, but deep within her heart, she felt that it mattered nonetheless.
“Raichô… Thank you.”
Raichô merely nodded silently, like she always did. Behind her, Yosano noticed something – like a blurry silhouette.
A silhouette whose eyes were still hidden behind horrendous scars forming the word “just”… But who was now gently smiling at her.
Just like he used to do when he was alive…
*~*~*
The following evening, Ranpo came back at a rather late hour from the police department. After yet another successful case solved, he wanted to report directly to the President, get his well-deserved praiseful words and congratulations, then go back home get some no less well-deserved good sleep.
When he entered the Agency’s office, his weary face enlightened upon spotting Yosano’s familiar face. But before he could salute her, he came to a stop.
Ranpo didn’t have his glasses on; although, he didn’t need them to put the pieces together.
The book Yosano was engrossed into – a poem anthology. The book’s overall aspect – slightly worn out, with yellowing pages. The atmosphere surrounding his friend.
Heavy like when he used to go see her at the hospital after inviting her to the Agency.
Yet alleviated by the timid smile easing her wistful expression.
Certain that she hadn’t noticed him arriving, Ranpo tiptoed to the corridor leading to the President’s room.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the
Organization for Transformative Works
In a world where magic rules everything, the Twilight Guard has operated for many years in the dark to protect the Eight Towers Kingdom from its greatest threat: the Nothingness - a dreadful force that erases magic, endangering the population.
In a world where magic rules everything, Ranpo Edogawa, an elite member of the Twilight Guard, is unable to use magic. And this is only one of the many reasons why he navigates aimlessly through life, with nothing to drive him and give meaning to his existence...
Needless to say his motivation isn't roofing when the knights have to take part to a masquerade as part of their latest mission.
However, little does the magicless genius know that this event will allow him to meet a certain someone, who will change not only the trajectory of his life, but also his own self-perception...
🔮 Written for @bsd-rarepair-week-2024 day 5. Prompts used: fake relationship / masquerade / fantasy AU
🎭 Main rarepairs: ranposano (romantic), Ranpo & Atsushi (platonic)
🎭 Minor/hinted rarepairs: kunichuu, Oda x Jôno, past odaran
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