#arc oe

[redux-iterum]

Charred Legacy: Chapter Sixteen

(AO3 counterpart here.)

Would the humans never go away?

Fireheart had to admit to his own building frustration as each night had the same answer to if the Clan could go back home: they could not, because the cars and humans were still in the forest. Each announcement from whoever scouted over the moorland elicited a louder and louder communal groan. They could all be grateful for the warm air in the Barn as the slush became snow that did not touch their temporary home, but even that was thinning their patience with how stuffy it could get.

What was also thinning quickly was the rodent population in the Barn. Every night it became steadily more challenging to find a mouse—the wisest of them had hid all this time and were not inclined to be discovered just because there was more room for them to wander. Granted, the added difficulty wore out the apprentices and warriors quicker, giving them all something to spend their energy on. Though, as Fireheart thought with every meal, he’d love to spend that energy on finding a mole or bird.

Bluestar and Speckletail allowed cats to walk around outside after the wrestling between apprentices got too loud and frequent, with the caveat that apprentices were to stay with a warrior at all times. To Fireheart’s disappointment, the kits were not included, and the two litters were stuck inside as the rest of the Clan got to explore the farmland.

“I’m sorry, little guy,” Fireheart said to Cloudkit as he prepared to go out with Greystripe. “I wish I could take you with me.”

Cloudkit, to his credit, did not pout about it as much as he could have. He just looked at the ground with a sigh.

Fireheart gave him a friendly nudge with a paw. “I’ll try to find something fun to bring back for you and your siblings. Is that alright?”

The fluffy kit perked up a little and nodded. “‘Kay. Make it really fun.”

Fireheart used the same paw to ruffle his nephew’s head-fur. “I’ll do my best.”

Bramblekit came up beside Cloudkit, glancing at Bluestar as she flinched walking by him. “What kinda fun will it be?” 

Fireheart ignored the look on Bluestar’s face and said, “It’s a surprise. Try to guess before I come back.” 

He turned and trotted away, catching up to Greystripe, and the pair strode off to the Barn’s right.

“I feel bad for the kits,” Greystripe said, shaking a snowflake off of his nose. “If I’m bored, I can only imagine how they’re doing.”

Fireheart opened his mouth and caught a snowflake of his own, taking a pause to marvel at the ice turning to water on his tongue before answering. “And even if they could go outside, there’s not much to do here. I mean, I know we kind of do the same thing every day at home, but…”

“We get to at least travel all over the place wherever we choose,” Greystripe replied. “And we do it a lot—hunting or marking borders or chasing off foxes—which means the nights we get to stay home and relax are so much sweeter, don’t you think?”

“You have a point.” Fireheart’s paw scraped at the very, very thin layer of snow on the ground. “I hope the humans leave soon.”

Greystripe grumbled, “They better. I don’t even know what they think they’re doing in there. The fire’s out.”

“I still think they’re looking for the dogs.”

“For this long? And they wouldn’t have caught them by now?”

“Well…” Fireheart started, before his eyes drifted over to a pair of cats ahead and to the left. “Ask him.”

“Get him to argue your point for you, sure,” Greystripe said with a friendly (restrained) nudge, and then called, “Hey, Ravenwing!”

Their friend looked up from watching Snowpaw pat and scoop at the snow and frozen earth. “Oh, hi. Where are you two going?”

“Just seeing if there’s anything out here that isn’t a mouse.” Greystripe led the way up to him. “Is this a new training tactic?”

Ravenwing gave Greystripe a dry look. “He’s exploring snow for the first time.”

Snowpaw seemed to just now notice the older toms. He straightened up and gestured with a twitch of his fur, something that Fireheart faintly remembered to mean “cold”, to which he nodded. He used a paw to point to Snowpaw and then to the white-dappled ground: that’s you. Snowpaw gleefully nodded back and scooped at the snow again, pulling it towards him in a molehill-lump.

“I’m glad that he’s enjoying himself,” Greystripe said, giving the little tom a fond look.

“Well!”

Eyes turned to Barley, round and smelling like strange meat, as he trotted over to them from the direction of the house. His patched fur, short though it was, flared out merrily.

“That’s the first time I’ve seen a cat like the snow,” he continued. “I sure hope he doesn’t get tired of it—he’s perfect for hunting in this weather.”

Ravenwing huffed a short chuff and turned to his apprentice again. “He’s going to need that coat, yeah. Hunting outside of the Barn is tough enough as it is.”

Barley blinked, then caught on and sighed sympathetically. “Ah, you’ve gotten the fever. Sick of mice, I take it?”

“A little,” Greystripe said. “Isn’t there anything else out here?”

“Well, sort of, but you don’t have to hunt it.” Barley turned around, gesturing with his tail for the warriors to follow.

Ravenwing nudged Snowpaw, getting his attention again, and was the first to go after Barley. Fireheart and Greystripe walked together, and Fireheart frowned as he sniffed the scent coming off of the loner.

What is that? he thought, narrowing his eyes. I could swear I’ve smelled it before…

He got his answer quickly, when Barley took a turn and trotted for a pair of dishes on the outside wall of the Barn. One dish had kibble in it, and the other had several slabs of pale meat. They were raw and fresh, and they smelled so familiar…

“Chicken!” Barley announced proudly. He took a step back, clearing the path to the food. “I only had one chunk myself. By all means, have at.”

Fireheart chanced a look at his friends, predicting their stunned and revolted faces.

“This is from your humans, isn’t it?” Greystripe said, grimacing. “There’s no way I’m eating that.”

Snowpaw tapped Ravenwing and signaled ‘prey’, tilting his head. Ravenwing shook his and said to Barely, “Er, we appreciate the offer, but… I think we’d all prefer natural-caught food.”

Barley, surprisingly, did not look remotely bothered. He rolled a broad shoulder. “Ah, well. I thought I’d offer. Didn’t want it to go to waste. Surely someone’s hungry enough to eat this, though.”

Fireheart thought for a moment. “Greystripe, help me bring some of this to the kits. They won’t mind it’s not mouse.”

“Seriously?” Greystripe squinted at his friend.

“Seriously,” Fireheart said breezily, and maneuvered past Barley to chomp down on a rather thick slab of meat, pulling it away from the bowl. He didn’t wait for Greystripe, just trotted off back in the direction of the doorway, not wanting to admit that the taste of the chicken was good enough to almost make him eat it himself. Going by the surprised noise Greystripe made, he had the same reaction.

Ravenwing and Snowpaw trailed behind as Fireheart entered the Barn, Greystripe now at his side. He called wordlessly and dropped the meat down at his paws, which Greystripe copied, and waved his tail in greeting as the kits waded through and around a pile of hay to investigate, Goldenflower behind them.

“Got a special treat for you, kits!” Fireheart said cheerfully. “Are you hungry?”

A few squeaks of eagerness, and Cloudkit led the charge as they crowded around the chicken and started biting into it without even sniffing it. Fireheart purred, watching their tails wag.

“What is this, honeymouse?” Goldenflower circled the kits and greeted Fireheart with a headbump. “It doesn’t smell like anything I know.”

“Barley’s humans threw out some extra meat for him,” Fireheart said, and just as she opened her mouth, he added, “I know, it’s from humans, but he’s not going to eat it all and it’d be silly to let food go to waste in winter.”

Goldenflower shut her mouth again with a sigh through her nose, though her eyes were affectionate. “Very well, then.”

“’Wh’zi?” Cloudkit asked, chomping on a chunk.

“It’s called ‘chicken’,” Fireheart replied. “It’s a meat only kittypets eat, because it’s given to them.”

Cloudkit’s rich blue eyes widened, surprised and intrigued. He swallowed his mouthful. “You mean they don’t hunt for food?”

“Right. They just eat what they get.” Fireheart caught the start of a grimace on Goldenflower’s face and hurriedly added, “But their food isn’t very good anyway. It’s way better to hunt.”

Cloudkit hummed thoughtfully as he took another bite.

“Well, at least they have something to distract them,” Brindleface said sleepily, yawning as she came around the corner to join the kits and matriarch. “Don’t tell Dustpelt you got them this, he’ll be furious.”

