celestrot

𝘪 𝘢𝘮 𝘮𝘺 𝘨𝘰𝘥'𝘴 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳

[celestrot]

celestrot ∎ multimuse blog playing characters from Bungou Stray Dogs. (semi-selective, 18+ interactions only, not spoiler free)

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         My other fandom side-blogs! ⁎ Link Click [mainly Qian Jin + Xixi] ⁎ Haikyuu [Solo Oikawa] ⁎ NU: Carnival [Solo Kuya]

[celestrot]

back on this account before i forget about tumblr and abandon it for 9 months again lol

holidays are busy but i've also been soooo distracted by ocsn lately.. it's an addiction, save me.. dd week prompts reminded me to come back here tbh, i swear i will get to asks and thread replies when im not fic writing hhggkjdkdf

[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. 

[celestrot]

A self-satisfied curl to their lips takes over their smile, pleased to see firsthand the apparently rare occasion of Poe actually eating. Cake might not be the healthiest option, regardless of the fruit that decorates the icing, but it's better than nothing, and there's plenty of it to go around. They hum a note of approval around another forkful of sugar and sponge from his own plate.

"Yeah, yeah," Ranpo huffs dismissively, waving him off; they might speak in hypotheticals, but there's palpable truth behind their words, even if only audible to the two of them. If anyone's going to replace Lucy's role in teaching Ranpo English, it'd obviously be Poe.

With a harsh roll of his eyes, Ranpo gestures with his fork while he complains, "oh yeah? Meant well for who, huh? Definitely not for me, that's for sure."

It's not like he expected Lucy to put their lessons in such high regard -- her official part in the Agency is new, after all, and her time in the Guild was plentiful. Really, he expected that his time was limited until she'd run her mouth. The secrecy probably seems childish from her perspective. He just didn't think she'd be this quick with it.

And despite their antics, the promise of having someone with Poe's talent with literature teaching them is awfully appealing.

"..Maybe you could." But that toothy grin of theirs says yes, and they have the feeling that they'll be showing up on Poe's doorstep later tonight, after all this is over and they won't have to suffer any questions of their whereabouts. Now empty, aside from some stray crumbs, Ranpo sets down their plate on the table's surface beside them. They tilt their head upon noticing the tied cherry stem on Poe's plate, easily distracted. "How'd you do that?"

[gravitysheep]

Now that Chuuya wasn't struggling against the pain by trying to remain sitting up, he could feel himself starting to drift into unconsciousness. However, he fought that wonderful floating feeling trying to engulf his mind tooth and nail. Sure, he had Fyodor's word that he'd be safe but he was still in a vulnerable state of being. It felt foolish to let his guard drop completely. Oh but it was so difficult to resist the siren's call of sleep right then.

Thankfully he's brought back from the brink of sleep by the presence of his mender returning to the room. Sure, they were deathly silent and seemed to be content remaining that way but he had sensed the disruption of the very gravity of the room. It had been disturbed by the mere presence of the other person and it was enough to stir the red head back into wakefulness.

While he didn't speak up, mainly due to exhaustion he did open his eyes just enough to dully look to where Fyodor had moved to sit and watch over him. It held a passing curiosity to his expression before he let it slip away again as he closed his eyes. Honestly he should just let himself sleep and rest but he just couldn't right then. Not until he was safely picked up by the Mafia. Then he'd allow himself to rest fully.

"... So... What do you do to pass the time...?" Chuuya almost grimaces at how cracked his voice sounds from his near sleep state beforehand but decides to shrug it off. He opened his eyes again to look to his surprise temporary benefactor in case they opted to respond to his rather terrible attempt at a conversation.

[celestrot]

They stare him down a moment longer before realising that he's trying to initiate small-talk, acknowledging his question with an inquisitive tilt of their head. Fatigue? Delirium, perhaps? It's surprising to be willingly invited into conversation, especially the type that strangers or infrequent acquaintances use to get to know each other better. Certainly not the kind of chatter expected of established enemies.

"Whatever presents itself," Fyodor answers regardless, tilting their head into their palm. Yokohama is plentiful when it comes to pastimes. Quaint, family-owned cafes, markets along the port, the promise of a criminal underworld. Quite the variety. When they have enough freedom outside of their responsibilities to stroll the streets of the city without purpose, they rarely find their time misspent. "I do also have an organisation to run, in case you forgot. That takes up most of my time."

