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breedable and submissive

( there are numerous reasons why dr. ratio agreed to accompanying aventurine:

1. the ipc had begged him to, as aventurine had specified it was the only condition he would leave point pleasant;
2. he had yet to finish his research on this particular planet known for its vibrant flora, fruity drinks and endless beaches
3. multiple weeks without aventurine after they had finally started growing closer physically seemed less than ideal
4. he’d have done anything aventurine asked

needless to say, he hadn’t exactly packed the right attire for sunny beaches. the shameless purchase of a flowery shirt and swim trunks isn’t as embarrassing as one would assume it is for him—he doesn’t care much for his fashion so long as it’s functional and comfortable. the textures are fine and the prices quite good. so…

the fruity drinks? ah.

they’re maybe going to his head. just a little. and the fact that he had made the tipsy choice at hotel check-in to ask for only One bed. why would they need two? )

(no subject)

( listen, he’s not the type to get jealous.

he’s much more used to girls getting rightfully envious over him tossing sweet words at anything that moves. most of the time, they’re right. but he is an adamant that he had never told a single one that they were “exclusive” or it was “serious”. girlfriend was a loose term. serious was out of the cards for far too many reasons to ever think about during daylight hours.

so, he’s absolutely not jealous when he finds out his roommate—best friend of over fifteen years thank you very much—has supposedly started hooking up with someone. not even a girl. a guy. which… well, if he’s being honest isn’t a big surprise but he simply assumed felix would go through the trajectory of forced heterosexuality that he himself had to. for family reasons.

but apparently glenn and rodrigue weren’t as ominous as the margrave so—

so felix apparently slept with a guy. no biggie. not like sylvain has been on and off chasing his tail for over a decade over growing and unresolved and complicated feelings. not like he ever thought he’d have a chance for even more reasons than aforementioned.

and felix doesn’t tell him. he hears it from a rumor!!!! which again, okay, it’s fair. he can’t be too mad. which is what he told himself until he had five beers at this party their college friends are throwing. it’s the only thing he can think about.

if felix was finally going to do that, why not ask the person he trusted most? )

(no subject)

focus on what's important, your priorities
☀ ♥ ♥ ♥ ☪

for pancakeboy

( akira stays true to his word: until january 9th, he won’t send unnecessary texts or ask akechi for outings, even if it’s crushingly lonely being one of so few with their heads still screwed on straight.

… but akira has work to do. focusing on something this selfish would be a betrayal of all his friends and the world, quite frankly. so he won’t think about it. at least, not when the sun is still up and he has time to be productive and try to move things forward.

part of that involves a visit to his friends to try and make some real progress. he starts with ann, because while it may hurt, he also knows that if he can snap ann out of things, somehow, someway, he’ll have the most empathy possible at his side. ann is … truly one of his best friends, and seeing her with shiho, happy and with such a bright smile and no weight on her shoulders? it stabs something deep inside of akira.

the conversation, well, it leaves something to be desired.

akira isn’t sure why he ends up looking for sojiro and futaba next. perhaps it’s that sense of family he craves most right now when the world truly feels like it’s out to get kurusu akira in particular.

he finds them, and futaba’s late mother, in akihabara. they look like a picture-perfect family: supportive, glad to be around each other, happy. akira isn’t envious, but it does strike another sour chord deep inside him. they make it look so easy, and worse yet, he’ll need to rip that away from them.

akira hesitates. he can’t approach, not yet, not when he feels off-kilter. )

for simulatio, aka maruki can go to hell

( akira’s used to weird mechanics of games. you die, the game resets, you get another chance. that’s standard. but remembering the previous “run”? the set of memories? that’s kind of next level fucked up shit. did this happen in the matrix? he sure hopes so, otherwise, he’s on his own.

if one were to describe this in terms of speed-runs: it’s his first few weeks at shujin, sojiro still thinks he’s a miscreant, ryuji and ann aren’t confiding in him about everything. oh, and morgana has zero idea who he really is.

there’s still a ripple in things. a wrench in the midst of it all. that guy in the “velvet room”? he doesn’t seem to recall that this is a replayed track, either. it’s — scarily isolating. none of this should exist. time travel doesn’t exist, but then again, he’s been traipsing around in people’s hearts and living in alternate realities created by a disillusioned therapist so who is he to judge? either way, it seems like no one remembers. explaining it to them - even ryuji - seems like a fool’s errand and ripe for distrust. so akira keeps quiet and recounts the first few weeks of his first semester in tokyo with ease, skillfully avoiding letting any trepidation show. avoiding maruki is also high on his list; he needs to assess what to do about that with much more care than repeating the same old set list from his last “life”.

