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@bandagedbastard-blog
[ sorry i’ve been kinda absent the past few days - my brain hasn’t been cooperating. hopefully i can get around to replies soon kdsjhksf ]
[ SLOWLY CATCHING UP ON THESE. i’m aiming to do at least one a day!
also, i may go through and unfollow/sb a few people - mostly multimuses with a lot of muses as i’ve realized it very much stresses me out. i’ve updated my rules to reflect this too sorry ;; ]
[ Cont. here ]
@bandagedbastard
The pole and its tarp lay sprawled on the floor. A half of a connecting pole dangles on the portion of the still erect structure while the other end tips, partially rolling still from the leftover momentum of Dazai’s graceful fall. Akiko surveys the damage, clicking her tongue at the scene and wondering what ever makes him so confident that the thin metal would be able to support this man’s entire weight. The doctor turns a heel to face her grinning co-worker. Her lips purse as she turns to look at him, a gesture to somewhat calm herself. It could have been worse, for sure. She gives a scoff.
“And I suppose whatever inspired you completely overrides the laws of physics when it comes to attempting your usual on these?” she asks. Though she is aware that Dazai has plenty of other options of carrying out his end, the last thing anyone would expect is him betting the odds with thin, metal poles that were built to create partitions. Still, she crouches to his level, a gloved hand reaching for the end of his trousers. Pulling up the fabric, she scans the potentially affected area for any subtle shifts of discomfort or odd positioning. Akiko places two fingers flat on the side of his lower calf, trailing firm, brief pressure as she works her way to his ankle area.
“Anything?”
“ow, yes.” he hisses through his teeth in pain, but doesn’t pull his leg away.
as much as it hurts - yeah, it’s got to be at least a sprain, he decides, at least it’s not his left leg this time; that one had never healed quite right after another, similar attempt (this one involving a rather high railing in an old port mafia warehouse) in his teenage years. another injury on top of that one would be... inconvenient.
“you really ought to get sturdier equipment in here, you know. someone could really hurt themselves!” never mind that the supports are meant to hold fabric, not one hundred and fifty pounds of death-enthusiast.
“A doctor. “ She replied, the barest hint of an edge in her voice. Nurses are important and she’d never undermine the work they did, but she was not one. She got enough of that from her more obstinate patients at Port Mafia. “I’m a private doctor. I’d say it’s calmer than working at a hospital or emergency room but I think it’d be a lie. “
She straightened one of her bows, her eyes scanning around before landing back on the unexpected conversation partner. “And yourself? “
a doctor - well, he supposes that yosano shouldn’t color his perception of other doctors; it stands to reason they wouldn’t all be as... well. shouldn’t all be like yosano. (he’s not even going to think any further in that sentence - he’s half-convinced yosano can read minds where her treatment is concerned.)
“i work for an agency,” he says, choosing the words cautiously while still maintaining a carefree tone. his intuition is, usually, pretty accurate, and something tells him now is not the time for his great-and-charming-detective spiel. “we do a lot of freelance work - odd jobs, you could say.”
[ sorry i’ve been kinda absent the past few days - my brain hasn’t been cooperating. hopefully i can get around to replies soon kdsjhksf ]
‘we are not the same, and never will be.’
of course they’re not.
a long time ago, a colleague had likened chuuya to a hurricane. like a storm with skin, and he’s never quite shook the description from his memory. it had made sense. in a fight, he’s got a the destructive power of a natural disaster, tearing through the world like it’s made of paper.
but even outside battle - the description still applies. his former partner’s always been more than his slight frame should be able to hold - not just his love of the luxurious and excessive, but his loyalty, his fierce devotion. his heart, far too much, in the opinion of some, for this line of work.
whereas dazai - well.
“thank you,” he replies, "you're being unusually complimentary today, chuuya."
‘what keeps you up at night?’
yosano’s good at reading people - too good, sometimes, in his opinion. he’d just wanted sleeping pills - for the non-permanent sort of sleep, which he’s already assured her of - not a full examination of the underlying cause behind his insomnia. not that there is an underlying cause. he’s not the sort to lay awake at night, thinking about days gone by.
usually.