Her Rats might be of less importance now, after serving the majority of their purpose, but they are still bound to her. Reliant as ever, they treat her dependability like oxygen.

"If nothing else…" they muse, thoughtful, "writing. Reading. Though, I've already read most of the books I own thrice over, and I'm unfortunately not too familiar with Japanese literature that fits my tastes.

"What about you? When you aren't… mortally injured, of course. I imagine being in your position has you quite busy, no? Have you the freedom for indulging in pastimes?"

[gravitysheep]

Once the phone is passed over he grunts a bit as he moves to accept it. Much as it annoyed him to admit it, he was reaching the end of his pain tolerance. He knew he needed to rest and relax or he would just prolong the period of time he needed to recover enough strength to move regardless. It also irked him how they were right... In this condition he's nothing more than a sitting duck with its own pot and leek.

Chuuya slowly scrolled through his contacts for the one needed right then as Fyodor spoke. That was true honestly... They didn't have to spend the time and effort to save his ass from bleeding out or getting attacked further. They especially didn't have to work on suturing the wound too. "... You've made good points..," the red head finally conceded and huffed quietly to himself. He wouldn't be going anywhere anytime soon if he didn't allow himself to rest first.

It was when Fyodor left to clean up that the executive finally hit dial on his phone to reach his contact. It was a brief message to alert them that he'd been injured, found and mended, and would need retrieval once located by the mafia grunts. Of course, he also made mention to leave the benefactor whom had saved his sorry ass alone so at least Fyodor didn't have to worry about that.

That all done Chuuya carefully eased himself into laying down, giving a low grunt at the pain it caused but oh well. At least he was laying down now and could rest for the time being. His well loved and worn hat was removed and was now resting on his chest as he laid there with his eyes closed. It was obvious that he wasn't asleep but at least he was finally resting.

[celestrot]

It's certainly more comfortable to be in clean clothes. The others will need to spend a touch too long soaking in warm water and enough soap to have the threads fraying. Now, the blood of another no longer dampens and weighs on her skin, either; she scrubbed her hands clean beneath the running water of the sink, dug up the vermillion stains from underneath her nails and the crevices between her fingers.

Chuuya is laying down when they return, motionless and silent, no longer struggling and gritting his teeth the pain of his injuries. The subtle flutter of his lashes every now and then suggests he isn't quite asleep just yet. But Fyodor stays quiet regardless, moving through the room with an elusive, unspoken air about them.

Sitting nearby, they have the fleeting thought of offering to move him somewhere more… comfortable. Laying on the floor, although it may be carpeted, can't be the kindest option to his spine when he's already injured. Yet, the stitches are fresh, thread stained crimson with his innards, and they're at risk of pulling free should he dare to try moving that much.

So, for now, she is little more than an observer. Fyodor occupies the silence by watching him and his near-unconscious figure, a hawk stare that appears more blank than analytical. Even so, there is plenty on her mind. The alternative locations she'll have to choose from to move to after this exchange. The need to erase her presence from this place until it seems lived in by only ghosts and rumours. The vulnerability she is presented with here, in the way Chuuya's chest rises and falls with life that could be snuffed so easily.

[celestrot]

will slowly be getting back to replies today i hope ^^ prioritising this blog before my others cuz bsd is where all my motivation lies rn

[harechi]

Happy Puppy Day

i'm super late

[sunssmoke]

               • • 𖤓              [ @celestrot ]

It's not rare to see Ranpo pout, but their genuine annoyance, on the other hand, is a far less common phenomenon. Frustration palpable, huffing and glowering up at him, Doppo can’t help the way the corners of his lips continue to twitch their way upwards. Still, he doesn’t prod any further, instead gracefully coming to a crouch beside Ranpo, head tilting to examine the chute with calculating, clever eyes. Already he’s managed to set aside his humor for problem-solving, as is his wont. 

His hands are gentle where they reach out to Ranpo’s bicep, gentle as they tug him, just a touch, to see the degree to which he is stuck. That degree is quite. Very. A lot. 

“How did you manage this?” Doppo asks, genuine in his perplexion. Frankly, he isn’t sure how to extract them from their ensnarement without hurting them or tearing apart the machine. “You aren’t holding on to anything in there, are you?” 

