Last Seen Blogs
oldgodsgames
Old Gods Games
sweetmascherari
In These Waking Moments
laceybee-writes
LaceyBee Writes
ofallthebooksiveread-blog
Of All the Books I've Read
designshatter
DESIGNSHATTER
Text
suuketa:
He already messed up the flow of what they were talking about by mentioning the date, and in the same breath implying his mom.
❝ I’ll see ya soon. ❞ He’s a little distracted, more focused now on getting inside and off the phone since he’s closing in on overlapping into non-break time, ❝ Love you, bye. ❞
And he hangs up. But… it takes a second to register what he said exactly, and he almost chokes on spit as he sharply inhales, shakily reaching his hands up to pull his beanie down over his face and lets out a groan. Great. Great! Maybe he didn’t hear him. Fat chance.
❝ Nooooo nonononono. ❞ Well it’s not a big deal, right? It doesn’t matter that much compared to..most things. Fushimi probably won’t even remember it by the time he gets home. He only said it out of habit from phone calls with his mom, so it doesn’t mean that much. Even so, the climbing embarrassment overwhelming him makes it difficult for him to put himself back together before he goes back in. He takes a deep breath, readjusts his hat back atop his head, pushing the thought furthest from his mind that he can ( which, admittedly, isn’t very far ), and heads back inside.
“...”
If Yata thought that Fushimi was going to forget that anytime soon, he was sorely mistaken. Though it was quick, it was said in that typical casual, loudmouth, everyday sort of speech — the kind that Fushimi had always been used to, but never paired with words like those.
He had to blink a few times after the phone call ended before he could bring it down and stare with his unaided vision. But he couldn’t reach for his glasses just yet; his still hands sat on his legs, out of focus, as his scowl deepened on his expression.
Another nagging feeling was creeping up on him, and he wasn’t sure if he’d be able to snub this one out. (He’s just being a moron, his moronic self.)
Fushimi laid back down, more so that he could stare up at the ceiling rather than sleep, sick of the sight of the blurry phone in his hands. In the very least, it would be a funny sight to see how embarrassed Yata likely still was over the obvious mistake.
Unless he had meant it.
(Hah, I doubt it.)
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
suuketa:
The bite he gets in return was..expected, to say the least. He knows how it is for Fushimi, so naturally any mention of anything to do with either of those days would bring some hostility out of him. It stings, but he brought it up to begin with, so he has to take the fall for it. Because it all really comes down to the fact that he’s worried about him.
❝ Ah, yeah, soon. I still have a few minutes. ❞ But he doesn’t want to get off just yet, ❝ I only ask ‘cause I wanted to know if ya wanted to.. I dunno, do something? Not for it, but I guess for a distraction. ❞
For all he knows, Fushimi might just go back to bed the second they get off the phone, although he’s not sure how likely that is when he riled him up just now.
❝ I can find something online or… I guess on tv, but I haven’t really checked that out so I don’t even know what channels we have, haha, ❞ he’s pulling it dangerously close to when he has to go back inside, but it should be fine even if he’s just a few minutes late back in, probably, ❝ Anyway, we can figure it out when I come back? If you’re still awake. ❞
It was a strange request, Fushimi thought, and he initially wanted to give Yata a flat ‘No,’ a full-bodied ‘Absolutely not,’ but his inner self knew that the effort hadn’t been given with ill-intent. Had there ever been anything in Yata that held ill-intent? (Hot-headed, idiotic, impulsive — but never without reason, that’s always been him, and it’s always caught me off guard like this.)
As much as Fushimi didn’t want to admit it out loud, Yata’s kindness to him ever since they entered the city was something he appreciated even if, at times, it crept around thorns that had lodged themselves deep under sallow skin.
“...” (God, does he ever stop talking?)
The temptation to go back to sleep was there, but Saruhiko knew that he’d only be stewing without getting any actual rest. He really didn’t have much of a choice unless he wanted to avoid Yata that night altogether, which was quite impossible considering their housing situation — any attempts to be cold and distant were needlessly petty. They were too much work, with little reward.
He sucked his teeth once again, knowing they didn’t have much time left.
“We’ll figure it out.”
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
suuketa:
He understands it well enough, replying with a short “hm!” before expanding on it.