“zombies.” he gives her an innocent look. “i’m terrified of them. are you a psychoanalyst as well now, yosano-san?”
" Is it my fault? "
the boy needs to stop martyring himself, taking the blame for what he has no control over - self-pity will get him nowhere.
he’s too damned tired to snap at his pupil, for once, though; half of that’s exhaustion, half of it’s the painkiller drip hooked into his veins. he’s taken a beating, in their most recent battle, and the worst part is it’s not even akutagawa’s fault. he’d been the one to miscalculate, he’d been the one underprepared when the enemy attacked, leaving him with a broken arm for his troubles and three of his men dead at his feet.
his own control must be slipping.
“does it matter?” he doesn’t meet akutagawa’s eyes; his gaze is firmly fixed on the ceiling. “they’re dead, either way. you survived.”
SOFT ANGST STARTERS.
‘stay for me.’
‘what’s this between us?’
‘i don’t want your apology.’
‘you know i have feelings for you.’
‘yeah, i remember the drill.’
‘you’ve never hurt me. ever.’
‘then leave her/him/them. at home.’
‘i don’t believe it.’
‘this is breaking my heart.’
‘you met me at a very strange time in my life.’
‘what keeps you up at night?’
‘i wish you were here.’
‘i let you down.’
‘something strange happened here.’
‘you’re not safe here.’
‘i wasn’t ready to say goodbye.’
‘we are not the same, and never will be.’
‘don’t touch me.’
‘is it my fault?’
‘i’m not like them.’
‘i forgot my name again.’
‘i don’t know who i am.’
‘your fear of looking stupid is holding you back.’
‘are you still alive?’
‘i don’t like being told what to do.’
‘am i making you uncomfortable?’
‘nobody cares if you don’t go to the party.’
‘it was supposed to be fun, and you ruined it.’
‘where the hell are my friends?’
‘stop pretending life doesn’t terrify you.’
[ look at my layout i’m so fucking happy with how it came out! ]
❝ … Dazai-san, I’ve seen you outside. If it was so serious then the sun would’ve done something to you already. Now stop being a baby, and let’s get going. ❞ If the cub absolutelyhas to; he will drag the man back. So, he’ll approach again & grab both his arms: attempting to lift him up. This was not how he wanted to spend his afternoon. ❝ And if your illness is really serious, then it’s very fickle, isn’t it? ❞
“i don’t see why you’re so set on dragging me in,” he says, dodging the question of his so-called illness as he’s pulled into a sitting position.
“if i’m already...” his eyes dart towards his alarm clock- “four hours late, what’s the point of going at all? i can catch up on my work another day. one that isn’t so bright...”
not that he intends to do said catching-up at all, of course.
@bandagedbastard -> Starter
Boots echoing along so many footsteps as the woman left the isolment from the subburbs. Occasionally Hameline would leave her workplace to eat, not seeking any form of social bonding, nowhere near it, people were merely samples to her.
It just so happened she could not cook to save her very own life, thus eating in cheap restaurants or askign for low priced meals in the supermarket. But all these things were only on richer parts of the town , not the part she lived at.
‘ Professor Allessia !’ A wink was her only reply to the manager’s overly joyful face. She sat at the counter, properly putting her coat’s tail under herself.
“ Hey manager-san~ Same as usual.” Turning her head toward the stranger who had seemingly been sitting at the counter. “Nice coat you got there.”
“what, this old thing?”
well, that’s what he tries to say, anyway. the words come out a lot less intelligible through a mouthful of snow crab.
he swallows, a look of contentment on his face. it’s a nice change, to have his favorite food in some form besides a can. “nice jacket. don’t know how you’re not freezing, though.”