The wheels are turning in his head slow but sure, and at once the solution arises to him. Perhaps there’s no need for yanking or bending metal at all. The ADA has a kitchen sequestered next to its break room, small and quaint, but it carries a decent stock of one thing in particular which may prove helpful. 

“Stay put,” Doppo says, not seeming to at all notice the way he’s pointed out the obvious. He stands confidently, not before patting Ranpo’s head just the once in reassurance. “I shall get the canola oil.” 

He hopes Ranpo isn’t too attached to the shirt they’re wearing. If they have any protests, however, it's too late to speak them out; Doppo has already set forth on his mission, B-lining it to the kitchen with a pep in his step only a plan can truly grant him. 

[celestrot]

Ranpo tries their best not to focus on the heat rising beneath their skin and painting their face, particularly the tips of their ears, a shade of humiliated, wilting rose. It isn't made any better as Kunikida steps closer to crouch down right beside them. Stubbornly, they turn away and don't spare him so much as a glance; they'd caught the miniscule, subtle twitch of their lips while he was sizing up the situation, and that was more than enough to sour their attitude entirely (if they weren't already as bitter as they can possibly bring themself to be).

"It's not funny," they mutter through gritted teeth. They bring their legs up to their chest, with their free arm wrapped around them, and buries their face between their knees, no different to a miserable child.

It's embarrassing to have to admit that it was their greed and impatience that got them into this dilemma, so they say nothing at all. Ranpo buries whatever's left of their dignity beneath snappy, slightly belligerent self-defense, and it distracts from how their arm aches as Kunikida tests just how stuck it is, too, "of course I'm not holding onto anything! Believe it or not, I actually don't want to be stuck here, Kunikida-kun."

The faster he can be freed, the better, by whatever means necessary. Sooner rather than later, he can only hope, before anyone else from the Agency happens to stumble across what he's gotten himself into.

But Kunikida stands to leave, and Ranpo nearly has half the mind to yank him back with his free hand. Whatever idea his coworker is having right now, he can't say he's very fond if it… though nor is it he in any position to protest. Ranpo frowns deeper, lips curling downwards, "where exactly do you think I'm gonna go, huh?"

There's nothing left to do but wait. Silently sitting on the floor, Ranpo leans against the glass of the machine and sighs overdramatically. At this point, he'd be willing to amputate his own arm just to get out of here. Having one less limb would surely be far less embarrassing then having one stuck up the shoot of a vending machine.

[sunssmoke]

             • • • • • • 𖤓              [ @celestrot ]

Dazai’s grip hasn’t let up at all and his breath comes out in gross, hot huffs against the back of his head, already sticky with Dazai’s disgusting mackerel blood. Chuuya shifts uncomfortably, face contorting into an even deeper scowl. 

“And I mean it every time,” he insists with vitriol, glaring at Dazai’s reflection in the mirror (all the while trying to ignore the way his own reflection is starting look like just as much a horror story as Dazai's is). “For some reason, it never seems to sink in with you!” 

And right before Chuuya can throw a sudden elbow or knee somewhere soft and vital, Dazai’s hands have slipped into his own, snagged his phone out with sticky, blood-damp fingers, and pushed him away in one quick movement. Chuuya catches himself on the edge of the sink, anger and dread brewing in that horribly familiar combination Dazai tends to bring out. 

“Dazai, wait—“

He shouts a wordless cry of rage when Dazai does precisely as he telegraphed, dropping Chuuya’s phone in the sink and waterboarding it till its screen starts flashing and jittering. Completely uncaring, Dazai washes his hands right over it as though nothing was amiss. 

Chuuya stares, furious and at a loss for words. He should have expected this, really. But did he have to fucking destroy it? How is he supposed to explain this to Mori?

“Fuck you.” Despite the loss of phone, Chuuya isn’t reacting near as volatile as he usually would. His brow is furrowed with frustration, his arms have come to cross tightly across his chest, and he’s staring Dazai down like he wishes his gaze could light the brat on fire, but he hasn’t so much as kicked Dazai in the shin. He hasn’t so much as tried to wipe the blood now thoroughly smeared across him back onto the perpetrator. 

He turns abruptly and… flounces out of the bathroom.

“I emailed half of those to myself already. Get fucked.”

He may have lost a phone. But he had not lost the battle. 