❝ Food and painkillers. Got it! ❞
Being on the phone with Fushimi is relaxing enough, thankful that he at least speaks at all to him and wants something to do with Yata, and it helps with the anxiety that grips at him when he’s not checking up on him – not overbearingly so, but enough where he makes it a point to call or talk to him. It kind of felt like old times coupled with a bit of awkwardness, but is there really any other way than to act how he usually does? He doesn’t think of the way he acts as a problem, that is.
❝ I’ll bring something different than I usually do, ‘kay? ❞ he’s certain the fact that he’s smiling can be heard in the tone of his voice, but it doesn’t embarrass or bug him, really. When it comes to Saruhiko, Yata felt more of everything. More courageous, happier, more in the sense of belonging. Which is why he’s thankful to have him back, and regretful that he refused before to understand further. He deserved better than that, sure, but seeing the mark burned right in front of his face made his blood boil, and he’s not sure how else he was supposed to take it exactly. He doesn’t know if he’s in the wrong, but he doesn’t know if he was right either.
❝ Oi, Saru, ❞ he presses his lips together, he doesn’t to make his mood worse or add unnecessary stress onto it, but he needs to ask the question anyway, ❝ ya know what day it is, right? ❞
Certainty went a long way in this phone call, just like it did with their others. Like a keepsake of their old days, Saruhiko could hear the smile in Yata’s voice with ease; with no one else to see, he gave a smirk of his own in response, and continued dressing himself. Being like this wasn’t so bad, not when he could show his appreciation in quiet, unobtrusive ways.
After a small sigh, he heard the question that sounded much more like nagging than Saruhiko figured Yata meant it to. It begged his immediate attention, echoing his unexplained annoyance, and to it he gave a quick ‘Tch.’ It only took him a second to connect the answer: the season, the month, the day — the implication.
“Why wouldn’t I?” he fired back, hot, biting, not at all meaning to take it out on Misaki but figuring it sounded just like that anyway. “Its Sunday,” was how he chose to prove it, making it a point to ignore the commercial holiday looming over their heads.
He didn’t want to think about where that woman was, or what she was doing. Did she ever think about what she had done to the child she never should have had? Even if Fushimi had never given it a second thought until after he’d met Yata’s mother, his childhood and his memories had still been full of —
— It didn’t matter.
“...Isn’t your break over soon?” he mumbled out, still just as sour, but not anywhere near as energized.
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
suuketa:
He rocks back and forth on his feet, counting down the minutes until he has to go back inside from his break, which luckily enough don’t seem to be passing by as quickly as they usually do when he goes out to stretch. Maybe because he’s paying close attention to his watch while he talks to drag out the seconds the longest he can.
❝ Yeah? That’s good. Now that I think about it, I haven’t really seen them that much either. ❞ he hums for a moment, drawing a long breath out, ❝ I woke ya up? Sorry ‘bout that. ❞
He goes over silently what exactly he should put in the food, knowing full well even if he says to eat something that it doesn’t necessarily mean Fushimi will at all, in fact, he kind of expects the opposite. Regardless, he’s still putting them in there.
❝ Y'sleep alright? If ya need more painkillers or anythin’ I can see about gettin’ some more somehow, ❞ he planned to anyway, but he hasn’t been keeping track on if he’d even been taking them to begin with, ❝ just let me know. ❞ He doesn’t know why he drones on and on, especially when it comes to Fushimi, but there’s a relative ease that lingers between how he feels around him, even if him talking so much and so often might be annoying or too much occasionally. Whatever it is, it doesn’t really occur to Yata that he should be quiet sometimes, or shut his mouth before he can’t stop, or think before he speaks.
It’s just always been easy with Fushimi.
His shirt is off by the time Yata pauses again, and so he does too, just as easily. It wouldn’t have been so easy if they had been talking face to face, but Saruhiko was given a break this time around. He wasn’t so good at those too-real interactions, those too-real depictions of the worry and care that he simply didn’t know how to handle. He handled them now with blank stares out the window on the blank wall, with a view onto a blank city he didn’t know and didn’t care to know.
There was no way to tell that this Yata was even real, that the real Yata would even care about him after everything they’d gone through, but Saruhiko would endure in the hopes that they were both real — both alive in the same place, at the same time. There was little more he wanted, apart from a break from his pain.