“About what?” Swiftpaw asked as he popped up around the outside of the door, trotting in with Lizardtail and nearly bumping into Ravenwing just ahead of them. When Fireheart gestured to the kits, he had a briefly confused look at what they were eating before saying, “Oh, yeah, don’t tell him about that. Barley offered me some of that stuff earlier, actually.”

“He didn’t take it,” Lizardtail said, in a tone like that was something to be proud of.

Fireheart decided not to comment on that, instead asking, “Did you go out to hunt too?”

Swiftpaw grumbled a sigh. “And there wasn’t anything out there.”

Lizardtail looked at his apprentice humorously, saying to Fireheart, “He’s trying to prove he’s ready for his assessment.” He tapped Swiftpaw with his tail. “Apparently, catching a lot of prey is the qualifier.”

“Something’s gotta be!” Swiftpaw gave his mentor a frustrated scowl. “You even said yourself that it’s about time for me to get my name! I know we’re not at home, but for crying out loud…!”

“Easy, easy.” Lizardtail gave a ‘quiet’ gesture with his paw. “Your sister doesn’t have a name either.”

“And it’s time for her, too!”

“Well, sometimes seer apprentices take longer.”

Swiftpaw grumbled again. Fireheart watched as his paws tip-tapped and his claws poked at the hard ground. Even with the appearance of mere eagerness to get his name, his jaw was clicking a bit and his tail-fur stuck out.

You just want a distraction while you’re not at home, Fireheart thought sympathetically.

“We’re all a little frustrated and bored,” he said aloud. “I get it. I’d love to see Swiftpaw get his name here, honestly. Think of that: he’d be the only cat in ThunderClan to have his ceremony where humans could see.”

Lizardtail’s lip twitched in distaste. “They better not peep in. We’ve been lucky that they haven’t bothered us.”

“Oh, they looked in here,” Goldenflower said, and though her voice was gentle as ever, her claws sank into the straws. “Earlier, when you all were gone.”

“They didn’t come in, at least,” Brindleface said. “Just looked and then left.”

Greystripe finally spoke up with a snort. “Hey, Swiftpaw, maybe your assessment can be chasing the humans away.”

“I could totally do that.” Swiftpaw chuffed even with the overly confident tone. “They’d see skinny old me and pelt it for their house.”

“You’re not that skinny anymore,” Lizardtail said, gently pushing at Swiftpaw’s side. “Ravenwing is way thinner than you. And you’re not fighting any humans.”

“I could fight Terror right now,” Swiftpaw said, nudging Lizardtail back. “A human’s nothing for an assessment.”

“What’s Terror?” Ashkit asked, lifting his head from what remained of the chicken.

“Oh—” Swiftpaw looked down at him, calming down immediately. “It’s a spirit. Uh, a scary one. It shows up as the most frightening thing you can imagine. Kind of a test, I think.”

“Ohhhh,” Ashkit said, blinking blankly. He tilted his head. “Why’s it test you?”

“A ‘test’ is a way to put it, I guess,” Ravenwing said, adding to Ashkit, “In stories, a lot of cats have to face it down and overcome their fear to continue on their quest. It could be a monster, or a Titan, or a human, or an owl. Whatever scares you the most, it sees, and it turns itself into.”

Aspenkit mumbled something nervously, but Ashkit puffed out his chest. “Well, I’m not afraid of nothing. I can fight it!”

Brindleface nosed his ear. “You don’t fight Terror, baby. You just have to be very brave and stand your ground.”

Tawnykit squinted. “That doesn’t sound very hard.”

“It’s harder when it’s the thing that scares you the most,” Ravenwing said, and gave a dark imitation of Yellowfang’s smirk, muttering seemingly to himself, “I’d love to see my Terror. Big stupid ball of judgement.”

Greystripe bumped his head on Ravenwing’s shoulder. “You’re lucky the thing doesn’t exist, then.”

“It totally exists!” Swiftpaw exclaimed, looking shocked. “Why else would we have stories about it?”

“RiverClan’s got poems about talking squirrels,” Greystripe scoffed. “You don’t say those are real.”

“RiverClan’s dumb,” Swiftpaw said, missing Fireheart’s instant frown. “But everyone talks about Terror. WindClan, ShadowClan, everyone. It’s real.”

“I see it every day,” Ravenwing murmured to Fireheart.

Fireheart turned his head away from watching Greystripe and Swiftpaw argue to whisper back, “I don’t think you see it as much as you used to.”

Ravenwing opened his mouth like he was about to make another sardonic remark, then closed his mouth and turned his eyes to Snowpaw, who was sniffing at the remains of the chicken.

“No,” he said quietly. “I don’t. You’re right.”

Warmth—pride, really—bloomed in Fireheart’s chest and he mimicked Greystripe’s headbump to Ravenwing’s other shoulder. “You’re like a whole new cat these days, you know that? It’s amazing.”

Ravenwing made a very soft and calm version of a splutter. “I don’t know…”

“Would you, as an apprentice, have been able to even try and talk to Snowpaw, much less teach him anything?” Fireheart said. “Or tell a story to everyone in the Clan? Or…”

Or expose murders in a trial?

Fireheart swallowed that thought. “Or anything, really? You were too afraid to even talk to Greystripe when I met you.”

He gauged Ravenwing’s eyes, which had turned contemplative. His face was completely serene—something Fireheart didn’t think he’d ever see in his life.

“I just mean to say I’m proud of you,” he added. “We all are, but me and Greystripe especially.”

Ravenwing twitched his whiskers, his eyes still on his apprentice, tussling with Cloudkit.

“Thanks,” he said, and purred under his breath.

[the-knife-consumer]

Opinion on marusan from coroika

? Loves plants more than god

[deus-ex-mona]

now that i think about it, i think it’s super funny how everyone has collectively wordlessly agreed to call harunya “harunyan”~~~~~ give her her ending consonant back, hw~~ the extra “n” at the end has a better ring to it anyway~

[adventurer-gearld]

Suddenly cuts to Splatsville

[1-aussiedollar]

Did a little doodle for my newest fic!

[metalpower01]

Understanding the Arc OES | Metal Power

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[t4tklonoa]

If I think abt the oe arc fortoo long I start meowing

[toonylune]

Posting goofs about an OE arc AU that only two other people know about because I haven’t finished writing. Anyways enjoy

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Ok so we get this

and this

And I proceed to spiral about colour theory and costume theory and end up writing and expansion to this post I made about Buck in yellow ochre!!! Sorry y'all, you know what that means - my unhinged colour theory and costume meta's are Back!!!

Lets start by revisiting all of Bucks previous yellow ochre wearing shenanigans!

3x06 the yellow ochre sweater he wears when he gets sent home by Bobby - this does after we see Buck and Eddie making up with each other - a moment when we see Buck learning more about himself and growing (read becoming less self-centred and understanding the concept of being part of a team and recognising that he needs to be better about stepping in with Eddie!)

4x02 - Yellow ochre jumper - first in a video chat with Maddie, Chim and Albert, but then more importantly, when he is in his therapy session with dr Copeland - the whole ‘I hide my true feelings from others’ moment - yet another moment of Buck recognising something about himself. I think this is the most key scene in Bucks yellow ochre wearing - more on that in a bit.

4x03 Bucks yellow ochre t-shirt - a t-shirt that matches the shade of the jumper from above, and a moment when Buck confesses to Maddie that he’s in therapy - about being sad and lonely and wanting to be ‘finer’ 

4x04 - the yellow knit sweater from 3x06 is back (yes it is the same sweater) and this is when Buck has his entire life upended and he finds out about Daniel (kicking us into Buck begins)

4x11 - Buck talks to Maddie and Josh about Sue’s hit and run, then talks to Taylor about Sue. This one is a much brighter yellow than the ochres we’ve seen up to now, but I’m including it because I think its relevant to Bucks arc here (also because it connects into the next time we see Buck wearing yellow - the will scene) the concept of being hit with information that leads to Bucks growth and the nature of most hit and runs not being solved, the perpetrator never being caught and therefore not getting closure on something (this is super relevant I promise!)

