so for my legolas series, i had to write up a timeline to keep all the drabbles and whatnot straight. it was time-consuming, and now i am thinking of moving some events around OTL
Summary: In desperation, Sol did the one thing the village elder's warn against: she dived into a fairy ring
...
Sol dashed through the dark forest, ducking under low-hanging branches and hopping over fallen logs. Going off the trail was successful in creating space between her and her pursuers. The curly haired girl hid against a tree.
She took inventory: there were plenty of scratches and scrapes from her previous capture. Sol's face felt swollen, sore from the beatings. They only stopped when Sol said what they wanted to hear. That she was a witch.
But she wasn't. What was used to be called a blessing of the forest became the seed of a rumor. Noticing weather patterns and predicting the weather was only possible because she herself was controlling it.
Knowing natural remedies from her mother didn't help her case. Sol could not even hum as she gardens without her neighbors thinking it was some kind of spell.
Sol was so tired. Running for hours after a beating felt like hell in her bones. But she could not stop now. Behind her, the shouts of her pursuers grew closer. She wobbled through the trees, and spotted something laying nestled in the grass.
Mushrooms, tan and beige lined up in a circle. Echoes of her mother’s words, his warnings of fairy circles that were hidden throughout the forest. As a child, she ran from them in fear. Now, Sol trembled towards the ring. With nothing to lose, she stepped in.
It felt like she had missed a step going down the stairs. Sol tripped and stumbled and landed on her bruised wrist. She curled up on her side, clenching her wrist to her chest in a patch of grass.
The pain soon became bearable. Sol rolled over onto her back. The sky was the same shade of blue it was hours ago. Perhaps, a tad more vivid. The meadow itself seemed to be in the middle of a forest, but not the one Sol recognized. Trees here were taller and nearly blocked out the sun. And here, there were no shouts of her chasers.
Sol sat up and listened. No thundering footfalls or hounds barking. Had she really escaped?
Her stomach growled.
Towards the edge of the meadow were bushed sprinkled with dark, jewel-toned berries. They looked familiar enough that Sol picked a few to try. Sweeter than she had anticipated.
...
After a quick nap against a tree, Sol mustered up some courage to look for a way out of the woods.
There! The sound of running water. A river led to settlements, where she hoped to get help. Sol wasn’t sure how deep into the forest she had fled, and maybe someone could point her in the right direction.
The black-haired girl walked along the shore, grateful for a water-source. As Sol continued upstream, a flash of white gold caught her eye.
A figure drifted with the water. Sol stripped off her coat and cloak as she rushed towards the water. She ripped off her boots and ran for the man. The push of the stream wasn’t weak. Between fighting the water and the pain of Sol’s own injuries, it was a struggle to pull him out.
The girl flipped her catch onto his back. She pressed an ear to his chest. Good, his hearts still beats .
Sol brushed wayward strands from his face. He was beautiful, whoever he was. All that mattered was that he wasn’t one of her captors.
He was breathing weakly, and a bloody gash at his hairline.
Well, he’ll live. So long as he doesn’t catch his death in wet clothes.
Starting fires was one of Sol’s specialties. A required skill for brewing remedies for all sorts of ailments. Flames caught from a spark, and slowly crept up snapped branches. The healer’s apprentice dragged the unconscious man closer to the fire. After receiving her tossed clothes, Sol spread her cloak over him. She bundled herself in her coat and sat across the flames. A short rest to recover some energy lost in the struggle.
“If you wish to seek asylum, you must show yourself to the King. You will need his blessing.”
The halls were tall and grand. The castle was built around and into the largest trees Sol had ever seen. And at the end of the hall sat the Elvish King, upon his elevated throne. He too was gorgeous, even with his bored expression. The King looked vaguely familiar.
“Come closer.” The King commanded. Sol looked back at Legolas, and he nodded in encouragement. The human took several steps towards the base of the throne. Merely feet away, Sol could see a glitter fade away from his face. The King’s right side of his face was heavily scarred, one eye a milky white. The human immediately looked to the floor.
“A child of Man,” his low voice declared. “So far from home...”
His ice blue eyes examined Sol’s sorry state. “I could guess why. Man is dreadfully predictable.”
Sol nodded in agreement. There was no falsehood in that.
“Your name, child.” The King leaned on one hand.
There it was. One of the ways those on the Other Side get the upper hand. To willingly give one’s name away was giving away a part of themselves.
“I am called Sol, your majesty.” The human swallowed
“Sol…You have saved one of my own. I owe you a debt.” The King slowly descended his throne. “You will remain here until your wounds are healed. In two weeks' time, you will tell me what you desire from the Elven King.”
Thranduil stopped near feet away. Sol tried not to stare at the king’s horrible scar covering half his face. A single milky white eye. But the king noticed her attention “A rare honor, indeed.”
“Yes, it would be an honor.” Sol replied, her eyes flickering to Legolas looking for direction.
“I’m glad you are aware of your fortune. Now, off to the infirmary with you. A guard will guide you there.” The King waved to the elf by the door. Sol gingerly approached her guide, and at his positive response, left to receive healing.
But what of him, of Legolas? The human wondered. She turned her head just as two other guards were shutting the throne room doors. A touching sight in the crack surprised her. The Elven King, who most certainly intimidated her, had a single hand on Legloas’ shoulder. Thranduil seemed… relieved.
summary: there's something about June that's a little off, but there are fishy merchants to slay and dumb human girls to save.
preview:
“Isn’t there something,,, off , about June?”
The half-elf in question was kicking over mushrooms in the field next to camp. She had been wandering the next campsite for a bit after pitching her tent, and looking very intensely down at the fungi before crushing it under her heel.
Shadowheart’s eyes trailed away from their unofficial leader. “Not anything awful, of course. But odd .”
Astarion peeked over his book, “Is there anything really normal about any of us,” he flipped a page, “when there are worms wiggling in our heads?”
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The next Monday, after finishing his routine of watering the plants outside the store and setting up for opening, Atsushi gather the flowers he had picked out: a handful of sunflowers with bits of baby’s breath peeking out. He straightened himself out and crossed the street.
A girl with long dark hair sat away from him, facing the arrangement of flowers Atsushi made when he first met Dazai. The petals were still vibrant and stems still straight. At the sound of the door closing, the girl turned in her seat.
“Good morning, how can I help you?” She stood from her seat and wiped her hands of the pen ink.
“Hi, does Dazai-san work here? Is he in?”
“You just missed him!” Naomi said regretfully. She glanced at the flowers and smiled. “He’ll return soon, if you want to wait for him?”
“Ah, no, um. I have to get back. To the shop. Could you give these to Dazai-san for me…” he looked at her name tag. “Naomi-san.”
Suddenly, she had a cunning look on her face. A mischievous twinkle in her eye, and a grin that spelled ‘trouble’. “It would be my pleasure. Can I get your name?” She placed the bouquet gently on the desk closest to the door.
“I’m Nakajima Atsushi. Thank you, Naomi-san.” Atsushi gave her a small bow of gratitude and vecated the parlor.
Not ten minutes later did Daza return from getting breakfast. “Where’d these come from, Naomi-chan?” he asked with a mouthful of WcDonalds.
“The florist across the street. Was asking about you, too.” she cheerfully sang, retaking her place in front of the flowers.
