#its functional but i worry about giving myself metal poisoning should i use it for its actual purpose

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

oh check out this pipe i got in the ancient culture street district thingy in tianjin

100 RMB

i do regret not getting a pair of those replica antique sunglasses while i was there too lol. you know the round ones with the decorative metal frames?

[scarlet-nin]

To Fix What’s Broken Is Not Enough

Summary: The first time Dazai sees Yosano, hears how she speaks, the way she threatens her patients into submitting to her care with the promise of a smile, the steel in his grin melts into quicksilver, a poison so potent flowing through his veins he can taste the bitterness of metal on his lips.

The first time Yosano lays eyes upon Dazai all it takes is a smile.

One smile for the warning bells inside her head to shriek alarm.

The first time Dazai sees Yosano, hears how she speaks, the way she threatens her patients into submitting to her care with the promise of a smile, the steel in his grin melts into quicksilver, a poison so potent flowing through his veins he can taste the bitterness of metal on his lips.

His heart misses a beat. The walls he spent years on building fall together like a house of cards in the summer breeze as deep inside his chest something blooms from beyond the ice, a flower. Fragile like the fluttering wings of a butterfly it festers.

“I can’t wait to treat you.”

She says, eyes glinting in the dim-light of the office with a leer for blood after he’s gotten the courage to move past the roots having taken to his legs to speak with her. A curtain of dark hair falling into her face is a sharp contrast to her paperwhite skin. Eyes fierce as they puncture into his own, scraping past the surface of his face with her scalpel to tear off his mask without mercy. The sight of her pristine coat of righteousness laying on her shoulders, imposing with its demand for respect. A coat to call her own. Just like him. A white to his black.

“Seeing all of these bandages…you’re going to end up sooner in my office rather than later. My new regular. It’ll be like unwarping a present.”

The moment passes. His head clears of the smoke obscuring his vision, the flower wilting inside his heart. Petals dropping into acid.

Her image bleeds into another one, twisting once more before the pieces click into place, creating a picture so vivid inside his mind he makes the mistake to smile in her presence.

Yosano stills, losing her sharp edges, the stubborn crease in her brow smoothing out in a single fluid movement as the shock sweeps her along to crush her against the rocks of the ocean.

She sees his shadow in all his twisted glory draped across his shoulders like the coat he used to wear. The invisible hands pulling up the corners of his mouth as elbows settle on his shoulders, the weight of the devil hard to bear.

Part of him wants to cover his eye, shield himself from having to see her. The urge to disregard Odasaku’s last act of life pushes his thoughts into the right order.

“What a pretty lady! Too bad you’re not my type.”

He whines, clutching at his chest. A doctor is dangerous. Always, regardless of ability. Whether man or woman. The sight of them is enough to stir the horrible apprehension of weariness inside his soul.

She blinks, scoffs and shakes her head. He wonders if she knows. Of the doll. How her existence shaped another.

She’s a replica. An inspiration. A faceless base of bottomless horror.

The memory of her skips around in the ghost of a little girl in a red frilly dress. Draws pictures of nightmares as she bosses around and feeds into the delusional born out of loneliness for companionship of a man loving nothing but a city cursing his name in the shadows of the night.

Would she disappear if he were to touch her?

“No, I guess I wouldn’t be.”

She storms past him, heels resonating like gunshots across the office as she slams her door shut with enough strength to rattle the frame.

Off to a bad start, then.

The first time Yosano lays eyes upon Dazai all it takes is a smile.

One smile for the warning bells inside her head to shriek alarm. Head buzzing as she reels back from this demon in human skin, terror is sinking into every crack of her handcrafted armor, slipping past the stiches she made to keep herself together. He rips them open with the sharp edge of his empty smile, eyes darker than the blackest abyss and leaves her to bleed out.

Veins freezing it’s the first time she doubts the President’s judgment. He let death walk in the door with a smile. Despite all the warning signs. This man will be the death for them, either by extension or his own hands.

After all, it’s in the nature of the student to surpass the teacher.

But she keeps her mouth shut and her eyes open. Kunikida plays with fire, throwing around a ticking time bomb while being none the wiser of the possible consequences. Dazai whines and acts more like a big child than an adult most of the time. Doesn’t spare her more than a glance in parting as they avoid each other. He flirts with the older women walking into their office doors and after months of observation her conviction falters.

The comment about her age might not have been about her age at all.

She doesn’t know how young or old he must have been when Mori sunk his claws into him.

All she knows is he smiles like the devil but acts like a fool.

His plans are a handiwork of her worst nightmare. Functional without major casualties or injuries. Efficient. The extent of his grasp on their reactions despite working in the office for only a few weeks is terrifying. An impressive display of pulling the strings. A master manipulator at his finest.

Another Mori. This time right among their midst.

As long as the blood staining his hands isn’t the Agency’s, she could put her grudge aside.

Perhaps even her fear.

The doll and the doctor. Two parts of a whole man.

As the doll, Dazai is void of feeling. Having no sense of wanting nor of happiness, he plays his act with little regard to the well-being of others. No matter how hard he tries, the lives of faceless people dying doesn’t bother him on a personal level.