Then we have 4x14 and two yellow ochre tops - the first is the sweater, this one is trending more towards orange brown, but its still in the ochre wheelhouse! this oe is all about communication - mostly at Buck - Taylor telling him how stupid he was for climbing the crane, receiving a phonemail from Ana to tell him Eddie is awake, facilitating communication between Eddie and Chris and then Buck communication himself - thinking it would’ve been better if he had been shot. Directly communicating to the audience (as much as Eddie) the inner monologue of Bucks own opinion of the point of his existence.

Then we get the beloved will scene and Buck wearing a yellow ochre shirt, still lighter than the other yellow ochre we’d seen up to this point, with the exception of the previous one which is brighter still. again this is mostly about people communicating at Buck rather than him being the communicator - much like with the previous Jumper. It somewhat plays into the concept of Buck being a passive part of his life rather than actively living it - Kinda hard to explain at this point without the context of the costumes from s5&6. I also want to point out Taylor is in that dark green again here - in the scene when Buck opens the door to the Diaz house.

5x03 gives us Buck in that same shade of yellow ochre (bear in mind we haven’t seen him in any other colour between the will reveal and this scene (beyond uniform!) and here we have Buck pushing Eddie and communicating without actually giving much of himself away - yes he uses himself as an example, but he doesn’t actually open up about himself all that much (this is important - its not the time for that and it provides space for Buck to continue his internal monologue about his self worth) after this he goes home to his loft and we get him communication to a Taylor who isn’t actually present in the space - a symbolic scene that shows that he gets just as much from her absence as her presence (a play on the idea that Buck can communicate better with her when she isn’t actually present compared with when she is - its a juxtaposition of the scene from earlier when they were in bed together and she didn’t listen to anything he was saying, or his wants/needs)

5x04 a scene at the Buckley-Han apartment where Buck isn’t communicating with Chim - Chim is very much communication with Buck about his despair over Maddie leaving - Buck obviously knows where Maddie is at this point, but he diocesan’t take the opportunity to communicate effectively with Chim. so This is yet another example of Buck failing to communicate, while some one around him is clearly communicating and this scene has the addition of secrecy thrown into the mix.

Then we have 5x14 - this one is a bit less obvious - its the yellow ochre and black plaid jacket - its an outlier in that its not solid yellow ochre, but it is again a scene where we get communication - this time BUck is actually the one to do some communicating, but like pretty much always, we don’t get him pushing too much and we see him continuing to deflect from making things about himself - he’s desperate to talk about the shooting and its impact on him, but Eddie resists and Buck backs off. the check here is a nice addition because it shows the concept of cross purposes, but also there is less yellow than in other outfits - the black seems to be ‘devouring’ the yellow - almost like a play on the idea that this was Bucks one big chance to communicate, but he doesn’t take it.

That is the last time we see Buck wearing yellow ochre until the end of season 6 - 6x15 and his date with Natalia to be precise! we’re back to that same shade of yellow ochre and once again we have Buck communicating - but its very much playing into what Natalia what to hear. I don’t doubt that BUck wants to talk about his death and resurrection, but we don’t actually see the conversation beyond the superficial overtures Buck makes. This plays into the suggestion that its about him trying to impress Natalia rather than actually about what Buck needs or wants to say. Its once again Buck communicating without actually communicating. something Eddie picks up on in the later graveyard scene and tries to provide the space for him to open up - which Buck doesn’t take.

The theme continues with the the next Buck/Natalia date in 6x17 - yellow ochre once again, this time an open shirt - again its that same shade, and we see a continuation of the Buck communicate via deflection technique he employs - this scene, like his previous date with Natalia, is more about her and the writers showing us her hang ups/ insecurities than it is about Bucks - beyond showing us that they aren’t actually all that compatible - its kind of framed in the same way as his previous relationships (especially Taylor) - Buck playing into what he thinks someone wants him to be rather than being who he actually is. 

This concept is something we see in pretty much all of the previous scenes where Buck is wearing Yellow ochre, this desire to be what people need him to be rather than who he actually is. there are a couple of exceptions - the first time we see Buck in yellow ochre is probably the only instance where we see Buck being somewhat honest with himself - there is an element of him playing the role he needs to to win back Eddies friendship, but I think its coming from a genuine place and is born out of a real desire to be better - he really did learn his lesson. The fact that the next time we see the yellow ochre used is in his therapy session scene where he literally states that he hides his true feelings from others is a big giant yellow ochre flag waving around telling us that when we see Buck in yellow ochre he will be playing into that idea - and that’s then how it transpires in every subsequent scene where he is in yellow ochre.

Which brings me to this new still

no one can tell me there isn’t an air of conflict about that scene - the dark cool tone of the image suggests a coolness to the room - that idea of the cold shoulder or the temperature dropping when there is conflict between two people. their body language is also adding to that vibe - Chris turned in on himself, not sat with Buck, the space between them.

Whatever this scene transpires being about, based on what we've seen with Buck wearing yellow ochre, we can assume its going to continue to play into this idea of Buck not being fully truthful with people and fitting into the role he thinks people want him to pay rather than being true to himself.

I do want to add to this theory by looking at Christophers shirt as well. The grey/ yellow combination is a bit reminiscent of Breaking point (the episode that really is the gift that keeps on giving) becasue we get Chris in grey and Eddie in tan - that is yellowish toned whilst not actually being yellow

There isn't a good screenshot of them together, but the placing of Chris and Buck in the new one has echoes of Eddie and Chris in that scene (one that is interestingly enough playing into the idea of changing family dynamics, but also the moment before and the one that happens afterwards at Bucks loft, directly placing Buck into a parental role (as an aside the idea of Buck being a miracle worker plays into the theme of Eddie looking for magic, just saying!))

Anyone want to play a game of whose shirt does this look like??!!!

Oh you do! well what if I leave these two pictures just here...

yes, yes that is a Chris sized version of that shirt - you know the one Buck was wearing when he and Taylor talked about complicated family dynamics and about telling 'other peoples stories because I hate telling my own' you know that scene about playing a part and not being yourself around people you're supposedly close to! Yes That scene - or how about the scene which happens to be the last time we saw Buck in Chris's bedroom, where Buck talks to Eddie about complicated family dynamics, about needing to have the right outfit on for the occasion, the scene where they talk about retirement, oil and Buck is playing with a dinosaur! yeah see where I'm going with this! Chris wearing a grey shirt that similar to Bucks is Paralleling those scenes - so playing into the idea of history or of thing being outdated and needing to change, of dressing for the occasion (an allegory for playing a role - to fit in to whatever environment you're in rather than being your true self) and most importantly of complicated family dynamics - suggesting that there may have been some change in the dyamics - perhaps this will play into the will (also colour paralleling the will scene as Buck is in yellow ochre and the breaking point scene with Eddie in a yellowish colour and Chris in grey) and perhaps Chris discovering Buck would be his guardian in the event Eddie isn't around. I mean we'll have to wait and see for the actual context, but I will eat my hat if the season 7 scene isn't playing into Buckley-Diaz family dynamics in some way!

Back to this still

I keep flip flopping on if its Buck or Bobby, but right now the lack of grey hair is making me lean towards it being Buck.

This is a still of the back of Bucks head from his coma dream for comparison (blurry as hell as he's not in focus but it looks enought like the same shape of hairline and of Olivers ear for me to feel like its more Buck than Bobby!

I think the shirt is what is throwing me off though because its just so not a typical Buck shirt (excepting coma dream Bucks!).

I've gone back through my notes and I just can't find any examples of Buck wearing this kind of patterning or shirt before, the closest we get is that hideous shirt he is wearing at the hospital after Kameron has given birth

The only thing I can do is scream into the void about check theory because check does't bode well for people - they always end up in the middle of the drama (see my check theory posts linked on my pinned post for more) and while they come out the other side (99% of the time) Buck in check for that scene in 6x18 pretty much doomed his relationship with Natalia (its specific to her and not C&K's baby as Buck wasn't wearing it when he delivered it!) and as that shirt in the still is very un Buck like, has not only yellow ochre in it, but also its a white base (and we all know buck in white is a bad sign!!) and its check patterned - my theory is that this scene is connected to Natalia in some way - either Buck is not being true to him self in more than one way - that things are going to/have come to a head for their relationship (my kingdom for a reverse of Buck to Eddie about Ana in 5x03!!!) and lead to a pretty big change in some way (fingers crossed for Buck to end it and then finally break down and deal with his trauma!!!)

