vellichor

there is no exquisite beauty… without some strangeness in the proportion

[vllchr]

[ ＊ ] VLLCHR. ⋯ a roleplay side blog featuring select muses from Bungo Stray Dogs. ( mun is 21+ , indie , semi-selective , low-activity )

affiliations: @celestrot & @valleyoflostsouls blog roll: lc mumu (main) , tbhx mumu , tbhx queen , tbhx hero x

     — inbox ⋆ rules ⋆ nav ⋆ muses —

[vllchr]

[ ＊ ] muse list has been updated (finally). if curious, please view my main blog for info on where i have been.

[celestrot]

"It wasn't a question!" Ranpo clarifies, frown deepening, though admittedly he feels a little less thwarted with sugar on his tongue. His brows furrow, and he digs the prongs of his fork into sponge until it breaks apart. "I literally never see you eat. Like, how do you function?"

It isn't really their problem. But, since taking it upon themself to invade Poe's space more often when they feel like it, it's difficult not to notice the smaller intricacies. Regardless, their demands come from a place of vying rather than sincerity. Probably. There's reason to doubt the puzzles handed to them if they were crafted by unsteady hands and a sluggish mine. "For the record! I will not be reading any of your letters of ciphers that seems half-assed because you couldn't focus properly, soooo…"

The zeal is mutual, really; Ranpo is grinning, swinging their legs back and forth from where they perch on an empty corner of the table, at the thought of new cryptic letters and twice the typical riddles they'd be privy to, should they commit enough to get this second language down. It's the only reason they haven't abandoned the journey entirely. They don't exactly pair well with strenuousness, and they've faced more trouble studying English than they have with… anything else. It better be worth it.

"Hey, maybe, I said," they scold as a reminder, even if they're bristling with the same ardour. "Maybe! You're getting ahead of yourself."

His hypocrisy might be obvious, but he hardly seems to care. Rather, Ranpo makes more of a point of it.

"I was supposed to be practicing with Lucy-chan tonight," he mutters, twirling his fork by the handle. It's going to be a boring, and conveniently open, evening. Though he says nothing of it, there's plenty implied in the slump of his shoulders and complaints of his following uneventful hours to come.

[vllchr]

＊ . How does Edgar function ? From under heavy bangs, eyes scan the assortment of buffet items. “ I am not often hungry. ” Perhaps it’s safe to say he doesn’t eat much. His mind is always elsewhere, running miles a minute, and he rarely slows down. Even now, with the topic of food apparent, he has to stop and process: Is he hungry? He dismissed it so immediately earlier. 

Ranpo sets an ultimatum — a refusal to read anything Edgar writes while unfocused — and that does the trick. Edgar slumps into himself and tries to find a small portion. He settles for a cupcake, complete with a light swirl of frosting and topped by a cherry. The cherry goes first, suckled on until he is able to tie the stem with his tongue. 

He doesn’t mean to get ahead of himself. Really, he doesn’t. Sheepish, he grumbles something unintelligible, sighs, and takes his first bite of the cupcake. Using a fork instead of his fingers keeps his hands clean. The stem of the cherry is discarded on the plate beside the half-undone wrapping. “ You said maybe, ” he begins, “ and I said imagine. All hypotheticals for your consideration. ” But he hardly wants them to be.

Karl chitters. Edgar sets his fork down to pet him. “ You won’t practice with her now? ” he asks. Of course. There’s a stubbornness in Ranpo that one might consider childish, but truthfully, Edgar would do something similar if a secret of his got out this way. “ Forgive her. She meant well. ” She meant to help Edgar, in her words, talk to more people. Or so he thinks. Despite how blunt she is, she also regularly goes back on herself.

…If the former is the case, maybe he’s meant to offer his service in her stead. “ I could try to take her place for you, ” he suggests. Is that too soon, too sudden, given the maybe? He cannot tell. Social cues elude him, especially when what he desires is just within his reach. Banter between rivals is long overdue, in his opinion. 