#♕. — @lunartxger / CONTINUED FROM HERE
❝ Dazai-san, you can’t just stay in your apartment the whole day just because you don’t want to go into work. Hiding in your room with the blinds shut also won’t hide the fact that it’s the middle of the day! Now come on, we have work we should be doing, and Kunikida-san will have my head too if I don’t come back with you. ❞
Nerves already wrecking the young cub as he walked around carefully in the man’s room, trying his best not to trip over anything important. It was well past lunch time & while his mentor was extremely late, Kunikida was having none of it — strictly ordering Atsushi to drag the “bandaged wasting machine” back if he absolutely had to ( he really didn’t want to drag him back…it would attract too much attention ).
❝ So, let’s get going, before we both get an earful. It might be fun for you, but not for me. ❞
“i’m serious, atsushi-kun!”
dazai collapses dramatically back onto his pillow, hand flung over his forehead like a victorian lady badly in need of her smelling salts.
“it’s a very severe illness. i could shrivel up and die in the sunlight!”
“I wasn’t planning on right now - but unless you have a better idea, then yeah, right now.” Dazai seemed…panicked? at the perspective of meeting his kids.
But he had to get out of his comfort zone one day or another.
"well..” no, he doesn’t have a better idea, he decides. they’re children, and not even the kind of children he’s more acquainted with in his line of work, dead-eyed and prematurely jaded; what's there to be apprehensive about?
“ah, why not.”
dark eyes watch dazai carefully , he still can’t read him –– no matter how long he’s known him . a sigh escapes past his lips , giving a nod . “ i suppose that’s one way to live . though it’s easier said than done . “ akutagawa speaks from experience , of course . how could he not dwell on the past ? it shaped him , helped him become who he is . but was it what he had truly wanted for himself ?
“ … i wonder if the weretiger is aware of your former training methods . it would break him down more , no ? “
“atsushi-kun doesn’t need the same... methods.”
old habits die hard - he leaves that open to interpretation. never mind that he’s got a damn good idea of exactly how akutagawa’s likely to read it - he must be better than me; he was always good enough, without having to be broken down, remade into a suitable weapon.
@bandagedbastard | liked for a starter!
O CURSED SPECTER which reflects in sunken, tired eyes, why do you appear? So rare is the quiet amongst the thunderous din of the Yokohama cityscape, yet even here, on the dilapidated rooftops, Akutagawa finds himself thoroughly haunted. There stands the GHOST himself, his figure a casual contrapposto against the light of the moon as he teeters idly at the roof’s edge. There’s a rush in Akutagawa’s veins, and it’s a desperate effort to calm the heavy pounding that rattles his ribcage.
He approaches the mirage with outstretched fingers, hoping for— what? A simple touch? Some semblance of an unobtainable, unfamiliar WARMTH against his skin? Unlikely. Impossible, even. He would much rather push, and watch his nightmares split in a bloody rorschach on the concrete below. He is nearly there— nearly ready— when the illusion moves. His hand snaps back like a pulled-taut branch as the adrenaline hits. The PHANTOM, it seems, is no phantom at all.
“ Why don’t you JUMP— ” he provokes, hands retreating into the pockets of his coat as he props one foot against the building’s ledge. “ —and save me the trouble of dirtying my shoes? ”
tch. the pavement, uncountable stories beneath them, suddenly seems even more enticing than it had a few short moments ago. forgoing his goal of a death causing no inconvenience might be better than coming face to face with his former student in a situation he hasn’t orchestrated himself.
“i’m sure another set of bloodstains won’t make much difference at this point,” he replies mildly, turning back towards the night sky, a fully intentional declaration: you’re no threat to me.
(it’s good to see the kid’s grown himself a spine, though, some part of him thinks - some part that sounds suspiciously cold and eighteen. under his instruction - one word for it, at least - akutagawa had learned early on what talking back would get him. count yourself lucky this lesson’s coming from me. if you don’t learn when to keep your mouth shut in this world, who knows what’ll happen to your tongue? and the boy on the floor before him had wiped the blood from his mouth, and glared at dazai with eyes like black coals, but he’d understood.)
