Recent Posts

Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10
— This group was family to Green. As their leader, he was obliged to know the names and faces of the people, but for some people that was as far as his knowledge went with them. And so, when Alexander suggested a meet & greet in his shop one day, Green was more than happy to join in and take part. He stepped into the shop, noticing that several people had begun to gather in the time it took for Green to arrive. He cracked a smile and began to make his way towards A, "Thank you for doing this - I think it is a fantastic idea." He complimented, cracking a smile towards the man.

Spoiler: tags :: updated 5/11 • show
✫ vernon jeremiah green // only known as green or greenie
✫ hasn't told people that his name is vernon
✫ male // he/him
✫ twenty four // ages real time // born twenty first april
✫ leader of northstar district
✫ stepped up as leader - twentieth april 2039

faceclaim - taron egerton
voice claim - taron egerton
✫ family originally comes from llanfairpwllgwyngyll in wales
✫ has a mixed british accent with a welsh and american twang
✫ 5'10ft // lean yet well-built from working out
✫ soft blue eyes and dirty blonde hair // has a mohawk
✫ physical health - 100%
    — current injuries: none as of now
✫ mental health - 100%
    — he's got no ailments at the moment

✫ fundamentally he has a good heart // humble
✫ very assertive // does what he can to benefit northstar
✫ has a good set of morals // cares for people unconditionally
✫ very relaxed and composed with self-assurance and confidence
✫ incredibly complacent and laid back unless he's fighting for his cause
✫ massive daredevil // is very into extreme sports
✫ fearless, stupidly so // doesn't mind risking his own life
✫ generally easy to get on with, it's difficult to dislike him
✫ doesn't think into the future // only thinks about the present
✫ dependable and very loyal to his friends

✫ david green x cassandra griffiths // both are deceased
✫ only child // his biological father died before he was born
✫ green was orphaned when he was nine
✫ fostered by caroline and steve miles
✫ both his foster parents died when green was eleven
✫ best friends with chip
✫ his chihuahua, midas, is like a child to him
✫ heterosexual heteroromantic // has never been in a relationship before
✫ crushing on fallon

storage // plot
✫ physically: hard // mentally: medium
✫ his weapon of choice is a spiked nail bat, yet he only has it for defense
✫ very diplomatic and much prefers mediation rather than fighting
✫ dislikes confrontation yet will fight if need be // prefers close-ranged attacks
✫ foster parents taught him self-defense
✫ living on the streets turned him into a good fighter // knows how to fire a gun
Creative Center / Re: ◜ . black flies || writing . ◞
« Last post by BROCK. on Today at 07:21:26 AM »
¬  he shot at the sun with a gun, shot at his wily one only friend . . .

tw. gun violence, death, crime

"I am tired of the constant dissent; long tired of it, my friend!"

His words were venomous as his deep voice growled, resembling the low rumble of thunder before a storm. Brock was exasperated, but he always knew how to keep his composure in times as perilous as this. Dark eyes studied the older man stood in front of him who was frowning back towards the silver-tongued devil, nostrils flaring before finally his shoulders slumped in defeat. "I guess you right then." Leon uttered, his scratchy voice hesitant and suspicious as he searched Brock's gruff features.

Things hadn't always been so difficult. They once got along. In fact, they were once the greatest of friends. But, ever since that fateful day, relations between one another had shifted for the very worst.

"So, are you with me, Mister McKay?" Brock insisted, tipping his head to the side expectantly. Leon sighed, tipping his head upwards to stare at the ceiling in thought. "You are a man of your word - as am I - we get this goddamn money and then we are out of here! Wherever you want, we will go. Whatever you want, we will procure. I will keep you and your family safe, I always do and that is a promise!" Brock insisted, eyes intense as he watched Leon shift carefully. The older man inhaled shakily, held his breath for several seconds, and then exhaled. His blue eyes finally met Brock's. "God damn... All right then."

Things did not go according to plan. It all began with a robbery that went all wrong.

"Ladies and gentleman, this is a robbery. Nobody try and play hero and perhaps none of you will have to die!" Brock's voice barked gruffly, dark red bandanna veiled across his features. Another three men joined behind him - Leon, Matteo and Dale - pistols in their clasp, aiming towards the partying socialites who all began cowering and wailing. Panic ensued, only for everyone to drop to the ground in horror as Brock raised his revolver into the air and fired twice. Hysteria was shushed into silence, Brock's shoes clicking ominously on the deck as his thick brows knitted together. "Now that you are all quiet, we will stand resolute and insist you give us everything of value! Jewelry, money, weapons! Lets go!"