“...” Fushimi truly didn’t mind him going on. Even if sometimes he thought that Yata could say more intuitive things, or at least think before he spoke, his endless babbling was a way to break up Fushimi’s too-long silences that he didn’t want to admit to.
“It’s fine,” he said, as a response to both the painkillers and the sleep. But his leg was just beginning to throb again, so he sat in silent hesitance. It wasn’t so hard to live with, but if Yata wanted to offer...
“...More painkillers wouldn’t be the worst,” he groaned at least, his hand going to his head with a sigh. For such an idiot, Yata really made him think, and while he hated it there was a small part within that really didn’t mind it so much.
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
suuketa:
It takes a little bit to get a response out of him, but eventually he answers – er, answers in a different way.
❝ Hah? Yeah, I should be. Uh…about..another hour, at the most? ❞ he just needs to wrap up the rest of his shift and lock up, save making Fushimi something to eat towards the end so it’ll still be warm by the time he gets home, ❝ I’m putting more vegetables in it since y'need all the nutrients ya can get, so ya’d better eat it! ❞
Although he doesn’t really expect Fushimi to eat all of it, he’d be happy even if he just got a few bites down. Since he hasn’t been eating much toppled with illness, Yata’s been extremely worried and careful to take care of him the best he can. He’s improving, which is what matters the most to him at the moment. Whatever he’s doing must be working, so he’ll keep at it until he makes a full recovery.
❝ Hey, are ya… ❞ he pauses, going over the words in his head for a second, before he decides altogether just not to say anything, ❝ nevermind, is it going okay over there? Roommates aren’t bugging ya, right? ❞
He stayed quiet for the most part, stretching out his sore limbs under the sheets before throwing them off entirely. The babble in his ear kept off the distant uneasiness he was feeling, though if Yata was going to be gone for at least another hour, Saruhiko had the feeling that he’d have to face it sooner or later.
For now, he was content with simply rolling his eyes at the vegetable comment — in all likeliness, Saru would probably be pushing those off to the side.
But the momentary lilt in the conversation (isn’t it more than a little bit one-sided?) made Saruhiko think back on his uneasiness, and even as Yata continued to talk, the feeling didn’t retreat as it had before. But, it was something he could hide well enough; something so temperamental didn’t have to drive itself between them, especially considering how bad Saruhiko had become at communicating.
(I wonder if you’ll ever get sick of this).
“They’re quiet enough,” he settled on saying as he sat up, knowing he’d have to get dressed at some point. “I was asleep until you called.”
He shifted, putting the phone on speaker, and stood so that he could change. Looking down now at the bandages on his leg and the remaining few on his arms, none of them seemed to be bled through, which was a good sign.
(...You’re too worried about me.)
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
suuketa:
@sxruhiko
A quick call, relatively easy to make given who it’s to in question.
❝ Hey, hey, can ya hand the phone to Saru? ❞ which his roommate does, of course, and he almost huffs at the tone his friend uses on answering ( but that doesn’t matter that much at the moment, so he let’s it slide for now ), ❝ Saru, y'doin’ alright today? ❞ it’s general, and kind of broad, but given what day it was in particular he especially wanted to check in on him.
❝ I can probably bring something back from work if you’re hungry. ❞
It had been expected at this point: the ring of a distant phone that Saruhiko somehow knew was intended for him, but he still didn’t move from his spot under the sheets. He much preferred the warmth and comfort of laying still, even if the bed he slept in now wasn’t his own, and reminders of that fact were always the sight he’d wake to. Being awake now, the tone of Yata’s voice was calming, and yet Fushimi found himself irritated without really knowing why. Like he was... forgetting something.
Though his injuries were healing well, his fever had been slow to recede. Chills were the least of his problems as he could barely hold down his food or breathe correctly, but after the time he’d spent with Yata, things could be worse. He was eating more, and his symptoms were all but completely gone.
“Mm,” he grunted, groggy from sleep still, and not wanting to directly answer the question anyway. But then, he thought of it again, and the concept of food was more tempting than it usually was. He tried not to think of how much more weight he probably lost from being sick.
“...Will you be back soon?” He wasn’t sure if his growling stomach could be heard through the phone or not.
15 notes
·
View notes
Text
Saruhiko Fushimi // Scepter 4 // K Project
male, 20, scorpio, 5′10″
“tch”
emotionally constipated
he’s trying
don’t fuck with yata or he’ll kill you probably
like 90% sure the hive is an illusion
the other 10% is that he’s in hell
currently on the mend from like 40 injuries
Sarcastic Smartass McSassypants ™
2 notes
·
View notes
Text
It crawled across his hand, slowly at first, seemingly deliberate in its course until it stopped to rest at the protruding bone in his wrist. For whatever reason, the spider seemed to be quite at home there, but Saruhiko wouldn’t be the one to complain. He never did fear any sort of insect or arachnid, and preferred not to kill them unless they were poisonous. Of course, this kind of tarantula didn’t seem like any sort of wild species befitting the area.
Only when he looked up did he see a young woman who, strangely enough, reminded him of a spider herself. With a raised brow and a raised wrist (equipped with said tarantula), he spoke.
“Does this belong to you?”
you certainly look the type, @arachno-phile ..
#arachno phile#vriska 1#i read about that pet tarantula so i hope this is ok!!!#man these two interacting would be such an entertaining disaster i can't wait to see
1 note
·
View note
Text
It had been a simple day, short and full of nothingness. He didn’t have a job, didn’t have a way to connect to the online network of the city, and didn’t have many places to go on account of his injuries, but local parks and eateries offered more than enough fresh air; if he was being honest, he didn’t think he’d ever need a dose of fresh air until he ended up in Hive City. As if he could snap out of his clouded focus and restless mind in its presence.
But out of the corner of his eye, something deep and black stood out against the green of trees and manicured nature. Something that obviously didn’t belong there, like a portal, and out of it came... a girl?
All he could really do was blink a few times, wondering if it was a hallucination.
just where did you come from, @fadxngmemcry ??
0 notes
Text
It was the ultimate source of irony that a man with an injured leg would have to live in a cave like District Delta, crawling in and out of it like an animal just to get back home. But then, he only came back when he wasn’t with that guy, so it could have been worse, he supposed.
It was still a confusing place either way, dark and dank and not the first place Saruhiko would think was suitable for human life.
He stared long and hard at the walls, situated with hieroglyphs that were beyond his own knowledge. Not wanting to break his focus, Fushimi only moved his gaze to check that the shadow looming ever-closer wasn’t someone he should consider an enemy. (No... Too small.)
do you know what any of this says, @homuranos ??
0 notes
Text
I have a few replies and a couple of starters to make, but I’d like to get more stuff going for Saruhiko, so please ʟɪᴋᴇ ᴛʜɪs ғᴏʀ ᴀ sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀ! It’ll be ᴜɴᴄᴀᴘᴘᴇᴅ for now, until I run out of ideas!
1 note
·
View note
Text
suuketa:
It’s quiet, but he catches it. It’s never been more reassuring to hear than now; the name that normally flips his stomach with rage all but a gentle sound in the moment, linked with nothing that it’s normally latched onto – if it were any other situation than this, he’d get mad. He’d ball his fists, he’d yell, flames eventually rolling out from where he stands to cover the entirety of himself like a protective barrier – an extension of his anger. If it were any other instance that proves anything than he’s still alive, he wouldn’t be so happy - thankful - relieved for it to be said.
It’s about the only time he’s ever enjoyed hearing his own name.
❝ I’m here, Saru! I’m not going to let you die, got it?! ❞
Maybe he’s challenging God with the statement, but if he can help it he refuses to let Saruhiko die. Not him, never him. ‘You can’t take everything from me,’ on top of it all, at one point everything Saruhiko was and everything Saruhiko stood for were what Yata needed, clung to, even, and he relied on him more than he ever liked to really admit by the end of it all. Maybe that’s why he didn’t understand it that well when he left – why he left. But he understands now.
He probably only got away with riding his board into the clinic area because he was carrying someone bruised, beaten beyond belief on his back, but he still steps off once he’s close enough to someone who can properly look at him.
When Saru speaks again, it takes him a second to grasp what he’s trying to say, but he fills in the blanks easily enough since ( even now ) he still vaguely understands him, doesn’t he?
❝ You aren’t! Saruhiko, I didn’t get it before. Y'never told me anything, so I didn’t get it, but I do now. I get it, okay! ❞
He shouldn’t get riled up, but his voice still raises with his words, ’We need to take him,’ they say, reaching for him, ❝ Give–just, give me a second! ❞
❝ Y'weren’t ever a traitor, were ya?! Because of everything ya did for the Blue King, your King, ya didn’t betray anyone. But, I’m stupid, yeah, so I couldn’t understand before, which is why I need y'to tell me these things! I won’t get it otherwise! Just say it in a way I understand! ❞
’Sir,’ ❝ Fine! ❞ he finally leans him toward them, allowing them to get a hold of him to bring him somewhere else where they can actually check out his wounds properly and how to address them, and the weight coming off of him doesn’t do anything to relieve the weight he feels on his chest, tight with anxiety.
Eventually, they allow him to go back to see him, and he can barely keep a hold on his breath enough or hold himself back from just running into the room where Saru is ( which he does, holding onto his board so tightly his knuckles go white ).
❝ I, uh… Saru? ❞ you’re not dead, right?
Something like life or death couldn’t ever be assured; just as someone could be beaten to near death and rise back to health, so could the healthy fall into pits of sickness and misfortune and deadly consequence. And still Saruhiko took the words from that loud, stubborn friend to heart; in a far-off way that he could barely take hold of, he was grateful, and he was calm.
When Yata spoke his next words, Fushimi had been brushed awake by the fingers of doctors that were likely eager to stop his bleeding, or ease his breathing, and yet his own fingers still clung to the fabric of Yata’s shirt, waiting to hear what he had to say. He was hanging onto every word, in both physical and mental sense.
Somehow, despite the pain in his cheek and his lips, he found the corner of his mouth upturned into the smallest hint of a smile. (So this is where we found ourselves? Maybe I could —)
The doctors took Saruhiko before he could say anything in response, but he spared one last trying glance towards Yata as he was sent off into one of the many back rooms to be taken care of. They’d be seeing each other soon enough, he thought, but he caught himself holding onto an inkling of hope that Yata wouldn’t be leaving, and they could meet sooner rather than later. Whether or not it was a selfish thing to want someone (can I even call him a friend at this point?) to stick around until God knows how late into the night, the thought accompanied him into the back room.
They worked around him for what felt like hours, probing at his clothing and his injuries with rough handling and high speed. He managed to catch spare words like ‘stitches,’ ‘bruised,’ and ‘underweight.’ (Ah, my favorite part of being checked by a doctor. Can’t they give it a rest? What does my weight have to do with anything?) At least nothing was broken.
By the time they were finished, his thigh was sewn and bandaged. Several scrapes on his arms and back had been cleaned and taken care of while he was lectured on his health; apparently his poor nutrition hadn’t helped with his fever, and if he wasn’t careful, the stab wound in his thigh could become infected. Technical medical speak was barely processed in his mind to make complete sense, but he got the main gist of it all — be careful, take care of yourself.
It was when the doctor said that the redhead who carried him in was still out in the waiting room that Saruhiko propped himself up and mentally shook off his clouded focus. It was up to him whether he wanted a visitor or not; given his thoughts from earlier, he didn’t take much time before he affirmed with a quiet nod that it was fine to let Misaki in.
Fushimi was silent for longer than he probably should have been, but the whole situation was setting in and he only continued to feel more embarrassed that it happened. Truthfully, he didn’t want to talk about it. With all the limitations he felt in his Aura, he had to question whether or not he was worthy of wielding them at all. What other excuse could there possibly be for the lack of heat in his chest, lack of spark in his fingertips? All he had left was a small bit of blue in the back of his mind, and now he felt too exhausted to even look for it.
He looked away from Yata, to the floor, feeling the most exposed that he ever had. And like an animal rounded into a corner, primal fear was still sitting there at his side like an unwelcome guest. (I only ever felt this scared of...)
But in the very least, he was still alive, and he had to speak at some point.
“I didn’t think you'd stick around,” was how he chose to begin, only at that point lifting his chin to glance somewhere other than the floor. He was suddenly all too aware of the blanket over his legs, and how baggy his hospital gown was, and how sore his head felt. Absentmindedly, he scratched at the burn on his chest that was all-too exposed now — an old habit of anxiety.
He realized then that he didn’t even know what time it was. The clock in the wall was out of focus... (They must have taken off my glasses when I came in.) Instinctively, he reached out to the bedside table and found them laying there, but after putting them on he realized that he’d have to find a way to replace them soon; a large crack in the glass left his vision obscured. He could still see the time, though: 4:40ᴀᴍ.
“Almost morning, huh...”
(Hadn’t we stayed up together like this before? I don’t think I ever talked so much before I met you. This shitty silence is more than a little ironic.) A small part of him felt lucky to have a window in the room, though. Like they could relive those small, far-away memories of the sunrise, even if it was in a hospital bed.
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
suuketa:
It’s not easy yet, living in the city, getting used to it and the daily life of it. While much of it is like Shizume ( the hustle and bustle of it, the tons of people swarming the streets, and so on ) in many more ways, its far from it. But, he’ll deal with stuff as they come to him, just like before. Being alone now isn’t much different than when everyone left HOMRA, before Anna became the new Red King, although the loneliness that comes with it still leaves the taste of coal in his mouth. If he couldn’t place the blame on the people who brought him here, he would probably lose it.
But, for now, he roams as he usually does, the sound of his skateboard against the gravel one of the only comforting static sounds to him, and up until he sees something–someone on the ground a ways off, it was a good night. The hold of anticipation and fear squeezes his lungs and he can’t find the grip to breathe, but he rushes over nonetheless, hands shaking as he yells out a Saruhiko.
He’s not sure what to think with him being absolutely bruised and broken on the ground, and even though he found him again – finally – it’s like fate is saying we will give this to you, this poignant, lost, missed thing, and now we’ll take it away. If he allows it, another thing he wants to save will be taken from him once again, and that weight will come down hard on his shoulders to be carried with him like the others.
❝ Saruhiko?! Fuck–fuck! ❞
He doesn’t feel like he’s moving fast enough, after images clinging to his skin as his body moves faster than his thoughts, which only leaves skips and stumbles of attempts to lift the person he meant to save before he even made it here. Is he too late?
❝ Shit, Saru, what the hell happened to you?! Hold–hold on! ❞ was this from the city, or was this from before? Throughout all of it, he struggles to find an area to grab, somewhere not covered in blood, somewhere that doesn’t hurt – maybe it looks worse than it is. He can only hope, but what good did that ever do for him?
And being careful isn’t exactly a luxury he has time to consider in the moment, so he settles for slinging Saru’s arm around his shoulders, placing the weight of his friend against him the best he can and stepping back onto the board. He’s not unsure of where to go, immediately thinking of the nearest clinic he can find. It doesn’t matter which, as long as he can get him somewhere, anywhere. If he loses another person, Saruhiko Fushimi, of all people, wouldn’t the world just be too cruel to him then?
He never gets used to it, either, the feeling of losing something close. Even if he’s not close to Saruhiko anymore, there was once a time where he could call him his best friend. Someone more important to him than anyone else. Placed on Yata’s own metaphorical pedestal of hope and shared dreams from their youth. Once, he was who he was the most connected to. But, it’s grasp on the world slips through every passing second, and there never feels like there’s enough time. ‘You’re already out of it.’ it seems to chant, maliciously, limp between its teeth. He still doesn’t choose to believe it. The thought that Saru was dead before already webbed itself in his thoughts, that he didn’t make it to him in time before back in their own city, but is this really better than death? Being on the cusp of it?
❝ Don’t close your eyes! ❞
All he can do is plead with him to stay awake, and hope that he made it in time. Going as fast as he’s able to while holding onto him and trying to talk him from death. And he won’t leave him, through all of this, through anything that may happen to them in the city, ever. If there’s anyone out there that has any kind of sympathy for Yata Misaki, he’s calling out to you.
Just let him live.
Awareness of the body that reached down for him was vague at best, much more like a picturebook of stills and blurry action shots than full consciousness. Every sound blended until it was mush in his ears. All he could feel was the dull ache of a body that lagged behind his beaten brain... did he have a concussion? Or was the shock and shame of it all too much for him to handle? He’d never felt so powerless in his life.
And then his world shifted, quite literally, being lifted by that person. The throbbing around his body fell downwards to pinpoint every bruise, scrape, and cut in his legs — especially the stab wound in his thigh. The feeling seared red behind his eyes just like a burn, prickling heat deep into his skin, pain so vibrant it sapped at whatever minuscule piece of strength that kept his body from falling apart. It felt as if only the tips of his fingers could still move, and so they did, grasping desperately for the body next to his own. Instinct told him to; his subconscious already knew who it was.
While they moved (too fast to be walking, the breeze hits my face and I know I should be cold but this pillar of fire seems to keep it at bay) he tried to comprehend the words being said to him, for him (I know that it’s you, there’s no one that could be as warm as this). He can’t close his eyes. He can’t give up. He can’t fall asleep.
“Misaki.”
It was more like a whisper than a word, yet what he tried to say was clear enough. Unlike the many times he said that name before, there was no malice or falsely constructed sadism. It was weak, and it was soft, and it was breath that shot pain into what must have been a bruised rib. Or two.
It could only be that boy, his old friend, carrying him onward. With Saruhiko’s face resting on his shoulder, his short and stuttered breaths identified a scent he remembered from years passed. Familiar and homely.
Old images flushed through his vision and he could see their middle school years laid out in front of him, passing by just like the shops and nightlife pedestrians that must have been wondering what was wrong with ‘that guy with the glasses.’ Sharing music, sharing meals (properly fussed over and picked apart but nevertheless appreciated under silent glances), big talk late into the night about taking over the world or finding a way to leave it somehow —
But the air was damp and cold with spring. Not even Misaki’s warmth could keep it at bay forever. Whether or not he liked it, the feeling cut into him, brought him back into the present where his body felt broken and he could only grasp onto spare fistfuls of Yata’s clothing. Moving as fast as they did, he almost felt that he’d fall over back onto the pavement just like the way he’d been found, but he managed to stay upright long enough to see the lighting change. Fluorescent bulbs made him wince, a staunch difference from the darkness outside. (A clinic? He thought to bring me here?) Saruhiko took as deep a breath as he could.
“Why would you...?” The words couldn’t come.
“I was only ever — ”
They were too old now to live in daydreams or hopes or promises of leaving the planet; ᴀʟᴇᴀ ɪᴀᴄᴛᴀ ᴇsᴛ. No matter what his reason was for choosing his life, Saruhiko had to live with it. He had to accept the branding he had given himself, both on his chest and in his past.
(A traitor.)
#suuketa#001#saru's not allowed to die so i'll die in his place instead#goodbye cruel world#casually unleashes this beast in the dead of night#move along people
6 notes
·
View notes
Text
a hee to the ho and away we go!
i present you a starter call, piping hot, straight from the oven. i’d like to cap it at 3 but feel free to contact me and plot ooc; i’ll gladly write with you regardless of that number!
3 notes
·
View notes
Text
A joke decision. That was what this was.
In his state, Saruhiko should have figured that he wasn’t suitable for going out in public or dealing with rowdy strangers. Nowadays, he felt as if the only thing he was suitable for was combat — but even in that regard, it seemed that he’d been stunted. (A wooden sword? Really?)
He sat at the end of the bar, though that really wasn’t his only option. It seemed that the only other person there was a few seats down, seemingly minding his own business. With him, Saruhiko had no qualms; it was the group behind them that was... disrupting the peace, as it were.
“You idiots have nothing better to do than make a mess of everything you touch,” he mumbled to himself, before turning around and aiming a much louder bark to the troublemakers. “Shut up, will you?”
— Only to look to the side and see that the other at the bar had done the exact same thing.
well, this is awkward, @instinctlion ..
1 note
·
View note
Text
Subtle awareness of the dull throbbing in his thigh was giving way to his surroundings, little by little; the injury was still painful, sure, but it appeared to be sufficiently patched up (for now) by the scientists that deemed him worthy of The Hive. In the very least, he wasn’t bleeding all over himself. Though he wondered why they allowed him to be injured at all (if it was such an experimental place was a stab wound really so difficult to treat with more than a bandage?) it seemed that he had much bigger, much more maze-like problems to deal with.
The city in front of him was sprawling. Some part of him wondered how in the hell he was supposed to find his way around, but if there was time to be questioning himself, there was time to seek answers, so immediately he was on the move. Night was overtaking the sky and Saruhiko knew that he’d have to find his housing soon, or at least a haven to take rest in for the night in the case that he couldn’t find it.
Suddenly he was young again, small and ignorant of the world he was left alone in. That much he couldn’t be blamed for, but of course fate had a way of disregarding blame to strike at the underbelly of beastly weakness. Whenever and wherever it could prey, it would, and yet the face of this young man would never betray that cold fact. (Find your way, seek out exit points, keep an eye behind you, don’t let the dull roar of the city distract you from —)
Time ticked on for the limping youth until he was so tired and cold that he had no choice but to take a break. His bandage needed to be changed soon, he was hungry, he was heavy, and the footsteps that trailed a little bit less than a block behind him still resounded with almost painful prominence. They were likely just a band of thugs making their rounds when they spotted him, rich-looking and obviously out-of-place against the normal droll of locals.
Without proper weapons to defend himself, Saruhiko was stuck trying to speed up his walk and lose his followers, but that had only created more pain in each step forward. Unwilling to let his limp become worse, he had tried to work his way through the pain, and in the process felt a familiar warm liquid dripping down his thigh. Bleeding through his bandages.
“Shit.”
Wherever his fan club had gone, he did not know, but what he did know was that he couldn’t stay in one place on the street for too long. He was too open out here. Too vulnerable. From a distance it didn’t seem that anybody would be able to tell how much he was bleeding, but up close it was rather obvious; dark pools that seeped through fabric were glistening by distant neon lights from closed shops and parlors. Pain, said his expression, with a light grimace.
Goading nonsense crept up on Saruhiko rather quickly after he was done assessing the damage... but that didn’t leave him in any better of a state to run. His breathing grew labored and his muscles were tightening from the cold. He probably had a fever, too, but that was the furthest thing from his mind. Instead, he was looking for exit points down the street he sat near.
“Straight shot...” the alley behind the closed down shops could provide him with an alternate route, but who knew how many of them there were? For all Fushimi knew, this was their city, and he was a mere trespasser. Perhaps that was the reason he was being targeted, but with the voices drawing nearer, he was running out of options.
The once-muffled scuffle of boots and bats became crystal clear, no longer obscured by buildings or other objects. They were right behind him, and no sooner than they could call for him to comply with their thuggish wishes, Saru attempted to run, bleeding be damned, to no avail. A bat, carefully aimed, succeeded in striking his injured leg.
Agitated, wounded grunts escaped his throat. His knee gave out from under him, and so did the strength of his other leg as soon as he realized he’d been struck there as well. Like vultures they picked at him — without his strength, or proper weapons, and only the defensive shield of his Blue Aura to go by (it’s giving out too quickly, it’s not strong enough, it can’t do anything against this), he could do nothing but wait for it to end. Even fighting back was pointless; that much he learned after a few punches of his own, knuckles sinking into teeth and the hard orbital bones of men so greedily looking down on him.
The things people did for money.
Yeah, this was a lot like being a kid again.
By the time they left, there was a thin slice against his neck where they kept him still in their grip. His breathing was so shallow that with the rest of his consciousness, he assumed at least one of his ribs to be broken. The injury he came into the city with, his stab wound, had completely opened up and blood pooled on the ground beneath his leg. Who knew how many bruises he had on his face? How many gashes on his arms from being ground into the pavement?
Nevertheless, his heartbeat was strong. It was the only muscle in his body that he could feel anymore as it hammered away, teasing and unkind. (Look at you, so pathetic on the ground. You couldn’t even get up if you tried, could you? Just do it, I want a good laugh! Dance around, little monkey!)
Saruhiko lay on the ground, stubbornly defying the intrusive thoughts that came to him, staring up at the sky as if he could find something there to give him strength. As if, between the stars and planets, a hand would reach down to grasp him.
and as his hearing muddled out
the distant noise of passing cars,
he swears he can hear a familiar
voice but in his heart he’s scared
he’s only imagining that too.
@suuketa
6 notes
·
View notes
Note
here's fushimi saruhiko from k-project! the app should be under the first pop up, thank you!
Welcome!
You’ll be staying in district Delta!
You’ll be able to use your blue aura to make shields three times a day!
You’ll be given a wooden sword!
Enjoy your stay!
–Mod oo4
1 note
·
View note