[sunssmoke]

              • • • 𖤓              [ @vllchr ]

Doppo can feel his likeminded roommate’s eyes on him but he doesn’t yet return the gaze, staring instead out at all the misery the sky has opened up and drowned the streets in. The tension in the air is strong and without direction, a frenzied, stir-crazy thing that Doppo and Ango have been cultivating from the very first hour of being locked away like this. Neither of them deals well with idleness and disorder — it’s part of what has made them such good housemates to one another. 

He lets out a tight, unhappy sigh, crosses and uncrosses his arms, and tries to think of something to fill the time with, all work tasks null and void without power or access to the base. 

Ango shares his distress and distaste, leveling a dry refusal Doppo’s way, though Doppo knows him well enough to read the way he’d actually considered it: going out in this miserable weather. Both of them surely would if they could. Unfortunately, they both value their lives… as well as direct orders, of course. 

The presence at his side floats off in a slow path towards the kitchen, and finally Doppo tears his eyes from the window and watches Ango’s candlelight-wreathed silhouette. He asks if Doppo is hungry, already on his path to the cupboards and pulling out cooking utensils. 

“… Not particularly.” Doppo admits. He’s a nervous snacker, much to his own chagrin, and the recent locked-at-home circumstances had kept him clutching at various granola bars and packets of nuts and the like with fervor. “But I’m happy to help.” In other words, please let him keep himself busy. 

In all honesty, neither he nor Ango spend much time in the kitchen — overtime has them both in its clutches too often, and takeout is terribly easy to order nowadays. If Doppo were anyone else, he’d have forgotten where all the pots and pans even were (he is not the forgetful sort, however. And he and Ango had established the proper order and location of things long ago, from which they have not even once deviated). 

[vllchr]

＊ . The kitchen serves as a home for their displacement , and Ango recognizes it immediately. Both he and Kunikida crave to restore order in a world which has, for the time being, taken it from them. The storm outside might as well be atmospheric for how Ango feels these days — with himself, with others.

He is glad he learned to coexist with Kunikida. They do not collide. He sets down a pot with a punctuated sound. “ Then we’ll prepare something anyway, ” he says. His voice carries that particular quality of control he’s cultivated. Not cold, but contained, endowed by methodology.

Hunger, really, doesn’t mean for food. Not for Ango. He hungers for occupation. Experience tells him Kunikida must feel the same. They both learned to measure their worth in productivity: tangible evidence of tasks completed, reports filed, and orders maintained. To be stripped of that framework, even fleetingly, leaves Ango uncomfortable. Vulnerable. Disgusted.

Bit by bit, Ango catalogs ingredients. A one-pot pasta is simple enough. They have canned sauce, and while normally he’d elevate it, he is uninterested in fancifying the flavor. Just wants to keep busy. His hands move with purpose.

“ Cut the vegetables? ” he asks, already knowing Kunikida will approach the task with that fastidious care he admires. Here, working alongside someone who shares his particular brand of odd, he feels something meditative. A silent understanding slopes his shoulders. This has nothing to do with cuisine and everything to do with maintaining their sense of selves.

The storm continues outside, but in the warm sphere of candlelight, they are building something smaller, something manageable. Ango lights the stovetop manually and pours water into the pot. Bliss will be temporary. But Ango is grateful for Kunikida’s presence regardless. Even after they’ve plated their food, he’s confident they will find some other way to pass the time. Together, they are capable. Right? Right.

[angotkm]

Harpy Hare, where have you buried all your children?

[sunssmoke]

              • 𖤓              [ @vllchr ]

There are spreadsheets, actual paper spreadsheets filled in by actual pen ink, scattered in vaguely organised heaps on the table. Doppo’s got his pen aimed at one of them, ticking and cross-referencing budgets with a speed and ease borne of years of familiarity. His nondominant hand holds his cheek as he leans on it, slumped over from the weight of the time he’s spent hunched over the sheets like this. His eyes are straining under the flickering candlelight, and all their conflicting scents have driven a headache into his temples. 