Dazai nodded in acknowledgement, but he stared at the flowers. After he finished eating, he grabbed an empty cup and filled the water half way and placed the flowers inside. As he moved the stems around to fit in the cup, there was a single Ranunculus in the middle.
Curious, he picked the pink flower from the bundle and set it on his desk. Opening the search engine on his phone, he flicked through dozens pictures of pink flowers until he found one the looked the most like the one burning a hole on his desk.
Ranunculus. A flower with three possible meanings; a radiant charm, “you’re charming” or “you’re attractive.” Commonly used bouquets with a subtle hint towards attraction to the gifted person. “
Dazai looked up from his phone to the flower, then to the shop across the street, his face burning.
And the next day, Dazai went to the flower shop, a grin dancing on his lips. A young girl stood at the front counter, but Atsushi was probably still at the back.
“Excuse me, Miss. Can I get a half dozen of white camellias?”
The girl behind the counter wore and floral kimono with blue bells and forget-me-nots, and a pink apron on top. Her two black ponytails swished as she turned sharply and searched for camellias.
With a simple arrangement in hand, she rang up the order. “$8.97, Cash or card?” she asked. Dazai handed her his debit card.
“Say, is Nakajima Atsushi here today?”
“He is. Here is your card. Would you like to speak to him?” she asked tentatively. At Dazai’s bright smile, the girl stride towards the back, her black hair lost among the bright petal and tall stems. The sound of her sandals echoed through the store. She came back with Atsushi’s sleeve in her hand, tugging him with her.
“This is the one you were talking about, no?” she asked unabashed, while her coworker’s faces went up in flames.
“Ah, Kyouka-chan, I can take things from here.” he twittered in defeat.
Kyouka raised two fists and let a quiet sound of triumph. Leaving the two, she quickly twisted back and gave Dazai the “ I’m watching you ” gesture, complete with a no-nonsense hand on her hip and eyes narrowed in suspicion. Her sandals click-clacked until a door closed shut.
“Sooo you think I’m attractive.” Dazai tease unrelentlessly. Atsushi crossed his arms and pouted.
“Yeah. I do . What are you going to do about it?” he challenged, losing its edge with the pink cheeks. But he stared directly at Dazai, waiting.
The tattoo artist was slightly captivated by his boldness, but pulled out his own secret weapon. He handed the camellias over to Atsushi.
The florist stared at the flowers before internally imploding, his pout becoming a look of surprise. Realizing the message, Atsushi shoved his face into the bouquet, but his red ears gave him away.
The tattoo artist watched with amusement and chuckled. It sounded like sunshine and rainbows, but Atsushi would never say that out loud. He looked up from the flowers, gathering up courage.
“ Dazai-san, would you go on a date with me?”
-----
Dazai had alway been the one to ask the other out. Whether it was beautiful women to commit double suicide with or the one-night stands that ended sneaking out early in the morning, Dazai had always initiated it.
To be asked was a very different feeling. Warmth flooded the veins and butterflies tickled his heart. There was something fascinating about the blushy boldness Atsushi had. The nerve to be so candid with a flushed face and fidgeting fingers was breathe-taking in a way Dazai wasn’t sure that was healthy.
‘Twas in this moment of newfound emotion that Dazai almost forgot to reply. The poor florist was literally holding his breath, and his face was turning a concerning shade of purple.“Yes, I’d like to, Atsushi-kun.”
The florist sighed in relief, a hand holding his chest. “Great. Yes, uh, how is this Friday? For you?” he babbled.
Dazai resisted the urge to pat Atsushi’s head. His hair looked so fluffy. And he was trying so hard. “Sounds good to me. We could see a movie?”
“Any ideas in mind? I haven’t been there in a while.”
“I’ll look into it.” Dazai glanced at the wall clock by the door. “Shit, I gotta go. But I’ll talk to you soon.” Giving the florist the most charming smile, he went for the door.
the last chapter! this fic was written for dazatsu week
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“Are you ready for the full moon?”
“I feel better prepared, if that makes sense.” Atsushi sat at the edge of the salt water pool, watching the birds fly off in the water’s reflection.
His curly haired mentor of sorts was leaning against the guardrail of the roof’s pool, the ones made to keep people from falling over the edge. “At this height, I wouldn’t even die! Only suffer, in agony, at gravity’s and Yosano’s hand~!” He mentioned the first time they went to the highest level the stairs could take them. The roof provided a stunning view of the islands at sunset, the light bouncing off the ocean just at the right moment to make the islands appear as if they were floating in the air.
The young man was always a bundle of nerves are the night of full moon came, but calmed down as the moon ascended. The circle luminous letters spawned around his body, and without struggle, he slipped into the water. When Atsushi came back to the air, his slit eyes would dilate as he gained control over himself. For the rest of the night, he would drift around in the pool until he tired, and when would sleep beneath the moonlight.
Dazai always found Atsushi’s metamorphosis beautiful, not that he would ever admit it aloud. He allows found himself volunteering to keep an eye on the siren, helping him gain control of his fabled abilities, or breaking him free from a lunar trance. Though some would say it was his commitment to do so, as he brought Atsushi into the agency, Dazai never felt “burdened” for guiding the siren. Atsushi was an interesting mythical; he seemed more human than some of the full-blooded monsters in human’s skin seemed to be, and then some. He was full of surprises, ones that people least expect but hope for the most. And of course, Dazai had his own reasons of spending so much time alone with Atsushi, for reasons he’ll never say.
Atsushi swam towards the edge of the pool, and rested his head in his arms. He was humming to himself quietly, his tail swishing lazily behind him.
“Dazai-san, are we even allowed to be up here.” Atsushi looked in his direction.
Plopping himself close to the siren, the hazel-eyed detective offered a mischievous grin. “We’re allowed, so long as we don’t get caught~.”
Atsushi rolled his eyes, and slithered underwater. He came back up with a strong push of his tail, and caught his torso above arms with his arms, lifting himself to sit next to the lunatic.
With have strippinig down and wrapped in a towel for the changing, it had given Dazai a perfect view of Atsushi’s scar. It had crawls across his pale skin with ivy, only a slight discoloration remained. Dazai traced over the raised skin with his index finger. The siren shifter had grown used to the detective’s caresses over the scar from months ago, and if anything he leaned into his touch.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore?”
Atsushi stretched his arms high. Dazai shamelessly watching the his muscles flex as the siren-shifter lazily wade his tail in the salt water.
“Not anymore, but it is a bit sensitive. You’re not hurting me, Dazai-san.” the brown-eyed man nodded in response, watching Atsushi bite his bottom lip when Dazai’s fingers grazed against the center and most tender part of his scar.
Atsushi tried to hold back a moan, but a pleased sigh escaped his lips.
The detective’s fingers froze, his pupils widening. With a shit-eating grin, he poke the same spot again. The siren shifter lets out a heavier sigh, and catches Dazai by the wrist. He yanked the detective close, “Dazai-san, please don’t tease me.”
But pupils are blown wide and heart beats, accelerated. Atsushi releases his wrist and slowly runs his fingers through curly strands, careful of his nails. He pulls the detective forward, and presses their lips together for a chaste kiss.
Just as the they pulled away for air, Dazai pushed Atsushi over and claimed his lips once more.
for dazatsu week, day..... (three?). florist/tattoo artist! au. unbeta’ed
Summary: Dazai has been watching the cute florist across the street
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“I’m sorry?”