(akira figures he’s on his own this time around, even if the back of his mind itches with the haunting words of dear trickster, what will you make of this second chance to seek a middle ground of reform and ruin?)

but all of that’s to say his atternoon return from shujin should have been filled with a visit to the doctor’s office and movie theater. that’s what he did this day last time. nothing of note happened this particular day. they’d be set on the course to meet yusuke soon, to dig deep on madarame and expose his abuse to his students.

that’s what happened last time. why wouldn’t it happen again? he just needs to stick to the script until he can figure out more about why he’s repeating this. he knows, so his grip on his bag is loose as he listens to morgana mumble about how nice ann looked today and how they should really have a meeting soon to discuss next steps. wandering through the backstreets feels a lot different when he’s once fought god and then reset reality.

… but there’s been this big question mark for him the past week or so: why? and if this is truly a second chance… would his rival be equally footed? a shame he doesn’t have his number yet in this timeline. he never got his address, either, so… that’s kind of a wash. )

for untilproven!

( falling asleep back in his own bed, far from tokyo and some of the best and worst memories of his life, should have been uneventful. disappointing and a tinge depressing, sure. a reminder of the way his entire life changed because of his inability to see someone taken advantage of? absolutely. falling asleep with too-soft sheets and too-dark skies and waking to milk crates digging into his back and the low whir of a coffee machine? yeah, that wasn’t on his bingo card.

it doesn’t take him long to piece some things together: it’s his first few weeks at shujin, sojiro still thinks he’s a miscreant, ryuji and ann aren’t confiding in him about everything, and morgana has zero idea who he really is. that all tracks.

what doesn’t track is that the owner of the room cloaked in blue hasn’t reappeared. not once. it makes dealing with the bantering of his personas a little more involved and frustrating. without his “guards” to restrain and ridicule him for taking so long, he’s free to take his time and really develop the best strategies. for… a place that shouldn’t exist anymore.

yeah, that’s the stickler. none of this should exist. time travel doesn’t exist, but then again, he’s been traipsing around in people’s hearts and living in alternate realities created by a disillusioned therapist so who is he to judge? either way, it seems like no one remembers that they’ve been down this road before. explaining it to them - even ryuji - seems like a fool’s errand and ripe for distrust among his closest friends. so akira keeps quiet and recounts the first semester with ease, skillfully avoiding letting any trepidation show. avoiding maruki is also high on his list; he needs to assess what to do about that with much more care than repeating the same old set list from his last “life”.

(because surely igor will return, surely the butterfly will float down one night while he slumbers and everything will be explained.

they don’t. not even after kamoshida’s heart is changed.

akira figures he’s on his own this time around, even if the back of his mind itches with the haunting words of dear trickster, what will you make of this second chance to seek a middle ground of reform and ruin?)

but all of that’s to say his atternoon return from shujin should have been filled with a visit to the doctor’s office and movie theater. that’s what he did this day last time. nothing of note happened this particular day, he knows, so his grip on his bag is loose as he listens to morgana mumble about how nice ann looked today and how they should really have a meeting soon to discuss next steps and not because he misses her.

he misses his train, lost in thought.

it’s the first rift in the timeline he’s caused himself. … probably fine, right? )

open post 2022

you all know the drill

name a character and drop a starter or a phrase.

tiki rock (except not)

( by now, goro akechi was used to flitting between foster homes. he had done it since he was five, and it seemed like he’d be forced to until he could get a guardian to sign on his behalf long enough to live on his own. the ups and downs, uncertainties, twists of attitudes and family dynamics? he saw it all. there were some that were better than others, of course, but most of the time, each and every home he spent time in felt like a temporary space: a stepping stone toward some inevitable end.

it didn’t matter. not really. he didn’t delude himself into thinking any of these homes cared about his well-being beyond the fact that he was breathing. and nor did he care about them, not really. why would he? it was all temporary. everything was one step closer to finally meeting the man responsible for his and his mother’s demise, and to seek revenge on the sick fuck that took advantage of so many.