The other three masked men began waltzing around, collecting everything that they could swiftly gather before any authorities could be alerted. Jewelry clinked as they were dropped into a bag, Brock chuckling gently to himself as he watched the valuables adding up with glistening eyes. "This is- is pointless, you know." A scared voice piped up, Brock stilling before twisting his head to glare at whoever spoke those words. One of the wealthy party guests, cowering on his knees, yet so daring as he stared up at Brock. "Money is useless nowa- nowadays. We are in the New World - it's pointless. P-Please!" Brock said nothing as he sternly searched the man's gaze. And then, he snarled, "So you won't miss it when it's gone."


A bullet suddenly was sent through the innocent man's face, body instantly crumbling to the floor. "Dammit Brock!" Matteo hissed, eyes widening as he watched Brock lower his pistol. "Who else wants to tell me that this endeavor is pointless?!" Brock's voice crackled as he barked, looking among the crowd, a woman shrieking as she held onto her dead husband. He'd lost control again.


"We need to go, Brock!" Leon plead, beginning to take steps backwards. Brock sneered, frozen on his spot as he watched each and every petrified face in the crowd. This was what power felt like. Sweet, lethal power. But, Brock was an ambitious man - he could never be satisfied. He always wanted more. "Police!" Unfamiliar voices began to shout, striking Brock out of his power-hungry trance, whipping his head to look towards his three other comrades. And then, gunfire began to rattle through the sky, and the four men were on the run.

"Follow me, and we will all escape safely!" Brock insisted, darting away with the other three men close behind. Once they found themselves at the border of a forest, he demanded, "Matteo, Dale - you go one way. Leon, you're with me. Do not let them follow you back!" And, with that, the men made their separate ways. Men on the run. Men who had succeeded.

Leon gasped for breath as he slowed to a stop, the pair of them pulling their bandannas down around their necks. They'd reached a dead end, the only way to escape was by scaling a wall. "Help me up, Leon! I'll pull you up after!" Brock insisted, voice panicked as the two of them got into position for Leon to push Brock up. "What you did back there... You killed an innocent man!" Leon laced his fingers together, leaning down to hoist Brock up and onto the wall. "I had done what was necessary under the circumstances that had manifested!" Brock snapped, voice breaking as he placed his foot in Leon's hands, being propelled upwards. Brock scrambled on top of the wall, turning to look down at his best friend.

"You killed an innocent man, Brock! What we're doing here is wrong!" Brock's nostrils flared, gaze intense as he glared down at his friend before holding his hand out for the bag of valuables. Leon handed it over, and Brock dropped it on the other side of the wall. "You keep jumping from one side of the fence to the other, you may just get transfixed by it, my friend! Are you with me or are you against me?!" Their hands finally clapped as they grasped onto each other, Brock beginning to drag him up, and then the sound the bullets were sent through the air. Leon had been hit multiple times, choking out as he lost his hold of Brock's hand, falling back to the ground. Two men ran around the corner, racing towards Leon and Brock and shouting for them to stop running.

In retaliation, Brock whipped his two revolvers out, instantly firing shots in their direction until both man fell, deceased. And then, he lowered his gaze to look at Leon on the ground, wheezing for his next breath. But, he was still alive. Brock stilled, returning his guns to their respective holsters, dark eyes fixed on his closest friend struggling for air. In a moments time, more men would be turning that corner, chasing them down. Brock had a choice to make. Leon looked up with pleading eyes, reaching up desperately for his friend to take his hand again, yet Brock did nothing but stare stoically before pushing off the wall, leaving Leon behind.

Running away. It was a powerful instinct. He had to leave his friend behind, as Leon would only slow him down. Brock wanted to live, even if it meant sacrificing those who were loyal to his cause. And so, he began to dash away with the bag, not once looking back, even when he heard his friend crying out.

The group reunited once more, Brock grimacing as he approached Matteo and Dale. "Where's Leon?" Dale questioned, Matteo's lips parting with confusion. "I am so sorry..." Brock spoke gruffly as he approached. He looked at the two men, saddened gaze in his eyes. "I did everything I could to save him. He didn't make it." "Shit." Matteo lowered his gaze, slowly shaking his head. Brock sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before finally asking, "Where are the goods?" He then asked, frowning at the two men. They went to collect the valuables before dropping the bags by Brock's feet.