“I need a bouquet that says-”
The curly haired individual digs into his breast pocket of his leather jacket. Its well worn, complete with a couple of well-placed metal studs and a wide varied of buttons. Sterling orbs sat below and above his left eyebrow, which oddly complemented the russet color of his eyes. Atsushi’s eyes left the stranger’s ̶h̶a̶n̶d̶s̶o̶m̶e̶ face and wandered around the many pins adorning the front of the jacket. Pitch white bandage peek out from the ends of his and the top of his collar. Small silver studs lined the outer rim of his left ear, with an industrial, an orbital and a standard piercing connect with a thin chain on his right.
-Dazai pulls out a crumbled piece of paper and smoothes it out. “The rebel leader is dead, rendezvous at the docks at 8, bring the dog. Will need lighter fluid and a large tomato.”
Atsushi scribbles downs the message, trying to hide the bewildered look on his face. He returns the sky blue pen to his back pocket, and begins to conjure a way for the message. He tugged on his teal-white striped sweater sleeves, the air conditioning freezing his fingers.
“Hmmm, this is a challenge, but let’s see what we can do.” Atsushi comes around from the counter, and grabs the standard navy dyed apron. Dazai catches sight of his loose fitting heather pants, and raises an eyebrow, but the florist misses it, pulling wide black frames from his pocket.
“First, some red Nasturtium, no leaves mixed with some red Mask Flowers encircled by some Cypress.” Atsushi bounced from flower bundle to bundle, picking flora by the stem and adding it to the growing bunch in his arm. The curly haired punk followed after, both amused and impressed.
“Why red?” he asked. As Atsushi turned to answer, he notice the turquoise dyed ends of his hair, along with the raven black streak of pitch among the silver hair.
“Red Nasturtium means “a leader”, Mask flowers for “rebellion”, red to lean towards “fighting”or white towards “martyrdom.” Cypess looks lovely, but it can also stand for “death.”” Atsushi beamed. Dazai smiled back.
Looking back at his note, he mumbled “rendezvous at the docks…” The sweater clad florist made his way to the other side of the shop searching among flora. He let out a small sound of triumph when he pulled out a mess of chickweed from behind the baby’s breathe.
“This is for “rendezvous”, and this is for eight in the nighttime.” Reaching over the Dazai’s shoulder, he plucked out a single Blue Convolvulus, and eight White Popular Leaves. The tattoo artist strolled after the florist. He watched with amusement as tiny white flowers fell into his hair after Atsushi had pushed away on overhanging cluster of flowers to reach for sun-colored irises.
“Great. All we need is some Yellow Prairie Docks, and a single large tomato leaf. Maybe some Dogwood for “deceit?” Then again, bark isn’t really used symbolically in arrangements. What do you think, umm.” Atsushi squinted, trying to remember a name.
“Dazai. I work across the street.” The florist looked out the window behind Dazai, and saw the parlor.
“Oh! So, you are tattoo artist? Ah, anyway, would you like to add “deceit” to you bouquet?”
Dazai chuckled, “Sure, though, why the tomato leaf?”
“For the large tomato in your message.” Atsushi smiled into the flowers, his arms cradling them carefully. He returned to the front desk, with Dazai in tow.
“Quite a lot of flowers.” Dazai twirled one between his thumb and forefinger.
“You’re right. Perhaps it would be best for two separate bouquets?” Atsushi thought aloud, unrolling the protective plastic.
The first half of the message, “the rebel leader is dead”, was tightly bundled and wrapped, with the Nasturtiums and Mask Flowers evenly embraced by the snow white Cypress. The second portion was similar. In the middle was Blue Convolvulus amidst the eight White flowers and Chickweed. The last two yellow flowers went into the back of the bouquet to stand tall. The arrangement was finally wrapped in Dogwood Bark.
“Amazing. I didn’t think it was possible for the message to look so beautiful.” Dazai admitted. “ And the florist here is smart, pretty pleasing to the eye, too.” Dazai winked. Atsushi wanted to hide behind the flowers; no one’s smile should be so bright.
The florist gaped, before realizing his chin was on the counter. “Umm, your- your total is $119.36. Will that be debit or credit?” Atsushi mumbled, looking past Dazai’s shoulder and hiding his cheeks behind his loose sleeve.
“Ah, hold still.” Atsushi froze as Dazai leaned over the counter and picked out the fallen flowers and their tiny petals. The florist tried to will his growing blush away, fearing the tattoo artist can feel the heat.
“These fell in your hair earlier, and it was so charming I couldn’t help but leave them there for a while.” Dazai gave what Atsushi would later call a ‘shit-eating grin.” The tattoo artist pat himself down, looking for his wallet. He found it in his back pocket and pulled out a bundle of bills.
“Thanks for the work~! He called out, flowers in hand, leaving the shop.
Atsushi stood still as a statue. “What…” he felt his cheek. It felt hot enough to fry eggs on. “...was that?” his heart thumped ruthless against his chest. What is this feeling?
….
He forgot his change!?!
It was a slow day at the parlor. Normal for a Monday, but agonizing nonetheless.
The curly haired tattoo artist was gazing out the shop window, resting his chin is his palm. Across the ways, the florist was outside, watering the plants at the storefront of the flower shop. Every morning, around 8:15, a silver-haired young man would stroll outside with a mint green watering can. He’s go to the side of the store to fill the can and return into Dazai’s view with rolled up sleeves and his hair tied up into a tiny ponytail in the back of his head.
Then, the florist would spend a good half an hour watering and reorganizing the plants. While he was faced the away from the tattoo parlor, flower shop window’s reflection revealed the florists expressive face. His cute nose would crinkle in thought, his sunset-like eyes would squint when the building couldn’t hide him from the sun. A plus side to the cute florist across the street facing away from Dazai, is when he squats in his tight, usually soft colored pants. That, and he can’t see Dazai watching him every morning.
“Dazai-san.” Naomi, a tattoo artist-in-training of sorts, dropped a pile of magazines onto his lap.
“Good morning, Naomi-chan.” Dazai greeted, tearing his eyes away from the window. He picked up a magazine and lazily flipped through it.
“Are you considering getting flowers for the shop? I’d think it would liven up the place.” she glanced outside the window. Thankfully, the florist had already returned inside.
Dazai lowered the ‘zine. “That, is an excellent idea, Naomi-chan.” He rose from his seat suddenly, “A great one, actually. It would be good for you to practice floral designs.”
Naomi raised an eyebrow. “It would, I guess.” she agreed, albeit skeptically.
Dazai grins as he left the shop.
A bell tinkles from the front, and a tall individual with leather jacket wanders in. His vibrant red skinny jeans stick out among the softer hues of the shop.
Atsushi can tell he’s never been in a flower shop; when he first walks in, he’s hit with the dizzying aroma of dozens of flowers and takes half-step back. Brown eyes scan over the petals of sunflowers and jumps to the leaves of chickweed the next.
He eventually makes way to the back counter where Atsushi sits.
“Hi, can I just get a bouquet of ...flowers?” Dazai asked. He winced at his words.
Atsushi bit back a grin, but his dimples are more than obvious. “Of course. May I ask what the flowers are for?” His peach hued cardigan hangs off one shoulder, revealing the egg-yellow tank top beneath.
