#daranpoe

[bungou-stray-jinko]

[soukcku]

the light that the fire would bring by me & @ainaki

In which a lonely barista falls in love with two crime-obsessed customers, and along the way finds more happiness than he thought possible.

we've started posting Passerine! we're two chapters in and it updates every Wednesday :D

[soukcku]

What's a ship that you like but most people don't?

DaRanPoe which is a ship me and @ainaki invented from scratch and will both create and fill the ao3 tag for. we're doing god's work and u should thank us

[soukcku]

for @ainaki‘s other prompt: daranpoe + “what about jail?” / “what about it?” 

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“What about jail?” Poe asks moodily, drawing a circle on the paper. 

Dazai looks up. “What about it?” 

“It would solve this plot hole,” Poe moans. “But it’s so contrived, it’s going to be obvious I was struggling for an alibi—who’s going to buy that the suspect was in jail the night of the murder—” 

“Ranpo-san!” Dazai yells, startling Poe. The pen skids across the page, splattering ink. Why Poe can’t write with a ballpoint like everyone else, they’ll never know. Fountain pens, in this day and age, god. “Ranpo-san, your boyfriend’s beating himself up about his writing again.” 

“He’s your boyfriend too,” Ranpo points out as he walks in. “What is it this time?” 

“He has a plot hole and he’s second-guessing his solutions to it.” Dazai pulls the paper and pen to himself, forcing Poe to turn back to his laptop. He sketches absently and far too quickly, too sure of himself to wait. 

Poe minimizes the word document sulkily and then pulls it back up out of guilt. “Your boyfriend is right here.” 

He gets two exceedingly blank stares in return. He’s long since given up on explaining why talking about someone who’s in the same room is odd—they both like being talked about. It’s inconceivable. Although Dazai insists that the way he likes them talking about him is the exception, not the rule. 

But then Dazai tangles their legs together under the table, and Ranpo refills his glass of water. “Just use it,” Ranpo advises. “Your editor will tell you if it isn’t good enough.” 

“Which it will be,” Dazai adds, “Because your writing is amazing and you’ll make it work.” 

They’re both smiling gently at him now, and he can’t hate himself in the face of that. He can’t hate anything in the face of that, not even this dratted fucking short story he’s being forced to write, so he gives them one last pout and starts typing again.