Sighing frustratedly, he lets his pen fall from his lax grip and leans back in his seat, wood of the chair creaking in complaint. “Two days, yes... I pray the weather reports are wrong," he says, a little too desperate to truly reach dry. 

Doppo has always been a bit of a homebody, but the thought of having two more days of this, digital spreadsheet-less and unable to go into the office (where the important ledgers are kept), his meticulously kept schedule in horrific disarray… well… it sounds like a nightmare. He comes to a stand, winces at the series of cracks his back lets out, and joins Ango near the window. 

“I don’t think I have ever wanted to discuss a contract this badly in my life,” he admits. At least the likes of that would bring him out of the house and back to some sense of normalcy, even though business-talking his way into deals was his least favorite work task. “… Do you think we could make it to headquarters anyways?” It’s barely worth asking, with all the treefall and misery out and about…. and the explicit demands from their boss to not come in, of course. But still. A man can dream.  

He fiddles with his fingers, then clasps his hands in front of himself to stymy the fidgeting. It’s at times like these that Doppo realises it might be nice to develop some more hobbies. There’s some solace, at least, that Ango is looking to be feeling just as frazzled as he is.  

[vllchr]

＊ . An analog clock, which Ango had meticulously cleaned the weekend prior, ticks in tune to his dismay. He nods solemnly — Kunikida’s wishes are his own. If the weather lets up soon, even without fully stopping, they may be allowed back into the office. Backup generators are surely whirring there this very minute. He mourns what could’ve been.

Ango lifts his attention and lets it drift to Kunikida’s face as he speaks. Everything about today feels slow. Painfully slow. He is a quick worker, unused to interruptions this severe, reliant on uniformity. Working from home never served him well. He much prefers a separate space for, as they say, work-life balance.

The tension along his shoulders reminds him of this fact. He is an incompetent remote worker. For it, he wants to crawl back into bed. The heavy curls of storm clouds darkening the air make that plenty feasible. It’s not like their boss can expect them to do much while they’re here, disconnected from the internet, trapped with whatever they had at home to work on.

Unfortunately, Ango is a workaholic. Not doing anything sits poorly with him. He toys again with the idea of going into the office even still after Kunikida mentions it. His smile turns wry. “ If we have a death wish, perhaps. ” Which Ango decidedly does not.

Fingers string through dark hair. His own type of fidget. Ango stretches and moves to the kitchen. “ Are you hungry? ” he asks. They should still have gas, which means their stovetop is operational. Cooking for the two will keep him occupied. Ah, if only he were a Michelin chef. …If only they could order takeout. He’ll settle for something homemade, because if nothing else, he can trust the repetition of memorized recipes.

[celestrot]

It isn't doubt that they're plagued with. Rather, everything is laced with a little bit of that competitive thrill when it comes to their well-matched rival. Poe is plenty capable, they know, of helping them practice, which is why they want to pursue this road on their own. It's something of a long overdue favour; there are novels, poems and other promised media that Ranpo isn't yet privy to just because they lack the comprehension of another language, and it doesn't sit very kindly with someone of their impatience.

They answer with an unintelligible grumble and turn on their heel. "Why do you wanna help so bad?" Ranpo huffs, exasperated. They've taken off from their quieter corner of discussion, expecting to be followed, despite the crowd of detectives yet to disperse -- they won't for a while, and Poe will have to suffer the suffocation, it is a celebration after all. They're all hovering around a table catering mostly to Ranpo's sweet tooth and Yosano's half-alcoholic blood. He thinks he'll take this defeat with a little more grace if he has something sugary to chew on.

"Hey." Plucking the strawberry from a plated slice of cake that he steals, he holds it our for Karl to take, and looks pointedly at Poe. He bites into a forkful of sponge and icing. "Eat something."