“Just for my desk. Whatever you think would work.”
Atsushi throws a bone. “Alright, one second please.”
When the florist is out of sight, Dazai facepalms.
Atsushi returned shortly after, with a handful of Alyssum,Rindou and a single yellow rose.. He felt the customer’s eyes watch and tried to stay focus. Wrapping the flowers in light yellow paper, then plastic. He rang up the total and handed the curly-haired man the bouquet.
He took them in awe. “These are lovely.” He said, but his eyes were on the Atsushi’s.
“Ah, um, thank you. Have a nice day!” Atsushi called after the departing man, who smiled back in response.
In all honestly, Atsushi was expecting his past to coming catching him eventually. It just happened later than he expected, and he almost thought maybe, just maybe, his hunters have given up the pursuit based on an unproven rumor.
Hindsight is 20/20, the sunset-eyed orphan thinks. Atsushi seriously doubts Ranpo of all people to call and ask for his help directly. Through Kunikida or the director, maybe, but for the “backbone” of the detective agency to admit his navigation skills and common knowledge to be subpar, and then request Atsushi, the greenest of greenhorns of the ADA, to assist him in finding his way through the streets and whatnot, seemed laughable.
The white-haired detective bit back the panic rushing in his veins and began to strategize. There’s four crowding him in now, all armed with a makeshift weapon of sorts. The full moon is weeks away, but Atsushi can feel the siren’s pull in the back of his mind. There’s several puddles of water below his attackers’ feet, and thick clouds sailing above.
The first to strike is a gangly man with a rusted pipe swinging in both hands. Atsushi sidesteps to the right, and sends a rush of water into his face. The man chokes on whatever the water was carrying, and bends over in a coughing fit. Without a beat, Atsushi kicks the coughing assailant into the next man, but the third manages a hit to his ribs. Before the girl with the quick fists can strike again, Atsushi tumbles backward, clutching his side.
With the stress of the ambush, and now a surge of pain when he breathes to deeply, Atsushi struggles to remain calm. He can feel the scales rippling along his arms: a lapse of control is a chance for the siren to come full force, and wreak havoc-
‘But I won’t let it get that far.’ Atsushi’s eyes narrowed into slits as he pulled water from the clouds to crash down into his attackers. He dashed down the alley way.
Atsushi rounded the corner, barely missing the trash can tossed his direction. Turning on his heel, he went down the stairs towards the ocean. He pulled the water from the sea and thrusted it behind him. Atsushi could tell by the gasp of surprise he managed to hit one. With only the fourth and final assailant to deal with, he hurled a series of waves over beach, but the attacker dodges with a quick jerk. Soon, they were fighting in close quarters.
The fight seemed to last for what felt like hours, and there was not a single break in the brawl long enough for Atsushi to summon water, or create any distance between him and the other. His opponent came quick and with a bronze dagger, swiftly impales the siren-shifter.
Despite the pain, Atsushi took advantage of the small gap between him and his attacker and pushes him to the ground. A dome of water rises and surrounds the two. Crimson ribbons twirled and dispersed into the dome, creating a slight tint. Atsushi pinned his opponent in the water the best he could, the other trying to reach for the dagger lodged into the siren-shifter’s side. Atsushi retaliated, and sent an elbow into his stomach. The attacker gasped in pain, air escaping. The struggle ceased as water fills his lungs, and the body became limp.
Atsushi released his tight grip on the dome, water bursting like a popped balloon. Without the rush of adrenaline to keep the pain at bay, he crumpled to his knees, grasping at the wound. He reached for the blade and pulled, but retracted his grip with a hiss. The blade was pure iron and had teeth on the spine, causing flesh to be ripped at it was being pulled out. With his vision blurring at the edges, he fished out his phone from his back pocket.
It was for times like these that Atsushi was glad to have invested in a waterproof case for his phone. He was punching in the numbers for speed dialing the agency when he found himself teetering to the side, and the world became dark.
Long fingers carded gently through silver strands. Soft humming drags Atsushi from the darkness, and he opened his eyes. He winced at the harsh lighting and blinked to readjust.
He was laying down on a large bed on his uninjured side. Dazai is sitting next to him, his trenchcoat over the back of a chair. In one bandaged hand, he held a book titled ‘A Hundred and One Lovers’ Suicide’ , and in the other, he tangled around Atsushi’s hair. Dazai leans the headboard, murmuring a catchy song from the radio. The curly haired detective seemed very invested in his reading, and doesn’t notice Atsushi’s watching eyes until he reaches to turn the page.
“Ah, Atsushi-kun, you’re awake. How are you feeling?” He sets down the book, dog-ear folding his page. Dazai tossed it on the night stand and feels for the siren-shifter’s forehead. Cold fingertips skimmed against fevered skin.
Atsushi gingerly sat up to meet Dazai half way, holding back a grimace.
“It’s pretty chilly in here, you were burning up earlier.” Dazai flipped his hand over and tried the palm of his hand. The younger of the two simply nodded in agreement. Shifting closer, Dazai gentle held Atsushi still is he pressed his cheek to his forehead. Atsushi froze in surprise, his eyes widen at the close contact.
“...Dazai-san…” the siren-shifter felt fatigue crawling up his limbs. The older of the two gave a giddy grin. He climbed back upon the bed and resumed his place before Atsushi awakened. He softly pulled Atsushi down and rested his head in his lap. Atsushi went to protest, but was soothed into relaxing when Dazai continued running his fingers through his hair.
“You had us scared for a moment, Atsushi-kun. Yosano was considering killing you back to life, if we had not seen your chest rising.”
The former orphan reached for his wound, and was relieved to find the blade removed. A large square bandage covered his side, with wrappings around his torso to hold it in place. He gingerly touched the center, and recoiled at the burning sensation that stretched across his frame. Dazai softly pulled his hand away from the wound.
“Sleep, Atsushi-kun, I know my lap is the comfiest around.” he joked. Unable to hold back the spreading heat from his face, Atsushi gaped like a fish out of water. He quickly reigned himself in, and let his eyes close, and drifted asleep.
dazatsu week 2017, day 2, once again i forgot the prompt
Summary: in which Atsushi was never hugged before joining the agency and i cried myself to sleep
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Being the unwanted of the most unwanted was a trial not everyone could handle. The days at the orphanage were loveless, and the only kisses the little unwanted children got were from belt buckles. The only sweet embrace was when shear stress and fear grabbed them by throat and dragged them into the darkness. There were no touches of affection, no soft taps on the shoulder, no hands to hold on the most ominous of days, and no feathery words of confort.
When Atsushi stumbled passed strangers and shoulders nearly collided, he was confused. Where were the heavy bellows that shook his very heart against his ribcage? A single mumble of apology, maybe a wave with brief eye contact, and the endless wait of a strike.
After helping an elderly woman up the stairs with her groceries, Atsushi was awarded a shiny, bloody apple. She conveyed her slight exhaustion of her grandchildren with fondness, triplets with smiles so bright, she need not to open the curtains, for all three were up before dawn.
The old woman, who looked eerily like one of the sisters at the orphanage, spoke sugar and spice and everything nice. Everything Atsushi had never seen, nevertheless heard.