[celestrot]

There will be consequences for breaking Chuuya's phone without much of a valid reason, sure, but he can deal with that later. He doubts he'll need to expect much more than a slap on the wrist from Mori and some of his authority withdrawn. As dull as it sounds, the idea of being essentially grounded from fulfilling missions is nowhere near as bad as letting Chuuya, of all people, get away with leaking humiliating images of Dazai covered head-to-toe in his own blood, frantically trying to wash it away at a communal sink.

Water sputters and gurgles from within the phone's internal workings. Dazai continues to wash his hands just above it nevertheless, using his nails to scrape off crimson flakes from between his fingers and underneath his nails. He scoops water into his palms to clean his face with, too, and the diluted blood dripping from his wrists and the underside of his chin all gathers together in a minature whirlpool around Chuuya's destroyed phone.

The flow of his nosebleed is actually slowing down a little, finally. It hasn't stopped, but it's no longer drenching his collar vermillion. He thinks he might harass Chuuya more often if it grants this kind of miracle.

Weirdly, though, Chuuya doesn't react as explosively as he usually does. His cursing is typical, but there's a lack of bite to it -- a lack of volume and aggression and all his beastly growling and teeth-grinding. Looking into the mirror's reflection, Dazai observes him curiously, brows furrowed like he's expecting something more. Expecting being yelled at or being grabbed or being thrown to the ground or something. Yet, Chuuya simply turns to leave… with devastating parting words.

Dazai whirls around fast enough to send water spritzing from his face and the dampened tips of his curls all over the bathroom floor. "You did not."

It's not like Chuuya even has an easily accessibly means of checking his emails now that his phone has been thoroughly drowned, he reminds himself, a little frantically. Regardless, he's scrubbing his hands with more fury now. His fingers are raw and pruning and his cheeks are flushed from his hastily he tries to clear the blood from his face. A sluggish drop of blood seeps from his nose, but he doesn't pay it any mind anymore. He's too busy bounding after Chuuya and trailing puddles behind him.

"I'm gonna find and delete every last one before you can send them anywhere," Dazai calls to him as he catches up.

[celestrot]

Spoilers for the new chapter !!

i am even more curious about the specifics of fyodor's ability after the most recent chapter... i mean, he's obviously not DEAD, there's no way he planned for everything that has happened so far and DIDN'T consider that the jet could possibly crash,, but whether he survives through his ability or other means i'm not sure

i feel like since we've already seen his ability in action so recently when he subsumed bram's body, it's unlikely that it'd happen again so soon, so i'm sure he has some other means of surviving

but regardless, i just wanna know the ins and outs of it so badly. his ability can just tell who killed him whether it was direct or indirect; in the past, when stabbed by one of bram's guards/soldiers or whatever, subsuming him was pretty cut and dry. after the mersault arc when he was killed by the vampire piloting the helicopter, instead of taking over the body of the person that physically drove a blade into him, he subsumed the bram instead, the owner of the ability that influenced his death

which, sidenote, has me thinking that if he ever met ayatsuji that would essentially be a death sentence.. if fyodor's ability detects a death caused by someone else's ability as their fault, fyodor being killed in a freak accident would still have him subsuming ayatsuji's body, i think

ANYWAY. if you technically don't need to physically do the deed by your own hand to be "punished" for the crime of killing him, just how far does that go? if his ability does activate upon the jet crashing, would he subsume the person that activated that machine that shut down the jet controls? after all, the machine can't kill him on it's own... someone has to turn it on. OR someone has to at least construct it. does that count? would his ability view that person as guilty? or would he just.. die?

and if it DOES work that way, does that mean the only way for him to actually permanently die is to commit suicide? or be taken out by natural causes somehow? because the fyozai parallels there are gonna make my head SPIN

[celestrot]

ok im so conflicted about the new chapter on the one hand YESS YESS YIPPPEEEE but also NO PLEASDE NO STOP idk im going to scream i dont wanna wait til december for more

[gravitysheep]

Despite how much he hated it, he knew he was vulnerable. He knew that right then so many less than favorable citizens in the underground of Yokohama would jump at this opportunity to get him. He was a high ranking executive in the Mafia and responsible for a lot of grief caused to the other factions but his power and strength kept many threats at bay. Those foolish enough to try normally wound up dead after all. One reason he was so tense with his current host if he was honest. Who knew how long this little truce would last?