Truth be told, there isn't exactly anyone else he can lean on. The other English-speaking people he vaguely knows of just happen to be enemies or terrorists (they don't speak of their bias that doesn't group in Poe with the rest of the Guild), and he doesn't like the idea of openly struggling in front of anyone that isn't as close to him as the Agency is. Ranpo's brow furrows, coming to terms with the fact that he's kind of out of options here. He mumbles around his fork, "well… it's not like I have anyone else to practice with…"

They jab the fork in his direction with an accusatory pout, "I'll think about it. But that's not a yes! It's a maybe."

[vllchr]

＊ . Truth be told, Edgar isn’t particularly compelled to help. He shouldn’t be. They’re rivals, and teaching Ranpo his native tongue only opens paths that were formerly blocked off. This could be detrimental. It could also be… entertaining. That’s what he settles on, steeling his resolve and slipping after Ranpo’s coattails.

The banquet table is packed high with treats and drinks aplenty. Edgar can only focus on them after he has made it through the gaggle of other merrymakers. He looks over his shoulder when he hears a loud cackle of laughter. It makes him forget to give Ranpo his mentally rehearsed justification. What’re they doing over there? What could make them so boisterous?

He will deny startling when Ranpo presses food in his and Karl’s. The smile he wore earlier is now woefully twisted, nerves raising the corners. “ Huh— Oh, um. ” Food. Yes. This is a celebration. A party. And these snacks, of course, are for all partygoers. Karl happily takes the strawberry between his paws. He sniffs it before he bites, delicately devouring the sweet treat.

Edgar watches, then shakes his head. “ I am quite all right, ” he says. “ But, thank you. ” Karl readjusts on his shoulder, nuzzling closer to his hair, and he worries for a moment the raccoon may catch some of his locks between his teeth. …Ah, well. Wouldn’t be the first time.

Hope restores when Ranpo mentions what they both already know: options are limited. Edgar takes the ‘maybe’ with less grace than he’d planned. “ Splendid. Imagine all the letters I could one day write you! The ciphers I could share! ” He scratches Karl’s face. “ I do enjoy a good cryptogram. ” And it is yet another avenue through which he can ( attempt ) to outsmart his rival. What more could one ask for?

[vllchr]

⇕ = holding their hand.

@celestrot jouno for tecchou; "don't get the wrong idea. it's just too loud for me to navigate in here."

＊ . Dance music drums in Tecchō’s chest. He feels the thud as if it were what pumped blood through his body, not his heart. The crowd has thinned over time, but the music of this festival has yet to mellow, and enough people linger to add a background track of chatter.

Some ‘bonding excursion’ this is. He’s not sure where Teruko went, or if Tachihara stayed, or what antics their dear taichō has gotten up to. ( It probably involves alcohol. ) The only coworker he’s managed to keep track of is Jōno. They’ll have a much better time moving off to the sidelines of the party, he bets. Maybe they can try some seasonal foods together or—

Fingers take hold of their hand. Tecchō’s entire attention falls to their companion, lips tightly pressed, brows narrowed together. Rigidity must be a dead giveaway to their surprise.

“ Don’t get the wrong idea, ” Jōno tells them. “ It’s just too loud for me to navigate in here. ”

Oh. In a mere second, Tecchō properly intertwines their fingers together. Firm, steady. Its thumb glides twice over Jōno’s knuckles to confirm its grip. Then, when it’s sure of it… “ Understood, ” it mutters. Speaking any louder is unnecessary; Jōno will hear it at this distance, and it does not wish to aggravate the issue.

“ Stay close. ” Step by step, Tecchō nudges through the crowd. Broad shoulders and imposing stature part people aside, letting him lead Jōno through the worst of the sea. He keeps a consistent pace, so regardless of whether Jōno hears his steps, they can estimate his speed. He is walking no differently than he always does at headquarters or the dorms. They’ll know. They’re capable.

Even after they reach the perimeter of the chaos, he does not pry free. Jōno is the one who must decide when to let go. He had the concern, after all. “ Better? ” Tecchō asks as he turns on his heels.

[vllchr]

[ ☁ ] rr kunikida is caught in the middle of a storm with ango !!

  @sunssmoke ♥

＊ . Since sundown the night prior , the storm rages. Ango leans his forehead against the window, feeling the chill of the wind and the thuds of rain through it. It is now the next evening. Hours prior, the power went out, and he’d set candles about the living area. One on the coffee table. One by the kitchen. One on the shelf near the doors to his and Kunikida’s bedrooms. Their apartment is small, so it is well-lit by this alone.

An eerie yellow glow bathes his face. He sighs heavily, breath fogging the glass. “ How long did they say it would last again, Kunikida? ” he asks. He straightens his posture, closes his book, and peels himself away from the comfort of his chair. The novel returns to its home among countless others — ordered alphabetically from the day he moved in. His roommate has been kind enough ( or , perhaps diligent enough ) to uphold this organization, too.

“ Two more days? ” He pushes the spine of the book back with his nail. A crescent indent persists in the leather mere moments after. Eventually, its mark fades. Ango takes to pinching his brow instead. Maybe, if he gets lucky, it’ll soothe his headache. “ I hope we get the electricity back soon. I’m going stir crazy without my work. ”

No electronics. No internet service. The storm howls outside. They’re trapped here lest they want to risk driving in dangerous weather, and, well, Ango is no fool. The Port Mafia needs him alive. …So does Kunikida. Together, weight is distributed evenly. Tolerably. With just one load-bearing beam missing, who knows what could happen? They both utilize this balance.

Of course, Ango has been able to do some of his work by phone: answering messages, calls, and emails. The bulk of his archival tasks depend on access to Port Mafia servers, however. He feels behind. Woefully out of sorts. It’s the kind of itchiness that gnaws at one’s skin, carrying with it every intention to pierce through ribs. Thankfully, Kunikida is perhaps one of the few people who will understand.

[valleyoflostsouls]

[ ❀ ] VALLEYOFLOSTSOULS — a creative hub for a series of multimuse sideblogs, writing and creating primarily bungo stray dogs, windbreaker, and haikyuu. indie, selective, 18+ interactions only.

     rules ❀ muses ❀ about       navigation ❀ inbox

sideblogs  ❀ sun & smoke [ bsd ]  ❀ more to come...

[tunamayuuu]

happy june!

[quantumqjj]

Ranpo: See ya!

Poe: Waitwaitwaitwait I'm not ready!!!

[celestrot]

If it weren't for Karl's awfully persuasive chitters, they'd be storming off to sulk right about now. Poe is smiling the way people do when they achieve something unfathomable. Like he has named a new star, or fashioned a heart that will beat forever. In response, Ranpo rolls their eyes. Hard. Along with vaguely grumbled disbelief, because if he really meant nothing by it, he wouldn't be practically preening right in front of them.

They make a mental note to scold Lucy for her loosened tongue when they next catch her alone. Keeping quiet about the whole endeavour was difficult enough on themself, just to have another go ahead and spoil the surprise. Next time, they won't make the naive mistake of entrusting their secrets to someone else.

"Well-- don't get your hopes up too much," they huff, pointedly avoiding eye-contact. Reluctantly withdrawing from petting through Karl's fur just to cross their arms over their chest to make a point of their displeasure. "She's just as bad a teacher as she is a secret-keeper!"

It isn't entirely true; they've learnt enough to be able to hold a basic conversation, at least. Ranpo had started getting into the habit of greeting Lucy exclusively in English, and trying to entertain discussion in her mother tongue. But the fault, truly, lies with them somehow. Because for some reason, learning to speak another language is hard. 

It's frustrating enough alone, knowing that despite their unmatched intelligence, the words simply don't come to them as second nature, even after hearing them in context time and time again. It should be easy. They've solved murder cases with scarce evidence, no known suspects, and unspoken motives with more simplicity than this, but they can't quite understand why. At the very least, they hope Lucy didn't let those doubts slip too, because that is the last thing they want their rival, of all people, to know about.

"..So. Don't expect to hear it anytime soon!" Their frown slips into something a little more abashed. "At least... not until I get better at it. Okay? Stop poking your nose around!"

[vllchr]

＊ . Getting hopes up too much implies there’s disappointment tiptoeing at the horizon. Edgar, however, doubts anything could ruin this news — he is already amused enough by Ranpo’s efforts. The only risk would be Ranpo giving up, and thankfully, they are stubborn on a level Edgar admires.

Seems Miss Montgomery isn’t as ideal a teacher as Ranpo hoped for, though. Surprising. She can be a little hotheaded or loud, but surely she’d persist, especially for someone genuinely interested in learning.

Maybe it’s just… difficult? Edgar had a troublesome time first learning Japanese, as it were. He’s still told he speaks too formally, even for such a respect-based culture. No language is a walk in the park. That’s to be expected. The mere fact that Ranpo is trying would set them apart by leaps and bounds over everyone who doesn’t bother. Except, Ranpo struggling with anything doesn’t sound correct.

Karl sniffs the air after Ranpo pulls their hand away. His head turns upwards, surveying Edgar’s face as the exchange goes on. When Edgar is told he will not be allowed to hear it yet, Karl chitters. Aha. That’s it. He pushed more than he should’ve. Now, Ranpo has leveraged the privilege against him. Karl’s eyes seem to say, serves you right. Edgar mentally bemoans the favoritism.

“ Why not? ” he asks, upfront. “ I am more than capable of helping you practice, I am sure. ” Karl squirms, so he loosens his hold. The raccoon climbs up his arm, settles on his shoulder, and blinks slowly. “ Diversifying the native speakers you learn from may be beneficial. ”

[serenlitost]

☆ “Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.”

- Edgar Allan Poe

This is partially inspired by a yet-to-be written fanfic but also the actual canon of the series. Anyway, I’m tired, got a lot of stuff in my hands and not enough time.

[stuckinapril]

I don’t care about it at all (I have carried its weight around like a rock on my chest since the very day it happened)

[divorcedzukka]

characters whose philosophy is “if i cannot be wanted, i will be needed and if i cannot be needed, let me be used until there’s nothing left of me.” thank you for everyone’s attention. falls off stage and dies

[vllchr]

continued from here ( @celestrot )

＊ . While Karl warmly indulges pets from Ranpo, Edgar refuses to melt. He is here in attendance as requested, yes, but not for pleasantries. What matters most to him is setting the record straight. A line of inquiry burns his throat; he has to hold it down with lips pressed tight together.

His well-timed assault rewards him more than he’d thought. Ranpo’s eyes widen splendidly. Surprise? Confusion? Perhaps… frustration? Giddiness swarms Edgar’s chest. He wishes to cackle then and there, but settles for a modest smile that brings just a touch of color to his cheeks.

Oh, how good it is. How sweet it is. Look at that pout! Edgar has won here, even if Ranpo retaliates moments later. Labeling him a cheater, of all things, smears not one inch of his pride. “You picked the wrong confidant,” he counters, oddly riled. Miss Montgomery is capable of keeping a secret, of course, but Edgar can be… compelling with someone so close to him. When he wants and means to be, that is.

Karl coos and brushes his wet nose against one of Ranpo’s fingers. Edgar is too absorbed to pay the exchange mind; if he had, he’d have wilted. Delight obscures the sight of misplaced sympathy beneath his nose. Whatever plans Ranpo had by learning English in secret are undoubtedly ruined. That’s all Edgar set out to accomplish tonight. From here on, well…

“I mean nothing bad by it,” he clarifies, but with reluctant admittance. Miss Montgomery isn’t him. It all circles back to that, doesn’t it? Why not him? “It’s actually quite exciting. How much has she taught you?”