Never had Atsushi seen children so lively, so lighthearted. He was feeding of cats under their The local supermarket’s butchery had just received a fresh order of meats, and the unsold products had to go. One of the employees saw him sitting outside the market’s doors, resting from the sunlight. The employee returned with a plastic bag fills with sliced ham and turkey, and wished the orphan safe travels. Atsushi was so shocked from the act of kindness, his eyes stung, with tear threatening to spill.
So Atsushi ate to his fill, then wandered to a park, where he found the cats. He tossed shredded pieces around, and a small crowd of felines gathered. Soon, the children grew curious, too. Small hands tugged on his shirt, and politely asked for meat to feed the cats. His sunset eyes glanced to the herd of mothers watching a ways away with flourishing smiles. He never knew children could be so kind.
Even when it felt like his last hours, and desperation flooded his body, he could not bring himself to harm another. Not after witnessing the small treasures of life, and warmth of strangers, nor after surviving the horrors of the orphanage. Atsushi felt grateful for the miracles bestowed onto him. It’s what made him jump in the frigid waters, and heave the man he never met to shore.
-------------------
“Affection” wasn’t something taught nor given at the orphanage. There were only favorites and unfavorites, but just was Atsushi was the outsider before entering the system, he was moreso afterward; singled out by both his peers and the adults who should have been caring for him. Joining the agency, becoming a part of something, and affection were completely foreign to the former orphan.
He had been given food at first, which was completely fine with him. Atsushi wasn’t expecting anything out of pulling Dazai out of the river, but it looked like the universe had had mercy once more. He definitely wasn’t expecting to help catch the tiger that’d been chasing him ever since he was booted from his hell, and left a trail of disaster in its wake, or to be said tiger, or to be offered a roof over his head, food on his plate, a job.
The first couple of days were awkward, but any blunders Atsushi made was easily made up with his enthusiasm and hard work. He did great with paperwork, made the most interesting expressions, did ok on the first mission (though, trying to calm a fake suicide bomber as initiation didn’t really count, he thought), and had a work ethic that made Kunikida cry. Atsushi enjoyed working there, and the ADA liked him, too. But, with all “happy endings”, there is a complication.
Atsushi did not take to contact well. Combat was one thing, but harmless handlings was another. He had grown more comfortable with noise, as wandering the night at the strangest hours tends to surround the city, though shouts still got him from time to time. His skin thickened enough to walking with and next to and by people, but never enough for touch. He held back cringes from small brushes with strangers.
So he stood back from high-fives, prepared for a backhand against his cheek. He shrunk away from anything that looked like a hug, and flinched when someone grabbed his shoulder. The office noticed, some slower than others, and took a step back. One curly-haired detective watched carefully. Brown eyes observed glimpses of confusion wave over Atsushi’s faces when the siblings were hip-to-hip and yearning when Ranpo playfully ruffled Kenji’s blond strands.
Dazai liked Atsushi, and is morbidly curious to know what his face looked like relaxed. Up-close. Happy. And other things. (Things that will wait, but will surely happen.)
It’s when the office was nearly empty, save for one weretiger and the neighborhoods suicide-maniac. Dazai pushed from his desk and wheeled over to Atsushi’s. Bandaged arms rested on the edge and held his head up.
“Atsushi-kun.”
“Hmm?” The weretiger looked up from his paperwork. He is almost done with whatever packet he’s working on, the last page curling from the weight of the others.
The older detective leaned forward, but not too close to scare Atsushi away. “Do you like hugs, Atsushi-kun?”
The boy stiffened in his seat. “Well… I… I’ve never had one? A hug. They look nice, I guess.”
With a look too serious for Dazai, “Would you like one?” Atsushi puffed up, looking eager before deflating a little. His shoulders slumped.
“We can work towards it, Atsushi-kun.” he said, a shit-eating grin on his face. “Baby steps.”
And thus, that is how the “lessons” began.
They went out to dinner, the same place where Dazai “treated” Atsushi to ochazuke after fishing him out of the river. They even sat in the same booth. After finishing their food, Dazai placed his right on upon the table, dishes and silverware pushed aside.
“Can you touch me hand for me, Atsushi-kun?”
The weretiger is puzzled, before he remembered their talk from yesterday. He straightened in his seat and leaned forwards. His bottom lip is between his teeth as he raised his hand to brush his fingertips along Dazai’s. Atsushi rips his hand back, as if burned, and looks at Dazai for instruction.
The curly-haired detective gives a smile, and gestures from him to do it again. This time, Atsushi’s fingers linger. His head tilts to the side as he feels their fingerprints rub across each other. Dazai patiently watches as he rests his head in his free hand. Pale fingers gingerly travel farther, until they reached the center of Dazai’s palm.
Slowly, giving Atsushi the change to pull back at any moment, Dazai gentle encased the weretiger’s hand in his. Atsushi jumped and squeezed his eyes shut. Dazai remained still until he opened them again, and added his other hand. They spend an hour at the table, with Atsushi playing with Dazai’s hands, and the other giving soft presses between palms. At the very end, Dazai takes both hands into his own and just strokes his thumb over Atsushi’s knuckles. The weretiger’s face blooms bright red, but he only squeezes Dazai’s hands in reply.
“I never knew someone else’s hands could be so warm!”
Perhaps his senses were enhanced after becoming aware of the tiger, but Atsushi could feel where people were in relation to his body. It made walking down the sidewalk with outsiders easier. He could anticipate when and where they were going to scrape by him.
At the agency, Atsushi began to reach out for the others. When giving documents, he let fingers brush, and smiled, instead of cowering. Naomi was beaming, happy to see their newest member (of their patchwork family) become more comfortable. At the end of missions, when Atsushi returned, she called his name.
“Great job, Atsushi-kun! High five?” She asked, making sure the weretiger saw her hand to same level as her chin. Atsushi smiled back, and met her hand with a clap.
---
“Are you ready, A-tsu-shi-kun?”
“It sounds haunting when you say my name like that, Dazai-san.”
The suicide-maniac chuckles. He and Atsushi are at the office, but similar to last time, everyone else has gone home. They’re sitting on one of the couches Dazai lays on when he’s avoiding the tower of terror stacked on the corner of his desk. Jackets are tossed over the back of the furniture, giving Atsushi a view of Dazai just in his black vest and white collared shirt.
Dazazi reaches for Atsushi’s forearms. He pauses at the flinch, but proceeds to lay his palm on the pale skin. He waits. After looking at sunset eyes for consent, his hands travel towards Atsushi’s narrow shoulders. The weretiger reaches Dazai’s upper arms and squeezes, watching the fabric twist with interest.
“Feeling me up already? I didn’t know you were so bold, Atsushi-kun.”
The former orphan pouted, and avoided chocolate brown eyes in favor for his investigation. Atsushi traced the slopes and dips as best as he could. He felt two layers of cloth preventing him from exploring, but figured it was something he could ignore. Atsushi thought he feels rigids and usually rough skin, but passes it off as the cloth between them.
---
It was after Atsushi had the most awful nightmare in months- he was still at the orphanage, and the compassion he had experience from strangers was all but a fantasy. His eyes had burst open with tears, and he ripped himself from his bed. Looking for relief, he went outside and leaned against the railing .The pounding of fat rain drops did nothing to assuage the growing panic and sense of helplessness. Atsushi held his head, palm over his ears, trying to block out the darkness around him.