Some other things about that shirt - I've brightened it up in the picture below - the colour combination - the green blue and yellow ochre are giving me call backs to coma Buck (another reason I think it might be connected to Bucks unresolved trauma around his death and Eddies absense in his dream)

Then there is the burgundy stripe in combination with Eddies hand placement and the fact Eddie is wearing a denim shirt - its very Tsunami call back (even the white plays into this as well as Buck was in white when he saved Chris) -

I'm quite probably clowning hard at this point, but the fact we've got Eddie in denim again (not something he wears all that often) in a scene where he puts his hand on Bucks shoulder in that way and with his Christopher watch so very prominent - we'll I might be feeling a certain way about it.

It would make sense to play into that story arc - after all - the opening of season 7 is very much centred around a big water based disaster - its got to bring up a few things for the two of them. If it is related, Eddies Denim being darker at this point would be a nice play on things - the idea that there is more deepness - more depth to his relationship with Buck than there was in early season 3 (it even calls back to flash back Eddie in 3x16 - he is wearing dark denim when him and Shannon fight and Chris wakes up)

Ok thats enough rambling from me! Hopefully i have made a tiny bit of sense! of to go back to screaming in the void now!!

tagging a few people who might be interested! @extasiswings @copyninjabuckley @oneawkwardcookie @spotsandsocks @mandzuking17 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @theladyyavilee @mistmarauder

[superstarzolar]

sorry for posting again but uhhhhhh oe arc bobble. bowl cut bobble ftw btw

[onetoomanyyy]

Everyone always makes rider traumatized from being hijacked during oe but this is the real trauma we learned about during that arc

[yuri-is-online]

What's with tkdb obsession with romeo and kaito always uncoveniently put together like this especially in chapter 9 😂

And then in romeo card he is dancing with kaito's ghost costume and i go 🤨

Seriously his obsession with kaito and his necklace is just so funny to me 🤣

Thought, it could be an imprtant lore with his necklace insignia matching with that rich old corpse. 🤔

I know this lowkey make me want to ship them just for fun and gigles lol

Anyway have a good day to you miss yuri~ ❤

Oh hello polite anon, I hope you are having a nice day too!

Originally, I had a silly sort of answer, but I had a semi serious thought while I was looking back over my screenshots.

I think Kaito is sort of a foil to Romeo? Kaito is everything that Romeo thinks he should be, which is why it infuriates him when he sees that Kaito isn't making anything of himself.  The fact he has a gambling problem probably makes it that much worse since he's literally ruining his life in the exact same way his family did.  He's holding onto that costume because it is the ghost of who he should be: Romeo should be the one in Frostheim, Romeo should be the one who is respected as a part of the upper class, Romeo is the one who is putting in the hard work to make something of his life and not Kaito so why is Kaito the one in Frostheim while he's stuck in Sinostra with that BTH regarded as nothing more than a common criminal? Their weapons are similar too, the main thing keep Kaito from also being a sniper is his questionable accuracy.

There's two reasons why Romeo is so fixated on Kaito.  The most obvious one is that pendant, but I think that's a bit of a red herring.  It's still very important to Kaito's character arc but it's not what started Romeo's obsession.  Kaito says Romeo didn't pay any attention to him until half a year ago.  Half a year ago is, of course, when the Clash happened.  There's no way someone as meticulous as Romeo just decides to be obsessed with someone who can do nothing for him like Kaito, therefore we can logically infer there is something Kaito can do or has done that Romeo thinks could benefit him.  Romeo clearly thinks that this thing has something to do with the pendant; Kaito clearly doesn't want to think about anything to do with the Clash.  Romeo now has access to that bracelet that has the same symbol, so he has a real opportunity to do some research about Kaito, the crest, and whatever it is that Kaito is trying to cover up. There's a lot you can do with how they mirror each other for a fic... but that'd be a different post

As a side note~ I have seen some musing about the single eye on Kaito's costume.  It could, at a glance, look very much like the eye on the Kyklos as it is settled in a flower.  I think it looks more like those single eyes that got slapped everywhere in some of those fake ads that got put out for the game.  I don't really think that means much since this game is a bit stupid about things… but it could mean Kaito has something to do with the OES murder and that's why he's so determined to lay low and not talk about the Clash.  If Romeo knows or suspects this is a separate matter entirely, but I could see him as someone who wouldn't really care about Kaito being a murderer.  Assuming he thought whatever he stood to gain from keeping that secret outweighed turning him into Darkwick.

[mania-sama]

leviathan, the tyrant, and the horse and rider

Where Is Your Rider - The Oh Hellos

➼ information ❧ Bungou Stray Dogs ❧ Pairing: Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya ❧ Additional Characters: Mori Ougai, Kenzaburo Oe (Original Character) ❧ Tags: angst with a happy ending, dazai-typical suicide mentions, threats of violence, threats of suicide, non-graphic gun violence, post-dead apple, explosives, mild hurt/comfort, mentions of cannibalism (unaffiliated with the cannibalism arc), canon-typical violence ❧ Summary: Chuuya shows up at the Armed Detective Agency threatening suicide under the pretense of taking a walk with a suicidal maniac. Mori pulls the strings on his puppet. Yet somehow, no one ends up committing suicide. ❧ Word Count: 6,077 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 25 February 2023

Nakahara Chuuya had been walking for a long time.

He had stayed away from the main roads. The people that he did pass chose not to bother him, but he had seen their stares, worried whisperings, and faltering strides. He had not spoken to them, but he wished he could’ve.

When Chuuya stopped walking, he planted his feet carefully, side by side, both balancing inwards on his soles. He stared at the building complex, his heart beating so erratically in his chest that he was almost sure that it would throw him off balance, that it would cause his teeth to unalign and his fingers to twitch.

Slowly, as if his ability manipulated time and not gravity, he knocked on the door. On any other day, he would’ve walked inside without knocking because that was what any normal person would do. Unfortunately, Chuuya had been specifically told that he couldn’t set off the metal detectors just beyond the Armed Detective Agency’s beautiful wooden doors. So he knocked and waited.

He had blocked out the bustle of the street behind him. The longer he thought about it, the more the idea of screaming and running for help sounded appetizing. Thus, he redirected his mind to focus full-heartedly on tracing the intricate patterns engraved in the wood, ignoring his heart as best as he could while maintaining a steady breathing pattern. It was damn-near impossible.

It’d been a while since he’d been properly scared.

He had been at an interesting curve at the top of the double doors, his eyes straining upwards since he’d kept his head completely level, when it fell away to reveal a young woman dressed in the agency’s clerk uniform on the other side.

Appropriately, she shrieked. “S–sir! What are you doing? Please, don’t! This is not—”

“I want to talk to Dazai Osamu. Bring him to me, or I’ll pull the trigger.” His hand was trembling, but he pushed the handgun harder into his own temple regardless.

Her eyes were wide-open, showcasing the electric blue color that matched with her stunned expression. She nodded, taking a small step backwards into the lobby. “It— It’ll be a moment, sir.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he said, straining to keep his voice level. Normally, he would never wait for Dazai to come to him first. Yet most of the time, it was Dazai who was holding the gun to his own head. Suicide wasn’t really Chuuya’s thing, but he supposed there was a first time for everything.

The door was propped open with a wooden stopper, leaving Chuuya to be ogled at by the two poor souls in the lobby of the agency. Obviously they weren’t very busy, meaning it was possible Dazai wasn’t in the office at all.

Chuuya adjusted his grip on his handgun, his palms sweating underneath his gloves. His hair stuck unnaturally to his face. The boss said Dazai would be in office today, but if Chuuya knew anything about his old partner, it was that he could make himself scarce if he wanted to.

He would have to pray that Mori’s intel was correct. It was rather unfortunate that Chuuya wasn’t really the religious type, save for the god that lingered in his body.

A part of him didn’t want Dazai to comply with his demand, that the clerk had alerted that Nakahara Chuuya, a Port Mafia executive, was a threat and needed to be quickly neutralized. All of this waiting and wishful thinking that Dazai would somehow come up with a plan to get Chuuya out of this situation was killing him faster than the gun at his temple.