(for awhile, akechi likened himself to a hero, a sort of robinhood figure that would take from the sick and greedy rich and give to the poor. he’d take down the most corrupt of men and he’d get vindication for himself and, he was all too convinced, for so many others.

by the time he turned fifteen and met the man face-to-face on his first day as an intern in politics, he realized that maybe he was probably an anti-hero after all.)

it wasn’t all bad. not really. by the time he turned sixteen, he realized that the internet was a very convenient avenue for channeling his need for some form of attachment. like this, he could feel a little less alone without forming unnecessary attachments that would prevent him from humiliating and tearing down his scum of a dad. if he didn’t know people in the real world, they’d never be disappointed in how unhealthily obsessed he was with seeking revenge on adults.

akechi didn’t have too much luck making lasting friendships. he didn’t share many hobbies with teenagers his age, and most assumed his peculiar way of typing was superficial. which, to some degree, it was …

until he met joker. joker was — a breath of frustrating fresh air. someone that kept him intellectually engaged and didn’t smother him with messages or ghost him after a week or so. joker was intriguing in a way that akechi felt, almost poetically, was a foil of himself. someone similar, but different enough where it mattered.

so for joker, he made the effort.

for two years, in fact. he couldn’t quite say he had friendships that lasted half as long as that. it was just — easy. a nice escape when his own world got dark and the metaverse got cold and isolating and the cruel words from shido made him doubt his very existence. )

akeshu??? in this year of 2022? more likely than you think

( it takes the thieves a good amount of time to confirm the keywords. unsurprisingly, the first two come easily: goro akechi, tokyo. what akechi thinks of tokyo, however, is more of a mystery.

through process of elimination, they conclude that it's not a prison, not a police station, not a courtroom (though that one they were certain of, not even an arcade; that last one had also been said with strong confidence considering the detective's penchant for light sabers and old box games.

the word that strikes true, that chimes loudly through the navigator app is far more morbid than all of those: graveyard.

at first blush, the palace looks disarmingly empty and flat. miles of headstones extend in every which direction, with no shadows to be seen. however, toward the center, where a blue flame flickers, is a stone stairwell that descends down beneath the cold earth. there, the thieves will find catacombs; a complicated and intricate maze that is filled with distorted humanoid shadows, trap-doors, narrow passages, collapsing passageways, and no goro akechi to be seen.

still, the treasure remains out of sight. it's hard to locate, whatever it may actually be, buried somewhere down here that time and the world forgot.

occasionally, the thieves may see facets of goro buried in the earthy walls of dirt of the catacombs: an old pin from an arcade from when he was young, a fountain pen he had received when he first got the gig at the police station, an old photograph that is faded and burnt at the edges, hiding the face of the adult women standing beside a five-year old akechi. further, deeper, lies a rusted portrait of masayoshi shido with a large gash through the center. at the base of the portrait lays broken vases and glassware, stained with dried blood that's turned nearly black with age. even with the damage to the painting, its eyes seem to follow the thieves. )

university stuff

( he hated school.

but honestly, he hated being under his parents’ thumb even more. while he had wanted to runaway, getting to be in decent housing and “attend classes” seemed like a good trade off. no need to get a job to not sleep in the alley. this seemed like a good compromise for now. just a couple more years and then he can get out of here for good.

but god. he’s never had to share a room before. it’d be super weird. what if the dude he was stuck with was a real rich kid that was a prick? dice would lose his mind. he got along with a lot of people, but the rich folk were never his cup of tea.

he didn’t have much to move into the room. like any good real expensive private university, the double room had a small common area and two tiny bedrooms. public universities apparently had two beds in one room and dice might have lost his mind with no privacy.

he had just finished lugging his last box of belongings into his room and then collapsed on the tiny couch in the common area. he was sweating profusely and the tank he was wearing was clinging more than usual.

it was fucking hot out. )

reunion time

( four years.

time changes a person. most obviously, change comes physically in the form of scars, longer hair and rough hands. less obvious are the subtle nuances — habits, lessons learned, quirks and little vocal ticks. for nezumi, he wouldn’t really be able to track the latter. why would he even bother? anyone that knew him when he was a kid, a reckless teenager, a lost and bitter child, is out of the picture.

it’s been four years and nezumi doesn’t have much to his name nowadays. the grand idea of visiting other cities and areas unknown had lost its allure after the first year. after the second, he had gone about reconnecting and checking in, so to speak, with all the wrongs and mishaps of his youth. by the third, he was truly homesick and only then, bitterly, realized he had no home to return to. he never did.

but the smell of old books, the murmurings and humming of a voice too sweet and untainted from the cruelty of this world? that had been the closest to a home he ever had. there’s scars on him, too, from that near-home. wounds that both litter his skin and pierce so much deeper, below the surface. he’s been running for four years now. running from responsibility, predictability, and most of all, from a person he hated at times — himself. but he kept tabs. of course he did. what good were robotic mice if not to spy?