He sensed a familiar presence and felt a hand rubbing his back. Dazai wordlessly offered took Atsushi’s hand and lead him back to his apartment.
“Breathe with me, kitty-cat.” The use of the awful nickname made Atsushi smile, but his chest was too heavy for ease. Dazai placed Atsushi’s shaking hand over his chest, moving it until he found what he was looking for. “Can you feel it, Atsushi-kun.?” Dazai’s heartbeat pulse beneath his fingertips. He nodded. The detective pulled Atsushi closer, and set his ear where he had placed his ear.
The rhythm of the beat echoed in Atsushi’s head, bringing a feeling of peace. His own pulse slowed from its rapid tempo to sync with Dazai’s. The curly-haired man stroked Atsushi’s hair, and kneaded small circles into his back.
Sensing Atsushi’s once tense form unwind, he whispered, “Did you know, Atsushi-kun, this pretty close to a hug?”
The weretiger looked up. His eyes were puffy, his face flushed. “...It is, isn’t it?” He smiled. Shy, Atsushi wrapped his arms around Dazai, and buried his head into Dazai’s neck. The taller of the two froze, a light blush crawling up his neck. He, almost just as bashful, returned the embrace.
“You’re very warm, Dazai-san.” Atsushi mumbled from his neck.
That night, one slept better than ever before, and the other stared at the ceiling, their cheeks still
flushed red.
The next day, Atsushi went to the agency, he was in a happy mood. The whole office brightened from his smile. During his lunch break, he rose from his desk, and wandered over to Naomi.
“Naomi-san, may I have a hug?” he asked, arms out like a toddler asking from their sibling. The girl squeaked with glee and happily gave Atsushi a squeeze. He then went to Tanizaki, and hugged him, too.
“Hey Atsushi, today is a good day?” he laughed, enveloping the white-haired coworker in a bear hug.
“What’s going on?” Kunikida walked in the office. Atsushi released the older sibling with a grin and all but skipped over to the tall idealist. Without a second thought, he squeezed his superior. The office went silent, with Dazai’s cackles echoing throughout the room.
The idealist patted the weretiger’s head. “Shut up, you bandage-wasting toad. Have you finished the papers from this morning yet?” Atsushi snorted at Dazai’s lack of response and freed Kunikida from his hug.
At the end of the day, Atsushi embraced Dazai with a mischievous smile. “Don’t worry, Dazai-san’s hugs are my favorite hugs.”
---
The children were expected to finish their chores quietly and efficiently, no matter the circumstances. Not even with all the abacuses in the world could Atsushi count the number of times he had powered through post-beating healings, colds, bruises and fatigue. While the other children suffered a similar fate, no one had it as rough as he did.
Atsushi woke up feeling like he had just brawled with every member of the Port Mafia and then some. His head ached and he shivered, the room feeling glacial at one moment and scorching the next. Atsushi stumbled into the bathroom and splashed water onto his face. While he felt more awake, he also feels like he’s tittering to the left. Despite his troubles, he tossed back two pills for the growing headache behind his eyes and got ready for the day. Because that’s what hard-working, reliable people do, right?
Dazai had been watching Atsushi stare at the same piece of paper for the last 45 minutes. He sniffles replaced his rapid typing, and he had claimed the tissue box from the breakroom. Atsushi held his forehead as he realized he had lost focus yet again, and squinted at the tiny text once more. His struggle was in vain. Five minutes later, Atsushi’s forehead fell onto the desk with a resounding thump.A few heads turned and winced at the uncomfortable position their newest member had passed out in.
“Nakajima, go home. You’re dead on your feet.” Kunikida glanced at Dazai, and made vague shooing gestures towards Atsushi’s sleeping form. Take him home.
Eager for time with Atsushi and pleased to be excused from his paperwork, the suicide-maniac
skipped over to the weretiger’s desk. He gently roused the sleeping beauty from his slumber. Dazai grabbed his hand and lead him back to his apartment.
“The key, Atsushi-kun?”
“Hmm?” the sick weretiger was propped against the wall by his door, eyes firmly shut with a grimace. “It’s in the desk... Drawer. I think?”
In the end, Dazai pulled Atsushi to his apartment a couple doors down and set the weretiger in his bed. Atsushi fought him at first, perceiving his presence as a burden, but reluctantly lets the curly haired detective take off his shoes and remove his tie.
Dazai smiles in triumph at the sight of his subordinate propped up with pillows and tucked in. He leaves the room for medicine and returns with a small bottle wrapped in plain white label along with a tablespoon. “This is probably the best part about being sick.” Dazai explains, but he has that impish look on his face. He sets both items on the night stand.
Sitting on the bed, the curly haired detective presses his palm onto Atsushi’s feverish forehead. The former orphan flinches at firsts, but relaxes, because it’s Dazai.
“My hands are too cold.” Dazai scooted even closer, and places his cheek on his forehead. Nothing could prepare Atsushi for the close contact, nor the violent blush that creeped on his face.
“Wha- What are you doing, Dazai-san??” Atsushi asked, bewildered.
Dazai pulled back and grinned. “Don’t you know? This is a way see if you have a fever.”
The weretiger nodded, dumbstruck. His purple-golden eyes avoided looking in the detective’s direction.
“You definitely have a fever, so that means I can give you the goods.” Dazai unscrewed the cap and poured the viscous liquid into the utensil until it reached the rim of the spoon’s bowl. It’s color was something close to the end of a rainy day: mud brown. With too much glee, Dazai held the spoonful of foul-smelling liquid near Atsushi’s face. “Say ‘ah’ for me.”
Atsushi opened his mouth, looking skeptical. His caretaker shoveled the medicine in his mouth, and bit his lip as Atsushi’s face contorted with disgust. His pale eyebrows came together and his lips pursed. After swallowing, he stuck out his tongue, trying to rid himself of the awful taste.
“There, there. And for your bravery,” Dazai pulled Atsushi forward and kissed his forehead.
The weretiger tapped where Dazai’s lips had touched, and swallowed. A smile blossomed across his flushed face. “Maybe I should be courageous?”
---
Despite what Dazai and Atsushi both thought, it was the silver-haired detective who kissed Dazai on the lips first.
Let’s back up. ‘Twas a normal day of paperwork and Kunikida’s scoldings. The weather was fair, and the work day passed with ease. With its departure, the sun left a wake of passionate red that mingled promiscuously with orange and violet alike. “You’re eyes look like that.” Dazai pointed towards the sunset.
As the two detective reached their apartment complex, Atsushi pulled on the taller’s sleeve. Resting a pale hand on his shoulder his leaned closer. Dazai, surprised by tug, turned his head at the precise moment when Atsushi’s lips were about to make contact, thus, a chaste, but lingering kiss exchanged between the two.
Dazai’s ears were burning, and he stood gaping like a fish out of water. The weretiger himself was startled to see where landed. He was expecting cool contact, but was rewarded with a warm feeling the spread around his body. Atsushi smiled, giggling.
At a loss for words, Dazai grabbed Atsushi’s hand and pulled him into his apartment, as he did months ago. He pressed Atsushi against the door as it slammed shut.
The weretiger hadn’t expected this development, yet amused at the situation. It was usually the curly haired man who made the moves and made Atsushi flustered. Giddy with the attention and swapped roles, Atsushi pulled Dazai closer, studying the feral-like gleam in chocolate orbs.
Dazai’s gaze flickered from dilated pupils to the plump lip helded between Atsushi’s teeth, and snapped. He grasped the weretiger’s face and crashed lips together. Slender fingers tangled themselves in dark curls. Just as he was feeling a little daring, Dazai all but hauled the him to the couch. Atsushi sat breathless, but not for too long. Soon, a hand glided around the back of his head and into another heated embrace. Dazai nipped at his bottom lip, and slipped his tongue in. Atsushi’s moan sent shivers down his spine.
He must have taken off his coat while I was catching my breath, Atsushi thought, hands running down the broad chest. I want him closer...
They pulled back for air. “Atsushi,” His voice rough with desire, and a string of saliva connecting them, “If you don’t like something, stop me.” He tugged off his suspenders and untucked his shirt. Atsushi’s breath hitched as cool caresses traveled up his back.Dazai popped off each button one at a time, agonizing slow. The latter tired of his teasing quickly, and pull off his shirt. Dazai grin, satisfied. With hands placed on his shoulder for balance, Atsushi swung a leg over Dazai’s and sat in his lap. He pressed his forehead onto Dazai’s. Using the last of his boldness, his fingers reached for the bottom of Dazai’s dress shirt.
“I want…” he whispered.
Dazai raised his arms and let his boyfriend strip him of his vest and shirt. For anyone else, the sight of bandages wrapping around his torso and arms would have been disappointed, expecting to see skin. Atsushi, however, felt excited. He could see the contours and slopes of his Dazai’s body. Aroused, he peppered the exposed skin at his boyfriend’s neck with renewed fervor.
Dazai melted under Atsushi’s attention. Lips softened into each other. Chest to chest, roaming brushes became heavier, and after Dazai squeezed Atsushi’s ass, it became more heated.
Atsushi ended up on his back at one point, pleasantly trapped beneath a hot and bothered Dazai, who had left a trail of blooming love bites and kisses up his flushed chest. The palpable tension had simmered down back into sweet nuzzles. Atsushi snuggled under Dazai’s chin, tracing light circles on his chest.
“Dazai-san.” he called out sleepily.
Firm arms around his waist, pulled him solid against a warm,taut body. “Hmm?” Chocolate eyes looked down at the silence that came in response. Soft exhales fanned out across his neck, light eyelashes tickled his collarbone. Dazai smiled fondly, and pressed a kiss upon his boyfriend’s temple. He, too, let himself slip into the glow, and fell asleep.
for dazatsu week 2017, day two, (forgot to use the prompt opp)
read on a03
or here:
The two mythical detective chose split up; with Atsushi unconscious, and not as threatening in the ocean, Dazai could held him alone, and Kunikida could change his clothing and report the recent developments to the director.
They went their separate ways. Dazai with Atsushi wrapped comfortably in his trench coat, his ivory legs dripping with sea water, and headed towards one of the nearby ADA safe houses. Thankfully, no one was around when he climbed up the stairs to the second floor, and no one saw his brief struggle with unlocking the door. All the while, the orphan mythical was sound asleep.
While filling the bathtub, Dazai placed Atsushi down on the bed, and searched around the safehouse for food. He found an unopened box of crackers and took them to the bathroom. The tub was filled near to the top. Atsushi was carefully lowered into the water and seemed to relax at its touch. The curly haired man nodded at himself with satisfaction. He left and quickly returned with a chair, then locked the door behind him.
An hour later, Atsushi roused in the water. His slit-pupiled eyes lazily wandered the bathroom ceiling, until setting onto the detective’s sleeping form. The curly haired man had his arms crossed and his head leaning back on the chair. The siren tensed with a quiet hiss, but when Dazai didn’t react, he settled down, still alert.
Atsushi continued scanning the bathroom, curious. When he saw a large sea shell sitting on a shelf by the tub, he picked it up for closer examination. He held it between his sharpened nails like it was the most fragile thing on earth. As he stared at the shell, he felt tiny glimpses of memories rise. The beaches. The boats. Fear. Running. And a voice, too cheerily for the gloom of the beach. The detectives.
In silent alarm, Atsushi remembered the full moon and the his shifting. He looked at his hands and saw his nails at a short point, with pearl white scales speckling his arms. He lifted what he thought was his lefts and saw a long tail. It flopped back into the water with a large splash, pulling the sleeping detective from his nap.
“Dazai-san.” Atsushi’s voice echoed against the tile walls. “What’s happened to me?”
The suicide maniac felt wide awake, and rubbed the remaining sleep from his eyes. “You transformed under the moonlight, Atsushi-kun. You’re a mythical.” He pulled the chair closer to the tub. “What do you remember?” Dazai couldn’t help to steal a good look at the siren, he couldn’t see much in the evening moonlight and the ocean’s water.
“I… was at the beach. The sun had just set. When I saw the moon, I felt tranquil. But when I saw you and Kunikida-san, I felt scared. I thought you were going to hurt me.” he was gaping at his hands, still shocked at his change in form. “I guess what I saw in my dreams was true… kind of.”
“Why did you think Kunikida and I were going to harm you? We had talked before.” Dazai thoughtlessly reached over, and tucked a black lock of hair behind Atsushi’s ear fin. The siren shyly looked away.
“There were people hunting for me, in this form. They thought sirens could heal the near-dead.”
Dazai hummed in response. “Well, do you know how to change back?”
Atsushi’s cheeks reddened. “I’m not sure, but… I need clothes.”
Dazai stifled a chuckle and pulled the plug to drain the tub. “Right, I’ll see what I can find. Let’s get you dried off first, hm? Maybe that will help you back to human form.” With the towels from under the sink, Atsushi patted down his shimmering tail, while Dazai called dibs on drying his hair. Free of water droplets, Dazai lifted the orphan like a princess, sending an unprepared Atsushi to hold on to his shoulders.
Sitting on a towel on the bed, Atsushi patiently waited while Dazai shifted through the save house’s closets. “Don’t go anywhere.” the detective joked. The siren rolled his slit eyes, and readjusted his tail to fold towards him, like he was hugging his knees. He thought being dry as a siren would be painful, or uncomfortable, but Atsushi felt no difference between sitting like this and sitting while in human form. But, the longer Atsushi was dry, the faster his scales were retracting back into his skin.
By the time Dazai returned with shorts, Atsushi was scrambling to cover himself.
“I found some short-” Dazai froze at the sight of pale, slender legs. He quickly decided to examine the beauty of the ceiling, tight lipped as he tossed the other mythical the clothing. “T-Thanks.” he heard, and quick shuffling of fabric. The detective tentatively peeked down. Atsushi was now a little more decent. He was shivering from cool air of the safe house, so Dazai tossed his now-dry coat over his shoulders.
Atsushi gave a smile in appreciation as he pulled his arms through the sleeves. He rose to his feet cautiously, small patches of scales up his legs. Atsushi stood unsteady, in only his coat and a pair of shorts. Dazai bit his cheek.
“Atsushi-kun, you should join us at the agency.” Dazai said out of the blue.
The siren shifter tried to walk, to see he had grown used to his legs so soon after changing back.
“Hmm? Why is that?”