Chuuya almost scoffs at the suggestion to rest but it made logical sense. He should rest so he could move somewhere safer faster but... How could he in light of his company? However, his body was deciding for him as he can't help but heave a short, pain filled sigh and relaxes just a hair more in his new position. Damn it this sucked! "Yeah, I get it... Just hard to do right now..."

Honestly it was a wonder he was still able to sit up at all in this condition with how much his body screamed and protested, desiring to lay down and rest. It could probably be chalked up to his mile long stubborn streak if he was honest. Hearing the next suggestion makes him hum in thought and realization. It was true that he should contact his peers, if only so that he could get taken away safely and the least he could do to repay Fyodor for stitching him shut again is warn the others about them.

"Yeah, good point. Can you reach into my pocket then and get my phone before you head off to clean up? I'd do it myself but it's on the bad side."

[celestrot]

Fyodor nods and kneels beside him to take his phone out of his pocket, turning it screen-up and handing it to him. She doesn't want to deal with search parties in Chuuya's favour. It's better for the both of them if he's able to report his wellbeing back to his colleagues.

"If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have dragged you here and put in the effort to patch you up," she assures him as she rises to stand. Matter-of-factly, like it's obvious. "If I'd left you bleeding out on the ground outside, others would have done the dirty work for me. I imagine your head would be worth a pretty penny in the underground. Yet, here you are."

And it is obvious. The opportunity that presented itself was a once-in-a-lifetime thing. The chance of an eon, even. As such a formidable foe, if she truly needed Chuuya gone right here and now, she wouldn't have fished him from the danger. Why wouldn't she turn a blind eye? Find entertainment in watching the rabid underdogs rip into their dreaded autocrat? The corners of her mouth curl into a light half-smile at the thought of such a vicious scene.

"Properly suturing wounds is tedious, too, and my resources are scarce on such short notice. I seldom use them for anyone but myself."

She turns away from him to leave. "My point is... this is the safest you are going to be until you're well enough to walk on your own, which won't be anytime soon if you aren't willing to allow yourself a respite. Your energy is bound to give out eventually whether you like it or not. I think you'd rather it happened of your own accord to spare yourself the scare when you wake up."

This time, she doesn't wait for an answer; her time is short before these clothes are permanently stained, after all. "I will be right back."

[gravitysheep]

While glad the other wasn't hellbent on changing his mind, he still didn't relax any. He couldn't, not around someone so dangerous anyway. To do any less would be to invite death, weakened as he was right then. Of course, he could just open his gate and take care of the problem should the need arise and it was apparent he'd die anyway but he's rather not resort to such drastic measures. So, being civil it was.

After his attempt to stand fails, the red head forces himself to move into a more comfortable position carefully. He could feel the stitches pulling at the movement but he made sure to keep from straining the injury too much as he repositions himself. It wasn't much more comfortable but at least he wasn't sitting in the pool of blood now. Not that it was much better. A moot point really considering how he was covered in the stuff.

"Tch... It's not that I'm in too big a hurry but I'd rather not have continued to sit there. Besides, no harm in seeing how bad it is."

That was a lie, he knew if he had moved any faster or less carefully the wound would have just reopened but he didn't want to admit that. For now he just focuses on breathing through the pain from moving at all and gently holds the injury to try and calm it.

"I'm not leaving yet... Doubt I'd make it more than 10 feet if I walked normally." Maybe if he were to use his ability and float back but that could end even more disastrously. No, it was best to just sit tight and wait it out for now.

[celestrot]

Ten feet at the very most would be lucky. Fyodor isn't entirely equipped to be hosting this soon without notice, shown clearly by their lack of sufficient materials to patch him up and ease his pain, but they aren't left with much of a choice. Abandoning Chuuya now, kicking him out to the darkened streets of Yokohama, would make him easy pickings in this state. Those scavengers and pseudo-predator animals of underdog criminals would salivate at the opportunity, they're sure.

"You should try to rest," they suggest. And though they mean it sincerely, they don't expect results. To rest is to welcome vulnerability. To let one's guard down entirely. In the presence of a looming threat, it isn't exactly the most enticing option. "It's the most you can give your body to heal until you can be seen by a doctor."

Regardless, whether or not Chuuya decides to spare himself a moment to restore his energy, it isn't their problem. If it's his choice to bear the pain with his teeth grit and his eyes blown to fight against the fatigue that comes hand-in-hand with blood loss, then so be it. Fyodor's presence still will not waver. Whether restless or weary, they still intend to observe him and his recovery until he's able to depart on his own.