it’s been four years and he’s heard that no. 6 is really thriving. it’s really going somewhere and the curtain the government and those in power hid behind really has been thrown to the side. nothing is perfect but no.6 belongs to the people now. and isn’t that just something?

so after four years he heads back to the place he had hated, despised, rallied against. he doesn’t need an ID to re-enter and if that isn’t an indication of progress he just doesn’t know what else could be.

he knows what day it is, this day. how could he forget? his destination isn’t to the city proper at first. no, it’s to that little hideout he’s amazed is still there and unlocked, perhaps abandoned and gathering dust for years. it could have been a home for a wayward actor, but what home wanted a rat? )

catch-all for bri ♥️🌟

just some turbo himbos

more stella verse for bri 🐑

( he hadn’t meant to do this.

hubris is a terrible thing, and asking for help and asking for someone to forgive him had never been part of the equation. ever since his childhood, ever since he had grown bitter to showing any weakness, to anyone, he had ripped such thoughts from his vocabulary.

so when things went wrong, when he had gotten too close to the sun, nearly cracking the code, reverse engineering it — he was left alone.

it had been a long time coming, obsessing with his work and not paying attention to the normal peer review and protocols he ought to. but he was so certain and he’d finally be recognized and he’d finally have something meaningful.

but now... now he was just doomed to a world of ice, the opposite of what he had intended. the cold, barren earth, the survivors and friends he once had evacuated to somewhere else. things had been going to shit to begin with, this wasn’t all his fault — but he hadn’t made it better. he had just made it worse. and that’s just as bad, perhaps.

no one would come back for him. no one would care what a mad scientist would do that doomed a planet to eternal cold. )

for jensen ❄️

( while he and dice weren’t “the best of chums”, they were teammates and friends, as dice had so boldly declared. so, it was only natural that gentaro offered up his spare futon after practice at ramuda’s on a particularly cold night. while their benevolent leader would usually grant refuge for the stray, tonight he had some pretty ladies coming over, which meant the streets or ... well, gentaro’s. so he offered.

t wasn’t like dice hadn’t crashed their once before after a desperate and whining phone call. but it’d be the first time gentaro offered before the night unfolded.

no one deserved to freeze to death. even morons.

still. he hadn’t been expecting his apartment complex to not have power or heat. so by the time they got back and in, gentaro was busy lighting candles and incenses for both heat and light. )

Perhaps the park would have been better after all.

for my messiah ❤️

( he hasn’t quite adjusted to having guests, yet. while his editors have been notorious for dropping in to visibly check-in on deadlines, guests for the sake of conversation have been limited since arriving in the city from his smaller, closer knit hometown. it’s an adjustment.

ramuda is a whirlwind and brings snacks and projects and conversation topics that fill the empty space of his apartment with life. while mostly artificial, it’s better than the desolation he’s forced himself into the past two years or so.

but with dice, it’s unpredictable and wild and energy gentaro isn’t quite familiar with. dice doesn’t bring pretenses or reason or snacks or anything. dice just brings himself — and his terrible luck — and oddly, gentaro thinks the walls breathe even more when he’s here.

it’s an adjustment getting used to another’s company, especially when he’s only down to a single layer on both his chest and legs. while he isn’t shy or concerned about his figure, or having others see him, it’s still so odd for someone to be around enough to see.

and while most of gentaro’s free time is spent nosing through novels or blogs, he’s now sitting on his couch, with a bowl of instant popcorn from the convenience store down the block, the lights turned off, and his mostly unused television glowing with life. what a turn for a friday night. )

Are you certain you aren’t just broke and this is an elaborate scheme to hide that?

for fae

( frankly, the woods didn’t frighten him.

rather, not much frightened him. the son of a cobbler and with too pretty of a face to really charm any women, he’d taken to other sort of feats and pleasure in life — literature and mild exploration. the town itself wasn’t anything impressive — a river town that was a few miles from the city. they were a town built on trade and bartering, rather than the hustle and bustle of the city.

gentaro didn’t mind it. but he also hated the contrite monotony.

sometimes he just liked to escape to the woods and read by the river. it wasn’t anything against anyone it was just — a hobby of his. he wasn’t particularly close to anyone in the town either. they were all very... l, cookie cutter and lackluster.

today he’s ventured out, as usual, but took a turn he didn’t usually which resulted in him wandering further from the river. and to a very handsome looking edifice. a very handsome building that looks made of stone and wealth and how had he never seen this before?

might as well snoop. )

the world is a vampire 🌟 🦇

( frankly, gentaro can recount the times he’s been out after ten at night in the past four years on both his hands. most have been spurred by ramuda and the others brought on by signings and tours. usually, at this hour, he’s steeping tea with incense and hunched over his next work.

tonight, though, he’s at a shoddy little neighborhood bar in shibuya, a block or two away from his modest apartment complex. he’s looking for inspiration and with their recent defeat to matenrou, a distraction is desperately needed.

so here he finds himself, nursing a whiskey on the rocks, pen and notebook on the bar, bags under his eyes. he’s certainly forgotten the concealer ramuda had introduced him to.

and the bartender, a tattooed man — seemingly an implant from britain, perhaps — with a barbell piercing, isn’t lowkey hitting on him. not at all. )

the one where i hurt jensen

( things were eventually going to unravel. after all, all deceit comes to light eventually. gentaro just assumed he had more time.

the task to spy on the unstable and reckless former easy r of the dirty dawg made a great deal of sense and came with a handsome price tag. apparently, given ramuda’s tendency to use his raps for borderline inhumane reasons, coupled with tampering with mics, had placed him on the radar of the government. and who better than to survey him than someone who had already been in the public light and gathered notoriety.

things fell in place far too easily. though gentaro just assumed ramuda always knew gentaro wasn’t as forthcoming for his reasons of joining fling posse.

with dice... well, that had been an added benefit. otome had wanted eyes on her son and when word caught that ramuda was starting up a group with him, it was only natural she latched on to the government’s request of gentaro.

which was fine. just another story, just another means to an end.

until he had grown close to the morons and defeats had brought them closer and it felt more like a patchwork family than a rap group.

so when ramuda finally had outgrown his use for the group, had exposed gentaro for what he was, it had all happened so fast that gentaro barely had time to process it. let alone process the loss of the group.

he hadn’t left the park where things had fallen apart mere hours ago. it had started to rain and without a goal in mind for the first time in nearly a year, he found it hard to move.

he hadn’t felt this cataclysmically alone in a long time. he always knew he’d lose this, whatever this was that his teammates brought him, he just ... never thought it’d be this hard. )

for jensen 🔥🔥

( it was bound to happen, really. gentaro just assumed that it would be the day he turned thirty and the grey in his hair was more visible. receiving the news that at the ripe young age of twenty four he was to be wed to someone from a family that had a lot of political clout wasn’t exactly something he had been prepared for. inevitable, really, but he thought he had had more time.

he wasn’t given the particulars and the whys, just that he had scared off every other suitor over the course of six or seven years. now, trying to pair off their silver tongued son was going to be a hassle and something else gentaro just wasn’t bothered to listen to.

it wouldn’t change anything. he’d just ignore the unfortunate soul who had the pleasure of being his beloved. they’d likely live together but as separate as can be and that’d be that. he’d continue writing, escaping into a reality much better than his own.

he just wasn’t exactly ready to hear he’d be moving in together that week and they’d be wed sometime in the spring. that was aggressively fast and he hadn’t even received a name yet. just that he’d be driven to their new apartment halfway between both families and his belongings would be delivered there within the same week.

it was curt to say the least. shady.

but it would make for a great story and inspiration. at least that’s what he told himself as he irritably picked at his sleeve, waiting for his fiancé — still unclear on gender and name — to arrive at the modest apartment with the keys to “their new home.” evidently gentaro wasn’t to be trusted with the keys.

for good reason, he’d toss them into the god damn river nearby. )

for fae 💎

( dice isn’t sure when he first started training to be a knight. it was always something that was just part of his upbringing. his father and grandfather had both provided various services to the royal family for decades, and it was only natural that their only son would continue the legacy.

his father, a skilled swordsman, and his grandfather, a mage. dice did have some magical bones in his body, but most of his abilities resided in his speed and brute force. and, of course, his undying loyalty to the royal family.

which made him a perfect candidate for protecting the prince. not that the prince needed all too much protection, but dice wasn’t exactly war-material and he seemed painfully attached to the castle grounds.

he had known the prince since he was about eighteen, and now he was twenty and personally assigned to the task of making sure the heir to the throne didn’t get kidnapped — or run away.

except dice wasn’t the smartest and he had an awfully soft spot for his prince.

like right now. on his knees outside gentaro’s bedroom, hands on the floor, begging: )

Please, please, please, they're seriously gonna be upset if you don’t at least make an appearance. C’mon, Your Majesty.