Not like it does Yosano. Full of will and a passion to save the lives put in front of her with a world of pain and a simple touch of her hand. She breathes life into them, Dazai takes it away.

“Can you undress them?”

“I’d rather not.” Alone in her office with the smell of her personal perfume of disinfectant he tries his best to be compliant.

She frowns, a hint of annoyance creeping into her face as she turns to face him.

“How am I supposed to fix you? I’m fully capable of doing so without the use of my ability.”

“I can do that myself.”

The chance of her giving in due to knowing who must have taught him what little first-aid he knows is slim. But she nods, snapping her head to the side while gesturing to the door without another demand for him to undress.

“Get out of my office.”

“Yes, Mam.”

He winks, the beat of his pulse drowning out his the one in his heart. He flees, ignoring Kunikida’s yell to rest when he’s staying home tomorrow and to call in sick instead of worrying them.

The stiches he does on his arm are messy, a bit uneven and throb painfully but as long as he doesn’t have to be a prisoner to the infirmary, he’ll patch himself up in his apartment, locked into the tiny space of his bathroom with no doctor looming over him.

“You don’t like doctors at all, do you?”

There’s a faint hysteria of laughter hidden in her voice. She’s sure Dazai catches it anyway, judging from the tightness around his eyes, lips going white with the force it takes to keep his smile in place.

“No, sorry, can’t say that I do.”

The cheer in his words is nothing but a lie. She can see the truth in the faint tremor in his hand, the too short breaths in his pattern. The notion of what it means is reducing her to shaky hands, unfit to treat any person until she’s calmed down. It’s absurd. The thought of Dazai being afraid of her, when she’s been scared of him this entire time, is laughable. Or perhaps wary would be the better word to use in this odd case.

Neither one making a step. Not daring to cross an invisible line drawn into the sand by their own hands. Both too afraid to inflict a different kind of Mori’s wrath on themselves.

Dazai with his effortless manipulation could have torn the office apart if he wanted to. He didn’t for reasons Yosano is starting to grasp. Her danger lies in her authority as the doctor. Her words carry more weight in the Agency than his own. At least in concern to his health and she knows how easy it would be to spin a tale to her liking. Her word was law and if she wanted to make his treatment painful, he could do little to complain or protest.

Studying the bandages concealing the skin from her sight, she’s grateful her ability does not work on him. Like throwing a glass against the wall, he would break in the light of resurrection. While Dazai’s mind is his biggest weapon, the additional strain on top of having to shoulder the weight of his misery would have ruined him.

Ruined him like Mori ruined her.

“Can’t fault you for that. Some doctors are shit at their job.”

She says, the smile on her face honest and soft as she holds out her hand for him. The wound isn’t life-threatening so she isn’t going to hurry him.

“Want me to take a look at that now? If I wrap it up quick, I can give you something for the pain. I’d give it to you before, but you could run off afterwards. So, think about it as a treat.”

Slowly, he puts his arm out. She’s careful with her hands, touches feather light if she hasn’t had to use force. As if he were a child she works with quick hands, aware of how painfully stiff he is.

“I felt like I should have given you a warning. A shovel talk if you will. About messing with the Agency but I doubt I’ll have to do that at all. I’m not too prideful to admit you could run circles around my head.”

Giving him a grin full of teeth, she warps the cut up, keeping the pressure as light as she can before giving him a pill for the pain. He blinks, eyes wide as he looks from his newly warped arm to glance at her face.

“We’re done if that’s all. You’re free to leave or you can lay down here for awhile if you want to rest. Try to raid my medicine cupboard while I’m on lunchbreak and I’ll put you on paperwork duty for at least two months.”

She pats him on the shoulder before turning around with a flap of her skirt to clean her equipment. Dazai waits for a moment before stands and leaves, hesitating at the door like he might have wanted to say something but he remains silent.

Dazai, she learns is not an enemy, but a kindred spirit.

Yosano, Dazai learns, is a doctor who works to heal her patients. Her aim is not to fix them, to glue shards back together so they could break again and be shaped into something functional and exploitable, but to care. Her personal gain is of no importance in her job. Her motivator is compassion. Nothing more, nothing less.

Her touch is too kind for a doctor. Ruthless as she may be with an audience, the pain she inflicts is for the greater good of the person. The occasional revenge put aside.

Healing is more than just skin deep. Yosano lives by those words. So, he lets her patch him up, uses her to slack off during working hours and calls her when he needs someone to get himself out of hospital.

The doctor and the doll are so similar, no wonder they share a soul. Both hating their ability for the effects on others. Two people knowing the meaning of death.

The Angel of Death prevents death. The Demon Prodigy inflicts it.

Therefore, it’s only fitting he’s the one to return to hell. To Mori, who has more use for another doll than for a healer as a doctor.

“Dazai-kun,” The devil coos, eyes filled with blood.

After all, an angel has no business in hell.

“—Welcome back to the Port Mafia.”

But a demon can conquer the throne.