"You should let someone know that you're alive and well, too. I'd rather not have your friends show up looking for you while I'm here," they remind him.

"I'm going to clean up all... this." Chuuya's blood stains their clothes in vermillion patterns. It's beginning to cool and stiffen as it soaks into the fabric; they ought to wash it out while they still can. "Do you need anything else in the meantime?"

[shininas-ideals]

Souheki having entire convos in their minds

[harechi]

Happy Halloween🍭🩸

[keiaoi811]

Wizard Fairy Jouno

Yes, he have small boobie window- tho it's more like collarbone window? 🤔

[sunssmoke]

              • • • • 𖤓              [ @celestrot ]

Dazai’s movements gain a frantic, frustrated quality to them, his attempts to stem the bloodflow only proving more fruitless the angrier he gets. Chuuya giggles, takes another step closer and gets a niiiice side shot of Dazai with his palms all over his nose and despair in his eyes. 

He should’ve expected that Dazai was choosing not to kick up much of a fuss for a reason… but he was too invested in gathering more material for his blackmail folder. Before he could even find Dazai's complacency odd, his hand is shooting out and clutching at Chuuya's own in a sticky-wet vice grip. Immediately, Chuuya’s recoiling as far as Dazai’s clutches will let him, a disgusted expression on his face. 

“Ew, let me—!” That blown-pupil, wide-eyed stare spells trouble, and tellingly Dazai is quick to pull him in closer, “No! No no no, don’t! DON’T—!” 

But it’s too late; despite Chuuya’s flailing and screaming, Dazai has embraced him warmly, nuzzling in to deliberately smear his gross fucking blood all over Chuuya. He screeches louder, making sure to do so right into Dazai’s ear, and tries to shove him off, hands pounding at his chest, legs kicking viciously at Dazai’s shins. “GET THE FUCK OFF ME, OH MY GOD… YOU…! DISGUSTING!!” 

He’s such a piece of shit. Chuuya can feel Dazai’s blood seeping into his hair, smearing and staining across his neck. His shirt is certainly ruined as well, or it will be if he doesn’t manage to extract himself and scrub the stains out in time. Judging by Dazai’s stupid, clingy fuckin octopus limbs, the likelihood he’ll get that chance is all of zilch. 

“Oh my god I hate you. I hate you so much.” Chuuya confesses in heartfelt, dulcet tones. He lets his head fall back and stares woefully at the ceiling. “I hope you fuckin bleed out.” Don’t get him wrong, the fight hasn’t drained from him — he’ll go limp and act defeated, pretend he’s accepted his fate… and then he will knee Dazai in the crotch so hard his ancestors will feel it. 

[celestrot]

Chuuya's distress, even if it is shrieked right into Dazai's ear until it starts to ache, is a cherished melody. High-pitched and devastated and possibly the most entertaining noise he's been treated to since the last time he drove Chuuya's temper to the point of eruption (it was only a couple days ago at most, when he'd mocked the injuries Chuuya had sustained on his last mission).

It is a little gross. Very gross. Even Dazai isn't quite out of his mind enough to think being drenched in blood that isn't your own is anything short of somewhat repulsive. But, he can overlook it, for the purpose of pushing Chuuya's buttons, filling his inner workings with crimson until the gears stop turning. Besides, since Chuuya wanted to badly to involve himself in business that wasn't his own, this may as well be a warm invitation.

"You say that all the time," Dazai hums in response, muffled into a clump of his hair, tinted a dirtier orange than its typical vivid flames. The loathing is mutual. He doesn't need to voice it for it to be known.

While Chuuya lets himself remain vulnerable (for what reason, he isn't sure, because Chuuya's raw strength can certainly rival his own), it offers an advantage. A brief one. Dazai is quick to use it while the opportunity remains; he plucks the phone from Chuuya's hand, held loosely within his fingers, and bounds away with a light shove to his rival's chest. It sets them a little distance apart, and Dazai hovers back by the sink. Wordlessly, grinning enough to speak for him, he drops the phone in the sink and switches on the tap.

"Mind your business next time, Chibikko-kun~"

The screen blurs, flashes colours that it shouldn't, and glitches from the camera display to several other apps before turning completely black. In the meantime, Dazai lets the water run over his hands to rinse some of the blood clean -- Chuuya's phone is soon to have too much water and blood damaging the circuitry.