#(( oh look goro's stuck in a dream again )) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bucketofcowboys · 4 years

Text

I Don’t Mind

Just a short drabble I wrote at 3 am :)

It’s pretty short so I’ll be posting it on AO3 and tumblr

Relationship: Kazuma Kiryu/Goro Majima, Kazuma Kiryu & Haruka Sawamura, Goro Majima & Haruka Sawamura

Warning: NSFW but not complete NSFW-- turns into domestic fluff

Words: 1,748

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29952348

Summary: The only thing he could really think of in that moment was a stream of consecutive, desperate, 'no's. Don't get him wrong, he loved Haru-Chan. Haru-Chan is an absolute treasure to be around and every moment spent with her was a moment coated in diamonds and gold, but right now was not one of those moments. Not when he is so damn close to getting off.

(aka. Kiryu and Majima are getting it on but have to put it to a halt when Haruka has a nightmare)

----

Riding Kiryu was like riding a fucking bull. All hard muscles and sweat, squeezing his thighs just hard enough to not get bucked off, and feeling the sweet satisfaction of victory each minute he stayed on. Though, he was sure in actual bull riding the bull wouldn't be making noises like Kiryu did. He didn't even think bulls had the proper vocal chords to moan his name. Kiryu definitely did, and God, he found every way to roll around the name 'Majima' in his mouth until the name didn't even sound like a name anymore. Maybe a war cry or the last thing a man says when he takes his dying breath.

Majima was close, and he wouldn't stop for anything. The only thing he wanted in that moment was to paint white across Kiryu's abdomen until they're both shaking, sputtering messes of human putty. He grabbed ahold of his own cock and stroked himself with a wet and fast pace. His back arched and he slammed down hard onto Kiryu's dick until he was whining like a kicked puppy. Kiryu looked so good like that, lips pink and puffy with kiss-abused bruises, parted beautifully in ecstacy, skin flushed cherry red from his cheeks all the way down to his ears, eyes half lidded and pupils dilated as he tried to watch the show Majima was giving him. He looked like a meal to be devoured and Majima was absolutely fucking famished. He could just eat him up. He wanted to eat him up.

"M'gonna cum baby, you gonna cum too? Wanna cum inside me baby? Fill my tight lil' hole, huh?" Majima blabbered out and Kiryu nodded enthusiastically. He smirked. "Ya so pretty. God, ya so pretty..."

He leaned down and captured Kiryu's swollen lips in a kiss. He stole each noise that left Kiryu's mouth and swallowed it down like a man dying of dehydration. Their lips moved sporadically and Majima's teeth clacked against Kiryu's with every downwards movement. He ran his hands though that carefully slicked back hair and tugged until each strand of black stuck out at odd ends, ruining every last bit of collectiveness the other man had. He wanted to ravish him, destroy him, leave nothing but bone in his wake.

He could feel himself getting closer and closer with each movement of his hips. He moved at different angles each time, trying his best to find the best way to hit his prostate and when he did, a throaty groan left him. He needed this. He needed this like he needed a pulse. He needed this like he needed food and water. He needed this like he needed to breathe.

He felt that pressure building up quick inside of him, and he's just about to spill over like blood from a fresh stab wound when--

Knock knock

Two gentle hits on hardwood broke their near-orgasmic haze. Kiryu put his hands on Majima's hips and gripped hard to pull him down and stop his movements. Majima whined with frustration and Kiryu quickly shushed him. They sat in silence for a moment, Kiryu listening closely for any other noise like a dog listens for an intruder late in the night. Majima was almost convinced his ears were gonna perk up, and maybe he'd even start panting with his tongue out for show.

"Ojisan?" A quiet voice muffled by the thick door of the bedroom finally rang out. Majima began to feel his whole world crashing down.

The only thing he could really think of in that moment was a stream of consecutive, desperate, 'no's. Don't get him wrong, he loved Haru-Chan. Haru-Chan is an absolute treasure to be around and every moment spent with her was a moment coated in diamonds and gold, but right now was not one of those moments. Not when he is so damn close to getting off.

"Get off, Majima..." Kiryu said softly, apologetic. Funny, cause that was exactly what he wanted.

"Maybe if we stay quiet, she'll go away." Majima didn't know if he was joking or not at this point. He was so desperate, clinging to any last scraps of being able to get off by the end of the night. Kiryu shot him a disapproving glare likened to that of a stern mother goose. He wouldn't even humor him. A damn shame.

Majima sighed and begrudgingly sat up, shivering at the empty feeling and collapsing on the bed next to Kiryu. He couldn't even look up before Kiryu was up from the bed and fumbling to pull his clothes back on. Majima watched with a mournful stare as all of that beautiful tanned skin was covered in seconds. A depressing loss. He was so distracted by planning a funeral for Kiryu's naked ass that he didn't have time to react when something wacked him in the face.

"Hey--!" It took him a moment to realize that he had thrown his boxers at him.

"Get dressed." Kiryu grunted, standing there and crossing his arms as he waited for him to comply. Majima huffed, but he did as he was told, lazily pulling his boxers up his legs. It was like a snake slithering back into its shed skin-- unnatural and uncomfortable. Once he was done he rolled himself up in Kiryu's comforter and buried his face in the mattress like a moody toddler. He could almost feel Kiryu rolling his eyes.

Another gentle knock interrupted them, but this time it was followed by a few sniffles. Oh yeah, this was bad.

Majima lifted his head until his good eye was poking up. Kiryu was already at the door, rushing to Haruka’s aid like the good parental figure he was.

"What's the matter?" His voice was soft as he spoke to her, the kind of soft that sent shivers down Majima's spine. Haruka was standing in the doorway in her pj's with tears staining her flushed cheeks. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and sniffled a few times to try and regain her composure.

"I... I had a bad dream.” She finally fessed up. Her shoulders shuddered as she tried to hold back from becoming a sobbing mess. Kiryu kneeled down and gently gasped at her shoulders, one hand gently stroking the tears away from her cheek. So soft. So domestic. Majima could almost feel his heart melting into a puddle in his chest.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Haruka quickly shook her head, and he just nodded.

“Can I come in?” She asked. Kiryu looked back at Majima with a look that was somehow apologetic and pleading at the same time. Haruka must have not noticed Majima’s presence, somehow, because she cocked her head up and startled when she saw him.

“Hi Majima-ojisan.” She said with a sniffle. Majima tried to offer her a genuine smile, mustering as much sunshine and rainbows he could in that moment and putting it all into a toothy grin, which looked much more frightening than Majima thought it did.

“Hey Haru-Chan.” Haruka wasn’t unfamiliar with Majima loitering around her and Kiryu's apartment, or at least not anymore. At this point he was over here more than he was at his own apartment. He patted a spot of the comforter next to him in a silent invitation. She quickly complied and crawled up onto the bed and plopped down next to him.

She looked up at him and her eyes were filled with lingering tears that threatened to spill with every fan of her lashes. She was such a sad sight to see, he could almost hear his heart shattering into pieces.

"Hey squirt, whatever's botherin' ya right now, forget about it." He placed a hand on her head and gently ruffled her hair, "Me and your pops are gonna protect ya from any monsters ya had in your nightmare, promise."

The bedroom light flickered off and soon the bed frame was squeaking in disapproval as Kiryu crawled onto the bed to join them. He shuffled up on the other side of Haruka and nodded into the conversation.

"We're strong, we can take them." Kiryu added, laying on his side with a gentle smile on his lips. Haruka sniffled a bit, but she didn't seem like she was on the edge of bursting anymore. She rubbed her eyes, now raw from sobbing and a lack of sleep, and yawned.

"Can I sleep here? I don't want to go back to my room." She asked, but she was already curling up at Kiryu's side without an answer.

"Of course." Kiryu muttered, wrapping his arms around her and pressing a kiss to her head. He then looked up at Majima with a frown on his lips and eyes that read; 'I'm so sorry' over and over again like a news ticker. "You don't have to stay if you don't want to."

"I don't mind." And he didn't. Sure, he was a bit upset about the major cockblocking he just got, but he could deal. Haruka meant a lot to Kiryu, he wasn't just gonna get all pissy because he was being a good parent.

Plus, it was all worth it, because Kiryu shot him a look that brought troves of butterflies to his stomach. A look that read so many emotions, none of which Majima felt comfortable naming. All he knew was that it felt nice to be looked at like that. Really fucking nice. Kiryu leaned as far forwards as he could with Haruka tucked beneath his chin and Majima met him halfway in a kiss.

"I'll make it up to you." He insisted, and Majima flicked his cheek.

"Nah, shuddup. I already said I don't mind, now go to sleep." Kiryu gave a huff of his nostrils in protest, but didn't say anything else. He just pressed another peck to Majima's lips and pulled him closer until the three of them were squished together in a warm embrace.

This definitely wasn't the way he thought this night was going to end, but he had no qualms with it. The domesticality of it all was tooth rotting-ly sweet, and he hated to admit it but Kiryu looked cute as hell with Haruka sleeping in his arms, almost like a mama bear snuggling her cub close. Haruka slept sounder than she ever had that night with Majima and Kiryu there to protect her, and Majima fell asleep with a nice feeling of home settled in his chest.

#fic #my writing #my fic #kazumaji #kazuma kiryu #goro majima #haruka sawamura #nsft #domestic fluff #quick drabble

45 notes · View notes

seigephoenix · 4 years

Text

Count ‘Em

Ship: Goro Takemura x Female!V Rating: E for explicit so no minors need to be interacting with this post, Trigger Warnings: spanking, slight choking Length: 1.7k A/N: I got inspired by that Anon Ask from earlier and it got me thinking about what Takemura would do if V smacked his ass. The result is. Well, V was able to sit down normally after two hours. I wanna tag @silhouette-of-a-dream and @dngrs-untld-hrshps-unnmbrd because we all thirst over this man in Discord.

V was startled awake by the sound of cursing in her kitchen. She ran a tired hand over her head as she struggled to clear the cobwebs from her mind. Goro’s voice reached her as he grumbled in Japanese, from what she could pick up it was about the state of her fridge. She sat up and stretched with a sleepy chuckle, letting the tank top strap fall off her shoulder as she threw her legs over the side of the bed.

“You really let a suit in your place?” The disgruntlement was clear from across the room as Johnny lounged in the window seat. His head leaned back against the wall with his aviators keeping his eyes hidden. V already knew what she’d see. The clear annoyance about her relationship with ‘a suit’ as Johnny loved to call him.

“And into my bed.” She taunted him as he flipped her off from his spot. “What’s the matter Johnny? You mad I fucked a suit?” He snorted and crossed his arms over his chest.

“S’long as he doesn’t betray us.” Johnny’s way of conceding that perhaps Goro wasn’t as bad as he thought. “Remember V. Once Arasaka, always Arasaka.” V didn’t share the sentiment but agreed to be cautious. They shared the same brain and body now; she would take his concerns seriously. “All I can ask.” His head turned towards the window and V turned towards the kitchen.

Goro stood in front of the stove in her kitchen, looking completely out of place. He wore his dark slacks, white button up that hung open with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He uttered a few choice words as he took the skillet off the stove. V’s eyes trailed down his back to his slim waist. The urge was there. V’s fingers itched to do it.

“Don’t do it. Bad idea V.” V jerked her head to the side to see Johnny sitting on her counter. V arched an eyebrow and Johnny tapped his temple. “Same fucking brain remember. If you want to do it, be my guest. I’m not gonna stick around to see the consequences.”

“Fine by me.” V stuck her tongue out at Johnny before he disappeared with a chuckle.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn ya V.” V turned to Takemura who was still grumbling about her lack of nutritional sustenance. At least that’s what she assumed he was saying. V crept closer and the floor creaked.

“V? Is that you?”

“Yeah. Good morning.” His smooth chuckle had V smiling at the back of his head. The urge was still there and V had a second to debate the consequences. In the end, she decided to give in. Consequences be damned. V raised her hand and swung it hard.

The crack reverberated through the room and V froze. The weight of what she’d just done hit her with the force of a cyberpsycho. Oh no. V backed up a few steps as Goro turned slowly to face her. His face remained neutral which only added to the dread growing in her stomach.

“V.” Just one syllable. Yet her stomach twisted at the dark promise in Goro’s voice. She pivoted on her heel and dashed out of the kitchen.

“I’m sorry!!!” The words followed her up the stairs to her room.

“Really V? Running up the stairs? What are you? Some dumb bimbo in a horror movie?” Johnny’s snark wasn’t lost on her and she gave him a single rude gesture before she bolted to the bedroom with Johnny’s laughter chasing her heels.

The creak of the stairs never sounded so ominous as V pressed her back against the wall by the door. She’d wait until he was in the bedroom then bolt. Her heart thundered in her ears as she heard his footsteps approach. Heat and nerves tangled together in her stomach at the thought of being hunted like this. Her body was tense and ready for anything.

“V. Do you intend to play these games today?” A heated shudder went through her body at how close his voice was. Molten desire throbbed between her legs at the thought of what he’d do. Most feared merc in Night City…

V screeched when a hand reached through the door and grabbed her arm. “I have you now.” The world tilted upside down as she was slung over a broad shoulder. Goro’s hand came down with a harsh crack over her barely covered ass cheek. Pain radiated outwards as she shrieked.

“Put me down!” V’s demand was answered with another swift smack. She let out a frustrated yowl as Goro headed straight towards the bed. He unceremoniously dumped V onto the mattress before caging her in with his body. His hand came up and gently grabbed her throat, tilting her face up towards his. His hair hung around his face as he leaned down until his nose brushed hers.

“You need to be punished for that V.” Ever the smart ass, V wasn’t going to let the dark threat in Goro’s eyes stop her this time.

“What are you going to do? Spank me?” His eyes widened but she saw the moment the idea took. Oh no. The risk I took was calculated but boy am I bad at math.

“What a fine idea. You have my thanks V.” His lips curved into a wide smirk as V shook her head in denial. He leaned back before grabbing V and yanking her off balance. Her hands reached out and stopped her from falling ungraciously to the floor as her body stretched out across his lap. Her ass was raised in the air from the angle Goro had her across his lap.

“I already said I was sorry!!! You don’t have to do this.” V turned to look up at him but she knew that look on his face. The set of his jaw, the way his eyes stared calmly down at her. There was no talking him out of this one.

His hand reached down, letting his fingers brush against her lips. His thumb pressed down on her plump bottom lip, slipping inside her mouth. “Make sure to count them V.” She knew when she was defeated. She nodded and he nodded. “Good girl.”

She braced herself but the sting still smarted when his hand came down for the first strike. V gritted her teeth but managed to count out the slap. She hissed out a breath at the second one which quickly morphed into a moan when Goro’s fingers brushed against her throbbing clit through the panties. Heat pulsed through her body as his fingers massaged the sensitive bud through thin cotton. Her thighs tensed seeking more friction before his hand slipped away and another harsh smack landed on her cheek.

“Fuck.” V hissed as his hand reached around her throat, lifting her easily until his lips brushed against the shell of her ear.

“How many was that V? If you lose count we will start over.” Her throat burned along with her slick heat.

“Three.” She managed before he released her throat. She dragged in air before his hand came down again. “Four.” Her ass was starting to go numb from the force. The sharp tingling spread down the backs of her thighs. Goro’s hand reached between her legs tugging the cotton covering her aching core aside.

“Are you a masochist V?” She protested the very idea but he slipped two fingers inside her. “Hmm.” V groaned as his fingers curled inside her body. “Are you certain in this answer?”

“Fuck.” Her back arched at the spike of heat in her body. The heat and pleasure coiled tight between her legs as his fingers played her like a master.

“Would you like to cum V?” V whined as his fingers stopped inside her body. “Answer me.” She groaned and turned to look up at him.

“Yes. Yes I wanna fucking cum.” She was so frustrated. It was a fine edge as he smirked down at her.

“Then.” Goro easily lifted V until she straddled his lap. Heat rose as his straining bulge pressed against her sopping pussy. Her arms wrapped around his neck as he reached between them and freed his cock. V groaned as he pressed the tip against her body. “You’ll do it yourself.”

“Goro.” V groaned but he merely gave her a steady look. The whining protest was on the tip of her tongue but she knew he wouldn’t accept it. V lowered her hips, slowly easing his stiff cock inside her. The burn was almost painful as she was fully seated on his lap. “Fuck.” She felt so full, her body tingled where he was buried inside her. She yelped when his hand reached up and smacked her ass.

“You’re not going to orgasm by sitting still V.” She groaned before rolling her hips against his. Each drag of his cock along her sensitive walls had the tension coiling tighter between her legs. His fingers dug into the soft curves as he guided her until the angle hit that spot inside her.

His teeth scraped across her throat as V’s hips ground against his. He soothed the sting with his tongue as he began meeting her movements. V’s soft cries bounced off the bedroom’s walls as he felt her body clenching around his cock. “You have my permission V. Go ahead and fall. I will catch you.”

The whispered words sent a heated shudder through V but it was enough. Her orgasm wasn’t a torrential wave but a slow languid flow through her body. His groan was music to her ears as she felt his cock pulse inside of her. Her nails bit into his shoulders as her body warmed with her orgasm. Goro’s lips crashed against hers as the heat slowly ebbed in her body. Her breathing was ragged when he leaned back to stare down into her eyes.

“Rest. I will bring your breakfast here.” V nodded sleepily as he shifted her back onto the bed. He leaned down and brushed a kiss across her temple, caressing the back of her head with his hand. V watched as Goro’s back disappeared around the corner.

“Oh you fucking deserved that. Ass stinging yet sweetcheeks?” V growled and threw the pillow towards Johnny.

“Shut up you smug bastard!”

#cyberpunk 2077 #takemura goro x v #goro takemura x v #takemura x v #takemura/v #johnny is such an ass in this one #but i love it

35 notes · View notes

honeydots · 4 years

Note

127 with shuake would be good.

"My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you're ready to sleep."

once again. didnt forget abt these. im working thru em.

Summary: Goro wakes up one day in a hospital bed with only a bullet wound to keep him company, and not a single memory of who he used to be.

(ao3 link)

He was almost certain the last few weeks had been a dream.

Or maybe, several long and white coated dreams. The kinds with bright lights at an arm's length, and ill-fitting clothes, and men coming in waves carrying their clipboards as flags. With deep voices all at once whispering, echoing, “what is your name?”

Maybe he was in a hospital.

His first day of full consciousness was slow and lonely. His second day too, time spent wiggling his toes and counting ceiling spots. Day three he asked for a glass of water and scared a nurse out of her skin, and his week was kickstarted. Which only really meant an actual doctor came in and declared retrograde amnesia the only explanation for his condition.

His “condition” was quite the word to use. Which condition? They could play bingo. Was it his memory loss (obvious, weak narrative), or could it have been the state of comatose he’d been in (intriguing), or even the bullet wound (now here was a mystery, what a plotline) he’d heard remarkably little about? Amnesia, the fickle bastard, was the type to bring one answer to dinner, and disappear by morning.

But what did he know?

Well, he knew that this was a pretty shitty hospital. As far as how he assumed they should be managed, this one was on a low tier. And according to the nurse, as was their police station. Incompetent, and uncaring of his case, which had apparently been made.

It’d been a week now. He could get up. Limited, with his IV, but he could. The nurse said later that maybe the police would listen to him now, since he was conscious, basically up and kicking. ‘Listen to him now,’ was also an interesting phrase, because he hadn’t been speaking in the first place.

He wasn’t injured. His vitals were fine, the nurses had told him, and commented he was taking up an unnecessary bed. Not that he could actually make any kind of sound argument, which was frustrating enough on its own, but this didn’t seem like proper procedure.

He was, once again, very alone in his room. He thought about going to the police station. Incompetent as they may be, there would be no answers here. There was no one here to help him; some healthy boy in a hospital bed.

He got up. His IV was stuck in poorly, the tape just barely holding on. They’d disconnected him from all sorts of machines. Nothing was roping him down except for saline solution and his own two feet.

And, he was already standing.

It wasn’t hard to pull out.

His hospital gown was tied all the way down, falling just past his knees. He had odd socks on, their texture was weird, and they were several sizes too big. They were thick and patterned, maybe slip proof? But shoeless as he was, they would do.

The hallway was very empty. He was on the ground floor, but he wasn’t sure there were other stories. Maybe one, or a basement. It didn’t matter much. There just wasn’t anyone around. His concern was in that he didn’t know how long their absence would last.

There was a glass door at the end of the hallway.

To the police he’d go. A medical bill dodging amnesiac would probably get him some attention. Enough to get a name?

The door was not locked. That was probably good, for a hospital, and not a security breach, which is where his mind had initially gone.

Doors are meant to be opened, he thought. There really isn’t anything wrong with that.

It was just a little bright outside. The sun was up but not too far. He was in the parking lot, and it was almost entirely devoid of cars. Small, small hospital.

He didn’t exactly have a map, and no nurse was around to give him any condescending directions. He’d might as well go forward, then. He started walking, and thought to himself how odd his feet felt on the concrete.

No one was out. He hesitated to call it deserted, just maybe a bit early. He kept walking, nerves high, still worried he might get mauled by a stray doctor.

It seemed like this was a very small town, going by his surroundings. Lots of trees, and cracked roads, and old buildings. He didn’t think much of taking it all in. He’d have time for sightseeing when he remembered his initials.

A bit farther ahead was a woman, leaning on a car parked on the side of the road. She was glaring down at her phone. She looked— maybe irritated? Or tired. He wondered if he could ask her for directions. An aimless stroll through town wouldn’t take him to where he was going, after all.

“Excuse me,” he called, “Ma’am? Do you know the way to the police station?” He approached her with just enough caution to call it looking out for himself, ignoring the sorry state he was already in.

She glanced up from her phone. Her hair was short, and dark, and it bobbed around her face. She registered him for a moment, and her eyes went big.

“Holy shit.”

He knew enough to know that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. “I need to go to the police, please.”

The woman kept staring at him. “You—” she stuttered, “are you Goro Akechi? You are, aren’t you?”

This encounter was already going awry. Did she know him? “Do you know me?”

“Uh…I mean, no, we’ve never met.” She pushed herself off her car, and slowly put her phone back into her pocket.

That wasn’t really what he meant. He needed to persist, here. This could be a lucky hit. “No I— Do you know who I am?”

Blatant confusion spread across her face. “Uh… Are you not Goro Akechi?”

“I don’t know,” he answered.

She stared at him again, almost suspicious. Then she looked him up and down.

“Are you… coming from the hospital?”

“Yes.” He watched her mouth open just a bit in disbelief. He wondered how this woman knew him. If explaining would get more information out of her, then he’d do it. Privacy only existed when you had something to protect, after all. “I’ve been given an amnesiac diagnosis, you see. I’m going to the police station to see if I can find any sort of lead on myself.”

She looked shocked. “Amnesia? And you’re going to the cops?” She blinked, and suddenly looked very serious. She grabbed one of his shoulders. “Wait. That’s bad news. Don’t go to the police.”

He (Goro?) hadn’t expected to hear that.“What? And why shouldn’t I?”

“You… holy shit, kid, do you actually have amnesia?” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Listen you need to— oh good god, this is gonna sound like I’m trying to kidnap you— I definitely know who you are. I can tell you but we shouldn’t… here. If someone finds you… ” She exhaled hard, and looked him dead on. It made Goro freeze. “Fuck, okay. The gist of it is— you’re in more danger than you realize. Like, a lot more. Will you come talk with me in my car?”

Alright. So, a lot to process, and a lot he didn’t know how to. He didn’t even know if he should process it, or if that was the kind of story that should be immediately disregarded. Someone telling you to not go to the police and please get in their car seemed like a textbook stranger-danger red flag. There had been something uneasy about her tone, though. Like genuine concern— not that such a thing couldn’t be perfected and acted, however.

But she’d given him a name. And it felt almost tangible, the more he thought about it. Less bendable and more sturdy. It was very easy to attach to himself. And it was a lead, wasn’t it?

“Hey, did you get discharged, or are you just wandering around? Cause they’re gonna be looking for you if they didn’t let you out,” said the woman, jump starting Goro (almost certainly, Goro) out of his head. “And kid, I cannot just let you turn yourself in to the cops.”

‘Turn myself in,’ he thought to himself. Such particular wording. It made his stomach drop. This woman knew more than him, clearly. And really, for fucks sake, if he died, he died. Obviously he hadn’t left enough of a mark on anyone to warrant not a single visitor during a five year coma. According to the nurses, it was more evident that he’d simply been dumped in town— like someone had already been trying to get rid of him.

Well, whoever they were, they’d forgotten to bury his bones.

He straightened himself up. “Okay.”

She looked surprised, at first. She swallowed around it. “...Yep, okay then. Hop in before you change your mind.” She popped open her car door, and Goro circled around the side and followed suit.

Her car was messy. It was filled with food wrappers and empty bottles, but papers and notebooks were scattered around, too. So she kept busy, it seemed. He decided he’d consider this a point in the not-about-to-murder-you direction. Too much here that could be used as evidence against her. Too personalized. He was almost envious.

She adjusted her seat forwards and turned on the ignition. She was a bit jittery, Goro noticed, as she scratched the back of her head vigorously.

“So, I’m gonna drive us somewhere that isn’t here but I can talk and drive so, just— like, just a second, okay?”

He nodded. She drummed her fingers against the steering wheel. “...Goddamn,” she muttered, and then pressed down on the gas, turning her car onto the barren road.

She kept her eyes forward, but kept true to her promise of talking. She sighed. “Right. So, uh, to start… Okay, first, my name’s Ichiko Ohya, I’m a journalist. Get that cleared away. Next comes you which is a bit more complicated, but you probably wanna know why we’re dodging cops so I’ll start there. Or, as close to there as I can.”

He would take anything he could get from her, actually. The cops situation was undeniably concerning, but right now he was essentially a sentient empty shell, absorbing everything for the first time. A kid in a metaphorical candy store, but the store was a dodgy reporter who still might be kidnapping him and just stalling. He’d call himself the kid, but it dawned on him he didn’t even know how old he was. Fantastic. More things the hospital staff hadn’t bothered to tell him.

“Your name’s Goro Akechi. I told you that already but, that’s you. At least I’m like, ninety percent sure.” She spared him a glance. “You do look a bit different but all in all I’m— I’m pretty sure. Just the hair and the stubble, you know.”

Goro hadn’t exactly looked in a mirror recently, so no, he didn’t know. He knew he had long hair— certainly longer than Ohya’s. He rubbed his jaw and felt the rough and gritty bristles that had prickled onto him. It bothered him that he didn’t know. It bothered him that he didn’t know what he looked like.

Ohya continued, not letting him dwell for long. “You’re also sort of famous. Well, you were, and it was mainly with teenagers and moms in the city, but you were a popular detective. So, that’s how I know you. And I swear I’m getting to the running from cops part, but you have to know this first first. Oh, shit, it’s right here.” She took a sharp turn into a grocery store, and Goro had to grip the side to keep steady in his seat.

She didn’t act very sheepish about it. “Sorry, for that. We’re gonna talk in here.”

She paused her explanation to pull into a spot, which Goro felt a little thankful for because, under his circumstances, that felt like a lot of information to take in. He was well known, but not well known enough that anyone out here knew him. ‘Famous detective’ raised some weird alarms in his head, a position absurd enough that it might be true. It felt unfortunately right, like a disappointing truth. It was different from his name, more unwelcome. But it didn’t click either. Nothing had been clicking at all.

There was a pit growing in his stomach, like something was in there, chewing down on his insides. But he’d found he didn’t care for ignorance, so he would put up with it for as long as it took.

Ohya turned her car off, pushed her seat away from the wheel, and got herself comfortable. She faced him, nonchalant but sincere. “So this is where the really juicy stuff comes in, alright? So like, listen up now, if you weren’t.” There was something very serious about her eyes.

As if he’d have let any of her explanation slip under his radar. “I’m listening.”

That was a good enough answer for her, it seemed.

“I’m trying to think of the best way to explain this, honestly,” she started, thumbing the back of her hand. “You… okay, there was this guy. He was a really big politician that you were involved with, and it’s kind of a gray area as far as what you were doing for him, but you and him worked together. Kind of. He was a really shitty guy.”

She looked like she was considering her words. She turned her focus out the windshield for a moment, and sighed again. “He basically ended up confessing because this group— well, actually, they don’t matter right now. He confessed, and he talked about you. For some of it. It was a long fucking confession. But half of what he said wasn’t even coherent. He was talking about some crazy shit and no one knows what he meant by it. You were part of that whole section.” She paused again, thinking. Goro let the silence sit. He didn’t want to jump to a conclusion until he’d heard her out. Which was proving difficult, truthfully, because this all left a sour taste in his mouth, one that had almost certainly been there before.

“They wanted to take you in for questioning, but you disappeared. And, to add fuel to the fire, they were having a hard time getting any actual concrete evidence,” she began. “Can’t make an arrest based on a confession alone. He did other things, too, and that's what he ended up being indicted for, but there's still that problem. This whole chunk of confession is still there that technically lines up with his timeline of events, but there’s no way to prove it. That’s why they want you,” Ohya’s expression darkened. “At least, publicly, that’s why they want you.”

She readjusted in her seat again. She faced him fully. “This guy— Shido’s his name— he’s got goons. Not to mention, he had complete control over the police, and there are other higher up’s who worked with him. Some of those guys got busted with Shido’s confession, but there’s a few where there just isn’t enough evidence to put ‘em away. These are the ones who you need to watch out for.” She took a deep breath, not finished.

“I’m gonna be frank with you,” she continued. “They want you dead. They don’t want a single loose end, and you’re still dangling. The police are on their side. Are you understanding me?”

Goro tried to let the words sink in. That was more than a lot to think about. The creature in his stomach was grinning now, he could tell. But, this was also no time to get overwhelmed. If her words were true— which, the overwrought familiarity of her explanation compelled him to trust them— he needed to keep his head above the water.

“So these— subordinates. You’re saying they’re after my life? They can’t be actively hunting me down, if they have the influence you’re implying, or I’d have been found by now,” Goro said, deciding to ignore the fear creeping up his spine. “So then, what’s my public status? How unlikely was it that I was the egoless comatose patient they were searching for?”

“Uh…” said Ohya, seeming like she was the stunned one. “Well, you’re right, they don’t really have a manhunt right now. I guess I don’t need to worry about beating around the bush here— you’re presumed dead.”

Interesting. “That doesn’t surprise me,” he said, furrowing his brow. “But, obviously, a body was never found. They’re probably prioritizing morgues then, not hospitals. That does explain why I wasn’t discovered after all this time.” Though, if they’re smart, they’d also keep an eye on cases like his. They probably were, in fact. He’d gotten lucky that the police here were clueless.

Ohya gave him a very funny look. “You know, it’s almost creepy how well you’re taking this. You were in a coma this whole time?” She shook her head. “I’d have thought you’d be more out of it, honestly.”

“Is this not what you’d consider a wake-up call? I’ve been ‘out of it’ for a week. It’s common sense that I’d react like this,” he told her. Just going outside had cleared his head. He had a feeling hospitals had never been a fitting place for him. “Yes, I was in a coma,” he added, as an afterthought. “They said I’d been shot.”

Just as the words left his mouth, he realized the implications that had.

Ohya noticed just as fast. “You said shot?”

They’d certainly both had the same assumption— maybe an attempt had already been made after his life.

But there was something that felt wrong about that scenario, too. “I’m not… entirely sure it’s what you think it is,“ he replied. Maybe wrong wasn’t the correct word but, it wasn’t completely right either. “There’s no benefit to not making my body public. And, if they’re really after me, it seems messy, to say the least, that they didn’t finish the job properly.” He tried to speak confidently. The effort was familiar, too. Part of him wondered when he’d get the chance to do some self-analysis and tear himself apart.

Ohya caught on very quick, rolling with every punch Goro gave. “Christ, kid. What kind of shady shit were you into? So we’re thinking you’ve got another group after you?”

“I don’t know.”

He really didn’t. There were missing pieces, but that was evident. He had no end of missing pieces. If he was supposed to be some detective, then maybe he should get on with acting like it, and figure out whatever the hell this was.

Whatever business he’d wrapped himself into.

Ohya, again, spoke too quickly for Goro to finish digging through his own head.

“Maaan, I’ve really got myself into something haven’t I?” She rubbed her eyes, like she was already exhausted. “Look, I’m a busy woman. Don’t expect much out of me, but apparently I’ve got a bad habit of adopting puppies. So I’ll see if I can at least point you in the right direction, okay?”

He didn’t have much of another choice, other than to let himself be killed. He nodded again, not sure whether to call himself pleased or solemn.

She buzzed her lips and looked at him, obviously thinking. Then she opened her car door. “Well, okay. First things first, you gotta get some clothes, ‘cause you can’t go walking around like that. God, you don’t even have shoes…” She got out and stretched, and then turned back to him for one last comment. “Don’t expect much, okay? I’m not made of money. Don’t you dare go anywhere, either.”

She slammed the door shut and started walking into the store.

Goro was glad for the moment of peace. He let his jaw relax, closing his eyes. He hated how familiar the stress felt, and how desperate he was to welcome the feeling. A life or death promise was about as thrilling as one day should get.

Getting any memory back was his top priority. But he didn’t have an inkling of where to start. He didn’t have a phone, or a computer, and certainly not a home. He guessed he could use a public computer at a library, but just searching himself might raise more questions than answers. They’d be important questions, he was sure, but he wondered about the bias, the assumptions, the fact that it’d be an outside perspective looking in. He didn’t know how delicately he should go about regaining his memories.

Not to mention, he had only the word of a stranger and a low feeling in his stomach confirming he was even Goro Akechi. And now, with the reputation he’d had, if he even wanted to be him was questionable. Memories of such a life seemed… unpleasurable, at best, but he hadn’t set himself up to be able to just start over. Remembering his past was his best chance at plain old survival.

He wanted to have some kind of plan before Ohya came back, but he was drawing blanks. What he really needed was someone who knew him personally. Beyond media attention, if there was a single poor soul around who’d actually known him. He found himself doubting such an existence, past anyone who was out for his head.

He heard the car doors unlock, and he opened his eyes. Ohya was walking back with two bags, and she was on her phone again, barely looking where she was going. Well, there goes him having a plan. Bouncing ideas back and forth was the last thing he wanted to do. It was time wasted and he knew he would get frustrated, but his choices were limited. At least Ohya seemed pretty knowledgeable. It was possible she knew more than she was letting on, too.

She opened up the car door and tossed the bags onto his lap. “Hey,” she began, setting herself back into place, “I got your stuff but— I remembered something in there that might be a good starting place for you, if I can run that by ya.”

Or, of course, he could hear Ohya out and avoid idea bouncing all together. Something solid had come by much quicker than he thought.

*****

Ohya’s plan wasn’t bad at all.

She’d told him she had a contact from a few years ago, who was in charge of a bundle of self storage units. Apparently a certain “Goro Akechi” had registered himself one a couple months or so after Goro’s public disappearance. They’d told her once they noticed the name, but Ohya hadn’t taken up the lead at the time. When Goro asked why they’d even told her that, she left it at “no reason important,” and kept the topic adamantly off the table. Goro would push the envelope if it weren’t for the fact that his life (a life he didn’t even know he had, for the record, and one that still bothered him) was on the line.

If this unit did belong to him, there could be a very solid lead on himself in there, and leads on his acquaintances, too. Ohya didn’t know if the garage still existed, though. So she said she’d give them a call and see if they could figure something out.

Which is what led to Goro sitting in a barber’s chair. After he’d gotten dressed (an ensemble of sweats, a sweatshirt, and tennis shoes) Ohya had commented that he looked like he belonged in a homeless shelter, and “really needed a haircut.”

She said something about how he’d always kept himself looking clean, and Goro believed it. He was already feeling discomfited the way he was. So unkempt and basically filthy. So, she decided that while she was getting her contact all in order, she’d pay for him getting a trim and a shave.

She was helping him more than he’d expected her to, in ways he didn’t really expect. But he’d take what he could get. He’d hardly had a reason to say no.

He sat waiting in front of a mirror. He hadn’t gotten a good look at himself until now, but god, she was right, he looked pretty fucking bad.

The first thought that came to him was sickly. Eyes sunken in, deep bags under his eyes. You wouldn’t expect him to have just been in a permanent state of slumber for the past five years. Or maybe the correct assumption would be, a coma hadn’t been enough sleep for him.

His hair was just below his shoulders, and he had a very pitiful looking beard. He didn’t recognize himself. He didn’t think that would change much after his haircut, but it made him itch. It was a face that didn’t feel like his. He wanted to rip it off and replace it with a new one, one he knew better.

Maybe he’d never liked looking at his reflection.

Ohya had spoken to the barber for him. The one he got either wasn’t the talkative type, or really got his vibe of not wanting to speak to anyone. She went to work in silence, washing his hair with fruity shampoo and dressing him in a long black apron. That was all fine, albeit uncomfortable, but once she started cutting, Goro found he couldn't watch. The snips were loud, and definite, and it left his chest feeling tight. He couldn’t do anything but let his thoughts run blank.

He wondered if that was hair he’d had before his incident, now falling away. He’d have the same eyes, and organs, and teeth, too. But he felt all wrong in this body. Like it had gone on without him.

He was thankful when she moved to his beard. Just for a moment, though, because having someone so close to his face made him want to retreat as far back into himself as possible. A blade so close to his throat. He wondered how hard of a push it would take to make a cut. He wondered how deeply he’d have to go to make it bleed.

Maybe he’d always hated barbers, too.

When she’d announced she was finished, and Goro forced himself to look back in the mirror, it actually took him aback. It had taken years off him. She’d styled his bangs, and left no hair on his chin, but most importantly, it was clean. Soft looking. Pleasant.

It was almost enough to distract him from the discolored scar plastered on his forehead.

He stared for probably too long. His disheveled bangs had kept it clearly out of view on his first glance, but now that he was fresh and groomed, it pushed its way into the limelight. It was reddish, and almost shiny, and painstakingly circular.

He could feel dread bubbling up. He tore himself away from the mirror, and found an instant sense of relief when he wasn’t staring anymore.

Reflections and barbers. More to read into later, he supposed. He was learning he had been quite the hassle. What an annoyance.

Ohya met him at the entrance. Pure amusement was all over her face. “Shorter than I expected, but you’re looking pretty smart like that.” Her eyes went to his scar, but she made no comment on it. She frowned, but that was all.

Goro didn’t mind her reluctance on the topic. He raised his eyebrows, and spoke with the silent mutual understanding of “that is one gnarly goddamn scar” between them. “Ah, and I’m sure the sweatpants add to the look.”

“Watch it,” she snapped back, sliding into her usual demeanor. “Not like I could get you Levi’s, kid.”

She paid for his haircut, and out of the shop they went. They walked to the car in anticipating silence. She had her phone out again, texting someone now. Goro didn’t want to get his hopes up. Texting could mean anything, or nothing, or half of one or the other.

She pushed her seat back getting into the car, and pulled one leg up with her. Goro waited for her to speak, keeping himself tense. He really wouldn’t be able to loosen up if he tried, like a wound up doll who’d gotten stuck.

Ohya broke the quiet. “It’s still there.”

Goro sucked in, but didn’t let himself relax. Nothing ended there. It was one check off a list, but not all of them.

“And can we go in?”

Ohya blew air out of her mouth. “Well, she said she wants to make sure it's you, because there's only so many privacy laws she wants to break.” She shrugged at him. “But honestly, looking at you now, there's not a doubt in my mind you’re Goro Akechi. So, you can chill about it.”

He leaned back into his seat. The tensity had not left him. Something was making him lucky today, and he hated it. He would feel much more comfortable in the mitts of misfortune. But he couldn’t help feeling giddy, too. Like something was rubbing circles into his back, easing, but not erasing, bits and pieces of his concerns. It was something to focus on, and a goal to achieve. Above all, that relief made him feel pathetic.

“I was gonna ask if you wanted to go today or not, but you look more thrilled than I think I’ve ever seen you, so I’m just gonna take that as a yes.”

He hated the way she worded that. He frowned. “Only if you’re as concerned about my identity as you seemed to be earlier. You’re welcome to take your time, I’m surely not going anywhere.”

“You’re snarky! I never realized you had an attitude,” Ohya laughed.

She got the car going, and they were on their way to the unit. Apparently it was quite a ways, and Ohya advised him he’d better buckle in for a long one.

He could feel his eyelids getting heavy. He had things he wanted to think about, and questions he wanted to ask. Working up a tolerance to being active was not something that could be done in a day, but fuck if he wouldn’t try anyway.

But, despite how he tried to fight it, Goro fell asleep.

*****

He woke up when they were about ten minutes from the units. Ohya commented she’d thought it was a little funny that he’d been so exhausted doing just about nothing all day, but admitted too that his body was probably pretty weak, and he really should take it easy. As easy as he could, at least.

They were both quiet for the remainder of the drive. The sun was getting low now. They were passing by suburbs between grassy fields, driving past exit by exit. He had no idea how long they’d been going for. Ohya had called herself busy, and Goro believed it, so her continual help felt unusual. People weren’t just like this, he was almost sure.

She also knew things that felt… almost inappropriately relevant to him. The topic of the unit still tingled in the back of his mind. Why had they called her about his storage? And for that matter, why had she even known so much about him? The information she had felt intimate— like the results of a deep investigation. Had this all been yielded from that politician?

But Ohya had a distinct air of privacy. There could’ve been something personal about her aid, but Goro figured that she wouldn’t crack easily. It might be better to leave it— personal matters tended to yield lasting effects, after all. At least, he assumed so. He really wasn’t sure if that was as big of a plus as it appeared on the surface, though.

When the centre came into view, Goro let those thoughts ease into the back of his mind. He could focus on Ohya’s MO later. This was leaps and bounds more important to him; if anything was going to last, it was this. He could play detective, just like he was supposed to, and maybe come across some special clue. Perhaps he could test out his muscle memory and flex whatever skills he presumed he’d had.

They arrived, and it looked extremely closed. Like the only customers they’d been expecting were ghosts. The lights in the windows were off, and the gate guarding the units was shut tight. It wasn’t encouraging.

Ohya read his expression pretty clearly. She bumped his shoulder with her fist. “She knows we’re coming, my contact’s still here. The front just closes at 6:00. I’ll deal with it, so just stay put for now.”

And just as she said, after she hopped out of her car and approached the office, the door swiftly opened and a woman joined Ohya outside. The two of them seemed friendly. Goro watched as they talked, noting quizzically to himself that Ohya was someone who talked with her hands.

Ohya gestured to her car and they both looked over to Goro. He watched them walk over, and obeyed smartly when Ohya signaled him to roll down his window.

The woman peeked her head around to look at him, her eyebrows arched high. “Wow,” she said, completely staring now. “I mean, he looks like him, that’s for sure.”

Ohya grinned. “Sure does. That enough for you to let us in?” She didn’t really say it as a request, more like an expectation. Goro appreciated the tone.

She fiddled with her bottom lip. “Hmm. You said amnesia? He got any doctor's notes about that?” She asked, giving cue to Ohya’s sour expression.

“You didn’t say a word about notes

on the phone, you know.”

The contact clicked her tongue, and looked back to Goro. She bit the inside of her cheek, and sighed. “Just cause it’s you, Ohya, I’ll take that nasty scar on his forehead as my confirmation.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Come with me inside, I’ll get his key.”

Ohya made a haughty noise of achievement, and followed the woman back in. Goro rolled up the window again.

They were taking a little while. He rubbed at his scar absentmindedly. So obviously a bullet wound, maybe that had been the real reason his barber hadn’t made much conversation. Whoever tried to kill him had shot just where it counted. You don’t fire a warning shot into a head. He wondered if he’d deserved it, and doubted he didn’t.

Goro removed his hand when Ohya reemerged from the building, and she was looking confident. She slid back into her car and jingled the key to his unit victoriously. “Easy peasy. She’s gonna open the gate for us in a second. Your unit number is 508.”

They waited for a little while, nerves ever growing, until the automatic gates opened on their own, groaning and creaking until fully extended. Ohya started her car and drove in, squinting at the unit numbers in the low light.

Rows upon rows of garages awaited them. This must’ve been a pretty large lot, by the looks of things. The dirt road was the only uneven piece of scenery, the repetition was endless. He kept a watchful eye on the unit numbers, as well, skipping between the evens and the odds.

After a few right turns, and one very tight u-turn, they were there. 508 stood wedged between its neighbors, almost at the end of the row, but not quite. Not a thing stood out about it. It was just as gray and worn and untouched as the rest of the facility. Not even the dirt was remarkable. It reminded him of the hospital.

Ohya held the key out to Goro.

“I’m assuming you want this to be a ‘just you’ kinda thing?”

The gesture was something he should’ve expected, but didn’t. It made him hesitate for a moment.

He took the key. “I appreciate it,” he said.

“No sweat.”

He got out of her car, and she drove off to the end of the row. She stayed parked within general sight of the unit. It was essentially pseudo privacy, but neither of them knew how long he’d be in there, and who knows what this could trigger. Ohya also didn’t seem like she knew a thing about amnesia. He wouldn’t look to her for comfort of any sort, but there was reassurance in her being a safe figure.

He took a deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. This was his step one. He’d gotten himself into some deep shit, his past self hadn’t seemed to have a shred of self preservation in mind. Had he not encountered Ohya, he could’ve been dead by the hands of the crooks that call themselves the police by now. He had a lot more steps to cover, and each one would be riskier than the next. He was much more on his own than he realistically should’ve been. Most people had friends, as far as he knew. But this was seemingly his own fault. He wanted to know why exactly it was his fault.

One more deep breath.

He inserted the key into the lock, and grabbed the handle of the metal shutter. He pushed up, and with a squeak of rust and a bang of metal, he opened up his door to more dangerous times.

And it was nearly empty.

It was barren concrete. Newly disturbed dust was floating about. It was eerily quiet, and the stale air made his throat itch. Cobwebs stuck in the corners, barely visible in the low light of the setting sun. Though he wouldn’t call it underwhelming.

In the center of the floor was a cardboard box. About medium sized, without a lid. It matched well with the rest of the room, lined with dust and unaltered. He kneeled in front of it.

It was its contents that felt much more exciting. There were papers, lots of them. Thick manila envelopes full of information for him to flip through. He scooted back towards the entrance and pulled the box along with, trying to get the last of the light funneling in to help him read.

It was heavier than he expected, and he didn’t know how much to attribute that to his current lack of strength. He took out the first envelope and it, despite the dust, was clear and candid. When he flipped it around, he noticed with eagerness that there was writing on the front. He tried to make it out as clearly as he could, and in careful handwriting, it read: “05/21/2020— Case No. 1471”

It was a case file. He pulled out another envelope, and it was similarly marked. His interest was surely piqued. There must’ve been some sort of relevance to these, if they were going to be so pointedly left here. He pulled out a third, and then a fourth, and from the weight he’d expected many more. But, the pile ended there. Instead, what filled the rest of the box was another, smaller, wooden one.

He took it out delicately, gripping it securely around the sides to ensure he didn’t drop it. This seemed much more… personal. Shiny cherry wood, latched but not locked, just small enough to sit on his lap firmly. A thought that couldn’t help but be excited came to mind.

This could’ve belonged to me.

He wasted no time. He undid the latch, and it gave a satisfying click. The hinges creaked just barely as his clammy hands lifted the lid, and pulled all the way back, until it rested hanging by itself.

Inside sat more papers. Some were crisper than others, some had obviously been crumpled and then flattened out again. But there was consistency in each of them being folded neatly in half, stacked neatly on top of each other.

He picked up the one from the beginning of the pile, unfolded it, and was surprised to find it had hardly been written on; a simple “To you,” at the top. This was a candidate that had been clearly wadded up and discarded. He set it down carefully, and picked up the next.

This one hadn’t been written on much, either. It said even less, just “Hello.”

He picked up another, and another. It was all soft stationary, each topped with slightly different wordings, and some decorated with a couple lines, even. But they were all just about the same, a simple greeting, and then resigning.

They were letters. Or rather— drafts for one. So he’d learned today that he was indecisive, maybe a bit quick tempered, but potentially also at least organized. He assumed the existence of these drafts meant he’d never gotten around to sending his letter, either. And perhaps he’d never get such a chance, if this visit didn’t convince any muggy memories to creep out of their caves.

As he pulled out drafts and read his pathetic one-liners, he came across a page that was different. There was actually a fair amount of content on it, over a paragraph's worth. It had obviously also been cast aside, but even a spare scrap could be useful to him, in this state. He used the last of the remaining light to read it.

“To whom it may concern,

I would like to skip the inherent shamefulness of writing a letter to you, of all things, in my introduction, and I will title this ambiguously under the assumption that if you believe this does truly not concern you, that you will save me the mortification of reading through it anyways.

I won’t formally phrase this as a farewell, but you should take it as one.

Our unknowns are too great to write, and while you were not innocent, neither am I, and there are truths between the two of us that shouldn’t have remained unspoken. I’ve never thought to run from the blame.

My hands are not clean, and maybe they never will be, but they can still carry you home when you’re ready to sleep.

Perhaps a fact I recognized too late.

I do not want to say goodbye, however I—“

It cut off.

The letter left a lump in Goro’s throat. He read it through once more. He wanted to analyze each sentence down to its core, but the light had died out. But there were bits and pieces, words that suck out in his mind. “Farewell,” “Innocent,” “Unspoken.”

“Too late.”

Goro bit down on his lip hard. The case files— those he understood. With the life he’d allegedly lived and the people he’d known, of course something like that would be predominant. They were fact on paper, ignorant of bias, they’d be full of names and leads. They were important. But, he didn’t understand why these almost-letters had been left here. Out of anything that could’ve been kept. Had there been someone he’d felt so strongly for? To be kept in safety behind lock and key?

To identify this person— that could be his next goal to achieving his memories. To ignite the fire of their eventual reunion, and perhaps they could know what happened to him. They could come easy, though he suspected that anyone who he’d decided to be so rottenly open with wouldn’t be typical. But, they would also know him, past the media, past the appearances.

And, though he wasn’t going to admit it, he’d needed something more hopeful to work towards.

He put the papers back where they belonged, placed the entire case back into the cardboard box, and stacked the case files back atop it.

There was no telling how old these letters were. They could’ve been from much before his incident. But this set him up for a goal, a big one, that might get him back to whatever meager place he’d left himself in.

He picked up the box, and prepared himself to head back outside to Ohya. He needed to muster up his resolve, because this was only the first out of two very important clues this visit could provide.

He positioned the box onto his waist, and took one last look into the dark before closing up his unit. He returned to Ohya’s car, pulling open the door without so much as a greeting, and set the box on the floor in front of his seat.

Ohya leaned forward, interested. “That a box you got?”

He wasn’t going to talk about the embarrassing letters he found. Even if he wanted to, his second clue came first. “It’s not that important right now,” he lied. “Is your contact still here?”

She raised her eyebrows at him, but let the topic drop. “Sure is. She can’t leave ‘till we leave.”

Good. “I need to speak with her.”

She hummed in reply, seeming very curious by his idea. They drove back up to the entrance, Ohya not questioning his motives, but still giving him an inquiring side eye every so often.

They got out of the car together this time, and walked into the front office. The woman was reading behind the counter, almost completely in the dark, with only a desk lamp lighting her work area.

She glanced up at them, and placed her book upside down. “Hey there. You got that key?”

“Yes,” Goro replied. He placed it lightly on the counter. She took it without a word, and got up to put it back on its hook. Goro stopped her before she turned. “I have a question for you.”

She seemed a little surprised. She glanced between him and Ohya, and then put her free hand on her hip. “Okay?”

He hoped he could push his luck just a bit further today. He’d made it this far, after all.

“Is there any way I can see the documentation that was filed when this unit was made?” he asked.

The woman pursed her lips. “Ohya?”

Ohya put her hands up defensively. “Don’t look at me. This is all him.”

The woman stared at Goro. He stared back. This was arguably the most important part of the visit. He needed to see those papers. Just a single particular part, it was the one factor that needed an explanation. He would not leave until he got that documentation, and if he had to stand his ground and pull her leg a bit to get it, he would.

After their staring contest lasted just a moment too long, she folded her arms. “Jeez. Only because I feel bad for you, okay?” she huffed, turning on her heel. “And because my niece liked your food blog.”

She disappeared into the back of the office, leaving Goro feeling just a bit full of himself. He would think about the food blog comment later.

Ohya lightly punched his arm. “Okay, good going. But whatcha going to do with that?”

“There’s something I need to check,” he replied flatly. It made Ohya grunt unenthusiastically.

The woman returned with a few papers, all paper clipped together. She tossed them onto the counter. “This is a customer copy, okay? So feel free to keep it.” She glared at Ohya. “And, I’m going home now. So, get out, please.”

That got a laugh out of Ohya. “I know I can always count on you to bend a couple of rules for me.”

“Out.”

They left the building, Ohya waving her last goodbyes while Goro rushed to the car. He needed to get some light on these papers, it was long past sundown now. He slid himself into the car, clicked on one of the lights, and went to work reading, all while Ohya was still walking over.

Ohya opened her door and stood outside watching him, leaning on the frame. First, it was with interest, but it soon turned into irritation.

“Kid, tell me what you’re looking for. You’ve got your eyeballs all over that thing,” she said.

He didn’t let their conversation stop him from reading. He kept his eyes glued to the page, checking each word and box before moving on.

He did owe her an explanation. Getting his thoughts out would help him focus a bit, anyway.

“These sorts of things— storage units. Wouldn't they be paid for recurrently?”

Ohya went quiet for a moment. “They are,” she said, and joined him in the car. “Shit. Those funds can’t be coming from you, can they.”

“Exactly. I’m looking for the responsible billing party.” He turned onto the next page. None of the handwriting matched what he’d seen on his papers and files, which further confirmed to him that this unit hadn’t been one he’d purchased himself. Whoever this was had put all that information in there, those cases, those letters. He suspected they weren’t his mystery recipient, but he could confirm that with them once they’d met.

Why this had been done in his name, though, was beyond him.

He flipped onto the last page, and found his prize. Big black bolded letters asking for the responsible parties name, and neat penmanship filling in the blank.

“Sae Niijima,” he read aloud.

Ohya gawked.

“‘Sae Niijima?’ Seriously?” she scoffed to herself, and sunk down further in her seat. “She’s an attorney. A damn good one, too.”

An attorney? He wondered how she could’ve known him. “She’s the one paying, apparently.”

Ohya tapped long slender fingers onto her steering wheel again. She dropped her head. “Guess that means she’s our next lead, huh?”

Goro adjusted himself in his seat. “It does.”

“Ahh, man,” she complained. “You’re really somebody who’s in with the big guns, you know. You better let me have some exclusive with you after all this is done, or something.”

Goro gave way a hint of a smile. Probably his first since he’d woken up. If this would be the last of his luck, so be it. He hated to rely on something so shifty and mischievous, anyways. This was a start, barely a sprout, to whatever his big picture was. But he’d see himself to the very top.

Really, he’d already died once. Hardly a way to go but up.

“We’ll see.”

#thank u for the aaaask!!!#this is shuake but akira is actually not in it at all whatsoever #also im so sorry i know the ending is. unsatisfying.#i just realized if i wanted the most satisfying ending possible this would go from 8k to like 32k at least #maybe once i post all these prompts on ao3 ill consider adding chapters to this cause i do like the premise #this is also like. my first published non comedic piece. so a lot of this is experimental for myself #anyway i hope you enjoy!!!#my fics #ask #anonymous #my p5 fics

172 notes · View notes

magioftheseas · 5 years

Text

Stirring

For @i-demand-a-hug

Summary: In a post-canon AU where Akechi was temporarily an amnesiac after almost dying, Akira visits him at his work. Things are a little nostalgic for reasons.

Rating: T (?)

Warning: None really except for references to the plot. I guess. Akechi’s a little bitchy but I mean...

Notes: This might seem out of the blue because I’ve never really posted about p5. I haven’t fully played the game. I haven’t fully watched the anime. But I am interested in it because of a friendly friend who I’m writing this for because sOME WEIRDO was harassing them over their valid ship tastes. I may not know much, but I do know shuake is legit, so like, here’s a fic. Also, I’m using Akira Kurusu instead of Ren Amamiya because the former sounds nicer. It’s got that edge.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

It’s a bad idea to keep coming here.

It’s not the first time he’s thought that. It won’t be the last either. It’s also neither the first nor the last time he found himself in front of the same cafe, staring through the window where a certain waiter was washing tables. When that waiter glanced in his direction, he offered an achingly friendly wave.

And there was the slightest twitch at his lips.

Akira tries not to react, tries to keep his own usual grin as the other walks towards him and opens the door.

“Welcome, again,” is said oh so cheerfully. