#me making excuses to flesh out my akira some more | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

the-homicidediaries · 3 years

Text

Issei Sagawa

“Sometimes I wonder why I did such a horrible thing. Maybe it’s because I come from another planet, or another dimension and accidentally fell to Earth like a meteorite, disguised as a baby crying on the street. My mother walked by and took pity on me. I must have come from a place of cannibals, and I’m the only one of my kind who exists on this planet.”

Good afternoon, everyone who takes the time to read this!

Today, I have the very displeasure of telling you about one of the most.. bizarre human beings I have ever read about.

I have been interested in true crime ever since I could remember. My father is really interested in it as well, so growing up there were always books laying around about the worst of the worst kind of people. Even to this day, my dad and I share stories we heard or a new podcast we listened to or swap books; it’s real fun. And when you are heavily interested in true crime, you hear and see so many similar stories. This person had an abusive childhood and became a serial killer, this person was not longer interested in being a family man so he killed his whole family and moved away to start a new life, this person was strung out on drugs, this person caught her husband cheating on her and stabbed him as a crime of passion, etc. And while I am not downplaying or excusing these murders AT ALL, because no one should be murdered, I do find myself skipping stories like that. They don’t check my boxes.

Cannibals check my box. And I have, admittedly, unconsciously, been surrounding myself with cannibalistic aspects. I just finished (another) three part podcast about Jeffrey Dahmer, I’m reading My Friend Dahmer, and watching Attack on Titan like my life depends on it. (Attack on Titan is a Japanese manga series turned into a long running anime about three conjoined towns who are constantly being attacked and eaten by the HUGE human-like zombie creatures, but that is for another day.)

Have I rambled enough? Yes. Yes, I think so. Let’s get into ittttt.

Issei Sagawa, known as Pang or The Kobe Cannibal, was born on April 26th, 1949 in Kobe, Japan to a very wealthy family. Issei has said himself that his childhood was the happiest time of his life and he was a carefree child. He said his parents love him deeply. One thing to note about Issei is that he was born prematurely (and he looks.. off) and doctors did not think he would survive. Issei said because of this, he has always seen himself as an undesirable person. So, instead of friends, Issei had books! Because his family was so wealthy, Issei was afforded an incredible education and was able to travel all over the world and learn about music, art, literature, etc. He was very interested in art. This will come back around later.

So how does a rich, seemingly normal, intelligent child become a cannibal? Issei contributes a few things to this: *Issei said his first cannibalistic urge happened when he was in first grade and saw a fellow classmate’s thighs. *Issei said sex was a taboo subject around his household. He said when he had reached a certain age, he began having erections, like all boys do, but he thought he was sick and was too embarrassed to tell anyone. He didn’t know how to relieve himself at this time.. soooo. He, uh, got help from his dog. Yeah. Yeeeah. (I watched an interview he did with Vice about ten years ago, which I will link below, and watching him describe this so nonchalantly made me the most uncomfortable. Actually, he is nonchalant the entire interview and it’s so disturbing and uncomfy. At one point he says, “I think my sexual desires began to distort around that time.” Yeah, I would say so, buddy.) *Issei said he would have a reoccurring dream where he and his brother were being boiled in a large pot to be eaten. Issei said he flipped the script and began to fantasize about what it would be like to eat someone. As with most premeditated killers, his fantasies escalated from curiosity to behavior. *Issei was obsessed with western women. He said they are tall and beautiful and he has described himself as a “weak, ugly, and small man”. In an interview after what he keeps calling an “incident”, Issei claimed one of the reasons he consumed human flesh was to “absorb her energy”.

Issei said he did practice a good amount of restraint for his cannibalistic urges until his college years. While attending Wako University in Tokyo, Issei said he saw a beautiful, blonde, German woman walking by and he was “dazzled by her white thighs”. One day, he broke into this woman’s apartment on the ground floor. He said his plan was to hit her in the head with an umbrella so he could get a knife from her kitchen and cut into her buttocks and eat it. He was extremely hesitant and his knees accidentally brushed against her stomach, waking her up. She screamed and Issei fled. Police charged him with attempted rape. Issei said he did explain to psychiatrists about his sexual urges but they didn’t consider it cannibalism and let him go.

After this, Akira (his father) sent Issei to study comparative literature at Sorbonne University in France in 1981. In the interview, as Issei is recalling this, he said his mother had the an extremely sad look on her face the day he was leaving, “like she knew something horrible was going to happen”. (I could think of a reason why.)

Issei had not forgotten about how close he had gotten to fulfilling his fantasy of eating a European woman back in Tokyo. He was convinced if he was more prepared he could follow through with it flawlessly. He said when he moved to France, he would bring home a sex worker almost every night, but everytime he tried to shoot her, his fingers would freeze. While studying at Sorbonne University, Issei set his eyes on 25-year old Dutch student, Renée Hartevelt. Issei said Renée was so beautiful and he had never seen anyone like her before. (She really was stunning and looked like such a sweet person.) He also said he didn’t want to get caught staring at her, so he began making sketches of her. From what I read, and I do not know how accurate this is, the two started as friends and eventually Issei began to pursue Renée romantically. He would take her on dates to art museums and dinner. When he confessed his feelings for her, she insisted they just remain friends because she was not sexually attracted to him. So Issei lied to Renée and told her his professor wanted him to record some German poetry. Renée didn’t think anything about helping out a fellow classmate, so she was happy to come over and help. Issei said he picked out the poem she read, and as she was reading the poem out loud at his desk, he pulled a rifle out of a closet and shot her in the neck. He said she kept reciting the poem after he shot her, then she just.. stopped. Issei said he fainted after he shot her and when he came to he almost called an ambulance for her, but he knew he would regret it if he lost this opportunity to act out his fantasies.

I am going to quote Issei verbatim from his interview with Vice.

TRIGGER WARNING

“I lied to her that my professor wanted some German poetry recorded. That was the pretext. She didn’t doubt a thing. I chose the poetry. I reached for the gun while she was reading. I was talking to her with a smile on my face. I was really scared. Yet I did pull the trigger. She... kept on talking... until suddenly she fell silent. First she collapsed onto the desk, then fell to the ground with the chair. I laid a towel under her head then undressed her. I had everything planned out in my head from which part i would start feasting on and such. Starting with her ass. I thought it looked the most delicious. It had to be the right cheek, not the left. The left cheek is closer to the heart and I’m scared of blood. I abruptly bit into it, but it was too hard to bite into. It hurt my jaw. I tried cutting in with a fruit knife but it didn’t go through. I gave up and went to the market. I bought a curved meat knife. Finally it went through the flesh. I thought I’d see red meat right away, but there was a yellow corn-like substance, which I later found out was fat. I had to cut deeply to reach the red meat. I don’t remember if I sliced it off, or tore it off with my fingers. I put most of my favorite parts, like the thighs, in the fridge.”

My face right now.

He’s leaving out a lot of details on this.. right after he shot Renée, he had sex with her corpse. And, like I said before, he is so nonchalant about all of this. He ate a LOT of her. I saw a picture of eleven paper plates loaded with human flesh, muscles, and fat. Both of her breasts, her nose, her tongue, her bottom lip, and most of her lower half (her hips, middle of her stomach, and thighs) was missing. He did say he tried to eat her breast, but it was mostly fat and he didn’t enjoy it. Her buttocks, however, “(It) melted in my mouth like raw tuna in a sushi restaurant.” He continued to try different parts of Renée’s body. He would fry pieces of her and eat other parts with mustard. He even decapitated her. He took pictures of Renée’s mutilated body and would have sex with it while listening to the recording of her reading the German poem.

For four days.

He mentioned how June is the hottest month in Paris and he was worried the body would start to rot. So he took Renée’s body to the bathroom and cut her up so he could get rid of it. (He also mentioned after finishing his graduate program, he wanted to go to Greece. He said he took a big luxurious boat and actually shared a table with a butcher and his wife during dinner. He said the butcher was a fat, jolly man and told him how to butcher meat. Issei wrote a letter to the butcher after “the incident” thanking him. He said the butcher never wrote back.)

One he had cut the body up into pieces, he placed the pieces into two suitcases and, made plans to dump the body in a lake in Bois de Boulogne, called in a cab. “It wasn’t easy getting the body into [the suitcases]. The torso is extremely heavy. It’s really hard to cut to begin with. It’s nothing like a horror movie.” When the cab driver picked up Issei’s suitcases to put them in the cab, he asked Issei if he had a dead body in them. (That tidbit made me really sad.)

Once Issei reached the lake, he pushed the suitcases down the slope. He vastly underestimated how light it still was outside at 8 pm. He said several people were sunbathing still. The sun was setting across the lake, and Issei said for the first time, he saw color. He was fascinated watching a young boy and his grandfather at the top of a hill and while he was distracted, another man came up, opened one of the suitcases, and saw a bloody bedsheet with legs wrapped in it. A woman screamed and someone else yelled, “Murderer!” Issei said he just walked away.

Issei was, of course, arrested. He was interrogated by three psychiatrists who deemed him mentally insane. Issei was sent to a criminal psych ward, but before he could even begin treatment, he was deported back to Japan because the French people were very uncomfortable with him being there at their expense. Once Issei arrived back in Japan, he mentioned the hospital he was staying at didn’t conclude that he was mentally ill, just that he had a personality disorder. Issei was forced to leave the hospital without undergoing any treatment. He did not serve any time in prison for ungodly crimes he had committed. Actually, in a weird turn of events, he became a local celebrity. He became an author, had several interviews, has illustrated mangas (that’s why I mentioned he loves art), made porn, and was even a food critic. He even travelled to Canada, Mexico, and Iceland with two friends of him. I don’t have time to cover all of that because that in itself could be a whole other essay, but like I said, I will link the YouTube video I watched below.

And that is the gruesome, awful, gut wrenching story of Issei Sagawa.

Below are pictures of Issei Sagawa and his victim, Renée Hartevelt. I am also linking the Vice interview on YouTube as well as the crime scene photos. Please view at your own risk.

Thank you for reading. <3

Crime scene photos: https://murderpedia.org/male.S/s/sagawa-issei-photos-2.htm Vice Interview: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BosZxa1bYcE&t=336s

2 notes · View notes

izanyas · 4 years

Note

prompt suggestions!- the phantom thieves pov regarding akechi and akira's relationship, a continuation of portrait of you with uraraka as a working hero, a snippet of agency chuuya ...?

it’s been 10000 years since i updated Nothing Noble and you guys will have to wait 10000 more years before i can get back to it so here, have chuuya and dazai’s reunion, you deserve it

When Chuuya woke up, it was to the distorted and fake sound of gunshots, and grunts and cries running thin through the cool air. A video game, he thought blearily, his head ringing still with the blow of the girl’s ability—a demon with a sword folding out of her back, just like—

His temple throbbed. Chuuya groaned, frowning, feeling the dry pull of skin under crusting blood. So sharp was the pain that he felt nauseous; and either the girl had been as highly-trained as she had looked, or he was very lucky, for a few centimeters lower and he could have died on the spot. He swallowed back the bile. He exhaled painfully, and reached up to touch the wound.

Or he tried, at least.

His right wrist was stopped by a bond of some kind. His left wrist by another—a skin-soft, skin-warm other.

New cries and gunshots rang out of the game just as Chuuya realized that the emptiness in his chest was not simply due to fatigue.

“Oh, just great,” he spat out.

His voice broke over the words, but it was no matter. Chuuya was having to breathe and clench the teeth now, to acquaint himself again with the feeling of nothingness where his ability should lay. The fingers circling his wrist tightened.

“Welcome back,” Dazai replied. “Please don’t bark so loudly, I’m trying to beat my record.”

Chuuya inhaled sharply and opened his eyes.

He immediately regretted it: the light of the port mafia’s infirmary was still the disgusting, blinding white he remembered from his childhood, and the brightness made the side of his head shout with pain. He was definitely concussed, he thought, feeling nausea roll up his throat. With any luck he’d vomit on Dazai’s clothes and not his own.

Dazai took his sweet time. As if wanting to draw out the moment—and maybe he did, the sadistic bastard—he finished his game. He must be doing it one-handedly too, considering his fingers hadn’t let go of Chuuya’s wrist for a second. Chuuya refused to be the one to look at him first. He sat straighter in the chair he was bound to and stared at the window opposite him, through which a pale square of grey sky showed.

At last, the victory jingle of Dazai’s game rang in the silence. Dazai let it play for a while before turning off his console. He sighed loudly; the very sound of it made Chuuya’s chest feel tight, pressurized. Dazai rose to his feet, still holding Chuuya by the wrist, before letting go. He walked around the chair to stand before him.

And Chuuya would rather die than look meek before someone, before Dazai, so he met his eyes defiantly.

He was so stupidly tall. Of course Dazai had always been lanky, skinny and long-limbed, but now his legs and torso stretched without the awkwardness of adolescence. His face was thinner, his eyes wider-apart. His hair was still the same mess, lighter-brown rather than black.

His shoulders had grown to fit the coat Mori had given him so long ago.

“I hate what you’ve done with the hair,” Dazai told him conversationally.

His voice was deeper too.

“Piss off,” Chuuya couldn’t help but reply.

“I wish. I’ve been holding it back for an hour.”

“I can’t fucking believe you.”

Dazai looked thoughtfully aside. “I see you haven’t gotten any less rude,” he said, still in that same even voice Chuuya had always despised. “Although you have gotten weaker.”

“Let me go,” Chuuya growled, all of his body strained against the bonds; “and I’ll show you just how weak I am, you son of a whore.”

Silenced crushed the space between them to smithereens.

Dazai sighed again. His fingers found the side of Chuuya’s neck a few seconds at most before the Tainted Sorrow would have gone back to him. Chuuya wanted to rage as the feeling of emptiness deepened; he wanted to bite off Dazai’s hand, to spit out of his own chest the nostalgia now holding him back.

“Well, I can’t say I didn’t use Kyouka-chan for this purpose,” Dazai said. The pad of his thump pressed right above Chuuya’s clavicle, right under the collar of Chuuya’s shirt; right above his pulse. “I was counting on the surprise. Good thinking, me.”

“You’re such a piss poor excuse for a human being.”

“You’ll hurt my feelings.”

Chuuya snorted audibly.

Still, he was reeling from the sight of the girl’s ability. Still his heart ached with the memory of Kouyou’s Golden Demon.

“Who is she?” he asked.

Dazai’s hand shifted around his neck. It fit against the line of his shoulder full-palmed. “Izumi Kyouka,” he replied at last. “Her ability is called Demon Snow. Looks a lot like ane-san’s, doesn’t it? I even dressed her up like her—”

Chuuya’s foot erupted out of the rope keeping it tied to the chair leg and hit Dazai in the belly.

Dazai crashed into the opposite wall satisfactorily. The sound of broken wood as he fell over the desk there was music to Chuuya’s ears, as much as the pained grunt he let out, squeezed from his throat. Chuuya bit down on the twisted regret flaring up his ribcage. He lowered his foot again, focusing on the pain of rope-burn and of his twisted ankle.

“Don’t fucking say her name,” he warned Dazai lowly.

Dazai pushed himself to his feet again slowly while Chuuya tested the give of the chair under him. It was bolted to the floor, and his left foot was too solidly roped to hope to tear it out as well. He couldn’t risk two twisted ankles while in port mafia custody. Still he tensed within his bonds, his spined arched off of the wooden backrest as far as it would go, his arms bulging against the rope. When Dazai touched his neck again, he growled in frustration.

“You’re such an animal,” Dazai complained.

His voice was hollow. Chuuya saw with half-satisfaction, half-guilt that his right shoulder hung limply out of its socket.

“You’ve been hiding around civilized people for years, and you still act like this? I’ve heard of Fukuzawa Yukichi, you know. Mori-san calls him a righteous man. It’s a wonder he welcomed you into his group.”

“Mori won’t be saying shit for much longer,” Chuuya bit out harshly.

“Biting and barking and drooling everywhere,” Dazai replied. “You know you won’t get to him like this. Or to Ango.”

Or to me, he didn’t say.

Chuuya wouldn’t have know what to do if he had.

Dazai’s hand lifted from his neck again. Chuuya jumped back as it rose into his face, hating himself for it and hating Dazai more—but Dazai did not laugh or make any comments to him. His hand simply followed the path of Chuuya’s head until it knocked into the wall; then he touched Chuuya’s cheek right where gauze hid the scar. His cold fingers pinched the edges of it and tore it away without a care.

The ugly hole there always stung when the weather was damp and cold; it stung now, being freed from the bandage, a crater of scar and skin high up on Chuuya’s bone. Dazai looked at it in silence.

When he could stand it no longer—when the quiet grated at him and made him feel as though his skin were being peeled away—Chuuya spat out: “Admiring your handiwork?”

Dazai breathed out quickly. He threw the dirty gauze into a paper-basket by the desk with disgusting accuracy, then rubbed at the finger hanging from his dislocated arm for a second. He took hold of Chuuya’s shoulder again and did not look at him.

“You’re out of luck,” he said, even and bored. “Mori isn’t in Yokohama now. Neither is Ango.”

“Like you would know if he was.”

“He was my friend, you know,” Dazai whined to him.

Chuuya was about to kick him again, twisted ankle or not, when someone knocked on the door.

They looked at each other in silence before looking away as one; Dazai’s hand flexing over Chuuya’s shoulder as if to brace him, Chuuya’s hurt foot touching the floor as if ready to kick away and fly.

As if this were combat, the both of them standing on the same side again.

Oda Sakunosuke entered first. He took one look at Chuuya, his serious face plying with—with pity or fucking compassion, Chuuya didn’t know and didn’t care. If he had the means now, he would plunge a first through Oda’s chest and tear out his beating heart, no matter that he had once protected him for Dazai’s sake.

Oda may now where Sakaguchi was. Out of them all, he was the most likely to know, and the most likely to be able to hide the information from Dazai successfully.

“Don’t bite, now,” Dazai murmured.

His fingernails dug into the soft flesh between bone and tendon, made all the easier to feel for Chuuya’s tension. Chuuya clenched his teeth. Dazai threatening him physically again, without even a gun this time—what a joke.

He relaxed only when he saw the shadow behind Oda: Akutagawa, as tall and skinny as Chuuya had seen him last over the tiger boy’s prone body; and still looking at him now with fear in his eyes.

Dazai’s hold relaxed. His hand left Chuuya’s body altogether as he walked leisurely toward his subordinate. “Did you bring it?” he asked jovially.

“Yes,” Akutagawa rasped out.

He handed over a small box, which Dazai took from him without a word. Akutagawa stood still then, his hand still outstretched, his eyes still jumping between Chuuya and the floor uneasily. His black coat seemed to shiver about his skin as if moved by his powers; as if, even now, Rashoumon were preparing for someone to bring a knife out.

“Hi,” Chuuya told him bluntly. “How’s that wound?”

Akutagawa jumped. Rashoumon flared off of his shoulders like wings, posing against the door at his back in defense.

“Thank you,” Dazai said pointedly. He threw Akutagawa a dark look. “You’re dismissed. Shoo.”

Akutagawa didn’t have to be asked twice. He nodded curtly and left, bowing the head when he passed by Oda’s side, who gave him the same look he had given Chuuya.

Chuuya’s guts squirmed unpleasantly. “What the hell did you put through that kid’s head?” he asked Dazai. “He keeps looking at me like I’m about to tear him a new one.”

“Nothing much,” Dazai replied distractedly. “Just incentive enough not to get any ideas about fraternizing with you.”

Oda shook his head and sighed. He still hadn’t said a word.

Dazai did not look at him anyway: his hands were busy with the box Akutagawa had brought. He slid the lid of it open one-handedly, taking out a syringe full of water-clear liquid, letting the box drop to the floor uselessly.

Chuuya’s heart skipped a beat. The pain in his temple sharpened; he pulled against his restraints uselessly.

“What the fuck is that,” he growled.

“Just something to keep you nice and put while I tend to some business,” Dazai replied, flicking a nail against the glass vial. “Now be still.”

Excess air erupted out of the needle head, and a droplet fell out and crashed onto the wooden floor.

Bile swarmed within Chuuya’s mouth.

He hardly saw Dazai approach. His ears rang under the rush of his own blood; fear the likes of which he hadn’t known in fifteen years blinded him, taking away sight and smells and sounds, as if he were afloat in green water again; from deep within his belly, the growl of a great beast echoed, enraged, uncontrollable. Pulling against the bright-gold bonds that Fukuzawa’s ability granted, showing Chuuya once again what a flimsy excuse for control this was—

“Dazai.”

Chuuya stilled, and blinked, and heaved.

That had been Oda’s voice. Dazai had stilled as well, his cold hand frozen upon the skin of Chuuya’s forearm. Chuuya first saw Oda standing behind Dazai and having grabbed Dazai’s unhurt shoulder; then he looked at Dazai, whose eyes were wide open and fixed onto Chuuya’s face.

There was an expression there that Chuuya had seen before, a long time ago. Something fragile, something outlining the youth of Dazai’s mouth and cheeks, the fatigue bruised under his eyes. Something that made Dazai lift his injured arm as if to touch Chuuya’s neck again—as if to brush fingers against the numbers tattooed at his nape, as he once did every time Corruption ravaged Chuuya whole—before he stilled.

His hand fell. His thumb rubbed at the side of index nervously. He stared at Chuuya in silence, his other hand still pressed to Chuuya’s forearm.

“It’s just a sedative,” Dazai said. “And something to keep your powers in check.”

His voice was unbearably soft.

Chuuya licked his lips. His temple throbbed. “This is supposed to reassure me?” he rasped out.

“No,” Dazai replied immediately.

But it had, and he knew it. They both knew it.

Still Chuuya tried to jerk his hand back with Dazai took hold of him again. Still a whimper tried to escape his lips when the needle punctured his skin, as his mind once more shook with half-buried memories, with the sight of a book torn out of a dead man’s hand, showing pictures he wished he had never seen.

There were so many things one could do to him while sedated and powerless, even if Mori was far, even if Dazai stood before him with more sanity in his eyes than when they were children. Chuuya breathed in deeply. The very slight ache of the needle pulling out made him want to cry out.

Dazai’s hand lingered above his skin for a moment longer. He wiped the small wound with his thumb when a single drop of blood leaked out; he backed away; he pressed his palm to Chuuya’s skin again, and then stepped back entirely.

“I hate you,” Chuuya let out uselessly.

Dazai stared at him in silence. Already Chuuya could feel his eyelids weigh down as the sedative worked through him. He blinked open his eyes forcefully. Dazai’s face blurred and swayed, pale and haunting.

As consciousness faded from Chuuya, Dazai replied, “I know. You’re right to.”

The last Chuuya saw of him before darkness took him was the flutter of a black coat and a bowed head of brown hair; and his last thought flew to that same dark hair in the moonlight, to a blasted-open hangar stained with the blood of dozens of strangers—

—to Dazai holding a glistening pistol up, shaking through his body, begging him: “Please. Don’t make me do this.”

#bsd #soukoku #bungou stray dogs #fic: nothing noble #tumblr fic #anon #answered

65 notes · View notes

kur0mimi · 4 years

Text

Lights Out

—A High School AU of AKIRA, where Michiru decides to go home with Jin to avoid getting caught up in the intense rainfall. And their time spent together progressively gets more comfortable and tender. (pt. 1 of 2)

pairing - Michiru (my OC) and Jin (@neoghoulukaku OC)

genre - High School AU, tooth-rotting fluff, slice of life, comedy, smut (in pt. 2)

warnings - cursing, sexual undertones (progressively gets more smutty in the next part of this), and mentioning of eating disorders

a/n - hey! I have finally gotten around to post some of my new one shots that have been cracking up so much space, this one being more ✨spicy✨ anyways, I don’t have much to say but I hope you like this and stick around for part two because wow, it gets interesting 😌

The image of a strangler and a 14th century barbarian was in the vessel of a 21st century materialist who taught math class at the Eighteenth District high school. Hana Hayasaka was unfortunately Michiru’s dreaded cousin who continued her brutal onslaught of arithmetic torture on the students she was teaching. She was a modern day brutalist, walking on water like she was a contemporary dictator who danced to the song of her pupil’s groaning and moaning at the sight of a new equation being written on the board. This woman was no god, so where was Michiru’s? She didn’t have one. But a lover, perhaps?

He sat beside her, his onyx eyes narrowing incredulously at the quadratic equation being written on the board in front of him. Jin Takahashi had beautiful kaleidoscope eyes that were such a dark, mysterious colour as they peered off into the distance and into the hearts of his victims, or better known as the people that irked him on a regular basis.

Michiru was more than happy to sit beside her beloved boyfriend, as they had gone past the phase of stumbling over their words. She no longer needed to rationalize too much when thoughts were running through her mind as she held hands with him. And as far as she could tell, the only thing clutched in his hand was the pencil that was threatening to break with how irritated he was at the sadistic teacher.

‘That pencil is gonna break if he keeps squeezing it like that,’ The girl with the wavy black hair observed as she sipped orange juice from the small juice box she had snatched from the cafeteria not too long ago. She looked at her finished notes and sighed, squeezing the now empty carton between her slender fingers. Michiru knew her current situation was rather lacklustre, but comfortable. She wasn’t the type of person that would roll in mint leaves and cigarette smoke, waltzing out the back door to skip class and out to the moonlit streets of the urban nightmare they were all civilians of. She was a student who wanted to study political science and civics in order to achieve the position of a politician of Neo-Tokyo, and perhaps by then she would be able to fix the wretched neon jungle.

“Junko, my dear, can you tell us what another name for the slope is?” The female ruler’s voice rang throughout Michiru’s ears as the class grew silent, the only sound being the queen bee’s foolish stuttering.

“...Aren’t y-intercept and the slope the exact same thing? They both have a curve, right...?”

From the lonely bust of one of the female students came a muffled scream trapped beneath the marble and polished stone of her fake persona. Oh, Junko must’ve been livid, raging on the inside like her matriarchy as one of the most popular females had fallen. And it kind of did, but at least now there was less of a bullying issue and no more petty drama going around. Hana smirked mockingly as she sat on her desk, tapping the stub of chalk against the wooden surface of it as she eyed the young girl who had humiliated herself by stating the wrong answer.

“You’re wrong, darling,” Hana cooed gently as she stood up, wiping the white chalk dust from her pencil skirt. “Very wrong, in fact. Have you been paying attention? I don’t think bouncing on a boy’s me-“

“Mom, that’s enough. She got it wrong, just let someone else answer,” Ranze spoke up in a reasonable tone, trying to rationalize with her mother’s passive aggressiveness that broke the room in half with the amount of tension it created.

“Ah, of course!” The older woman backtracked as she turned to Nimura, sitting in between Setsuko and Aiko in the middle row of tables. “Hasegawa-san, give us another name for the slope.”

Nimura didn’t bat an eye as he looked up, meeting Hana’s gaze in a nonchalant manner that made some peer’s breaths hitch softly. “Delta y over delta x, Hayasaka-sensei.” He recited in an articulated and eloquent way of speaking, to which the teacher clapped her hands with delight.

“Such a smart boy! Junko-san, write down what he said as well as some other examples we’ll mention shortly.” Hana praised him as she patted him on the head, making the young prodigy cock his head in confusion while looking over at Ranze, who lifted her shoulders up into a shrug. “Michiru, darling, do you want to try?”

“y2 − y1 over x2 − x1 is another way of saying it, Hayasaka-sensei,” Michiru said gently as a faint smile ghosted her lips, a typical mannerism of her’s that made the girl so effortlessly irresistible.

“Correct once more! Highly expected of you two, anyways,” The totalitarian of a teacher turned around wrote down the two examples on the board, and it was there that Michiru could finally look back over at Jin, who seemed to have already been staring at her.

“I guess death doesn’t befit the ‘queen’,” Jin remarked with a quiet, almost stifled snicker as Junko was shaking in her anger, the person who reigned supreme in the school was now slowly descending to her death, which by she would be regarded as un paysan.

Michiru giggled, covering her mouth her hand to not draw attention to herself and Jin. “I don’t believe she deserved that title, anyway.” She responded gently as she tucked a strand of her ebony locks behind her ear.

“She’s building her own coffin, like the trash she fucking is,” The male teenager said bluntly as he sank back into his seat, looking at his paper with his eyelids dropping tiredly. Michiru couldn’t lie about not liking the way he looked when she saw him like this. So relaxed yet somehow still observant with his surroundings, and by looking at him, her various thoughts accumulated to the point where they hard to keep track of.

They were filling up her mouth and pouring out her eyes with her hesitant, soft glances. And they scraped the back of her throat and made her teeth start to rot with the sweetness they were filled with, but she could never make these feelings make sense. She could never make them come out in letters, only in affectionate touches, delicate eye contact, and hugging her pillow in the latest hours of the night.

She wasn’t intoxicated by any means, of course not. This was the feeling that made her dance in the rainy streets late at night to sweet songs about typical mediocre things. The water would pour onto her Prada shoes and frilled socks as she lived her life the she way she wanted to. She wanted to be alive, that was all.

While there was Ranze, the less innocent of the two and was a femme fatale in all her glory. A cigarette between her fingers while she curled up on the wooden deck chair that one time that they were alone, watching over the early city from the balcony of her apartment. Her sunglasses were almost on the tip of her nose. Her bare, boney legs pulled up to her chest. The mattress on the floor was unmade and two empty bottles of alcoholic substances were placed adjacent to it. And then the ravenette would leave every morning, putting on her shoes and buttoning up her uniform. Proceeding to travel the city like it was her own backyard.

Michiru wished she could have the confidence and intensity that her older relative did, perhaps if she did she would’ve been even more unstoppable. Her past was framed by white borders, overexposed metaphors tacked to a bulletin board. Hiding beauty behind cork, and behind her concentration for schoolwork was candidness and generosity—perhaps an accidental masterpiece? Many told the joyful girl that she looked too happy, but little did they know she was like that because her future was developing. And if she remained optimistic, would there be a reward waiting for her at the end?

The baleful lightning struck again from the outside as the rain pattered down aggressively, only for the bell to ring soon after. It was there last period for the day, physical education. Michiru stood up and packed her bags, placing her items in her leather satchel that had been adorned with pins of favourite shows and characters. She watched Jin stand up and place his items in his backpack, before snapping his gaze to the smaller girl, who had been watching him for a while at that point.

He smirked, his teeth shining through the small opened space of his mouth. “What are you looking at?” That rogue and badass visage made Michiru’s face flush red as she squeezed the empty juice box in her hands. “You kept looking at me for the entire duration of class. Do you need anything?”

Within plein-air, Michiru’s sensitive flesh felt foolishly exposed to drastic warmth as she walked beside him, exiting the classroom with a nod to the teacher. ‘Love proliferates like nettle down the throat,’ she thought as she moved closer to him, the side of her arm touching his with a brisk movement.

“Well... It’s been raining aggressively all day and I’m hesitant to go home alone,” Ah, they were truly pointless excuses. Jin could read through them so expertly and clearly, so what was the point of reciting pathetic inquiries? Was this all just to make her look less desperate in front of the others? Michiru didn’t even know what she wanted, but the seemingly innocent thought of spending more time with Jin was simply too good to be true. “I’ll just be honest with you, I simply wanted to know if I could come home with you and wait out the storm.”

She watched Jin’s eyes widen a bit, his eyebrows knitted together with astonishment as he looked into her large brown ones. He knew underneath those precious doe-like eyes were not perverse hidden secrets preserved within her intelligent mind. He would lament to believing she wanted such obscene things from him, morbidly, passionately, and pathetically.

“You want to come to my apartment?” Jin reiterated in disbelief as he ran a calloused hand through his spiky black hair. Any sort of unwarranted stirrings from either of the parties would create an imminent onslaught of awkwardness and stiffness for the both of them, an absolutely horrendous possibility neither of them wanted to look into. “You can, but it’s going to rain all night. Won’t your parents or Mamoru be worried if they didn’t see you come home before your curfew?”

Michiru pouted, looking down at the floor. Jin’s glare had softened when the smaller girl was around him, making his scowl (widely perceived as iniquitous) dissipate into a tranquil expression of well-hidden warmth and compassion for the girl he considered to be so important to him. “It’s Friday... So I could always say that I’m at Ranze’s, perhaps she would understand and play along...”

Jin didn’t know what Colonel Shikishima and Atsuko thought of him. Did they believe he was a ruthless, merciless depiction of a delinquent with an unquenchable thirst for sex and wanton attraction for their daughter? Perhaps a Beelzebub slathered against the odious death stare he had given his enemies.

That didn’t matter now, though. The older boy stopped in his tracks, reaching to cup her porcelain cheek—a fleeting yet fulfilling gesture that Michiru never grew tired of when he displayed that beautiful rarity of tenderness. His thumb lightly grazed over her skin gently as he eyed her carefully, his voice dipping down into a lower volume reserved for solely Michiru and Michiru only. “Ranze would be livid if she heard about you coming to my place. I don’t know how we could get away with it, she would do anything to catch us in a compromising position, Mimi.”

Michiru’s face flushed a deep vermillion as Jin backed off, a grin tugging at his lips as the beautiful girl stood like a deer in headlights after the sudden action. Her eyes of luminous glass glimmering with an innocence that was far too real. She exhaled a bated breath, her heart beating in a shallow and slow manner.

Bruised with verbatim, Michiru nodded with a sheepish smile. “I’m sure she isn’t always going to gate-keep what we’re going to do. I’ll ask her in the locker room and see how things pan out.”

Jin took a deep breath, slinging his bag over his shoulder while the other hand clasped his girlfriend’s hand. “I’ll leave the talking to you, then. And if anything goes wrong, I’ll talk to her. There’s no way she can get through me.” He scoffed as he opened the double doors to the gymnasium, followed by Shosaku cocking his eyebrow at the couple incredulously, appearing to have been listening in on on the couple haphazardly.

“Don’t fucking tell me he’s gonna bring you home now...” The promiscuous teenager with the bleached strand of hair remarked wryly, a foolish smile painted on his face that quickly dissipated when Jin glared at him viciously. “Heh... Jin, buddy, don’t look at me like that.”

The teenager rolled his eyes, ushering Michiru to go on ahead of them. “Babe, you go on ahead and get changed. Class is gonna start soon, anyways.”

“Okay, then!” She replied quickly and eagerly before whipping her head back around to look at Shosaku. “Shosaku-san... What do you mean by that?”

Shosaku lowered his voice to a mere whisper as he huddled closer to Michiru. “Well, Jin has had a record of being a playboy—“

“I said get going! Class fucking starts soon, so get a fucking move on, Sho!!” Jin’s voice boomed from behind them, making the two scarper within the blink of an eye.

2:15 pm

In the girl’s locker room...

Michiru’s heart yearned for what it had been robbed of for so long, a fulfilling life to live. Her soul yearned for the feeling of the crucifix the extremists had nailed into her mind and soul years ago to be pulled off of her. The blood had dried by the present day, congealed itself rotten for good. Ah, yes, the wound had finally crusted over. She was ready to commit herself to more important things than religion—schoolwork, her political aspirations, and her social life.

Inklings of her fellow female peers had started to re-emerge, traces of their idle conversation drifting into her ears, radiating a topic Michiru had been so uneducated in—oddly enough, she was smart and had a detailed analysis on everything, but this was different in many ways.

“Kira, is that a hickey? Offer us an explanation, please!” Mariko probed at her friend as she unbuttoned her blouse, revealing her own revealing plethora of obscene marks that made Michiru nearly turn her head around to gawk at the sight—but she kept her distance, nonetheless.

“Yeah~ Ryuji and I went out at last night and he took me home. Then the rest is just history, I don’t even remember what we did!” Kira replied in her typically air-headed fashion, shrugging as she slipped her t-shirt over her head. “Sex with him is so good, anyways. I was seeing stars because of how hard he went.”

“Aww, does that mean I get to see him next? I haven’t had a good session since a couple months ago with Yusuke,” Makoto whined as she tied her basketball shoes, making the other girls erupt with their hideous cacophony of chortles.

Have these girls ever dreamed of having sex in a finer light? Had they ever dreamt of anything remotely respectable in the slightest? Definitely not. This was the divide between Michiru and her friends and Junko with her posse of idiots. Their reckless souls were so carelessly merged with what they were doing after hours, almost like they were yearning for even more attention...

“Mimi, you keep blanking out. Do you need me to take you to the infirmary?” Suddenly snapped the motherly voice of her older second cousin, Ranze, who placed a warm hand on the shoulder of the smaller girl in a reassuring light. Oh, this was just like home as well, a twisted home where the soul only revisits to feel that sweet burning sensation. To set itself aflame, to ignite.

“Oh, I’m fine. Thanks for asking...” Michiru murmured gently before slipping her shirt over her head, before combing her digits through her wavy black locks of hair. “By the way... Can I ask a favour of you, Ranze?”

“Hmm? Yeah, shoot.”

“Can you cover for me in front of my parents and brother? I’m going to Jin’s house for the night, that’s all—“

Ranze threw her gaze back to Michiru with great ferocity, looking at her with immense suspicion and thinly-veiled worry. “I’m imagining things, right? Have I gone entirely mad?” The older ravenette was speechless as she sat down onto the bench, pulling her hair back into a ponytail while the honour student shrugged carelessly.

“Can you do it? I promise, I’ll get you whatever you want afterwards. And you know Jin, he’s not going to hurt me in any way, shape, or form,” Michiru pleaded as she folded her hands together for extra effect, the precious twinkling in her eyes making Ranze grunt. “Don’t give me that. I’m not going to be the youngest forever... So please, just let me go with him!”

The femme fatale sighed, throwing her hands up in defeat. “I know I can’t play god and tell you both what to do... But goddamn, I’m really unsure of this, Mimi. Can you at least promise that you’ll call me every other hour to check in?”

“Ranze, you know I can’t keep track of that—“

“Do you want to go?”

“Okay, fine...! I’ll do what you want, just please don’t say anything to my mother and father. Especially Mamoru too,” Michiru wrapped her thin arms around the older girl, enveloping her in a sugary sweet embrace that made Ranze’s heart melt.

“I won’t. Your secret is safe with me, Mimi,” Ranze rubbed her relative’s head affectionately before rising to her feet and stretching. “Just please assure me I won’t have to swing by and bring you a spare change of clothes.”

2:46 pm

She looked in every direction and corner to spot Jin in that noisy gymnasium. She had spent the first twenty minutes of her exercise period skipping rope on her own. Her legs were already sore, a phantom of fatigue biting her limbs and beating heart as she bent over to catch her breath from the cardio. Although Michiru thrilled the anticipation of seeing Jin doing his own thing, the lovely sentiment of catching him lifting weights fuelled a fire inside of her. It was a thrill she couldn’t understand in any way. It was so strange as the burning feeling in the pit of her stomach didn’t leave, not even one bit.

She felt around for her water bottle before picking it up and taking a generous swig of water, then stood up and to walk to the weightlifting station where Jin resided—lifting what appeared to be a heavy set of weights, at least to Michiru it was. The curious girl sat down in from of him by the mirror, gnawing at the inside of her cheek as her clouded eyes watched him with such interest. Perhaps she was magnetized to him- that surely could’ve been the case.

But it was the loveliest just being able to pause her own exercises to check on her boyfriend, who’s eyes travelled down to the slender form of the beautiful girl who sat in front of him.

“You’ve come to...” Jin inhaled, curling the weights to his chest as his eyes remained steady on the person in front of him. “...check on me? How’d your workout go?”

“It went well. Skipping rope is fun but it gets repetitive after 20 consecutive minutes,” She replied cheerfully, her pupils wandering to the clique of degenerates that collected near the benches. “But better than not exercising at all, I suppose.”

The respect for those girls and boys had forsaken itself, but Michiru even wondered if she ever had it to begin with. How she even lose something she never had to begin with?

Even so, Michiru revered the sense of comfort that eased within her when she was around the overtly honest boy. It created a sense of comfort that made him feel like home. And if that were the case, would she feel homesick for him?

She watched the tendons and muscles in his arms flex each time he lifted the weights a final time before putting it back on the bar. Jin situated himself by the younger girl with the bright brown eyes, hissing slightly at the soreness in his muscles. What she had to face was a life to live despite her frail form. She only wanted him, he was her personal inferno in a sense.

Wait, what? Something like that sounded so strange to her, as she had never felt such an intensity of emotions when she was around Jin. It was strange... too strange if she were to put her finger on it. But what was she to do?

She tenderly wrapped her arms around his neck, tucking her face into his nape as he chuckled quietly. She prayed for more tenderness, the tenderness that would rip her away from the cruelties of the world and from the melancholia. Tenderness, her ticket to euphoria.

“Ranze said she could cover for us,” Michiru muttered against the fabric of his shirt, to which Jin turned his head to look back at his significant other with disbelief in his eyes. “On one condition: she wants me to call her to check in at every other hour. But other than that, it’s all good.”

“I see...” Jin heaved out as he wrapped an arm around Michiru, situating his hand comfortably on her hip. This was her love language, the feeling of his firm yet tender touch across her skin made her shudder subconsciously, to which Jin tilted his head. “Are you cold?”

“No... Not at all, actually,” She was drowsy at the thought of him. Angels above, gods above had nothing on him. It was just strange how hypersensitive she was to all of the attention.

“Mhm... Right,” Jin regarded her words with a small nod before looking off into the distance, his eyes foggy with tiredness. “I’m surprised it didn’t take that much convincing. The two of us are frenemies, but it’s to the point where I can’t do any shit alone with you because she’s so suspicious.”

“I’ll be honest with you, I’m starting to be irritated with it,” Michiru confessed, pressing her cheek up against his damp shirt. “But thankfully she’s starting to back off more recently, it’s just that I would really like it if she didn’t treat me like a child constantly...”

Jin looked away and toward the ticking clock on the wall in front of them. “She told me she’s at least happy that you’re content with me and that I’m content with you.. She knows I’ll take good care of you so she shouldn’t be too worried,” He muttered as he cracked his knuckles. “As for her treating you like a kid... I could why see you would be fed-up with it, but you’re younger than her and she sees you like a little sister. She just wants you to be out of harm’s way.”

A thunder encompassed the sky in that moment, the booming crackle of it making Michiru nearly jump out of shock to which Jin rubbed the small of her back in order to stabilize her. The dimmed lights above the students flickered unnaturally, some of them almost immediately giving out. The storm was going to drown them in its fiery onslaught, and it was only fifteen minutes before they could get out of that dumpster fire of a school.

“Don’t tell me I have to drive home in this weather!” Kaisuke complained as he fell back onto the gymnastics mats, to which Setsuko shrugged nonchalantly beside him.

“We can carpool, then,” The docile student offered, making the others look at her with anticipation. “I’m being picked up by Suzuya, so perhaps we can stop and drive you all home as well.”

Jin sighed as he looked over to the girl hugging his side, a soft figure with wavy hair like water from the flowing waves of the sea. His eyes were alight with hidden affection, as on the outside he had thick skin and wouldn’t show sweetness towards anyone except for her. Incandescence was rising between the rogue biker and the demure young lady as she enveloped him in her gentle warmth. “I’ll finish my final set and we can get going. How does that sound, babe?”

“Sure, that works,” She whispered, the volume of her voice not disguising how excited she was to spend more time with him. There was no divine plan she was following, perhaps she wanted to grow closer to him. Michiru didn’t have any divine figure that she was going to trust, she was only going to let things happen as the afternoon went by.

3:35 pm

At Jin’s apartment...

It was always a reoccurring thought to Michiru when it came to wondering what sort of environment Jin lived in. But as she stepped into the dormitory, she felt as though she had gotten around to experiencing some sort of paradise—not luxurious by any means, but still comfortable and safe, with him.

The dull, white tones of his room had been haunting her mind as she looked around, her wide eyes fixated on the various band posters, workout equipment, and other paraphernalia that decorated the living space. The way he kept his apartment was reflective of his personality and to Michiru it seemed to be everlastingly beautiful.

She removed her Mary Janes and placed them beside Jin’s sneakers, walking around the room aimlessly as she admired the various articles of decoration that made the room so unique. Whilst Jin placed his backpack on the kitchen counter, turning to flick the lights on but to no avail as the power had gone out.

“Fuck,” He cursed under his breath as he rummaged through the cabinets to look for a flashlight or some sort of candle to illuminate just a sliver of the dark room. Michiru looked out the window, the divinely dark sky, the indigo flashes of lightning ripping at the sky, and the lush atmosphere she had been placed in. To her it was like peace personified, there was pure safety and security surrounding her briefly. And for a moment, she’d hadn’t realized the power had been blown out. “I’ll get some sort of flashlight or candle so we can actually see what we’re doing. You have a change of clothes for yourself, right?”

“Yes, I do. I have some for after gym class to go home in,” She responded as she took out the aforementioned article of clothing before looking around for a private place to change. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Down there and to the right,” He replied as he pulled two candles from the cabinets under the sink.

Michiru nodded in acknowledgment, silently thanking him for his help as she quickly moved to the room, opening the door and shutting behind her, locking it. Carefully, she undid the buttons on her shirt and unzipped her skirt, letting it fall onto the tiled floor and pooling at her ankles.

Her ebony curls were damp and not as neat as they were when they were dried. And her lips, cheeks, and the tips of her ears were stained a fruit punch pink as she looked at herself in the mirror briefly. Her body curved and sloped like a mountain, gripping the slung juts of her waist as she looked down.

It didn’t seem that long ago when she wasn’t allowing herself to eat, as it only made up months and years of slow, albeit steady recovery. With the occasional relapse during her darker periods of loneliness. Michiru was still starting to grow to love herself just a little bit more, even if it was slow and there were rough patches, she had realized a fraction of what she couldn’t see while her eyes were filtered that pessimistic film. With the help of her close friends and family, she had time to recovery—even if she still suffered meagre remnants of it.

‘Ranze wouldn’t want to see me being insecure now. She just wants me to be happy,’ Michiru thought as she chuckled quietly when she slipped the white dress over her head. She gathered up her clothes and exited the washroom, putting the soggy uniform in her bag before looking over at Jin, who had already gotten changed into a black tank top and a grey sweatpants and was folding his gakuran. In that moment, he looked up at her and she could see his eyes widen a bit.

She was wearing a sleeveless white dress that reached just a little bit above her knees and had frilly accents on it. Perfectly dainty compared to the other themes of the room as the delinquent’s face flushed a deep crimson, clearing his throat as he looked away, a typical mannerism of his.

“Michiru...” He began, scratching the back of his neck as he sat on a chair adjacent to his bed that had one of his leather jackets thrown onto it. “You look really good...”

She sat down on the floor beside his bed, throwing her head back and smiling infectiously. “Thank you, Jin.. I appreciate it.”

Jin nodded silently, opening his mouth to add to what he had just spoken. “You don’t need to sit on the ground, you can sit on my bed if you’d like.” He offered as she looked at him, lips fresh and dewy with the remnants of her lip balm that she had purchased from the local drugstore. She gladly pulled herself onto the bed and sat down, breathing in the cold air slowly.

Her cheekbones were flushed pink as she looked up at the ceiling, as the feeling of the bed dipping under Jin’s weight when he laid down beside her. Michiru hummed in response as she threw her arms around him, running her slim fingers through his hair as he started to relax.

“I didn’t know you had a dartboard,” Michiru murmured sweetly as Jin wrapped his arms around her waist, his grip secure and safe. She dragged her pink nails across the skin of his back lightly as the brutally honest teen chuckled.

“Yeah, I do. I use it to vent out my anger sometimes,” He said as his dark eyes softened when he looked into her’s, a very faint smile tugging at his lips. “Why bring it up?”

“I was just curious. But now that I see how good your aim is, I’d really like to go up against you.”

“You really want to?” Jin’s smirk grew impossibly wider at the prospect of playing an innocent game of darts with his precious girlfriend.

“Of course! I do archery so I think you have some stiff competition here, Jin.” He could throw his head back and laugh, the streak of competitiveness in her making him amused.

‘She’s too fucking gentle for this world,’ He thought as he pulled away from her, going to the wall to pull the array of darts from the board for them to play.

3 notes · View notes

alo-piss-trancy · 5 years

Text

Little!Akira (P/5 omo Snippet #2)

((These were two attempts at some drabbles based on that Akira-gets-hit-by-a-mental-age-regression-attack scenario post I made ages and ages ago. I couldn't figure out how far I wanted to take it though or make a solid plot because I had way too many ideas for individual scenes and no glue to hold them together. So here's what I have haha.))

((First w/ Queen and the gang))

She'd been watching the battle raging ahead, analysing the monsters so that she could call out some advice to their current battlers, but a tug against her neck pulled her focus away. It wasn't a hard pull, but a few gentle ones, just the lightest repeated motion to catch her attention. Turning, she found Joker standing there, his posture slightly hunched as he tried to make himself smaller, only making eye contact for a few seconds at a time before he'd look at the ground instead.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Um... I... I have to go potty..." he whispered softly, letting go of her scarf to stick a gloved hand between his shifting legs. "Really bad..." His voice was nearly a whimper.

Oh...

She supposed it made sense that if all of his other physical strengths had suffered, his endurance in that particular function would have been limited as well. She was also sure that there was no way to explain the intricacies of the Metaverse in a way that he would understand... it would be best to stick to the simplest, most honest answer that she could give.

"Er, I'm sorry, but... there really isn't anywhere I can take you right now. You're going to have to hold it for a little while, alright?" She could see the nerves glimmering in his eyes, and it made her stomach churn with guilt for denying him, even if she didn't exactly have a choice in the matter. Even when he was acting normally, Akira rarely excused himself during their outings unless it was getting truly uncomfortable. Given his even shyer personality now, she was sure that he was already quite desperate to have worked up the courage to ask.

If she was dealing with an actual child, she could have crouched down to comfort him, maybe pat them on the head. But Akira was still a good head taller than she was, so she settled for an awkward rub on the back. "I promise I'll get us out of here soon, and then I'll take you straight away. You can wait until then, can't you? I believe in you." Not that belief alone would really help one way or the other, but it was the only encouragement she could offer in a situation like this.

His cheeks were a little flushed, and he swallowed hard, but eventually nodded in agreement. "Okay..." He really didn't sound too confident...

Forcing a soft smile, she gave him a careful pet on the head. "I'll make sure to hurry. Oh, and I have an idea... why don't you play with Fox until we get done here? FOX!"

He retreated from the battlefield immediately, striding up to them. "Did you require my assistance?"

"Yes, I'd like to take over the fighting for a while. My attacks can hit a wider range of targets, and... we really need to speed this along. While you're resting, could you please entertain Joker?"

"You... want me to entertain him? How so?"

The Shadows on the battlefield screeched in earsplitting agony as Noir's axe sliced into flesh, and Joker flinched, trembling as he shoved his second hand towards his crotch. "I'm sure you'll figure something out! Just get him away from here until we clear a path!"

~~~~

((ALTERNATE w/ Crow))

He'd been quiet for a while now. He was usually on the quiet side anyways, but from what he'd observed, Joker was at least slightly more talkative during missions in the Metaverse. But after he'd asked a few questions about what they were doing, and where they were, he'd been nearly silent. The only noises he really made were gasps and squeaks of fear whenever the savages ahead were cutting Shadows open in gorey displays, or if he started to pull too far away from his incessant clinging.

Of all the people he could have gotten attached to in this state... why did it have to be me?

It seemed like a big joke, honestly. The man he planned to kill, the one who was supposed to be a leader- a revolutionary, was now constantly holding his arm or coattails and following him around like a helpless baby chick. It was pathetic and beyond irritating, and he was finding it harder and harder to remember his pleasant facade whenever the other Thieves came to check on them.

But at least he was quiet now. No sassy remarks, no smug challenges to his own abilities or flashy actions to show off in battle. Just a quiet, obedient boy who was content to follow him wherever he went. He could lead him straight into a Shadow's jaws, and he wouldn't struggle.

The hugging was getting more annoying though. Joker kept tightening the grip on his right arm, and despite Akira's long legs, the boy's pace had slowed to about half the speed of his own, his steps awkward and occasionally stumbling, sometimes almost yanking him backwards. He'd been trying to tolerate it, but enough was enough.

"Joker. I appreciate your affection, but I need you to let go of me. You may walk beside me, or right behind me, but I'd like my arm back, please."

The grip tightened, a hum of uncertainty sounding from his chick's lips.

Sighing under his breath, he turned to look Joker in the eyes, forcing his sweet 'interview smile' onto his face. "I can't protect you from the scary monsters here if I can't move. You want me to keep you safe, don't you?"

Slowly, Joker nodded.

"Alright then. Please let go of my arm, and we can keep walking."

Joker finally released his arm, pulling his freed hand up to his mouth to nibble on the red gloves. A nervous habit, he supposed. Well, if it kept the guy from clinging to him like a leech, he didn't care what he did.

For some reason though, Joker kept his slow pace even after they'd separated.

It was roughly twenty minutes later when Joker finally spoke again. The first time, he hadn't even made out the murmur.

"-er...ow..."

When he hadn't responded, Joker had reached out to tug gently on his hand. "Um... M-Mister Crow?" It had nearly been squeaked out, his voice breathy.

He'd turned around, trying not to look too annoyed at the interruption. "Yes?"

"I... Are we almost done?" Those gray eyes looked at him pleadingly, but Joker's voice wasn't whining in the obnoxious way most children did. Nevertheless, it was a pointless question to ask, as the rest of the crew continued to hack their way through Shadows several feet ahead of them.

"No. I believe it will be quite a while before we get out of here."

((Akira would've gotten shy and changed the subject for a bit, only to finally give in and tell Mister Crow how badly he has to go. Cue the most awkward Villain-Babysitting-Hero omo interactions possible))

#omocute #omorashi #fandomo #fictomo #persomo #bearfic #i don't know what to tag this bc it isn't rlly ag/eplay or intentional regression #just magic bs and fluff

9 notes · View notes

rizzizzsins-blog · 5 years

Text

From the Ashes, Ch 8

Wanna read this on Archive? Click here.

The shopping trip was a success. Asher rediscovered his love of cyberpunk, and he looked like an extra out of Akira . After he and Cinn had lunch at the food court, much to Edge’s dismay, everyone piled into Edge’s Jaguar, and they were off.

“You both have such nice cars,” Asher marveled a bit.

“Don’t compare my brother’s hunk of junk to my marvel of nature!” Edge frowned a little.

“Listen ‘ere, that Pontiac took me an entire year to restore. I’d like to see ya try it,” Cinn smirked.

“That’s not fair! You know I’m not a tinkerer like you!” Edge protested.

“Then quit throwin’ shade at my baby. She’s perfect the way she is, save fer a little dust from this one,” he nudged Asher with his elbow.

“Oh, sorry,” Asher apologized; Cinn shook his head. “I’m just jokin’, princey. It’ll be alright. ‘S a memory, that’s for sure.”

A memory, huh…

“This may be a bit of a drive, so feel free to fall asleep,” Edge remarked, adjusting his mirrors a bit before driving off.

“You got it, bro.”

“I’m not talking to you! I need your help with the directions! The place doesn’t appear on my map apps, since it’s technically a closed business.”

“Yeah, alright. Make a left, then stay on 64 for about 10 miles.”

Asher slowly sunk into the Jaguar’s leather seats. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. The shopping trip had left him completely drained.

Asher was in the community garden; the sun was slowly coming up. Dew dotted all of the leaves, and the tulips were lazily opening, one petal at a time.

It was around the time to harvest the dandelions. Apparently humans treated them as pest plants, but they were quite a good food source, so his glen grew them. It was best to pick half while they were flowering and half afterwards.

As he reached out to them, they shrank away. Asher moved his hand closer, and the plants leaned further away. Frustrated, he reached out and snagged an apple off a tree. As he was about to put it in his mouth, he felt something wet and sticky in his palm.

The apple was decomposing rapidly in his hand, until it melted into a viscous, black sludge. Asher turned to see where he’d walked; the grass was dead in every area where he’d stepped.

“Samara! You’re ruining everything!” His mother shouted, her hands in her hair.

“Mom! I’m sorry! I----” The rot spread faster and faster, crawling up his mother’s roots.

“You ruin everything, Samara. Everything.” Her flesh rots, and her teeth fall out one by one.

Asher screamed himself awake.

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Edge pulled over hard, turning off the ignition. “WHAT’S HAPPENING?” His eyelights glowed intensely, and the magic of battle brewed in the air.

“I’m sorry, mom… sorry….” Asher mumbled. He was awake. It was over.

“I shoulda fuckin’ warned him about the nightmares, Boss. It was my fault.”

“No, I could have done so as well.”

Asher shook his head. “Don’t worry… I can’t remember the last good dream I had. They’ve just never been that bad.”

“Yeah… our dad never talks about his. Makes sense, though, since he doesn’t fuckin’ talk about anythin’.”

“Hmph, it is frustrating. I can tell that it’s bothering him. He has the same microexpressions as I do when I’m upset. But he just shoves it all down and acts like an asshole. That’s going to blow up in his face some day.. I hope I’m not around for that,” Edge sighed.

“So… we almost there? Sorry for scaring you.”

Edge restarted the car, and they were off. They were pretty out of the city; the interstate was mottled with wildflowers and tall grass. Large houses with acres of property made up most of the landscape.

“Yes, just one more turn off this exit and it’s the first place on the left.” They rounded the hill next to the exit and…

Jesus Christ. The house was an absolute horrorshow. It looked like the kind of place that a church would run a haunted house in to raise money for charity. How it hadn’t been condemned or demolished was beyond Asher. The shutters were slowly sliding off their windows. Some windows were missing panes altogether, covered by plywood instead. The parking lot was full of luxury cars and retrofitted antique vehicles.

“This is… a little worse than I expected, Edge.”

“I know it looks a bit haunted on the outside, but that’s simply because they don’t feel like fixing it. The inside is a lot nicer,” The captain assured him as they pulled into the lot.

He checked his phone. Goddamn it, a whole bunch of them had dipped out of lunch. Including Vanilla.

Fuming, Edge smiled at Asher. “Excuse me for one moment, Asher.”

“Easy, bro.”

“NO! THEY SAID THEY WERE COMING! WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE TAKING RESPONSIBILITY?”

Edge basically slammed his fingers into the keypad as he dialed someone Asher didn’t know.

“VANILLA! WHAT THE FUCK GIVES?!”

“What can I say? Not interested.” Looks like Edge hit the speaker button in his hurry.

“YOU COULD APOLOGIZE!”

“I’m not the one doing something wrong. You’re introducing some decomposing rando into a house of already half-functional skeletons. And now the queen wants to throw in that psycho? Count me the fuck out.”

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT PSYCHO.” Edge’s eyelights went out.

“Oh, you haven’t heard? He just got released from prison, and that’s what Fafriel wants to do with him. You should probably make peace with your old man before he’s wiped off the face of the earth.”

“RIGHT. AS IF YOUR FATHER IS GOING TO LEAVE HIS HOME JUST BECAUSE OF TWO NEW PEOPLE. NOT EVERYONE THROWS IN THE TOWEL WHENEVER THEY FACE ANY LEVEL OF DIFFICULTY, SANS.”

The line went quiet.

“If I have to drag my dad out of that building by force, I will. I’m not losin’ him after just getting him back.”

“OH, YOU’RE GONNA DRAG HIM OUT? HE’LL JUST TELEPORT BACK. OUR FATHERS ARE EVEN BETTER AT TAKING ON CHALLENGES THAN YOU ARE AT RUNNING AWAY FROM THEM. GOOD DAY, SANS,” Edge hung up with a wicked grin.

“Who was that?” Asher asked, wrinkling his nose.

“Vanilla. Cinn’s Tale Kingdom counterpart. We’ve both been on the Surface for the same amount of time and he hasn’t evolved or matured one bit in that time. I for one, am proud of all the progress my brother has made. Vanilla and Honey just seem to go backwards, frankly. I feel sorry for Papaya and Azure.”

“There’s no need to feel sorry for me, Edge! Sans is just going through a rough patch!” A skeleton in a suit jacket, leather elbow patches and plaid orange dress pants put his hand on Edge’s shoulder.

“NYAAAGH! DON’T DO THAT, PAPY!”

“See? You don’t like it when you’re talked about behind your back , do you?” the other chuckled. “Don’t worry! I would have dragged Sans by the ear here if I had to. Brother, come out of the car!”

A dark blue-eyed skeleton skulked out of his brother’s Ferrari.

“Coming.”

“Hello, little dryad! My name is Papaya Aster, Esquire. It is truly an honor to meet you!” He seemed so excited he could barely contain himself, pulling out a fidget spinner to burn off the extra energy.

“Go on, Papaya. It doesn’t hurt to ask,” Edge clapped him on the back.

“A-ARE YOU A HUGGER? E-excuse me, I tend to be a little too clingy sometimes!” Papaya smiled apologetically.

“Oh? Sure. Haven’t been hugged too often, but I like trying new things, hahaha.”

Papaya scooped Asher up and spun him around, before setting him down carefully, making sure he landed properly.

“Jeez. Can’t say I’ve ever been hugged with quite so much enthusiasm. Thank you, Papaya.”

“It’s no issue! If you’re ever wanting a hug, I am always ready to give!”

“Yeah, and that’s just the issue,” his brother muttered. That must be Vanilla.

“Nice to meet you,” Asher smiled, offering a hand.

Vanilla takes it. The others seemed to have expected something to happen, since they were all cringing. But nothing happened.

“Nilla’s the name. I’m one of your landlords, I guess.”

“Right,” Asher swallowed.

“Is anyone else planning on showing up?” Edge sighed, pinching his nasal bridge.

“I believe Azure is coming in. Honey’s… a little impaired at the moment.”

“You can say drunk , Papy,” Edge spat.

“I don’t want to make a bad impression!” Papyrus responded. They weren’t upset, not with each other, at least.

“Considering the unpleasantness that was the phone call with your brother, I think that we can drop all pretenses.”

A car braked hard in the parking lot. A pair of heels stuck out of the door, as well as… a riding crop?

“ESPRESSO! CORTADO! GET OUT OF THE CAR, THE TENANT IS ALREADY HERE!” He shouted, a curt rasp in his voice.Two thumbs up popped out of the windows, before two long, yellow eyed skeletons stepped out of the car. The one yelling stepped out last, needing assistance from one of his brothers to get down from their enormous Lexus GX.

The smaller seemed to be in charge, the other two trailing behind him. One of them was hunched as he walked, his hoodie dipping just a little over his eyes. Headphones sat squarely on his shoulders. The other was much dressed like his brother, walking straight, in a rather futuristic black trench.

“ESPRESSO! PICK UP THE SLACK! WE ONLY HAVE A LIMITED AMOUNT OF TIME TO ASSESS THE TENANT BEFORE YOUR THERAPY SESSION!”

The hunched one nodded, running a little to catch up with his brothers.

The two militant ones squinted at Asher hard.

“CORTADO. HIS STATS.”

Wait, Asher’s stats?! What the hell did they need those for? Were they about to fight him or something?

“Illegible. Nothing but VOID-garbled gibberish, Captain.”

“THEN GIVE ME AN ESTIMATE!”

“Uh… do I need to do something here?” Asher asked Edge.

“No. This is just… their routine. Riesling, do you intend on wasting all of lunch staring at our tenant, or will you introduce yourself like a normal person?”

“THIS IS PERFECTLY NORMAL! CORTADO, I GROW IMPATIENT.”

“DEF 50. ATK 30. HP 30/30. Soul of Justice.”

“PATHETIC! A COMPLETE AND UTTER WEAKLING! GOOD. YOU ARE OF NO THREAT TO OUR FATHER AND MAY PROCEED.”

“Al...right?” Asher wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or insulted. Maybe a little bit of both. He wasn’t a complete weakling, right?

“WE MUST WAIT FOR THE LONE COMMANDER, AS WELL AS OUR COUSIN AND HIS PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A COMPANY,” Riesling sighed.

“You know Scamp and Sliv are always late. Let’s just go inside and get this over with,” Nilla sighed deeper. Cinn gritted his teeth.

“You’se guys go on ahead. I’m gonna need a moment.”

“Fine,” Edge nodded. “Asher, would you mind staying for a moment with my brother? I would like to make sure our fathers aren’t doing anything abnormally dangerous, and set up a bit, before you enter.”

“Alright, sounds good.”

Everyone except Cinn and Asher went into the house. The door practically screeched whenever it was open and shut.

Cinn pulled out a cigar and sat on the hood of the Jaguar. “Y’ want one?”

“I can’t smoke. It’s really bad for plants. Even though I’m more rot than plant, I still don’t want to risk it,” Asher declined.

“Suit yaself.” He snapped his fingers and the tip of the cigar lit up. So he knew a little fire magic…

“.... So that was… a lot. Are you all related? Or what’s the story?”

“We’re all counterparts. It gets kinda messy. Our names started out as nicknames, but eventually we had ‘em all legally changed. Got sick of gettin’ ‘calls for Sans and Papyrus’. How was we supposed to know which pair people wanted?!” He chuckled a bit.

“But, yeah… I’m sorry yer havin’ to go through all this. I’d hoped this would be a little easier than you livin’ on yer own, but all I’ve done is complicate the shit outta your life. This one’s on me, princey.”

Asher shook his head.

“You know, it’s at least been different. I got so used to my routines with Theo that I kind of forgot what life was like outside of that. Sure, not everything’s fun, and certainly not Vanilla, but it’s been different, and in that sense, refreshing. It helps me keep my mind off… this,” he smiled, gesturing to his broken body.

“Yeah. That’s what velcro shoes an’ jackets are for. Ya look right outta Blade Runner.”

Asher’s smile grew a little bigger. “I have mixed feelings about that film, but the aesthetic is top notch.”

“Yeah…” Cinn drew in a big puff, before blowing it out in the shape of a heart. “Hehehe, I still got it.”

“Can you blow it out your eyes?” Asher had to ask.

“Hell no! Shit burns like a motherfucker. Who showed ya that?” Cinn shuddered.

“Me. Nyeh heh, didn’t mean to set the bar too high for ya, shorty,” Scamp popped in and noogied Cinn mid inhale, giving him a coughing fit and stealing his cigar.

“You sack of fuckin’ shit, you planned that!” Cinn growled. Asher could kind of tell they were playing around.

“Brother. Please. We arrived with a duty, and we must perform it.”

“DON’T TREAT IT LIKE A DUTY, TREAT IT LIKE AN ADVENTURE! WE GET TO MEET A NEW FRIEND! HOPEFULLY CRIMSON WON’T INSULT THEM SO MUCH THAT THEY LEAVE CRYING THIS TIME!” It was odd. The two voices sounded like they were from the same person, yet one of them was heavy and flat, and the other was bouncing off the walls. Eventually, Asher was able to see the two skeletons talking. They had showed up in a sporty motorbike and sidecar, removing their helmets before coming to say hello.

“Nyeh heh, you Blue’s side piece now?” Scamp joked with the quieter one. The two motorcyclists looked almost inverted. The quieter one with muted purple eyelights robotically shook Asher’s hand, before the bright-eyed one grabbed Asher’s other hand and shook it vigorously.

“HELLO! I DON’T BELIEVE WE’VE MET! MY NAME IS AZURE ASTER, AND THIS IS MY FRIEND, SLIVOVITZ ASTER!”

“Yeah, here’s my big bro. Well, big metaphorically.”

“Hardee har har. Because I’m short. Very original, brother,” Slivovitz sighed. “I would at least like to supervise Edge making the food, even if he will no longer let me assist.”

“MAYBE IF WE’RE LUCKY WE CAN SNEAK MAKING A FEW SIDE DISHES. COME ON, SLIV!” Azure grabbed Sliv’s hand and basically Naruto ran to the door.

“Well, princey, whatcha see is whatcha get. You still wanna go in that house?” Cinn checked. “Y’ can say no. I’d fuckin’ say no.”

Asher shook his head. “I’m ready. I want to give this a try.”

Without realizing it, Asher took Cinn’s hand, and they walked inside. It was lunchtime.

#fta #from the ashes #ssll inspired #ssll #undertail

2 notes · View notes

deviant404angel · 6 years

Text

His and Hers: A Dance in the Vampire Bun Fic Part 4

“Hoo?” Mina was fascinated and she didn’t even know she was carrying his scent already. It will be faint for others but for wolves and other weres and possibly vampires who paid enough attention, they will smell it on her. “How does this smell transference happen? If they–"she blushed. Oh crap.

"Hime-san, what did you want to talk to me about? We can go outside for it. The guys here smells like sweat, I want to smeel the fresh air outside. Shall we go?” He attempted to divert her attention.

To no avail.

“Akira, this is interesting. I would want to know more about this werewolves culture.” She turned to Leo again. “So? Pray tell.”

“It’s actually pretty simple.” Leo grinned. “He just have to bite her somewhere, anywhere at all. ”

“Really? There are no other conditions?”

“There is. He must bring her to come during the, ” refusing to speak anything rude to her highness, Leo refrained fron saying sex instead, “when they do the deed and strike.”

“Ahh. I see… ” Then she blushed tomato red.

Oh f*ck. Everyone’s eyes turned on me. That’s it.

“Let’s go, Hime-san.” She didn’t even protested when I grabbed her wrists and dragges her out of the room.

With my hearing senses, I heard their laughter. “Man! That was a long time coming! Seriously, I bet her highness started everything before that lone wolf made his move. He just couldn’t win against her highness.”

“Man! I wanna get laid too!”

“Our highness is already a grown up.” Was that a sob he heard?

When finally they were away from the crowd he released the princess. It was suddenly awkard. He scratched the tip of his nose. “Hime-san… ”

It was a moment before she turned to him. “W-what were they talking about?”

He almost smiled at her innocence. “It’s a biological thing. Like a marking. Because bite marks fade, the wolves ensures their territories by marking their mates with their scent. But it never works with a vampire before because of biological incompatibility. But since the change, we’re already linked so your DNA recognizes mine and vice versa.”

“S-so. I’ll be wearing your marking always? It will never fade?” She blushed crimson it was adorable.

“In this instance, it will. In a few days. ” He could almost hear her next question and prepared himself to answer.

“What!? Why!? ” She sounded scandalized at the idea and he almost laughed. But therein also lies the problem. Because she will never be his.

He looked at her eyes, so beautiful. “Because the marking is incomplete. It will never be permanent if I don’t do it again.”

“What? But you bit me when I- when I… ” she trailed.

“Hime-san… ” his eyes caught on the mark he left on her neck. It still hasn’t healed yet. Not completely. And everything came flashing back with intensity it almost knocked him on his knees.

Ah f*ck. If this is how she always affects him, it’ll be his death one day. That is if ever he dies.

He wanted to mark her again. The scent is still strong but given a few more days it will slowly fade if he doesn’t do something about it. His terriotial instincts kicked in and he caged her in locking her back to the wall. They were on the rooftop enjoying the high wind breeze. He’s been avoiding being alone with her for a time now for fear he might finally lose his mind. It was a reprieve she fell asleep on him or else he would have taken her then and there regardless of consequences. But now that she’s here, the wolf in him jumped happily at the idea of her wearing his scent now and forever.

“Akira?”

“You wanna know how to make it permanent, Hime-san?” Her scent is crowding him making it hard to think rationally. He wanted to take her it was a magnetic pull he couldn’t control. It had always been there simmering in the surface but now it was too overwhelming it threatened to make him lose his damn mind unless he claims her.

And not just any claiming.

Claim her like a werewolf does.

Almost like a vampire, he tugged at her collar to bare her neck to him. His mark was still there. He brought his lips closer and kissed her neck then licked.

“Aki-”

He balled his hands to fists and pulled himself away.

“To answer your question, that was just half-marking. The marking take full effect only when I’m so deep inside you, you’d feel me everywhere, and as you come on me, squeezing me tight, I’d bite you, mark you. It’s not pretty, it’s not romantic. It’s messy and painful. We have bigger canines to sink into your flesh. I could tear you part with it. ”

Then Mina understood why he was avoiding her.

“Akira.” She touched his face gently. “You would never hurt me.” She tiptoed because even if she’d grown he was still taller, and pressed her lips to his tight ones

The poor boy was afraid he’d lose control and tear her to pieces. He could come up with excuses that he’s bounded by duty, that she’s a vampire and he’s a werewolf and they never should be and could be. But all of those failed in comparison to his self-doubt that he would hurt her. Mina knows of the tradition of the werewolf when they meet their partners and mate them.

She had talked to Akira’s mother and saw first hand what werewolf mating could do to a human woman. But she was a vampire more flexible than any human. Besides, it wasn’t that Akira’s mother hated Wolf. She never notices it but she speaks fondly of him and misses him. Except Wolf who had seen what happened to his wife and could not bear to come near her and be with her again. Wolf is sometimes like Akira, more so than he could ever imagine.

She pulled away. “Who is there to stop us? I want to be yours, Akira. Forever.” She brought his forehead to hears.

She could see that he was still battling with himself so she let the matter pass but without any teasing. She let him go and reached for the door before looking back and saying, “if ever you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

***

Akira saw his father while was walking aimlessly in the castle. He was talking to someone on the phone, alone ina dimly lit corridor.A woman’s voice? No, not just anyone. His mother.

There was a longing in his mother’s voice and his father’s voice was tight as if holding himself back. He’d never seen his father that way. He also had an expression he’d never seen. They were talking about Yuuhi and him but it’s like they aren’t. Like they were reaching but to what he wasn’t sure. He stood there until his father hang up the phone.

That’s when Wolf noticed him and Akira found out his father could also be focused on one thing he forgets everything else. He hadn’t noticed that before. Granted, he refused to notice his father because of what he did to his mother but he may have been looking at it at a wrong angle.

Wolf broke the silence first going back to his stoic expression. “Your mother misses you. You should visit her if you have time.” That’s all and Wolf passed him by.

He stopped without turning, he asked. “Do you regret marrying mother?”

Wolf didn’t answer immediately. “Why would I? Your mother is not someone I would regret.”

Akita turned harshly thinking of his mother in a wheelchair. “Even if she’s like that!? ”

“Akira! Don’t talk about your mother like that. She is a brave woman who gave birth to Yuuhi and You and never regretted it. Do not belittle her.” Wolf’s voice rang in the hallway.

Then Wolf walked away.

Shit. His emotions were everywhere. He needed to breathe. Or maybe not.

His phone rang and saw that it was his mother calling him. Just what did his father and mother talked about?

“Hey, mom.” He lightened his tone.

“Akira?” She sounded cheerful. “I heard about you and Mina-hime.” Oh.

He blushed. “Well about that… ”

“You should bring her home sometime. I miss that dear girl. I’ve always wanted you two together even before this change though before would have been a little bit difficult. But now seems fine. Anyways, you’re bonded by blood. If that doesn’t sound romantic then maybe its thaf your scent is all over her? ” His mother laughed.

“Mom, seriously.” He blushed and scrubbed his face the went outside for some air.

“I figured you’d be having trouble. You’ve always loved her but she’s always far away so now that she’s within reach it probably seems surreal. ” His mom chuckled. Yeah that’s about right.

“I feel like, if I get my hands on her, she’ll disappear. ” He admitted.

“Hmm. I know what you mean.” She chuckled.

“Mom…why’d you marry dad?” He breathed.

“What kind of question is that? Isn’t it obvious? Akira, I’m Japanese, not anywhere near a clan to be married to your father. Why do you think I married him? And why do you think I’m staying?”

“Well, because dad doesn’t allow you to? Werewolves are proud so they wouldn’t want their wives to leave them even when the marriage is failing.” He reasoned.

“Well, that too. ” She chuckled. “But who says our marriage is failing? Wolf is not the type to be open to people but I know him. I’m sure you do, too. Besides, he gave me Yuuhi and you, my two werewolf babies. Did you know I had a hard time chasing your dad? Why would I let him go now? I’m bound to a wheelchair but I haven’t lost my mind. I’m keeping my Wolf. ”

“You did? ” That was a surprise to Akira. When he was old enough at seven he left home so he could serve Hime-san and so that he couldn’t see his mother that way after giving birth to Yuuhi. He never asked.

“It was hard. Our relationship weren’t always smooth especially when I learned what he was but in the end I decided that he’s the one so I grabbed him with my invisible claws. Not one relationship is easy sailing, Akira. But if there’s love and trust, and acceptance and you work together, there’s no mountain too high, no ocean too deep, oh I think this is a song.” His mom laughed.

“Geez mom.” He scratched his head.

“What are you waiting for? I don’t regret a single thing, Akira. Everything is just as I want them to be.” Her voice was gentle. “Why don’t you ask your heart what you really want?”

Akira started at the words spoken by his mother, it was almost the same words spoken to him by his father once. And he resigned his case.

“Haha. You sounded like dad.”

“Really? I need to ask him for copyright fee.”

“How are you,mom?”

***

Akira didn’t bother knocking on the chamber of Mina. He knows she’s asleep based on her breathing pattern. She was giving him space. He sat down by her side and looked at her.

It was getting harder and harder to tear himself away from her. He’s not sure he even wants to.

#akira kaburagi #mina tepes #dance in the vampire bund

1 note · View note

ovyy-pvcure · 6 years

Text

Fic collection

A personal list of the Heroaca fics I’m currently reading for my own use, but also I hihgly suggest they be checked out by friends and followers for their quality or theory.

Thieves can be heroes by Mugiwara N0 Luffy- a Persona 5 AU with Izuku shifted into Akira’s role. With a different Persona but the same problem let’s Rebel! Unlike other total AUs this still takes place in the Heroaca world just the events of P5 are also occurring. Cons: Stays fairly close to P5 canon early on, but is still highly interesting to watch Izuku logic out the world. Pros: ties quirks in with the characters nicely.

Nevermore by Moonbornchild et al (4 authors)-a story that takes its inspiration from both Persona and Silent Hill and blends them perfectly this fic explores the unplesant sides of our heroes to be, and is a unquie look into minor characters, with promise of more to come. With four authors on tap the fic is rarely stale in its narration. Cons: Heavy on the romance angle, but it’s never too bad. Pro: Regardless of later canon some of the issues the kids have with themselves and others brought forth are amazing and well worth the read. Every charatcer (but one) are given their due, and their own narration. Bonus pro: Huwuwmingway.

Daymare by IntrospectiveInquisitor-Deku has a quirk after all fic, but instead of something positive it’s that his innate fear is an empowerment: the more scared/anxious he is the more powerful. And deadly. To say more would ruin the ride, just give it a chance it’s a delight to watch Iuku’s growth throughout the fic to date. Cons: Stations of Canon are strong. Pros: Kacchan gets called out but Midoriya is having none of it ‘don’t use me as an excuse to attack him.” Bonus Pro: confirmed Kiri crush on the Good Boi.

brilliant lights will cease to burn by novalotypo-Cardcaptor Au that sets Izuku as the heir to the Sakura Cards after a slight change in drive leads to Izuku having a much more active life outside his apartment. It’s good for him, but also oh so very bad for him, poor boy was gonna burn out before the cards arrived.Heavily crosses into xxxHOLIC and CCS lore along with the Clamp verse in general, but an enjoyable read for it’s world building without perfect knowledge of its predesscors. Cons: unlike the next entry on this list Izuku on magic calmers feels a little OOC, but it’s a thing that gets commented on so...we’ll see The fic is heavily in favor of Vigliantism and pokes at the Hero System vital to BNHA, but they’re precision strikes that leave you wondering. Pros: uses a combination of straight story telling and social media to to weave a tale of the city as well as the faults of the series’ system. Kero! Another fic that references Persona, but like its other references are fairly sublte. Shinsou Hitoshi and Hatsume Mei meet. Bonus Pro: there’s at least one boy throwing a lot of love towards Izuku (he also threatens to split open Baby Kachan’s skull.) Bonus Con: despite the previous point; could be gayer.

Yesterday Upon The Stair by PitViperOfDoom-Izuku sees Ghosts AU. Perhaps the most famous BNHA fic for a reason. It’s fantastically written and makes Izuku one of the most 3D people he is in any canon and fleshes out his relations with others and how they relate to each other. It’s fast pace through the SoC leave room for the important new stuff, and it’s been a crazy ride with YUTS Izuku’s special brand of rage and snark, Contatins both the most realistic expulsion of a certain someone I’ve ever seen, and perhaps the best handling of Bakugou, again, in any canon. Cons: It doesn’t??? Have any???? Bonus Pro: ‘you can be friends with Kacchan if you want.” Gods I want, and need this conversation to happen in canon.

#good reads #long post #a list of fics I am reading #and recommend highly #The final two especially

3 notes · View notes

jayce-space · 6 years

Text

Devilman Crybaby (review)

Okay, since some people showed interest I'll start with the last one I watched as it's fresh still.

First of all I'm going to give this a major content warning for those that may want to watch it. It has graphic themes and hides nothing from view including things that may be triggering. It's designed to disgust, fascinate and leave you feeling uncomfortable as you watch. If anime like berserk, elfen lied, various hentai or music videos like DYE fantasy are something you have a hard time with it's taking that up a notch. If you like that stuff (or at least aren't too bothered) or was a major fan of Evangeline you'll probably enjoy this.

So moving on, I'll start as spoiler free as possible so excuse vagueness at times.

Animation:

The animation was... Different. It's not what a lot of anime looks like with the exception of a few movies. The style is flat and at times doesn't read very well. You see what you need to though and as the episodes progress it does improve and your eyes get used to it. It works for it though, it gives the show a very almost drugged feel or appearance which works well for this type of show. It wouldn't have worked if it was polished and sharp like most modern anime. You knew how you were supposed to feel by what was shown. The actual animation was dynamic and actually quite detailed in subtle ways... Though goofy too... I'm looking at you running animation. But it was serious when it needed to be and expressed emotion, emotion was its main goal! As said before you will see a lot of graphic murder scenes, sex scenes (among all genders and living or dead), nudity and other such themes. They did this well and it will leave you both desensitized and uncomfortable by the end.

Music/sound:

At times it was on point, at others it left you going "what?". I watched it in both dub and sub (it's not a long show) and both are decent though the engrish in the sub version can hurt... Though the Japanese in the dub version can also grate on your ears. The opening, hated it... I usually don't say that as I'm one who listens to openings typically... But I wanted to skip it. There's also a lot of freestyle rap in both English and Japanese and if that's not your thing... Well get used to it for the first half at least. The other scores and sounds were good though and didn't leave me complaining; it matched the animation style well.

Characters:

They did a really good job fleshing out the characters and making you feel for them. Main and side characters were pretty well covered and gave you a lot to choose from for favourites. The only character I felt was rushed especially motive wise was Ryo. They sort of just exist to push Akira along; but aside from seeming like they're crushing major hard, has no real motivation until the end and just character flips after learning a few things. So they felt dryer. With all that said, and major spoiler, essentially everything and everyone will break your heart and stomp on it. So be ready for that. The bits that got me the hardest were with Akira and his adoptive family. Like I was sobbing like a baby because things are unfair.

Plot:

I won't give much away if I can help it. The plot is based off a 70's manga and follows it pretty closely. There were 2 other anime series and some ovas too, though I haven't watched them to compare. I've seen clips though and they don't appear as depressing. Basically you're following Akira who starts as a wimpy crybaby just trying to get by in life. He meets up with an old childhood friend Ryo and they take him to a nightclub that is overun by demons in human skin. Ryo triggers an attack and then sacrifices Akira to become a demon himself. The next while is them tag teaming to kill non human demons.

It's fast and has pacing issues at times but considering they covered as much as they did in 10 episodes it's not bad. You won't be too confused by the overall plot, just some of the motives. The end will leave you empty though, no loose ends to tie at least.

Overall:

I liked it for a Netflix anime and would probably watch it again I'm a few months. It's not something that could air or TV or really even cruncyroll and I'm okay with that. It really grew on me the more I watched and I couldn't even take a break, sat through the full thing like it was a movie. And that's the best way to watch something like this in my opinion. I'd give it an 8.5/10 overall and recommend it to those that aren't bothered easily.

#Jayce reviews anime

2 notes · View notes

cynicaldesire · 7 years

Text

Ace Detective - Ch. 2 Ryukoto - Persona 5

< Prev

Makoto did her best to ignore the buzzing of her phone on the table beside her manga. She flipped another page and smiled absently at the images. Despite the dark and gory nature of the series, it still held small moments of clarity and kindness. It reminded her of someone.

She sighed and grabbed her phone. Messages from the group, mostly. She deleted a few old threads, all except for the one from a couple weeks ago, after their adventure with the Calling Cards. She felt it, a something during their outing, the fluster of a shoujo heroine when his body loomed over hers, when she pressed him against the wall, when he came out with the shirt too tight, when she had to pretend to be his girlfriend, when they sat together at the diner, when she had to take his hand for any reason. So she deleted threads daily so as to avoid the message she sent to him getting automatically removed.

She hadn’t ever been one for frivolous romantic tripe like other girls, so focused on her studies and performing to the standards set forth by the adults in her life. She had to make her sister proud, live up to the legacy of her father. Being Student Council President came with duties that she had to uphold, with responsibilities she had to the other students and teachers. She had so little time that she allowed for anything that did not advance her worth to those people.

Being with the Phantom Thieves forced her to rethink her priorities. She had the grades, the position, the appearance, everything that gave her prestige and made the adults in her life happy. But she couldn’t tell if it made her happy. She had no hobbies, no friends, and most of the students seemed to dislike her. She wanted those things, for people to like her, befriend her, and share interests.

A sharp, loud noise from the hallway startled her. Someone must’ve dropped a book as they left the library. Distracted from her thoughts, she looked to the time; school would close soon. She started to gather up her things and took one last look at her phone. One thing did make her happy. But would her new friends like it?

She took a slow breath. The school would close to students, but on Monday nights, the gym had been rented out to the local Kendo club. The janitor knew her well and trusted her to use the gymnasium between closing and the club meeting. He would have to clean it again after the club meeting anyway. She did her best to keep it cleaner than she found it as recompense. With her newest extracurricular activities, it might be a good idea to do a bit of training. Her damage output seemed to be lower than the rest of the team’s. While she enjoyed Aikido, she had let her body and skill atrophy in favor of her studies and investigations.

Makoto took one last look at her phone before she placed it in her bag. She kept all her Aikido things in the locker room, but she would need something from the vending machine to hydrate and replenish her electrolytes. The vending machines in the courtyard should provide what she needed.

She smiled to a few students that loitered in the courtyard. They offered disingenuous smiles and packed up their things while she purchased her drink. The machine rattled as her beverage dropped and Makoto heard the students fade away as she recovered the bottle. She gripped the cold bottle tightly. No one liked her. Her jaw clenched, eyes downcast. Aikido would help. A quick glance at the time allowed her to begin planning a regimen of kata to run through before the kendo club arrived.

As she crossed the courtyard to the gymnasium, she heard heavy panting beyond the railing. Students weren’t allowed in the grass after what happened with Suzui, especially with the grounds closing. One deep breath, a bolster to her fortitude, and she moved to the gate that led to the lawn.

She followed the panting around the corner of the practice building. “Excuse me?” Her voice came out stronger than she felt.

A dyed blonde head bobbed between knees covered by large hands. “Hol’ on…” He managed the request through his breaths, an exercise Makoto actually recognized.

Makoto stiffened. Ryuji’s shirt clung to his back, moist with sweat. She swallowed, distracted by the musculature defined by the simple white cloth. Her heart beat faster, those silly, frivolous feelings burbling up again.

He lifted his head and released her from staring. “Oh, it’s you.” No disdain laced his voice, but she heard no affection either. “What are you still doin’ here, Miss President?”

Her grip tightened on the straps of her bag. “I-… I don’t have Student Council meetings on Mondays, but I like to stay in the Student Council room to catch up on work.”

He continued to breathe heavily as she spoke. He nodded absently. “I guess you, uh… came around here to-“ He swallowed, a weak attempt to catch his breath. “To remind me this area is off-limits?”

Her brow furrowed. He never seemed this exhausted in the Metaverse. “Sakamoto-kun, are you all right?”

He laughed once and nodded again. “Yeah, m’okay. I’ll head out in a bit.” He placed a hand on the wall beside him to begin post-workout stretches.

Makoto watched his body bend and stretch, the muscles of his legs and arms work under the skin. She had never noticed it before, not in any of her Aikido classes or spars. Why did this blonde punk bother her so much?

He seemed to favor his right leg, more effort put into the stretch, pain twisted his countenance as he worked it with a small grunt. Her brow furrowed; rumors surrounded the disbandment of the track team, but Ryuji had been suspended after the incident, there’s no way Kamoshida broke his leg. That man had been a vile pervert, not-… He had been abusive, as well. Those rumors rang true. So many awful things happened at her school, right under her nose, and she never knew. What made this one so hard to believe?

“Don’t you have work to catch up on, senpai? I’ll be good, like you said.” His breath finally caught, he turned to her, words amicable but she felt the bitterness behind them.

She looked up to his earthy brown eyes, contrasted sharply by his blonde hair, less unruly after his workout. A smile graced her lips despite herself. “I was actually on my way to do some Aikido training before the Kendo club meets in the gym.”

Ryuji’s brow lifted. “For real? I thought they closed it off after classes for cleaning and shhhhhhtuff.” He winced slightly, aware of his slip of the tongue, conscious to not swear around her.

She chuckled. Leave it to Ryuji to lift her mood by just being himself. “I made a deal with the janitor. I’m one student, the Student Council President, he trusts me to keep it clean and taken care of. Besides, I need the time to think. Running through a few kata helps to clear my head.”

His eyes fell away from hers, to the ground. He turned away to grab his Dr. Salt NEO. Makoto’s brow lifted; she’d have assumed he’d have a soda. “Sorry for keeping you out so late last night, senpai.”

She smiled brightly. “Oh, it was no trouble, Sakamoto-kun. You needed the help with your studies and I’m more than happy to provide.”

He took a swig of his sports drink. “I’ll try not to ask ya too much. I ain’t smart enough to get it all anyway.”

Makoto frowned. She hated hearing the delinquent self-deprecate. He had too many good qualities that he and everyone else ignored because of one mistake. She gripped her own Dr. Salt NEO tighter.

His body bent at the waist to drop his drink in his bag. He straightened up and grabbed the hem of his gym uniform and lifted it to wipe his face. Makoto felt the warmth invade her cheeks as the white cloth covered his face.

Her eyes drifted down to gaze at the definition of his athletic body. Any frivolous thoughts burned away as she took stock of the bruises that peppered his flesh. “Ryuji!” She dropped her Dr. Salt NEO and took a few frantic steps forward.

Brown eyes appeared from behind white cloth at his name shouted in panic. He followed her hands to his abdomen, to the bruises, and whipped his shirt back down to cover them. Red met brown, both determined.

“Ryuji, where did those come from?” Panic and worry welled inside her. He winced at her question.

His eyes tore away to the bottle she dropped. Grass rustled as he shifted around to grab the white, salty beverage. “Don’t worry about it, senpai, it’s nothin’.” He held the bottle out to her.

She shook her head. “Like hell I won’t worry! You’re my friend.”

His brow lifted at her outburst. She shifted her weight to cross her arms. If he wouldn’t tell her, she would have to find out. Preliminary suspects; who would want to hurt him? Probably everyone at the school. Probably even those outside of the school. She had to narrow the suspect pool. Who would he protect? Family, first. She had heard rumors of his home life as well, an abusive father and a mother that did her best. Could the father still be at home? No, she had heard from Akira that Ryuji only had his mother left. So that left friends?

“Was it Ann?” Makoto narrowed her eyes at him.

He shook the bottle at her. “C’mon, senpai, it’s nothin’. I promise. You won’t have much time to do trainin’ if you stick around here.”

Her jaw tensed. She snatched the bottle from him. “I’ll find out who did this to you, Ryuji.” She worked to unscrew the cap. Who else? Ryuji had isolated himself from clubs after last year, though not entirely of his own design. Extra-curricular? They had spent a great deal of time in Mementos recently. “Was it the Shadows?” She chugged a bit. Couldn’t be, why would he cover that up?

He perked up a bit at her question. “Ah, ya got me, senpai. Those Shadows can get… pretty tough. Anyway, I’ma go uh… hit the showers before I head home.”

She knew that tone. A nervous lie. He’s obviously covering for someone. But if it were Ann, he’d probably complain about it, talk about what a bitch she can be, but remind her of their friendship. Makoto didn’t believe she’d ever go that far. It had to be someone else.

He leaned down to grab his bag. Makoto felt an uneasiness settle into her gut. She wanted to help him, to protect him, if she could. But she couldn’t if he didn’t let her, if he hid the truth. She heard about this before from her father, from her sister, from her studies, of the abused that refused to speak out against their abuser. The only real way to convince them to do so, to charge them or testify, would be to convince them of their safety with the police.

She would just have to do that. Make him believe her to be a friend, someone he could be safe with. He shifted around her, headed back to the main building. She grabbed his wrist before he could get too far. “Ryuji!”

He flinched and looked to her hand before he turned around to her. “Yeah?”

Makoto felt the butterflies flit in her stomach. Her hand snapped up to fuss with her uneven bangs, a futile attempt to tuck the longer bits behind her ears. “I… After-…” She pressed her lips together, his eyebrows piqued at her stuttering. “How about I meet you at the shoe lockers after you clean up?”

He turned his head to eye her sidelong. “Why?”

She took a slow breath. Suspicion. “You need some carbs after that workout, right? I’ll come with you. Maybe we could get one last study session in before exams on Wednesday.”

He laughed once, eyes on the ground. He lifted his free hand to his shoulder to rotate the joint. “Nah, I’ve had enough studying for one week. Shit was brutal.” His hands moved together to open his bottle. “Thanks, by the way, for doing your best with me. I know I ain’t smart or easy to teach.” He lifted the beverage to his lips.

Makoto watched his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. More self-deprecation. Almost as if the boy preferred to believe himself inferior. “You’re welcome. How about I take you to your favorite ramen place then?”

His body lurched, a bit of his beverage spurted around the bottle’s opening. He lowered the bottle quickly, splashed a bit more on the ground, and wiped his face. “For real! It’s all the way in Ogikubo, though!”

Makoto smiled. His demeanor completely changed. She had played the right card. “Of course. If you have the money for the ride, I’ll pay for the meal.”

He grinned and quickly spun the cap back on his drink. “I’ll meet you at the shoe lockers!” He waved and bounded off toward the gymnasium.

Makoto giggled at her kouhai’s enthusiasm. That flutter in her stomach shifted to her chest as she made her way back through the school to the shoe lockers. She sat down on one of the shoe changing benches and watched a few students wander out together. Her smile at Ryuji’s excitement had not diminished when he left. She laughed once at the thought of him so excited, every emotion turned as high as possible on the dyed blonde.

So when he muted those emotions, she noticed. She sensed his frustrations throughout the day, highest after he changed back to his normal clothes at the end of their Calling Card adventure. Anxiety had her playing and replaying the entire afternoon over and over again in her mind in hopes that she might determine the cause. He seemed affable, as if the whole endeavor seemed fun and exciting to him, until she mentioned his grades.

That had to have been the turning point. Any other spat they got into seemed to solve itself, resolved quickly through his compassionate nature or simple apathy. But his grades brought forth the most self-deprecating comments, the anger that he did his best to cover. He had touched her when emotion overcame her and she had hoped it might work the same for him. She remembered earlier in the afternoon he had started any time she touched him, but he quickly relaxed, the table quieted when his leg stopped bouncing, when she touched his hand.

So she hugged him. She wanted him to feel a warm embrace the way she had once. But something about it had angered him further. The train ride home only intensified her worry and anxiety. She hadn’t made it better. And she had texted him before her stop. About today she entitled it.

She kept her phone on her the rest of the night, worried for her colleague. She hated to see that look in his eye, so far removed from his energy as Skull or even on school grounds as the delinquent Ryuji. Something about him felt wrong, not like Ryuji at all. She checked her phone every few minutes during her studying, through dinner, and would’ve taken the device into the bath with her if she had a waterproof case. Instead, she woke up with the charging cable wrapped around her wrist as the phone buzzed frantically in alarm. And weeks later, he hadn’t replied to it. She made sure to delete as many other threads as she could to ensure that message remained. An ember of hope that he might address her concerns outlined in the message.

That anxiety, that worry, forced a realization within her. She had no idea how to help him. She wanted desperately to do so, but she didn’t know him outside of her investigation. And without his reply, she couldn’t pretend to be anything more than a colleague to him. A partner in Thievery. So she would have to try to find common ground.

Jinbocho had been her first stop. The literary district carried all sorts of books, but she hunted for manga. She ended up directed to the more otaku of districts, such as Akihabara and Nakano Broadway. Akiba upset her, reminded her of things she would rather bury, all bright lights and maid cafes like the red light district of Shinjuku, but Nakano Broadway felt more like a large mall with all manner of interests. But she had to persevere so that she could get closer to the Thieves and potentially the student body.

And so she delved into manga, first seeking out the series he carried with him. She had barely gotten through the first volume when she realized how weak it made her. Darkness, gore, hopelessness, all in terrifying measure. A return trip garnered her different manga, something to lift her spirits and cleanse her mental palate so that she might dive in again. She strove for manga that might enrich her, something intellectual, but she found herself drawn to the shoujo romance, to the cute animal stories, to the detective stories and historical dramas. But she continued to purchase or borrow the next volume of his manga. She had to connect with him. And, despite the content, his manga gave her a lot to think about.

She took a slow breath. The foyer of the school had cleared out a while ago. With no idea how much longer Ryuji might take, she reached into her bag to pull out the alternate manga, the cleansing manga, she had purchased.

“For real?” His voice came from across the foyer, barely noticeable to her if not for the extreme quiet.

She looked to her partner-in-crime and closed the book. As she stood, he shuffled to his locker to switch his shoes out. Makoto crossed the foyer to stand near him. He smelled clean. Something heady. She swallowed the butterflies back to her gut.

He locked his shoe locker and turned to the Student Council President. His brow furrowed for a moment, one arm lifted to rub the back of his head. “So, uh… You were serious, huh?”

Makoto lifted her bag to her shoulder. “Dead serious. So where are we going?”

Brown eyes drifted over her features, his hand dropped from the back of his neck. “Well, there’s this stellar ramen shop in Ogikubo, but the fare is kinda steep and the ramen isn’t exactly cheap so-“

Makoto smiled brightly. “That’s fine. Like I said, you pay for your fare and I’ll pay for your meal.” She turned away and headed for the door.

“H-Hey.” His shoes thumped after her. His larger hand dropped onto her thin shoulder. “Senpai, really, you don’t gotta pay for it. Why would you want to, anyway?”

The butterflies took flight at his touch. She shook her head. “You deserve it, Ryuji. After everything you did for me with Kaneshiro and-“

He shushed her sharply. “C’mon, really? And you guys give me shit about it.”

A flush found her cheeks, her shoulders lifted. “Sorry!” She hissed the apology out, embarrassed. “But seriously, with everything you do for our friends and your dedication to your studies and your training, I think a nice bowl of ramen is the least I can do.”

He scratched at his face, a feeble attempt to hide the blush that darkened his cheeks. “Even if I am just an idiot?”

Makoto frowned. Very little mirth accompanied his self-deprecation. Her hand shifted from her bag to gently hit her knuckles against his chest. “You’re not an idiot, Ryuji.”

He chuckled at her action and nodded. “Okay, all right. Let’s get goin’ then. Man, you’re gonna love this place. You ever been?”

His mood apparently lifted, Makoto calmed. She had done something right, at least. She shook her head and led them from the school. “No. I tend to stay close to home.”

He rushed to hold the door open for her, grin brighter than the setting sun. “Oh man, lemme tell you about this ramen!”

The blonde’s enthusiasm did not wane as he extolled the virtues of his favorite ramen restaurant. He gesticulated wildly on their way to the station. She supplied minimal answers, unfamiliar with the perplexities of ramen, but his excitement dared to overflow. He found her a seat on the train and stood in front of her. She glanced around the train car at the other empty seats, including the space directly beside her, but he remained standing, talking about a show that explained how most ramen is made. Even after his exhaustive training, he provided her a seat. Everyone made him out to be such a punk, but other than his violent outburst at Kamoshida, he seemed to be quite the gentleman.

The train ride eventually passed in relative quiet between them, the other passengers too loud and chatty for the Shujin students to carry on a conversation. As the ride continued, further from their area of Tokyo, the smile faded from his lips and his eyes fell into that dark place. It hurt to see him drift away. Her eyes drifted to his abdomen. Just below the yellow fabric rested bruises that he refused to speak about. She had to make him believe he could trust her.

“Ryuji?” Color returned to his face. She smiled up to him. “You… You’ve read the entirety of that manga, correct?”

His brow furrowed. “Which… manga?” A twinge of recognition flashed over his eyes.

“The one from last time. The uh- Oh.” She reached into her bag, into the pouch she kept the manga in. She pulled out the volume she found herself on. “This one.”

His small eyebrows almost disappeared into his hair. “For real!? You’re actually reading it?” He shook his head. “That shit ain’t for girls though.”

Her eyes narrowed at the blonde. “It’s not for the faint-hearted, which could be either gender. I’ve had a hard time getting through it myself. I’ve been coupling it with studies or other… lighter manga just to get through it.” She pushed the volume back into her bag.

He rubbed the back of his neck and rocked with the rhythm of the train. “Even a badass chick like you, huh?” He nodded, more to himself.

Warmth kissed her cheeks. One hand flew to tuck a bit of hair behind her ear and fuss with the rest. Her eyebrows lifted. “Did you have a hard time getting through it as well?”

He shrugged. “It’s pretty intimidating stuff, ya know?” His way of confirming.

If it bothered him so much… “Then why read it?”

His eyes dropped to her, his gaze intense. “Why do you read it?”

Her jaw clenched. She read it to be closer to him. But admit that? To him? “The… character arcs and dynamics are fascinating.”

He chuckled. The intensity vanished. “I could see you identifyin’ with the main girl, yeah. She’s pretty badass. I bet you could take on plenty of Phantom Thief Requests on your own.”

Makoto stiffened. “Ryuji!”

He winced, aware of his slip-up. Her eyes darted up and down the car. No one stood out. She heaved a small sigh of relief.

She looked back to her companion. His cheeks had flushed, his brow furrowed, embarrassment tight in his athletic build. She reached a hand out for his. He had already stuffed them in his pockets, so she settled for resting her hand on his lower arm. He glanced to the contact and looked her in the eyes.

She smiled up to him. “Do you identify with the main character?” Get his mind back on track, away from the shame.

The flush faded. He looked pensive for a moment. “Eh, maybe. Guy’s been through Hell and back and he keeps fightin’. I kinda understand that. I don’t remember when that one kid shows up, but I feel like people would say I’m him more than the main character.”

Makoto smiled for a moment. At least he had revealed a bit of himself. But if he identified with the main character, a greater darkness hid within her excitable partner than she realized. “I think I know who you’re talking about. I thought you might say the fairy.”

Ryuji’s face scrunched tightly. “The fairy! For real?” His head dropped.

She giggled at his display. He rubbed the back of his neck again, a slight pink to his ears. Butterflies fluttered under her shirt. “In his defense, he plays a very important role in the story.”

The runner rolled his eyes. “Yeah, comic relief.”

The Honor student held up a finger. “He serves as a foil, at first, a moral compass for the protagonist to make sure he never loses himself. He is very important in that regard.” Her hand opened, a gesture of secession. “And he tries to become a teacher to the boy, as well. He’s very supportive of the others, even if he seems quite selfish and… idiotic.” His eyes darted to the side. “And certainly, he is meant as a comic relief, but isn’t that important in such a dark manga?”

His brow remained tight, unconvinced. “I guess, but he’s still useless. He can’t fight, can’t actually heal, can’t keep the specters and shit away. The only thing he offered was finding a way to heal the… catatonic girl, but even then he can’t remember how to get there.”

Makoto blinked. “He what?”

Rich brown eyes returned to her. “What? Have you not gotten that far?”

She looked to her bag. “I suppose not.”

His cheek clicked. “Ah, shit. Sorry.”

She looked back up to him. “Sorry?”

He scratched at his hair. “I hate when people spoil stuff.”

Makoto smiled up to him. Considerate. “Oh, it’s fine. Sometimes spoilers fuel me to catch up.”

One skeptical brow raised. “I guess that make sense. But if I already know what’s gonna happen, I don’t see a reason to read, ya know?”

Makoto shrugged. “Certainly. I can understand that.”

He raised a hand to hold onto the hoops that hung from the ceiling. “Still can’t believe you read manga.” Despite his words, he appraised her with a warm smile. She had done something else right, it seemed.

“Ogikubo. Upcoming station is Ogikubo.” An announcement broke the teenagers’ conversation.

Ryuji brightened immediately. He held a hand out to her. “Hell yeah! C’mon, Makoto! Let’s head to the doors!”

Her heart skipped a beat. Rarely had he called her by name, without honorifics, for any reason. Neither teen had a healthy relationship with physical contact, either starved of it or abused by it. She understood the importance of his offer, the significance the contact held for either of them. Her automatic, polite response should’ve been no, but instead, she swallowed and shifted her bag before she took his hand.

He pulled her up easily; she underestimated either his strength or her weight. She staggered a bit, her other hand weighted by her bag unable to catch herself. She fell into his chest, his other arm moved to her shoulder to catch her. Heat rose on her cheeks, eyes shifted to his face through eyelashes. He merely grinned out an apology and tugged her toward the exit doors.

He braced them both as the train came to a stop, her hand still clutched in his. He practically vibrated with excitement. He remained considerate of the other commuters when the train stopped even as he dragged the Student Council President through the station. Makoto enjoyed the warmth, the way their hands fit together, the tug at her shoulder and elbow as he pulled her with him. His excitement spread to her, a spark that followed the conduit of their connection.

That spark pulsed as he waited impatiently on the other side of the station’s gates, his hand still wrapped around hers while she found her pass card to swipe through. Once through, he jogged a bit too fast for her to keep up. Excitement and familiarity guided him through the streets. She did her best not to fall behind, but the ex-track star had a longer gait and much more speed and stamina than he gave himself credit for.

“Ryuji!” She panted. Desperation laced her call.

He looked back to her and slowed to a halt. “Oh, geez. Sorry, senpai.” His free hand moved for her shoulder again, but stopped just short.

Makoto smiled and bowed her head. “It’s all right.” She huffed, eyes on his hand still around hers. The spark of warmth had not left her. “I must admit, I’m not used to this level of enthusiasm.”

His eyes scrunched up, but he showed no pearly whites. Almost a grin, but something held him back. It looked wrong. “I’ll try to tone it down, then.” His countenance relaxed, his eyes dipped to the concrete. She recognized those eyes.

Her heart jumped. “No!” And then he jumped. She swallowed. “Honestly? It’s refreshing, actually.” His brow furrowed. She looked away.

The buzz of electricity left her arm. She looked to her hand to find Ryuji thrust his hand into his pocket. He turned away, toward the direction he had been dragging her. “That’s one way of puttin’ it.” He took a few steps forward. “Come on, it’s not too much farther.”

She looked to her hand, still warm from his touch, but lonelier without the buzz of static. She enjoyed the contact, the buzz, the warmth. Part of her wanted to confront him about it, to seek his hand out again, anything, but the blurred image of his feet moved away. Her focus lifted to her companion. More self-deprecation. Did he truly hate himself that much? She watched his jaw tense in profile when she caught up to him, his steps increasingly forceful. Whatever thoughts brewed under his dyed fuzz held no positivity.

Normal, socially-adjusted people would find a way to distract him, to pull him from his sinister brew of dark thoughts. A friend might even know what to say to comfort him. But she could not claim either of those properties, reminded of which every time she deleted text threads on her phone. But no progress would be made without at least an effort. She had to better herself in more ways than academics. She still had to get to the bottom of his bruises and she still had to ingratiate herself to him. They worked together in the Metaverse, they had to have a trusting relationship if they were to succeed. What could she do or say to help him?

They had bonded over manga, perhaps she could-

Ryuji cut in front of her and slid a door open. He looked to her, small brows furrowed, the brew still bubbling in his head. “Here we are.”

Missed her chance. Makoto looked around just the same. Directly across the quiet street stood a small hotel, a Family Mart down the road, and an Indian restaurant nearby. Indian? Ryuji gestured to the door again. Makoto smiled and moved as instructed.

After the compulsory “Irasshaimase!”, the smell hit her, a heady broth smell that filled the tiny restaurant. Ryuji dropped his bag under the bar, grabbed a pair of small glasses from the counter, and headed to the water cooler that stood at the back.

“Ah! Ryuji-chan!” An older woman behind the bar called to him, her eyes wrinkled despite the sour look to her features. “I was wondering when you’d be by.”

Ryuji nodded toward the woman as he watched water trickle into one of the glasses. “Hey, Obaa-san. Sorry about that. Two, by the way.”

The woman laughed once. “Are you that hungry today, Ryuji-chan?”

One glass filled, he slid it on the counter beside him. “We’ll see, but the other one is for my friend.”

Obaa-san’s eyes flicked to the door. Makoto stood by Ryuji’s bag, the strap of her bag clutched in both hands. She felt almost like an outsider, afraid to interrupt the pair in their familiar exchange. A feeling all too familiar to her. Sae and her father had introduced her to plenty of strangers as a child, typically only when they had been unable to find a babysitter but still had work.

The older woman’s eyes leveled on her, narrowed with scrutiny. Makoto felt her shoulders lift with the corners of her lips. The chef’s eyes darted all over the teen’s face; she appraised her hair, checked her halter vest, and nodded at her skirt. Makoto expected a Sherlockian diatribe to start once the woman looked away.

Instead, Ryuji returned with two small glasses of water. “Pick a stool, senpai.”

Makoto furrowed her brow. He seemed angry. They both did. “Maybe this wasn’t a good idea…”

“You invited me, senpai!” His shouting did not startle her, used to his excitement in the Metaverse by now.

But the chef looked his direction. “Ryuji.”

His jaw clenched. “Sorry. Just… siddown, will ya?”

Makoto chose the seat to his right and slid her bag off her shoulder. He slid one of the glasses to her and settled into the stool beside her.

The chef smiled at the pair, a smile that did little to the wrinkles around her eyes. “So, she’s your senpai?”

Makoto stiffened. “Oh! Where are my manners?” She smiled and stood from her stool to execute a courteous bow. “My name is Makoto Niijima. It’s nice to meet you.”

The woman smirked and bowed her head as Makoto smoothed her skirt down in the back and slipped back onto the stool. “Nice to meet you, Makoto Niijima.”

Ryuji sipped his water absently.

The chef returned to her cooking; a pan of dumplings sizzled to her right, two pots of water boiled strainers full of noodles as she built the broth in two differently patterned bowls. Makoto’s gaze shifted to the mismatched glasses before her and Ryuji. Something about it felt cozy.

Except for Ryuji, who glared at his glass between sips. It still felt like a mistake to her, a desperate ploy by a detective to engender themselves with a victim in hope of garnering more of the truth. That had been her original intention, but the longer his change in attitude persisted, the more she realized how wrong she had been. She wanted to make a friend out of the former track star, not just investigate his bruises or gain a better partnership for their work in the Metaverse. She wanted to bond with him over manga and hear his opinions, to find out how he knew the chef of this restaurant, how he had discovered it in the first place.

“Why did you invite me, Makoto?” Ryuji kept his eyes on his glass, but his head turned slightly toward her.

Makoto’s back straightened, head tilted down. Why, indeed. She lifted her hands to set them on the counter. “I told you, Ryuji.”

He shook his head and gripped the small glass. “Yeah, I guess you did.” He took a swig of the water. “Probably just trying to keep me controlled so I don’t blow our cover. Remind me I gotta be a Good Boy,” his hands and head wiggled in a mocking manner, “from now on.” He took another swig, emptying his glass. “It’s okay, Makoto, I won’t eff it up for everyone.”

Makoto flaccidly pawed at her sweating glass, eyes on his back as he made his way past the other patrons. Her brow lowered as he returned to the water jug in the back. She made a mistake. She lied to herself about her intentions, led him to this restaurant under false pretenses. He didn’t believe her and he shouldn’t. She should’ve just respected their difference in station and personality, maintained a professional Phantom Thief relationship, and scolded him for being at school after hours like she would’ve with any other student.

But he had already ordered for two, the chef toiled at her pots building the two bowls of ramen, and Makoto still had to eat something for dinner. Keep quiet, be respectful, and head home whenever she finished her meal.

She stiffened as Ryuji returned. He slid the glass onto the counter as he climbed back onto his stool, one leg bouncing once he settled in. Makoto glanced to him, the butterflies ill as they swirled in her gut.

“Ryuji-“ She started.

“Here ya go, Ryuji-chan, Makoto-san. Be careful, it’s still hot.” The chef handed one bowl over the counter to Ryuji.

“Oh hell yeah! Thanks Obaa-san!” He reached to his, grabbed the edges carefully, and guided it to the counter before him.

Before Makoto could reach for hers, Ryuji’s arms shot in front of her. The chef smirked slightly. “Oh, and don’t worry about paying, Ryuji. You missed your birthday bowl last week, so I’ll just make it this week, ne?”

Makoto’s eyes widened, her head jerked to the blonde. “Birthday!?”

Ryuji’s tiny brow lowered. “Yeah?” The ramen bowl set before her, he grabbed two pairs of chopsticks from a nearby dispenser. “Guess that makes it easier for you to pay, huh?”

Makoto didn’t notice the chopsticks he held out for her. He shrugged and set them on the counter next to her before breaking his. Birthday. She had seen it a few times in his student records months ago when Principal Kobayakawa gave her access. Days before his birthday he had helped with Kaneshiro’s takedown, had helped her with the Calling Cards. He never once mentioned it to her. Had he mentioned it to the others?

“Itadakimasu!” Ryuji grinned and stirred his ramen with his chopsticks. “Oh man, I’m so hype!” He grabbed a bundle of noodles. “Come on, senpai, dig in! You won’t be disappointed.”

Makoto pursed her lips. Even at a time like this. “Did you have a good birthday, Ryuji-san?”

He looked to her, noodles cascading from his mouth like tentacles. “My birf’ay?”

Makoto felt the mirth override whatever negative emotions she had at the sight. His cheeks darkened when she started to giggle. He returned to his slurping while she grabbed her chopsticks. She allowed a quiet “Itadakimasu” before stirring her bowl as well.

He swallowed and poked at the cuts of pork that floated on the broth. “My birthday was fine, senpai.”

She smiled to him. “Only fine?”

He nodded and collected the pork. “Mom and I had a good time just sorta relaxin’ for the night. It’s one of the few days she actually asks offa work so she can spend time with me. Made me a cake and everything.”

Makoto furrowed her brow and collected a bundle of noodles. “You didn’t have a party with friends?” It hurt to exclude herself from that category, but she knew better.

He shrugged and collected more noodles. “Nah, I never do. I tried before but…” He pulled the noodles out. “Never worked too well, so I stopped. Don’t like the quiet, but I put up with it for Mom, ya know?”

Makoto looked to the noodles. “Not really.” She had to remember he didn’t consider her a friend, she didn’t need to tell him these things, but she wanted to know him and have him know her. She slipped the noodles into her mouth before she could say much else.

She instantly reveled in the taste. She couldn’t wax poetic about ramen like Ryuji could, and had on the way, but she understood it. Noodles cooked perfectly in slightly seasoned water, beautifully simmered broth, the right amount of extra flavors. She slurped her noodles hungrily.

Ryuji grinned beside her. “I know, right? Best ramen in the world, right here.” He dug back into his own bowl.

The rest of the meal passed in slurps and hums of delight. Ryuji ordered a second bowl, which the chef chided that he would have to pay for. He gobbled it up just the same. By the time they each finished their meal, their respective moods had brightened, their animosity forgotten. Makoto once again thanked her Persona that Ryuji had let his disdain go, that he hadn’t pressed her about the comment.

Instead, both teens began to chat amicably about their manga tastes. Ryuji did his best to keep up with Makoto’s complex detective stories while she did her best to understand and engage with his sports and shounen. He laughed at her enjoyment of the kawaii category manga, but commended her for her variety. He almost seemed interested in a few, which brought a blush and a smile to the Council President. The only thing they could both speak deeply on seemed to be the one he carried with him. Though he still had a hard time understanding the themes and philosophy behind it – assisted only through internet breakdowns from the long years of the manga’s existence – he still had the best grasp on it than anything else.

“Ryuji-chan.” The chef retrieved their bowls from the raised section of the counter. “It’s getting pretty late.”

Both students looked to the clock.

“Ah, shit.” Ryuji shook his head. “Mom’s gonna be worried if I get home too late.”

Makoto smiled slightly. Sae probably wouldn’t get home anytime soon, still up working on her investigation into the Phantom Thieves. “How much, ma’am?”

The chef looked to Ryuji. “Two bowls is ¥1200.”

Ryuji nodded absently as he reached for his wallet. Makoto already had her coin purse out, however, and fished out the appropriate change. “Here you are, ma’am. It was very delicious. Thank you very much.”

The chef took her coins, though she shot an amused scoff to Ryuji. “At least walk her home, Ryuji-chan.”

Ryuji reached down to grab his bag and Makoto’s from under the counter. “Yeah, yeah. Mom would be pissed if I didn’t, even if she didn’t pay.”

The chef waved. “Have a good night, you two.”

Makoto waved in return. She turned to place her coin purse back in her bag, but found Ryuji carrying bags out the sliding door instead. “Ryuji!”

He paused outside the door. “Somethin’ wrong?”

Her brow furrowed as she grabbed for her bag. “I am more than capable of carrying my bag, Ryuji.” He held it out to her with a shrug. She took the opportunity to return her coin purse.

He chuckled a bit. “Heh, cute coin purse. Couple’a minutes ago I wouldn’t take you for the type, but…”

She took her bag and slipped it onto her shoulder. “You know better now.” She spoke the words with a smile, but something the chef said stuck in her mind. “Your mother wouldn’t…”

Ryuji tilted his head and moved forward down the street. “What’s up?”

Makoto’s furrow deepened. She had to know, to solve the case, to help him. “She wouldn’t cause those bruises-“

The blonde spun on her so fast, Makoto almost bumped into him. She looked up to eyes filled with fury, speckled with gold. “My mother would never hurt me, Niijima-san. And fuck you for even thinking it.”

He laced his voice with a subtle threat, an anger that seemed far more dangerous and genuine than anything she had ever seen before. Terror filled her for the split second until he turned around and stormed away. She didn’t know much about his particular set of perplexities, but she knew he rarely said the work “fuck” aloud. It must’ve meant a great deal to him for him to react so openly.

She hurried after him, barely able to keep up with his long, angry stride. His anger seemed disproportionate for a worried inquiry. Makoto only wanted to help, to find out who had caused the bruises so that she might be able to prevent further in the future. But he did his best, which wasn’t great, to obfuscate or deflect. Don’t worry, he said. It’s just shadows, he said. If he wanted to cover it up so badly, perhaps it had been someone close to him, someone who had done it before. Like someone at home. And when the chef and Ryuji commented on his mother’s anger at her paying, she made the connection. He came from an abusive household.

Makoto closed her eyes briefly as she struggled to keep up; his father had been the abusive one, which more than likely meant his mother his mother took the brunt of it in Ryuji’s younger years. Both mother and son were abuse survivors.

And Makoto accused her of being just like his father.

“Ryuji?” He barely acknowledged her when she moved beside him. “Ryuji-kun, I’m sorry.”

He waved a hand in angry dismissal. “I can handle people messin’ with me. I deserve it. But she don’t need any of it. She’s been nothin’ but a goddess, puttin’ up with my shitty Dad and then the shit I end up in. I don’t let anyone say shit about her.” He glanced to her, the gold in his eyes brighter than before. “Not from anyone.”

The gold confused and worried her, but she had a more immediate problem. She filed the information away for later. “Of course, Ryuji, and you shouldn’t. I’m just still worried about-“

He growled and stuffed his hands into his pockets so his shoulders lifted to shroud his angry face. “Yeah, whatever.”

Makoto had performed another misstep. She had a long way to go to be a better detective. Though, she considered Ryuji a friend, which more than accounted for her constant failures. She would have to recuse herself from the case if it had come to her in a professional capacity.

She did her best to exude contrition toward the former track star. It did little to return the amicable atmosphere, to reduce his anger. Only after he swiped his train pass and led her onto the platform did he seem calmer, his anger diminished, though still present. They entered the trains in silence, he found her a seat and stood before her, just as he had on the way there. A Good Boy, she realized, just like he said. A Good Boy that believed he deserved the abuse.

The bruises lay there, under his shirt, a reminder of his self-hatred and imagined responsibility. However he had gotten them, he wanted them, she decided. He might never tell her the truth, though she had to at least consider the possibility that he already had. She couldn’t watch him every second of every fight. The chance that he had gotten hurt by Shadows had definite merit.

She pulled her phone out of her bag. Several more threads popped up on her messaging app, thankfully not enough to remove the one she sent Ryuji last week. She took a slow breath and checked the others.

“It was the track team.” His voice drifted over her toward the windows.

Makoto looked up to him. Earthy brown eyes shifted around to her right – the truth, then. “The track team?”

He looked to the right, hands thrust into his pockets, the bad posture returned. “Yeah.” He forced the word out in frustration.

Her hands rested on her bag. No more missteps. “What did they-“

One hand lifted from his pocket to touch his abdomen. “I know you’re just gonna keep askin’, so I’m tellin’ ya; the track team caused the bruises. Mom had nothin’ to do with it.”

Makoto’s eyes shifted from his profile to his abdomen. She wanted to appreciate his honesty. Though, the way he phrased it felt as though he preferred not to, but her tenacity meant he had to. Be careful. “Why would they-“

His hand went back into his pocket. “Because I told ‘em they could, okay? Just leave it.”

Makoto shifted her gaze back to his profile. “You told them they could?”

His eyes rolled. “Effin’ leave it, senpai.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Ryuji, why did you tell them-“

He growled. His hands shot out of his pockets, thrown into the air. “Because I deserve it, don’t I!?”

Makoto’s eyes shot around the train car. Only a few people cared enough to look up from their phones, find the source of the shout, and return to their phones.

Makoto glanced down to her own phone, her bag. He believed it, that he deserved all the bad things that happened to him. Nothing she said or did could dissuade him. She gripped her phone tightly. “Thank you for telling me, Ryuji.” She wanted very strongly to dissuade him.

He shook his head and looked to the windows again. His leg started bounce, his small brow lowered over frustrated eyes.

Defense of his mother had been the only catalyst for his truth. Makoto had coerced his confession through duress. Threaten something the suspect cares about and they’ll talk. She looked back to her phone again.

Every thread she opened she didn’t read, only forced them to be marked as read. She scrolled back down to the message thread with Ryuji. About today. She should just delete it.

“Ain’t this your stop, senpai?” Ryuji’s voice sounded a touch softer, but still unhappy, one wrong word away from lashing out again.

Makoto looked around. “Ah, yes.” She stood on her own. “Thank you.” And headed for the doors.

She grabbed onto the pole by the door and scrolled through her phone aimlessly. Whenever she got home, she had more studying to catch up on for her exams the next week. Perhaps she should grab something from a convenience store on the way home.

A hand wrapped around the pole above hers. A large, masculine hand with a bracelet on the wrist. Makoto followed the arm to the former track star. His expression remained dark, angry, but determined. He promised the chef he would walk her home. On thinking over their exchange, he had intended to walk her home regardless of being told.

A blush crept onto her cheeks as he moved slightly closer. She could smell the ramen shop on him, along with the soaps from school. “What are you doing?”

His small brow furrowed for a moment. The anger seemed to have left his eyes, replaced by confusion. “Walkin’ you home?”

Despite his reputation, Ryuji Sakamoto had a good heart. Despite everything wrong she had done, he still intended to care for her. The butterflies flitted again, frivolous thoughts swirled through her mind, and she noticed their difference in height. His defined jaw could easily rest on top of her head.

She hadn’t noticed his height before. “It’s… really unnecessary, Ryuji. You said your mother would worry about you getting home late, right? I can walk myself from here.”

He sighed slightly. “Mom would be more upset if I didn’t walk you to your door, at least. Dad-“ His jaw clamped shut right as the word left his mouth. Makoto watched his Adam’s Apple bob in his throat.

Every mention of his father pinched a nerve, she noticed. Last week when they spread the Calling Card, he had gotten upset then as well. Even the accusation that his mother might be like his father. She lifted a hand. “It’s truly all right, Sakamoto-kun. I know Aikido. I can handle myself if there’s any trouble.”

He chuckled at that. “You’re one badass chick, you know that?” He shrugged. “S’fine, senpai.”

Her hackles raised. Did he honestly think to mock her, after everything they had been through? Did he truly think her so useless and incapable? “Sakamoto-kun, I appreciate whatever misguided chivalry dictates your need to take care of me and not disappoint your mother, but I don’t need your help getting home.”

Hurt crossed his features for a moment, replaced quickly a new set of anger and frustration. “Misgui- The eff is chivalry?” He sighed heavily. “So that’s how it’s gonna be? I’m just tryin’ to be nice but you get to control everything about me in and out of the Metaverse?” She glanced around, but he clicked his cheeks. “Man, eff this. Whatever. Get home on your own.”

Makoto watched Ryuji slither back through the crowd. She immediately felt colder and more vulnerable without him close by. The train announcements started up. Any regret she felt died in the din of the train car.

Messed it up again. She really had the magic touch.

As the train stopped, she watched a few commuters rise from their benches to head for the doors. Ryuji’s blonde hair dropped out of view for a moment as he flopped into a seat, shoulders against the wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest. Makoto frowned as the crowd moved her out onto the platform.

She inhaled slowly as the train trundled down the tracks without her. She clutched her phone tightly, the creak of skin against plastic echoed in her ears. She had to say something. Maybe tomorrow? Let him stew for tonight. A good night’s rest might do him some good. He might be more willing to accept her apology. She returned her phone to her bag and headed for the exit.

The others knew him best, having spent time with him long before she ever did. They might have some insight. After she passed through the station’s gates, she retrieved her phone and started up a new thread to everyone but Ryuji.

Birthday boy?

She gleaned through the conversation as she walked home that no one else knew about his birthday. Ann forgot and the other two simply didn’t know. Morgana forced Akira to mention that he didn’t care when the monkey boy’s birthday was. Makoto pursed her lips, unsure if the cat had a simple amicable rivalry or something against the blonde.

She scrolled back down to the thread she started last week. She scrolled to the bottom, up a bit, down again until it would scroll no further.

Gone. The thread disappeared.

Kaneshiro and his thugs must’ve sent her more threads than she realized. She hadn’t deleted enough, which meant when she created the new one, the oldest thread got deleted.

“Shit.” She muttered the expletive quietly to her phone before throwing it soundly against the couch.

When she managed to pull herself out of the bath, she noticed a light blinking on her phone. Probably just Sae letting her know she’d be at work all night.

About today

Makoto: I wanted to apologize for upsetting you, Ryuji-kun. Makoto: We all know what it’s like to live with the burden of expectation. Makoto: It’s where our Personas come from, a rebellion against that expectation, right? Makoto: I didn’t mean to imply that you’re stupid or undeserving or a burden on the group. Makoto: You are one of the strongest members, in fact, with a passion and enthusiasm Makoto: I’m not sure I could ever find within myself or the others. Makoto: There’s a lot of good in you, as well. Makoto: So don’t let anything I said make you feel poorly. Makoto: You are better than you know.

Makoto furrowed her brow in confusion at the sequence of texts that made up her apology to Ryuji last week. It had been lost in the shuffle moments ago. And yet.

She remembered how she agonized over every line, unsure of when to stop herself or if the words she chose had enough meaning and impact. Every step closer to home felt like a mistake, every step that took her further away from him. But she wanted to respect his frustration, his desire to be alone.

She also remembered how she agonized every hour he hadn’t replied until she fell asleep. She remembered how she woke up the next morning, arm tangled in the charging cable because she fell asleep holding her phone. How she had done her best to keep that one thread despite all the texts from Kaneshiro, teachers, Student Council members, and the Thieves group. All waiting for at least one reply from her pirate.

Ryuji: yo, senpai Ryuji: thanks.

Makoto beamed at the text as heat rose in her cheeks.

#persona 5 #ryuji sakamoto #makoto niijima #ryuji/makoto #ryukoto #spoilers #this isn't beta'd #i just read through it like 6 times #i have a draft on ao3 #i'll post it if people don't have issues with this one

39 notes · View notes