But there was only one other thing he knew better about Dazai than anyone else; if Chuuya wanted something, Dazai would do everything in his power to prevent him from getting it.

The demon himself ambled leisurely into the lobby, hands in his trench coat’s pockets and body relaxed. He turned to make eye contact with Chuuya, a cheerful smile on his face. His shoes clicked on the floor. “Chuuya! Have you finally taken a lesson from my book?” His lips tightened a little as he stopped in front of the executive, as though disappointed. “I have to say, shooting yourself is the least creative way to go. Though, I couldn’t expect more from someone like you.”

To the bystanders in the lobby, the detective was rambling nonsense to the suicidal man in front of him without a care in the world. To most people, Dazai looked just as insane as Chuuya did. However, nobody knew Dazai like Chuuya did. His life was resting in the detective’s hands, and it wasn’t for the first time, either.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t scared.

“You will follow me, Dazai, or I’ll shoot,” he said in response. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to be there at all , standing before the person that his heart couldn’t decide what it thought about him. Chuuya was afraid his heart wouldn’t have to make that decision anymore.

Dazai cocked his head. His gaze was intense, guarded and analyzing while keeping up the aura of complacency. Chuuya struggled to keep eye contact with him, but he kept his head level and kept his body as still as he could.

“Where would you take me? It’s too early for a nice dinner,” Dazai said smoothly. He was waiting for a signal, but Chuuya had nothing to give him. He didn’t have time to wait for Dazai to realize this.

He swallowed, carefully avoiding jostling the pill tucked against his molars. “When I start walking, you’ll be beside me. If not, my brains will be out on the street.”

They’ll splatter on the civilians around them. Dazai will watch as Chuuya commits suicide in the most unimaginative way possible. 

He turned around, counting in his head the amount of time it takes to reposition his feet. He paced his breathing evenly. Chuuya didn’t look at the people’s faces, nor at the sidewalk or at the skyline. He unfocused his sight, losing himself in keeping his feet titled in his soles and walking at the correct tempo.

He was aware that Dazai was keeping pace beside him on his right side, coincidentally the same side that Chuuya was holding the gun to his temple. He could sense the attempt before Dazai had time to do it.

This much he could tell his old partner. “If you remove the gun from my head, I’ll swallow the cyanide pill in my mouth.” It felt incredibly heavy against his teeth despite its small mass.

“That’s a little more creative than using the gun, but still not particularly creative and suffering-free. Tell me, Chuuya,” Dazai asked, his voice dropping an octave, “how did you get yourself in this predicament?”

That wasn’t something he could answer directly. The story wasn’t very exciting anyway—he simply hadn’t expected his own boss to use him like this.

Chuuya couldn’t see Dazai very well from where his arm was blocking most of his peripheral vision. It was hard to tell if Dazai needed the information to configure a plan to help Chuuya escape, or if he was only asking to help alleviate some of Chuuya’s trepidation.

The Port Mafia executive almost appreciated the incentive. Almost. His anxiety wasn’t cleared so easily. “If you’re thinking of touching me,” he started, because there were only so many words he was allowed to say. Warning Dazai of the things he couldn’t do in order to keep Chuuya alive made up three quarters of those words. “I will kill myself. No Longer Human won’t work.”

Chuuya held his breath for a count of three, approximately the amount of time it would take from the bombs in his shoes to detonate. On three, he released slowly. He hadn’t revealed too much information.

Beside him, the detective hummed a familiar tune. “Who said anything about touching you? I’m sure if I did so, I would contract the suicide germs that have infected you.” He paused, and then: “Maybe only short people can contract it.”

Silence greeted the unimpressive insult. Even if he could’ve responded appropriately, Chuuya couldn’t find it in him to take it seriously in the slightest. Gruesome images were running through his head, and all of them ended up with his own bloody death in one way or another. If he misstepped in any of his responses, those would be his endings.

He wondered if the boss was wrong. Mori’s assumption was that Dazai cared too deeply about Chuuya to let him die, leading them to their current situation. Chuuya had a hard time believing that Dazai had cared about anyone since Oda’s death. He’d left behind Chuuya in the Port Mafia; who was to say he wouldn’t do it again?

But even so, Dazai trod alongside Chuuya like a loyal dog. “Nothing to say back? Tough luck.”

The executive bit his tongue, cringing as the bottom of his feet pressed a little too hard on the C-4 packets. Dazai would’ve noticed his odd gait by now, but there was nothing the two of them could currently do about the explosives. The detonation device was remote, located with the boss at their final destination.

One wrong move. Chuuya straightened his back, breathed properly, and stepped accordingly. There was no room for error or miscalculation.

Chuuya turned into a side alley, getting away from the main streets where the police have likely already been alerted. A suicidal man and a suicidal maniac walking side-by-side in a congested sidewalk was sure to spell trouble, and any forward-thinking individual would’ve thought to get the proper authorities involved.

Dazai sighed. “You’ve got me stumped this time, Chuuya. At first, I was sure you weren’t being serious, but…” he trailed off. “I can see you mean it.”

What would kill him faster? The gun, the cyanide, or the explosives? He wanted to ask Dazai because surely he, of all people, would know. Instead, he kept his mouth shut and walked.

He’d been doing so for a very long time. His mouth was dry and his stomach hurt from anxiety and hunger.

“We have a long way to go.” His feet were hurting from the precarious position he had to keep them in so he didn’t prematurely detonate the C-4.

“I have no doubt about it,” Dazai said, the frown evident in his voice.

It was selfish of him, but he wanted Dazai to keep speaking, spouting irritating nonsense like he always did before he abandoned the Port Mafia. His voice was soothing, moreso in the dire situation they were now in. Chuuya wanted to look at him and drink in the waves of his hair, the shades of his eyes, and the stature of his body.

He wanted to lie down with his head on Dazai’s lap as he ran his fingers through his hair, just like he did after the chaos of the apple suicides. Chuuya would use Corruption a thousand times if it meant he could experience that euphoric tranquility each time.

If he used Corruption now, what would happen? The bombs at his feet would detonate, but his control of gravity in that state could swallow the blast. He would toss the gun or turn it on Dazai, but it was incredibly unlikely that he’d pull the trigger on himself. Corruption caused him to lose his mind, not become intentionally suicidal.

None of that mattered, anyway. He would chomp down on the cyanide pill in a heartbeat. It was tucked too far back for it to spit out quickly, and his Corruption form would mistake it for a piece of regular food. He could recognize a gun, not a pill.

There wasn’t any peace for him. His arm was hurting from how long he’d kept the handgun held in the air. Corruption wasn’t an option if the plan was for Dazai to come up with a solution to this mess.

‘You’ve got me stumped this time, Chuuya.’ Dazai had to have been lying through his teeth. Chuuya wouldn’t know what to do if he was telling the truth.

The quiet was worse than the nervous energy of the crowded streets. He could hear his and Dazai’s shoes echoing against the buildings’ exterior walls, the thumping of his own heart, and his breathing. Occasionally, Dazai would hum some familiar tune. It was an old song from the second world war—his old partner had mentioned in the past that he’d loved that time period’s music the best.

“People were scared during that time. The War to End All Wars had only just concluded, and a new one had already started?” Dazai said with a light chuckle, breaking his humming and startling the Port Mafia executive. He almost tripped. “The songs of the time were born of depression and dismay. They showcase a certain desperation that is hard to find in modern-day songs.”

Hope— it was all he had to stave off the pit of dread that had already enveloped his stomach. By showcasing his practical mind-reading capabilities, he was giving Chuuya that terrible hope. It did little to settle his nerves, for the more Dazai talked, the more chances that Mori would detonate the bombs increased.

“My favorite is There’ll Be Bluebirds Over the White Cliffs of Dover,” Dazai continued in Chuuya’s silence. “It’s English, but fittingly so. They’d been the only major world power fighting the Axis at the time."

They were desperate. Dazai sang softly, his voice winding its way through Chuuya’s heart like a stitch. If he closed his eyes for just a second, he could pretend the barrel at his temple was Dazai’s chest, and he could feel the rhythmic rumble of his vocal chords as his old partner crooned.