Atsushi’s knees buckled. He leaned onto Dazai, one hand on his chest to steady himself. The siren shifter flusteredly raised his head to apologize, but froze Their gazes held each other, Atsushi lost in the endless voids of chocolate cake batter, and dazzled by the specks of gold that sprinkled around outer edge of the iris.
Dazai was tracing every slope and curve of smooth pale skin, dazed by the tiny freckles he didn’t see before. His eyes traced over every detail of his faces, and ended on Atsushi’s lips. Atsushi’s eye flickered away from the pools of brown on Dazai’s lips, and blushed. A pale hand gentle cupped Dazai’s face, bring him out of the Atsushi-induced trance.The siren shifter lightly brushed the detective's cheek, making his ears turn red.
As the distance between the two shortened, Dazai’s gaze shifted moved to his sunset eye’s asking. Only a breath away, they were, when Dazai’s phone went off.
Ripped away from their moment, Atsushi scurried back toward the bed with pink cheeks and a fast heartbeat
for dazatsu week 2017 (july). day one. prompt: serendipity
Summary: Storms be a brewin’ every full moon.
read it on ao3
or here:
Three months.
It’s been three months since Atsushi was kicked out of the orphanage, and things have never seemed so dim before. The white-haired orphan travelled around the chain of islands from boat to boat, after asking kindly to the ship’s captain or simply stowing away.
The islands that made up Yokohama were scattered among a large body of water, one that could not be classified strictly as a “lagoon” or a “lake. Because of a series of recent events, the water levels was fluctuating at a fast and unpredictable rate. Something scientists and sailors alike could not explain. This lead to only one explanation; the rapid rise and fall of the ocean’s tides was caused by a mythical.
A mythical was a term to describe someone who wasn’t just human, but something else. Something people have grown to acknowledge, but remain unaware of its origins. They were the things that borne fairytales and fables. Anything that defied the laws of reality, or was incomprehensible, was mostly likely the works of a mythical. Those with fabled abilities who stir up trouble are handled by the ADA.
With the full moon approaching, many sailors were finishing up their business early, for none wanted to get caught in one the of the water’s shifts. These times were dangerous to travel in; several small cargo ships had already been capsized. No one drowned, and the people aboard the ship didn’t suffer too bad of injury, but it had shaken up the entirety of Yokohama. The drastic change in the ocean happened once in awhile, on the night of a full moon.
It was at the west shore, where the two ADA detectives found the white-haired young man, staring off into the foggy waters of Yokohama. All the business located near the shore closed up shop early and took with them anything of value, in fear the waves would steal them away. The beach was deserted, with the locals going more inland and for higher ground.
“What’s a young lad doing alone at the beach on the night of a full moon? Don’t you know that the sea has become frisky on nights such as this?” The hazel eyed detective wondered aloud, taking Atsushi out of his daydreaming. The lad’s gaze travelled to the two detectives, and widen at their presence. He rose from his spot by the bank, and dusted the grains of sand clinging to his threadbare clothes.
“I- I was looking for something.” he hesitated. Stealing a quick glance at the water, Atsushi fiddled with the edge of his shirt.
“What would be so important to look for on one of the most dangerous nights of the month?” Kunikida inquired, eyeing the young man skeptically.
“You would think me crazy,” Atsushi paused “but I feel like I am being followed. By something in the water. Every so often, when I dare to near the water, and look at the surface, I would not see myself, but something else entirely.”
The curly haired man hummed, and casted his partner a look.
The orphan continued. “In my dreams, it come to the surface and pulls me down with it. It was been following me for weeks.”
“Sounds like an awful death: one with a strange creature to drag you the depths of the sea. Never to be seen again!” Dazai tapped his chin in thought, stars in his eyes. Kunikida wrote the story down.
“We believe that the odd behaviors of the ocean to be the work of a mythical,” the bespectacled man continued to scribble in his pocket-sized notebook. “Your story matches with what intell we’ve gathered from other locals. We need your help in catching the mythical.”
The orphans sunset eyes all but popped out of his skull. “I-I couldn’t! It’s been chasing me. You’ve seen what it’s done to boats!”
“Now, now, Kunikida-kun~~, that’s no way to ask a favor! Especially from a frightened, lost soul!” Dazai shook his head theatrically, feigning exasperation. The suicide-maniac strolled over the Atsushi, “I’m Dazai, famous and all-powerful detective who’s in search of a lovely lady to commit double suicide with!” He threw a friendly arm over the orphan’s bony shoulders. “What’s your name?”
The young man jerked to the sudden weight leaning on him. “... Atsushi Nakajima.”
“Atsushi-kun it is! Say, Atsushi-kun, help us out and Kunikida here will treat you to whatever your tummy desires.” And with impeccable timing, the orphan’s abdomen did it’s best impression of a dying whale. Atsushi flushed and quickly muffled his stomach’s growling.
Atsushi thought to himself, ‘When was the last time I ate? And how long will it be until my next meal? Helping them wouldn’t be too much…’
The white haired teen offered a weary smile, “ I guess it wouldn’t be too much trouble to help? And it would help a lot of people…”
And before Atsushi knew it, he had eaten seven bowl of ochazuke, and now stood on the sands of a different beach. He hadn’t been there before, but the view was beautiful: with no boats prompting small ripples in the surface, the sunset reflect vividly off the water. There was no noise of the town, only the soft waves dancing againsts the shore, the chirps of birds and the two detectives quiet chatter not too far away.
With the setting sun, Atsushi felt strangely calm, despite the danger of being easily pull in the water by a creature, just like in his dreams. Soon only the stars were left, and the moon quickly coming from behind the horizon. Dazai and Kunikida’s voice grew too soft to hear, only the tide’s dance upon the shells and grains of sand could be heard.The full moon rose into the sky, shedding its lights down onto the close knit islands of Yokohama. Atsushi’s eyes became dim as he stared unblinkingly at the moon. His feet dragged towards the water.
“Atsushi-kun?” Dazai called out, but the orphan didn’t flinched.
Atsushi was up to his knees in the frigid sea when he finally heard Dazai’s shout of his name. But it was too late.
Circles composed of glowing white characters engulfed Atsushi’s form. He felt his legs grow too heavy and weak, and fell forward as tiny scales spawned across his skin. Atsushi sat in the water as his tail curled around him, unmoving.
The two detectives held still, surprised. They had expected Atsushi to be the source of the tides’ changes, but they were not prepared to deal with a siren.
“...Atsushi-kun?” Dazai called out, ready to defend if necessary.
The siren looked over at the sound of his name. His pupils had become slits, his arms were wrapped tightly around him as he shook. The waves grew agitated in response. Spheres of ocean water rose from the surface and were flung towards the detectives. “Guess it’s time to wrap this up.” Dazai muttered under his breathe. He sidestepped Atsushi's orbs and trudged through the stubborn waves. As he came closer to the siren, Atsushi hissed and recoiled.
“Shhh, it’s just me, Atsushi-kun.” Dazai cooed as he collected the orphan is his arms. Atsushi struggled at first, but as the curly haired detective activated his fabled ability, his eyes rolled back and Atsushi went limp in Dazai’s arms. The sea calmed immediately after.
Kunikida, who was now soaked through his clothes, cleared his throat and wrote in his notebook. “Well, that solves one issue.” He concluded.
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