"Leon would not want us to grieve. We must get moving! They will be hot on our heels now, so we have little time to reflect on that failure at Gallodon Manor!" He frowned, stood in silence for a moment, and then he uttered, "Tell your families to pack up. We need to leave within the hour. Go!" With that, he turned and strode out to his bedroom, eyes settling on his beautiful wife who sat cooing over their infant son. He took a seat beside her, slowly nodding his head to himself, before turning to look at her. "We need to pack up and leave this instance. Gallodon didn't go according to plan."

Roman Malison
The Time Ruiner . . . ❞

Meet Roman Malison, the Time Ruiner . . . He is also known as Rory, though he allows this nickname to be used only by loved ones. While he was designated male at creation, he identifies himself as demiboy, going by neutral / masculine pronouns. Physically, he is somewhere in his late thirties, as his spiritual age is more than millions of years. He was created by Jibsam, the Embodiment of Time itself, in Los Angelos, United States on an unknown date—presumed somewhere during the Beginning. He is currently residing in said location with him occasionally helping Oschar Fallon with his job at the bookstore bake, but have no official occupation. Formerly, he was a Tempifer, Bearer of Time, before he was Cursed for breaking one of the Laws of Balance by saving Oschar Fallon’s life through a time travel. His orientation is demi-biromantic asexual, having no certain preferences. He used to date with Oschar Fallon for a few months before becoming a Malison, him being the one to break up with him, due to his fear of Time harming Oschar if he continued to remain personally too close to him. However, they still maintain a supportive and positive relationship. He have a history of clinical depression, nightmare disorder, and mild generalized anxiety—said conditions stemmed from his Curse.

+: Clever, decisive, eloquent, flexible, hardworking, honest, observant, protective
=: Ambitious, outspoken, private, quiet, reserved, sarcastic, strict, stubborn
–: Anxious, cautious, clumsy, envious, irritable, moody, paranoid, resentful


— For some reason, he is partly known to have his face punched across by a lot of entities many times. From strangers to loved ones, even Oschar Fallon who did it by “accident”—said the man himself, not Roman. His close associates dubs him “the punching dickbag”, but he is more annoyed at the fact than amusement.
— He loves to drink coffee with a lot of sugars contained in them. His morning routine will always involve him getting one from a cafe or such. He gets quite cranky if he isn’t able to get one for whatever reasons.
— He doesn’t admit this fact to a lot of entities, even though his coffee full of sugars tells the fact, but he have a sweet tooth. He finds joy in eating treats, especially lollipops because “it can take a bit having to finishing them”. He becomes a bit uncharacteristically cheerful if he sees there are candies being given out for free.
— He often tries to act rough to appear intimidating, however, he is a foolish and clumsy man who will only get himself hurt along the way of his false aggression, such as him slamming his fist against the table to prove his dominance, yet receiving a great pain against himself.
— He does not take compliments very well, as in a way if someone does compliment him, he will be highly flustered and attempt to shove them aside. He rarely receives compliments throughout his life, and especially with his standoffish attitude, it’s difficult for him to imagine anyone would see him in a positive outlook.
— While he gets flustered highly easily, he blushes just as much as the previous statement. When he gets shy, he usually tries to shove his head down into his coat, so the collars can hide his cheeks and ears, which are where the tinges most prominently appears. 
Bluestem Prairie / Re: a sky full of lighters \\ open
« Last post by PHOENIX! on Today at 03:59:21 AM »
Phoenix enjoyed the stars as much as anyone did. Sure, it was hard to communicate in the darkness when nobody knew what you were saying, and sure - one was at risk to predators in the darkness, but Phoenix did think the sky was lovely. His parents had told him about the sky when they were growing up, and how little they could see the stars. Now... not so much. The sky was open, and it was quite beautiful.

The light was the first thing Phoenix noticed as he stepped outside, and his careful (to him at least) steps led him over to the blankets and lanterns. Timidly, carefully, Phoenix waved a hand at Jamie, before looking up at the stars. "Beautiful." Phoenix was searching for the constellation shared his name with (he had his whole life, ever since his mother had told him about the phoenix constellation), but to no avail.
« Last post by crows on Today at 03:16:41 AM »
The Games have begun. Fear is visible in each tribute's eyes as they realize that this is real, this is a tangible event that only one of them will survive.

Three, two, one.

The horn sounds, and the tributes are off like a shot. Eloise Overton of District 6 immediately darts towards the Cornucopia, grim determination in her eyes. Lucas, her partner darts towards the woods, but holds back, waiting for her to grab the silvery sickle from the golden building, refusing the temptation of anything else inside. She's in for a moment, and then leaves, sprinting to catch up with Lucas.

Kelly has the same idea, run. The mountains look intimidating, but nobody else is running towards them. The further he stays away from others, the safer he'll be. Here, in the games, you can't trust anyone - Kelly is sure of that. So, he ignores anything that the Cornucopia could provide, and escapes unharmed.

Brooks and Genesis Callaghan of District 7 work as a team, smoothly weaving through fighters and runners as they dart towards the edges, seeking anything in the grass. Brooks grabs a rag and a bottle of cleaning alcohol, Genesis grabs a random backpack that's heavy (she almost drops it). By the time they make it into the woods, Genesis opens up the pack and realizes that it's camping gear, a tent that could fit all four Callaghan siblings, if they needed.

Malik knows what he needs. It's simple, if you can't make a fire, if you can't make a trap, you're doomed. The weapons are ignored for favor of a lighter and rope, and Malik's done. He darts towards the forests, where he knows his traps can be hidden under leaves and more importantly, Malik will stay camouflaged.

Winter Callaghan from District 8 takes off to the woods, refusing to participate in the bloodbath that is taking place in front of his eyes. The Capitol can force Winter into this world, but they can't change him. The woods look strangely beautiful, bright red and orange leaves grace the trees in the middle of summer, and Winter can hear the call of birds that sound strangely like human voices.

Dallas Darrow of District 3 is afraid, but not a fool. She knows the Cornucopia is packed with goodies, she just doesn't have to go straight in. A silvery shield is the first thing she spots as soon as she steps off her podium, and she remembers how few tributes were looking for defensive items during training. Sure enough, she's able to take the shield without issue, and hightail it away from the Cornucopia.

Marley Dogson of District 5 knows what he has to do. He knows his chances - better yet, he knows his brother's chances. Marley knows what the Games do - he knows that brother against brother is a very real thing here. However, he knows another thing: the less people, the better. For himself, or for Cane. So, as he spots Church Bradshaw of District 2 rooting around in a container of supplies in the Cornucopia, he places his hands firmly around the other man's head, and twists sharply to the right. Snap. Church didn't even have time to realize what happened.

Ryan Kowalski (District 4) doesn't even think, he runs. His feet beat a quick rhythm until he reaches a pond in the middle of the forest. He stops, taking in the scenery, nervously looking around for any danger. He doesn't realize he's had a shadow until Damien Hitchcock, his District partner steps behind him, carrying a backpack splattered with blood. "Partners?" Damien says, holding out a hand. Ryan accepts.

"You and that baby'll last five minutes." The sneer comes from Harrison Rose of District 11, and Hayley Chase-Kenner of District 1 is backed into a corner, watching Harrison and Cane Dogson of District 5 advance. "We're just doing a fav-" The snarl is cut short, as Harrison realizes he has other things to worry about. For example, the sword poking out of his stomach. This gives Hayley the advantage she needs- pushing herself up and onto Cane, she starts battering the man with her fists, angry and desperate and animalistic, her fists bashing against Cane's windpipe until she stops punching, and starts squeezing. As she gets up from the corpse, she watches Jackson Chase clean blood off the sword he's wielding. The couple smile at each other, before gathering supplies and running away from the Cornucopia.

Brendan Collins didn't need anything from the Cornucopia. All he needed was his wits, his District 9 partner Amity Wilde, and probably a nice stick. They'd made plans to meet somewhere, and as they'd stood on their platforms, they'd both gestured towards the mountain. The two of them run, not bothering to pick up anything - they're small, and Brendan knows they'll be able to find some food soon.

"Hey!" As Mickey Serge of District 10 runs away from the Cornucopia, he's caught off-guard by a voice. Elinor Rose of District 11's voice, to be exact. "Truce?" She's in tow with Shepherd Callaghan of District 8, and the three stare each other off for a moment. "Truce." Mickey finally allows, watching the two carefully. "Neither of us have supplies." Shepherd adds, and Mickey chuckles. "Neither do I."

Blake Kegan (District 12) isn't afraid of a little blood. The Cornucopia is filled with items, and she's desperate to make sure she's not flying blind. Sure enough, the place clears up, and Blake takes her time selecting a spear from inside the Cornucopia. As she strolls out of the building, she finds Edmund Moray holding a bow, and a quiver full of arrows. The two smile at each other, and somehow - the Games seem a little bit better knowing they have some kind of advantage.

Michael Reynolds of District 3 started late, and he's paying for it. Afraid of the bloodbath happening, Michael hung back, watching, waiting, carefully until he finally made a run for it, desperately avoiding anyone to grab a backpack that seemed light enough for him to run with. It wasn't until he made it to the edge of the field that he realized it's entirely empty.

TRIBUTE STATUS: 21 Tributes remain.
   District 1 - Hayley Chase-Kenner, Jackson Kenner
   District 2 - Church Bradshaw, Kelly Halstead
   District 3 - Michael Reynolds, Dallas Darrow
   District 4 - Damien Hitchcock, Ryan Kowalski
   District 5 - Marley Dogson, Cane Dogson
   District 6 - Lucas Simmons, Eloise Overton
   District 7 - Genesis Callaghan, Brooks Callaghan
   District 8 - Winter Callaghan, Shepherd Callaghan
   District 9 - Amity Wilde, Brendan Collins
   District 10 - Abd Al-Malik Abatangelo, Mickey Serge
   District 11 - Harrison Rose, Elinor Rose
   District 12 - Edmund Moray, Blake Kegan
OOC Discussion / THE REAPING.
« Last post by crows on Yesterday at 09:12:25 PM »
"Welcome all, to the Hunger Games! May the luck be towards your Districts." The woman standing in front of the hungry, empty-eyed District is too.. fake. Capitol people usually are. "This year, we will be selecting two brave citizens to represent your District." The crow feathers woven into her dress shimmer and shudder as she steps forwards to the bowl; her smile like a shark as she ruffles around in the bowl for a moment.

The Hunger Games, a recent initiative begun by the Capitol to remind everyone of the sins of war. It's fairly new, and sure, there's some kinks to be worked out - but isn't that what this year is meant for? The woman pauses for dramatic effect, before pulling out the strip of paper and reading it carefully aloud.

"Our first tribute is Hayley Chase-Kenner!" A mutter throughout the crowd as a woman steps forward. A gasp, then angered murmurs as they recognize her swollen belly. Ah, perhaps they'd picked someone a little too old for the Games. Undeterred by the pregnant woman, the executioner-host pulls out another name. Her voice falters slightly, because even Capitol people have emotions.

"Jackson.. Kenner."

Louder grumbles. District 1 has officially lost their first family to the Games. The man and woman look stoic as they meet each other on stage, hands clasped tightly together. The woman smiles sympathetically at them, pretending not to notice the venomous stares and knuckle-white fists.

"Church Bradshaw!" A man gets up slowly, face white, but thankfully calm. District 2, mercifully, is quiet. Perhaps the man hasn't realized what this means, perhaps this man is thinking about a child, and a wife... "Kelly Halstead!" A child's scream rings out, and Kelly has to be pulled away from a group of youth of varying ages in order for him to even walk to the stage.

"Michael Reynolds" (be brave, be brave a voice whispered to the boy is heard on the microphone) and all the boy can think is please, God, (but God doesn't care) and suddenly Dallas Darrow is the next words cried by the woman in black, and District 3 looks ready to kill -

Damien Hitchcock doesn't say a thing as he gets up (his father laughs - croaking, mocking, he doesn't believe his only son is leaving), "Ryan Kowalski" (a man, brave as one could be while holding back a scream, eyes watering as he shakes Damien's cold hand), and the two of them stare at each other, ready to do District 4.... some kind of honor.

Brothers are picked next much to the dismay of District 5 (why are there so many siblings? The reaper wonders, but she's learned not to question "blind luck"), Cane and Marley Dogson. They hold each other tight, both wondering how the hell they got into this mess.

Lucas Simmons, Eloise Overton, the reaper is thankful District 6 is more balanced, the calm, hardened expression of the boy and the quiet resolve of Eloise makes the reaper hope that maybe next year, they can prevent sibling dynamics in the Games.

District 7 and 8 hit the jackpot, all of the Callaghan siblings are chosen. The Capitol guards have to... resolve the riot that almost begins as a result, and Brooks, Genesis, Shepherd, and Winter Callaghan are sent away, knowing that their worst nightmare has just begun.

"Amity Wilde?" A young girl who's not afraid to walk up drying her eyes, and "Brendan Collins?" a young boy that has to be dragged to the stage kicking and screaming. It's easy to tell who's the likely candidate for District 9. The reaper can't help but laugh at the antics, and a twinge of guilt seems to gnaw at her.

Abd Al-Malik Abatangelo, Mickey Serge, young men in their prime that hail from District 10. They're calm, collected, they shake hands coolly, they don't make a fuss, and they ignore any attempts at light hearted jokes that the crow woman tries to make.

"Harrison Rose" is the name called, and an agonized "No!" comes from the crowd (but too late). Soon, the screamer is called too, and Elinor Rose clings tightly to Harrison, the two of them refusing to let go, no matter if it embarrasses District 11, even if it means the worse for them.

Edmund Moray and Blake Kegan are called, and the wail of twins becomes too loud for the members of District 12, and the shiny ring on Blake's ring finger becomes too bright.

The reaping is complete. "Welcome, new tributes of Panem." The bright shark smile is on the reaper's face, and just like that, the Hunger Games have begun.

TRIBUTE STATUS: 24 Tributes remain.
   District 1 - Hayley Chase-Kenner, Jackson Kenner
   District 2 - Church Bradshaw, Kelly Halstead
   District 3 - Michael Reynolds, Dallas Darrow
   District 4 - Damien Hitchcock, Ryan Kowalski
   District 5 - Marley Dogson, Cane Dogson
   District 6 - Lucas Simmons, Eloise Overton
   District 7 - Genesis Callaghan, Brooks Callaghan
   District 8 - Winter Callaghan, Shepherd Callaghan
   District 9 - Amity Wilde, Brendan Collins
   District 10 - Abd Al-Malik Abatangelo, Mickey Serge
   District 11 - Harrison Rose, Elinor Rose
   District 12 - Edmund Moray, Blake Kegan
« Last post by hayley on Yesterday at 09:00:46 PM »
« Last post by van on Yesterday at 08:59:50 PM »
definitely still interested! not sure if i'd bring fern back or someone new, but i'd definitely yote someone in there!!

Heartbeat [Yosano Akiko & Dazai Osamu) ⋆ Bungou Stray Dogs ⋆ Drabble]

trigger warning for a brief description of a suicide attempt, it's not just mentioned in passing like in some of the other drabbles in here because it's dazai we're talking about here (elaborated on more in the section for my thoughts). i don't go too in depth, however, because graphic descriptions of suicide — whether they be successful or not — make me somewhat uncomfortable too.

"Honestly, what is it with you, Dazai," Yosano looked into the brunette's eyes as she finished the last stitch from his latest suicide attempt.

Dazai mumbled something incoherent under his breath and looked away. It wasn't like Dazai to be without words, without that ridiculous grin (that fooled no one, Yosano thought), or without eye contact. But when it came to his interactions with her, this was entirely normal.

There was something about her, her fierce sense of self, her seemingly uncontrollable thirst for living, that scared him. It went against everything he'd built up for himself.

"Do you talk to anyone? Who do you trust outside of the agency?"

Flashes of Odasaku rushed through his mind before he sent them hurtling back.

He beamed and played around with his arm, now stitched and taped back together, "Aaah, I know I can trust you to always do such a fabulous job!"

He stood with a flourish to make an exit, and felt something tug at his robe.

"Sit down. I'm not done with you yet."

The moment fractured, the two eyed each other. The endless amount of time it took Dazai to reseat himself on the stool in his kitchen felt like slow motion through a whirlpool; shockingly cold, disorienting, and without mercy.

His eyes darkened, "...and what aren't you done with?"

He hated being cornered unexpectedly. He hated it almost as much as he hated himself, and he especially hated it when it was about how much he hated himself.

Yosano closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She wasn't sure if this was a good idea. In fact, she knew it was a terrible one. But, these attempts were whittling away at her sanity, and while most of the rest of the agency had written Dazai off as a childish good-for-nothing with a flair for the dramatic, she knew all too well the horrors that haunted him. She couldn't let this go. If it just meant that even once, he hesitated, that would be enough for her.

Dazai sat still as a corpse, eyes deader still, and waited for Yosano to respond.

Inside, however, he was screaming and begging to be released from this moment.

The last time someone took any particular notice of him for more than what he put out in the world, they were murdered as a pawn for a larger game. Intellectually, Dazai knew the two weren't the same. Intellectually.

However, Yosano was no stranger to the workings of Mori and the horrors that dwell beneath the warm glow of the daylight of Yokohama. If she prises too far... if she sees too much... if she cares...—

Dazai stopped himself there.

Echoes of the echoes of gunshots, so final in their rhythm, rang in his mind as he found himself back in that dusty, bloodied mansion. He ran through the halls as quickly as his legs carried him, headed straight for that cacophony of death. He was always too late. If only he hadn't let Mori keep him for so long, if only he acted faster, if only he saw through the ultimate plot quicker, if only he sought to find protection for those little ones; if only, if only, if only.

The only person to listen to him, even when he rambled purposeful nonsense. The only person to see him for more than the disgusting "black blood" that ran through his veins. The only person to not let hierarchy get in the way. The only person he ever let in.

"...azai, Dazai?"

Yosano handed him a tissue.

He looked down at it, dumbly, not quite sure what it was or what he was supposed to do with it. Something itched on his face, though, and when he lifted his hand to touch his cheek, he realised what it had been.

Yosano pulled Dazai up and guided him over to his futon. He followed without much expression, still lost in that waking dream.

She allowed him to feel his way onto the bed, where he first sat before descending onto his side, away from the pale sun of the spring. The light from the window created shadows that stretched long into the room. It covered Dazai's back like a blanket, but left his face and chest in chilly darkness that accentuated his thin frame. He was like a skeleton, like this. She wondered when he last ate. She sat near the end of the bed and looked down at her hands.

"I won't pressure you to say anything you don't want to, but I want to know why you're so desperate to leave," she says, quietly.

"Wake me from this oxidizing world of a dream," he mumbled into the pillow. It sounded hollow.

"...what do you expect to find when you wake?"

Silence. Heartbeat.

"I believe you told someone once that we have possibilities, that we aren't omniscient. If you can see that potential in somebody else, why are you not drawn within that line as well?"

Silence. Heartbeat.

"Let's say you open this door to eternal mystery and offer yourself, what or who do you expect to receive you?"



Yosano looked down at Dazai, barely recognisable, even for her, even after all those times before. His frame wrapped into itself, eyes were cast down. Brows suggested that he was searching for something, but she didn't know what. She couldn't begin to imagine what.

Ever since Dazai stepped into the agency two years ago, he'd managed to make a mark — a messy, wild, infuriating mark — but a mark nevertheless. The first time he went missing for over a day, the entire agency threw themselves into trying to find him. However, by the fourth it started to become something of a joke. They stopped looking for him, calling after him. Stopped retracing his steps and breaking into his apartment.

It unnerved Yosano desperately. It happened so often that after awhile she was able to gauge how alarmed she needed to be by the little things Dazai would do. If they'd had a rather exhausting day of his antics, that was usually the sign of a passive attempt and she didn't need to get involved. If he'd been quieter than usual, that usually meant that he was off investigating something on his own and that he'd make it back eventually.

It was the days that he seemed, on the outside, "normal". "Relaxed". "Calm". Those were the days that really worried her. Talkative, congenial, willing to work with Kunikida... it was these days that she had to stitch him back up, pull him back to consciousness, soothe wounds. It was those days that she spent extra time keeping tabs on him. It was days like today, when she found him in his bathtub; lips blue, breath shallow, barely coherent. Heartbeat unnervingly slow. It was these days that his "clean and painless suicide" didn't seem to matter. He'd try just about anything if it meant he wouldn't see tomorrow.

"When the flesh is weary, the spirit too gives up; and somewhere within the body a sense of indifference takes root," Dazai looked up at the ceiling, tracing the lines of the light hanging over him.

It was Yosano's turn to be silent.

"I don't have an answer for you. Or, at least one that you want," Dazai said finally, and turned his head to look at Yosano's shape at the end of his futon.

"It's not about what I want, Dazai. It's about what you need."

"No one can give me what I need."

"Not if you don't let them."


Yosano sighed, "I'm staying the night. I'll have Kenji bring some fresh produce and I'll prepare something for you that isn't canned crab and sake. You stay there, I'll get the other futon out."

"You don't have to do this, I'll be fine," he already knew it wasn't worth the argument.

"I don't have to do a lot of things. I want to do this," Yosano offered a playful smile and leaned over to gently brush Dazai's cheek with her palm, "you'll find your spirit, I'll help you. And I don't give up easily."

"I know."

Personal Thoughts

tl;dr: this is basically yosano fixing/having a post-suicide-attempt talk with one dazai osamu. she may be a little bit of a sadist, but she's still a brilliant doctor who knows what she's doing; the people of the agency are truly in good hands.

bungou stray dogs may paint dazai as a suicidal maniac and some of the attempts in the series may be shown in a humorous light, as he is based off of the real author — dazai osamu — who attempted suicide many, many times; but once again suicide in real life is certainly nothing to take lightly. this is just a little thing about one of the not-so-funny suicide attempts... sure, he may do it to mess with the agency members sometimes, but i feel as though he probably has seriously tried to take his life at least once. anyone familiar with his character knows that what he puts up in front of people most of the time is a well-put-together facade — he may provide a lot of comic relief but that doesn't change that he's for certain one of the darkest characters in the series thus far.

this was written as a challenge request from a friend: write two bungou stray dogs characters interacting and make references to both the manga, as well as the works by or about the authors the bsd characters used were based off of (so in this case, the two authors would be dazai osamu and yosano akiko). i won't explicitly point them out, but i will list the references made:

— "Dazai Osamu and the Dark Era" Light Novel
— "Bungou Stray Dogs" manga, chapter 35
— "Bungou Stray Dogs" manga, chapter 65
— "Akutagawa and Dazai: Instances of Literary Adaptation"
— "River of Stars: Selected Poems of Yosano Akiko"

reposted from another thread.
Northstar District / Re: imagine || meeting [06/14]
« Last post by Alexander on Yesterday at 06:34:00 PM »
As usual, he had come in with Eleanor and Grace, listening quietly while Greenie made the announcements. Lots of new joiners, oh boy, Jazz was promoted and Chip had stepped down. He bobbed his head, taking it all in impassively until the mention of boats. Now, Alexander was a man that had always been drawn to the sky, and planes were the vessel that he missed most, but come on. How could anyone not get excited? Green dismissed the meeting, and Alexander turned to his girlfriend and daughter. "Have you ever been on a boat before?" He knew the answer was likely no, but the excitement was overflowing and he couldn't help but let it out.

General — biograhpy
▪ Alexander Fδrber | Alex only to those closest to him
▪ Biologically male | Identifies as male | He/Him
▪ Thirty-two years old | Aries
▪ Member of Northstar District | Sometimes can be seen in other places

Physical — reference
♦ HUMAN | Health: 100%
— Alexander is 6" even, with a toned and well muscled body. He has somewhat fair skin, but as he often spends a great deal of time in the sun, he usually has a nice tan. He treated much of his body as a canvas, and thus has several tattoos all over his arms, torso, and even one on his calf. He has big, brown eyes that can shift color depending on the lighting. That's everything that's relatively consistent; however when it comes to clothes, piercing and hair color, it is constantly changing. Currently his hair is in an undercut and dyed pink, yellow and blue, though his somewhat sparse facial hair remains dark. He has a number of piercings in both ear, two in his left brow and one in his nose. As far as clothes, he has a white tank, a faded gray t-shirt and brown leather jacket that are relatively new (to him), and a pair of gray jeans that he's had for pretty much all of his adult life, ones that have numerous rips and tears and paint stains on them. Likewise, his shoes also are covered in colorful splatters. He wears a leather cord necklace and a smaller chain necklace with a star, and has a couple different rings on his fingers.
— minor injuries: n/a
— major injuries: n/a

Important Info — roleplayer
▪ Makes calendars and post cards and sells them.
▪ Speaks a few different languages fluently, but as they're subject to change I won't list them right now.
▪ Loves body modifications, will do tattoos and piercings for people that are interested. Also a great person to go to for hair and make up.
▪ Can regularly be heard belting out random songs, and when not singing, he purposefully gets songs stuck in his head and listens to them there, as he has no current way of listening to music.
▪ Opinions, motivations and thoughts are always 100% in character and do not reflect the roleplayer's opinions

Personality — gryffindor
— On the surface, his more positive traits are the ones that become evident first. His energy, his creativity, his magnetic aura, all things that anyone can tell just when they meet him. He's difficult to annoy unless you hit the right nerves and has the patience of a saint, he's brave and a little bit reckless, he's out there living his best life and he wants everyone else to be able to do the same. People that get to know him will see that he's competitive and eccentric and stubborn, and given enough time they'll see his lesser traits. His indulgent frivolity, his possessiveness, his vanity, and more still. He's far from perfect, but he is authentic and ever-evolving.
— Adaptable, adventurous, authentic, brave, charismatic, confident, creative, energetic, free-thinking, friendly, humorous, individualistic, observant, passionate, patient
— Competitive, determined, eccentric, proud, stubborn
— Airy, erratic, extravagant, fanciful, fickle, flamboyant, frivolous, inconsistent, loquacious, messy, over-imaginative, possessive, reckless, self-indulgent, vain

Relationships — heartchart
▪ NPC x NPC | Two NPC siblings
▪ Pansexual | Panromantic
▪ "Secretly" dating Eleanor Bay
▪ Co-parenting Grace Bay with Eleanor Bay
▪ ½ Heathens | ½ Alexnor
▪ Alexander gets on quite well with most people; he's fairly easy to like and it's fairly difficult to get on his bad side. He treats everyone with respect and dignity and only really starts getting pissed off when the same is not shown to him. He lets people in without too much trouble if they seem like good people, however true closeness is slow to come.

Interaction — plotting thread
— Physically medium | Mentally medium
— Knows basic self defense but little more than that
— Is well acquainted with a wide range of weapons, is only armed with a handgun
— No kill/capture/maim without permission
— To attack, @Alexander & attack in bold #F6E384
Pages: [1] 2 3 ... 10