Then Chuuya stumbled over his feet, and his world went white.

With one hand grasping at the dark wall of a building to keep his weight up, and the other desperately pressing the weapon to his head, Chuuya heaved with a bright spark of horror. “I tripped! I tripped, I swear! It was an accident!”

One. No, God, please no. He didn’t dare move, didn’t dare look anywhere besides the dirty floor of the alley. For how long they’d been walking, they couldn’t be far now. He’d been so close. Two. Mori had to have heard his plea through the tiny microphone on his collar. He had to have.

He squeezed his eyes shut as if it would save him for his burning demise. Three.

A count of three, a count of thirty, and there hadn’t been a detonation. It took him a half a minute to fully comprehend he was still alive, that he was still bracing himself against the wall and his heart was still beating in his chest. It tried desperately to escape its cage made of bone.

Chuuya blinked and looked up, finding Dazai studying him with an indescribable expression. His hands were still tucked into his pockets, but his muscles were taut like guitar strings. Lips drawn tight together, the detective took a dangerous step towards Chuuya.

“Stop moving!” Chuuya shouted. It was impossible to keep the shake out of his voice, given how it was no longer concealed in his body, either. Dazai halted with his hands up in surrender.

The executive pushed himself off of the wall, breathing heavily and keeping his head level with his direct line of sight. All of a sudden, he became acutely aware of the dryness of his mouth and the lack of food in his system. His tremors increased tenfold.

But Nakahara Chuuya walked, just like he had been, with bombs in his shoes, cyanide in his molars, and a handgun on his temple. Dazai walked beside him.

The detective wasted no time, recovering faster than Chuuya ever could’ve. “Where was I? Oh, yes; Tomorrow, when the world is free… ”

The Port Mafia executive stared straight ahead and let Dazai’s voice ease his trembles. He abandoned the useless fantasies, even if living in the present was harder. If he stayed in the daydream, he could make another mistake. It wasn’t worth it to risk the chance of never waking up again.

His finger twitched on the trigger. He’d almost pulled it when he fell.

Dazai had moved onto a new song by the time Chuuya stopped in front of a small warehouse. He hadn’t bothered to mention the name, but at least it was in the native tongue. His voice slowly lowered until it was nothing but an old sound on the wind. Chuuya inhaled shakily.

“Open the door and walk straight forward. I will follow behind,” he said. “Try anything out of line and I will kill myself.”

“You know, you don’t have to keep reminding me. The mantra gets boring after a while,” Dazai replied. Irritation laced his words, but he unlatched and pushed up the door without any unnecessary force. The screeching metal pierced through the executive’s ears, a sound familiar for a reason he couldn't put his finger on.

The cyanide pill made itself known, then, and he clamped his jaw firmly shut.

Walking through the dimly lit warehouse, Chuuya could hardly see Mori standing near the back. The boss had set up a meager stand consisting of a dark wood desk with a candelabra to illuminate the area. Once his eyes had fully adjusted, he noticed the men dressed in black surrounding the interior perimeter.

Chuuya would need a miracle to make it out alive. He glared at the back of Dazai’s head. If anyone could accomplish such a feat, it would be that bastard.

“Welcome, Dazai. It’s nice to see Double Black together again,” Mori said, lifting one hand in the air. Chuuya halted immediately, and so did Dazai.

“Mori,” Dazai greeted in return. His stance shifted to be more relaxed as if this was a game he’d been born to play. “I recognize this warehouse. It's one of the many places you forced Chuuya and I to train together. I hated every moment of it.”

Now that Dazai was saying it, Chuuya could barely glimpse the vague dark splotches on the wall behind Mori, and if he strained enough, he could spot them underneath his feet. Old blood. Despite it all, a grin threatened to spread across his lips. He didn’t have much time to reminisce on his first year in the Port Mafia, but he knew most of his memories were contained in this room.

Double Black may have formed during their first job together, but this was where they were honed into a perfect blade.

“Of course. You never stopped complaining about it,” the boss said. “But look where it has taken you now. I do say that I made you two a fine pair.”

It was rather unlucky that their blade had been fitted to Mori’s palms.

Dazai tilted his head back to Chuuya. His eyes flashed brilliantly, and Chuuya spent too long in this warehouse to not know what that meant.

Just how exactly Dazai wanted him to use Corruption was the issue. That’s what the executive had always hated most about working with the detective—if they weren’t in the thick of battle, he never knew what to expect next.

“I left the Port Mafia a long time ago and broke apart Double Black. Your craftsmanship could use a little work.” Dazai took his hands out of his pockets and absently picked at his nails. “I’m getting real tired of your voice, Mori. The sooner you tell me why you went out of your way to test your alliance with the Armed Detective Agency, the faster I can try this new method of suicide I’ve been looking at.”

Suicidal maniac. No matter how hard Chuuya had tried, he’d never been able to convince Dazai off of that shit. The agency hadn’t seemed to help, either. What a shame.

Mori laughed. It was a sick, cruel sound. Somehow, with the gun pressed to his head, Chuuya felt like he was fifteen again. “I want you to come back as an executive of the Port Mafia.”

Chuuya was fifteen. Mori told him the only way he could access the files on the experiments run on him when he was younger was to become an executive of this wretched organization.

Dazai was twenty-two. Mori told him that he wanted the youngest executive in Port Mafia history to return to his station, or else—

“At the threat of Chuuya’s life. Is that it?” His old partner scoffed. “It takes two to form Double Black.”

The executive narrowed his eyes. If Mori wanted the old Double Black back, then he would never detonate the bombs. Was he lied to so bluntly, and it just slipped right past him? Did he comply with Mori's demands like a brainless dog, thinking that his life was on the line when in reality, it was never really in danger?

Chuuya and Dazai were dealing with the Port Mafia boss. While it may be easier to fool Chuuya, the same couldn’t be applied to the prodigy of the mafia. There had to be something deeper at play. The power simmering beneath his skin was quickly shut down, violently shushing the ancient god stirring in his mind. Even though his anxiety and fear were quickly fading, he kept the gun to his head.

He couldn’t risk it. Not while Dazai was still making moves on this dark chessboard.

“I don’t recall a requirement for both the parties to be alive. It’s time you met a dear friend of mine. Kenzaburo,” Mori called, motioning with his other hand—the one with the accursed detonator—for the individual to come forward. “Please, join us.”

A man stepped out from the crowd, his stature rather unassuming and face particularly uninspired. What separated him from the rest, outside of his choice of a deep mahogany suit in comparison to the black ones surrounding him, were his eyes.

To put it simply, he didn’t have any. Bandages were wrapped around his head, but when it went over the sockets, the pure white was disrupted by a color the same shade of his outfit. Covering his eyes didn’t do anything if everyone could still tell he was missing them.

A strained hissing sound came from everywhere in the room, bouncing off of the warehouse walls until it came to a head by the man’s side. The vulture preened with its ugly, featherless head stuffed into its brown wings. It made another hissing noise, which sounded more akin to a cat than a bird.

Dazai startled backwards, landing himself close to Chuuya’s gunless side. His old partner’s face was an oil painting of consternation. The executive felt his heart drop in his chest.

He didn’t need to have a future-seeing ability to tell this wasn’t going to end well. Fear sweltered back into his body like a fire that couldn’t be doused. 

“It seems you’ve heard of him. Or at least, you’ve heard of his ability,” Mori said, stepping around his desk in perfect confidence.

Dazai panted heavily and clearly struggled to regain his own self-assured composure. Shit. “He was— he should be locked up! What have you done?”

The missing eyes and preening vulture were bad enough, but to have Dazai sputtering and stumbling over his words like a school boy with a crush was all he needed to know to feel terror. Along with that familiar spark of anger.

“It seems Chuuya here is uninformed. Dazai, would you inform him of his near future?” Mori was enjoying this far too much.

“Kenzaburo’s ability, Lavish Are the Dead, in… simple terms, allows him to control the dead and their ability if they have one.” Dazai wasn’t looking at Chuuya, but instead kept his gaze trained on the vulture. “When someone dies and his vulture consumes their flesh, he has to eat the regurgitated version of that flesh to gain control.”

“But you’re missing one part,” the man rasped. His voice was that of sharp nails on a chalkboard. If he listened to it for long enough, he was sure a migraine would kill him before Mori had the chance. Kanzaburo’s stringy black hair bobbed with the slight movement of his jaw. “The control goes to whoever consumes the regurgitated dead first.”

More grinned. “Dazai, you will be the one to necromance Chuuya.”

Oh God, he was going to throw up. From the looks of it, Dazai was no better off. He looked two seconds away from either hurling or killing the boss right where he was standing.

“You shouldn’t have released him from prison. He’s going to betray you, Mori,” Dazai’s voice quavered from a mixture of fury and fear, “You’ve doomed us all.”

“No, Dazai. I’ve saved the future of the Port Mafia.”

It was a losing battle. Chuuya couldn’t use his ability or Mori would detonate the bombs. Corruption would swallow the cyanide pill. His handgun was the most painless way to go out. He could see now why Mori ever handed him the gun in the first place. It wasn’t a matter of intimidation to get Dazai to come quickly and quietly–he’d given mercy to Chuuya.

There had never been any intention of letting him survive the day. Dazai slumped suddenly, all of his rigid tension dissipating from his body to display absolute defeat. He must’ve come to the same conclusion as Chuuya had.

Perhaps there wasn’t a way to save Chuuya, but he had no doubt his old partner would find a way to escape the Port Mafia without using Kenzaburo’s ability. It was the only solace he could carry with him to have peace in death. Although, it was hard for him to believe his soul would ever truly rest.

“I see,” the detective mumbled, his wrapped arms now hanging loosely out of his trench coat’s pockets. “If this is how it is, may I have a final word with Chuuya?”

Mori nodded, his lilted smile never fading. “Go ahead.”

Dazai turned to Chuuya, his lips downturned and eyes lacking the spark of ingenious it had before. They were replaced by a grief Chuuya had seen the day before Dazai had disappeared from Port Mafia and became completely untraceable. Except, it wasn’t really the same if one paid attention to the right details.

This warehouse had once been their whetstone. Chuuya began to understand Dazai a little better while standing over their cemented blood.

“I regret leaving you behind in the Port Mafia. I wish…” he choked behind his bandaged hand. “I wish I could’ve made different decisions. Things could’ve turned out differently for you. For us.”

The detective stepped closer, now invading Chuuya’s personal space. It was hard to keep his arm in the air due to the way it trembled from hunger, exhaustion, and worry. The hand that was at his mouth reached out and touched the executive’s cheek ever-so-gently, as though he was holding the stem of a flower covered with thorns.

“Take this as my apology, Chuuya.”

Dazai’s eyes fluttered shut and his hand wound its way through ginger hair. Chuuya froze as Dazai took his lips into his own.

It was nothing like how he’d imagined it would be. Mainly because almost as soon as it started, Dazai deepened the kiss and transferred a small object into Chuuya’s mouth, then almost immediately used his tongue to pilfer the cyanide pill from where it was tucked in his molars. It wasn’t romantic in any sense of the word.

Dazai was a real asshole for kissing Chuuya—for the first time, no less—like this. The familiar flame of anger, a fire so easily ignited by its predecessor called fear,   burst in his stomach and licked his lungs, and the god beneath his skin hummed in delight.

The hand that wasn’t in his ginger hair was gripping Chuuya’s collar, and with a crack broke the little microphone resting out of sight. Gently, as though he hadn’t violently oral-switched two pills without any help, Dazai pulled back and gave Chuuya a sinful grin.

“Go easy on the warehouse,” Dazai whispered. His eyes were alive in the way the only ever were when blood was going to be shed.

“I’m going to kill you, bring you back to life, and kill you again, bastard,” Chuuya whisper-yelled back, but Dazai was already moving. He twisted his fingers through Chuuya’s glove, pulling off the cloth and throwing the handgun at the same time. With his other hand, gone from the executive’s hair, yanked off the other glove.

“I’d like to see you try, hatrack.”

Chuuya let go of his tight control. The god awakened, and the last thing he witnessed was an explosion with Mori staring wide-eyed through the blaze.

Corruption.

Smoke clouded his vision and his ears rang something awful. He collapsed forward, blinking away the sting of tears from the smog. Instead of landing on the hard floor of the warehouse, his face collided with a body. This was all-too familiar.

“Rest. You’ve done well, Chuuya,” Dazai said softly, his digits carding through Chuuya’s hair. His scalp tingled with his touch.

His scalp . “Where’s my hat?” He mumbled against Dazai’s chest.

The detective sighed. “You’re more worried about that tacky thing than whether or not Mori lived through your rampage.”

“It’s not tacky. You’re the tacky one,” he said, weakly pushing himself off of Dazai’s chest. At first, all he could think was that he was already missing the feeling of his hands in his hair. Then he looked up, saw the bloody gash that extended from the top of his forehead and over his nose—narrowly missing his right eye—and the gloves and hat neatly set on the ground next to them.

Chuuya narrowed his eyes and attempted to kick Dazai’s knee in. The detective sidestepped, blood dripping into his innocent smile.

“How long did you know?” Chuuya yelled while swiping up his missing articles of clothing. “Stupid bastard, embarrassing and kissing me like that in front of the boss!”

“I had an idea of what was going to transpire a few days ago when Mori broke that ability user out of a high-security gifted prison unit,” Dazai rubbed at his new wound with his bandaged arm, staining its pristine color. “I knew about the cyanide and explosives when the clerk told me you were requesting for me under the threat of suicide. Each weapon checks out for the other, and your gait confirmed that for me when we walked together. I am curious though; how did Mori manage to force your hand?”

“Everytime you ask me a stupid question like that, a dog dies. I know you already figured it out, ” the executive said, annoyed. With his hat and gloves safely returned to his person, Chuuya felt his control tighten over both the old god and his own thoughts. 

Dazai shrugged, moving towards the entrance they came from. Now that the smoke was clearing, Chuuya could see the dead mafia members riddling the scene. Neither Mori nor the necromancer were amongst the observable casualties. “It would’ve sounded better coming from your lips,” he responded dejectedly. “Let me see— you were unknowingly drugged yesterday during a Port Mafia executive meeting. When you woke up this morning, the bombs and pill were tucked into their respective places. Mori was by your side with the detonator, and you were given the ultimatum to bring me to the warehouse or face certain death.”

Turned out that ‘or face certain death’ had really been ‘and face certain death.’ Chuuya knew, as soon as Dazai kissed him, that Dazai had known all of the details from the motion and weight detector attached to the microphone on his collar to the meeting point in the warehouse.

“I wish whoever gave you that wound had finished the damn job,” Chuuya muttered. He kicked out again while Dazai was reopening the metal door, but it was to no avail. “Would’ve done me a great favor.”

“Who knew vultures were such good fighters?” Dazai chuckled, but it contained none of the mirth that was supposed to accompany it. “Mori and Kenzaburo got away. Our trouble has only just begun.”

The path of a Port Mafia member consisted of only blood and human entrails. Chuuya was not unaccustomed to gruesome death in a variety of inhumane ways. But there was something particular about Kenzaburo’s ability that made him want to empty out his stomach’s contents until there was nothing left but acid. 

Cannibalism and necromancy. What a pain in the ass.

“How did you do it?”

Dazai looked at him curiously, playing the fool’s card. The glare Chuuya returned to him could’ve cut diamond if it were a blade. The detective put his hands in the air in mock surrender. “I was careful, but the reality of the matter was that Mori didn’t put all of his efforts into finding and silencing me.”

“He was afraid of what you would do. One bastard scared of another,” Chuuya supplied. If there hadn’t been a god in his veins, Chuuya probably would’ve been scared of Dazai, too. Perhaps not during the first team-up, but definitely afterwards, when the Sheep and GSS were manipulated into casting out Chuuya by that little bastard. 

“Yes, and no. It was in his best interest to let me go at the time.” The demon prodigy’s voice was clipped. It was a change in tone that nobody but Chuuya could hear. “Your ability will make it easier for you, but you won’t know a single moment of rest until you get your ass out of Yokohama or they decide it isn’t worth chasing you anymore. The Armed Detective Agency won’t be a haven for you, either.”

“I never implied—”

“You wouldn’t pass the entrance exam.” Dazai said, eyes glinting in the sunlight cast over the buildings of the city. Chuuya almost retaliated that yes, he could pass any exam he so wished, shitty mackerel, if it weren’t for what he tacked on: “Not yet, anyway.”

Smoke followed them well out of the warehouse. They were headed the exact same way they came from. The Armed Detective Agency.

Chuuya had no interest in saving people like they did in their organization. At one point in time, Dazai had been the exact same way. Then something changed for him. He disappeared off the face of the Earth for two years, showed up as a new member of the Armed Detective Agency, and began helping innocent people.

“I have no place in the Port Mafia anymore, but that doesn’t mean I wanted to go running with my tail tucked in my legs to your sorry lot,” Chuuya bit back. But there was a request in his words. His pride would never allow him to say it directly, but he needed Dazai’s help if he wanted to leave the Port Mafia as easily as possible.

From the expression on Dazai’s face, it already looked like he had a plan. Chuuya had no doubt the next year or two of his life was going to consist of one migraine to the next.

“How about this: we stop to eat at the café on the bottom floor of the agency’s building, you pay for the meal and my currently existing tab, and I’ll help you retrieve your belongings from the Port Mafia before they burn it all. Deal?”

Chuuya could already feel the first migraine of his new life on the run begin to form. “You make me sick, old snake. ”

But Chuuya was starving. Not only had he not eaten all day, his Corruption form had consumed any last morsel his body had been saving from the other night’s dinner. Chuuya also happened to have eaten at that café before, and he knew just how good their food and coffee were. He didn’t argue against the deal Dazai had proposed.

And if he broke one of Dazai’s toes when he stomped on it after seeing the tab he’d built up in said café, well, it was nobody’s business. Neither was the kiss that still lingered in his mind after he’d found sanctuary in an abandoned warehouse just outside of the city’s limits, nor the personal belongings he’d stored around numerous other safehouses in Yokohama.

Whether or not he dreamt of old war songs sung by an old friend—someone that Chuuya wished was more—wasn’t anyone’s business, either.

[sash1mor1]

this is several weeks old but i wanted to post. somethign I LOVE THE OE ARC!!!!!

[emeraldtart]

What if Yuu sings Aloha 'Oe to Grim during the Lost in the Book Event? Because I imagine the event starts after the end of Ignihyde arc, and Yuu, who noticed the pattern too late realises that after the seventh and last Overblot, they will be sent home.

And they can't see their friends again.

But they couldn't find the words to say it.

So they sing it to Grim.

Their first friend.

Their family.

Who they had promised to never left behind.

And someone who they couldn't keep their promise to.

Grim doesn't understand, but he knows Yuu is sad but for what?

Meanwhile, Stitch, who was nearby, looks at them and understands.

Yuu is saying farewell.

[solar-sparky]

Could you tell us more about your agent 24 (if you do agent 24) if you would be so kind 👉👈?

Rubs my hands together with malicious intent

Okay so! Let's talk about Char (Charlie/Agent 3) and Al (Allen/Phyto/Agent8) these two goobers :)

(They/Them and He/She respectively)

A bit of background for each:

Char experienced something in the past that caused them to be way more solitary, not completely cold-shoulder, and struggle with "I cant save/help anyone.". They join the Splatoon to help Cuttlefish, since the whole mission goes well and they defeat Octavio, it gives them a boost in confidence, not a lot and they are relatively quiet about it. They finally felt useful for once.

Al (Phyto at the time) isnt a soldier, she is a mechanic. While not strictly working with the government/military, she is called in to work for them pretty regularly for stuff like weapon and tech repairs. Another job he does is Zapfish care, pretty self explanatory, he does weekly checks with the zapfish.

The first time these two interact is during the Splatoon 1 storymode. Al only recently started hearing rumors about an inkling running around and taking the zapfish, at first he brushes it off. It's not until she goes to do her zapfish checks does she find out that it is in fact true and she runs into 3. Al does try to defend the bulb where the zapfish is, but not being as skilled in combat as 3, he does not come out victorious and the zapfish is taken away.

After that, everytime that Al goes to check on the fish, all the bulbs are shattered and empty. (Except for one that she finds, that's where her funny looking little zapfish comes from. Its name is 1202.)

Fast forward to the arc of OE.

Al had been planning to leave the domes for a while (about 2 years) and finally she had a plan; take the abandoned underground train tracks that Al discovered a while ago far enough. (how the gang end up in the deepsea metro is never explained so we're going with this.) Unfortunately for them this is the area 3 and Cuttlefish are surveying/exploring and that also leads into the deep sea. They dont get into a fight (Per Al's signal) and instead they somewhat travel together until they reach kamabo co.'s territory where in then security gets them.

Cuttlefish and 3 aren't deemed useful/worthy so they are just taken to one of the abandoned platform stations, Al on the other hand is taken to be sanitized. The process begins but near completion, it is interrupted by 3 taking an unconscious, nearing death Al and hauling him back to the safe spot is with Cuttlefish and 1202.

I have a bunch of headcanons for how this primordial ooze works but to put it simply, since the sanitization process was not complete for Al, it leaves her in very critical condition. Getting back to Cuttlefish now, Al is basically gone, no response from him, no breathing, no pluse, no nothing and his digits are going white (if you dont know, when inkfish die, they turn completely white/translucent. I like to also think that Splatoon inkfish, after a short amount of time after death, dry up and flake away.). Cuttlefish and 3 cant really be carrying a body around for, multiple reasons and make the decision to leave Al there, off to the side and covered. However, Al's zapfish protests and squirms out of Cuttlefishs hold and rushes over to Al thinking Al is just sleeping. Normally 1202 would wake Al up by jumping on him or tugging at him, and if all else doesn't work, even if 1202 can produce little electricity if any at all, it would shock Al. After a few tries, the shocking works and Al is back, however now about 90% sanitized; having no memories except for only remembering 1202, which he then proceeds to carry around everywhere. It is worth to note that Al cannot speak during the OE arc, and he communicates through different means.

Instead of being who knows where in the canon storymode, Char actually stays with Cuttlefish and Al on the train up until 3/4 of the way through where Cuttlefish tasks them with finding an alternative route incase Al's mission and the telephones promise dont work.

A bunch of stuff happens on the train like;

- Char, while technically saving Al, feels really guilty for her state

- Being sanitized, Al does not experience pain and pair that with her inexperience, leads to her being pretty careless when doing tests and comes back the the train with injuries almost everytime. Char starts to get a little worried, even though the wounds heal very fast. They proceed to start pulling Al off to the side after stations and bandaging her up.

- With the mem cakes, Al does recover their memories. He tries to explain to Cuttlefish, Char and sometimes Isopadre by using the mem cakes, the best way I can describe it is like Al playing with the mem cakes like toys to tell a story.

- Al had 2 friends down in the domes, Aurora (Octoling soldier) and Skip (a failed DJ Octavio clone; Octotrooper)

I dont have a design for Aurora but I do for Skip!

Continuing on, Al has mem cakes of these two friends of his and when Char heads out to proceed to find a different route, he gives the mem cakes over to Char. Why? Just incase, Al knows they may have gone looking for him (this does turn out to be true).

Anyways, skipping ahead (I'm skipping Char's mindcontrol phase cause there is some stuff from that chapter that havent shared and want to keep for myself for a little while longer :)) after the defeat of the NILS statue, Al almost dies again from overexertion, both her and Char do go to the hospital. Char is omitted from the hospital sooner than Al due to Al's critical condition and it is atleast a month or so later that Al is finally sent home.

I'm waiting to see what the deal is with side order before I commit to splat3 storystuff with Al but that's the mostly full story!

Some little fun facts

- Sometimes on outings, Al likes to bring along Finch (Agent 4) because he finds them silly. Char is completely okay because Finch kinda just does his own thing.

- Al is decently clingy to Char.

- Both being Aroace (as with most of my characters) their relationship is funny in the way that while they call eachother partner, they are sorta in a way like "oh but we aren't like that, just really good friends." Which in a way that's literally what they are but they dont know the right word it for a very long time.

- Allen has more energy when compared to Char.

Anyways that's it for now :)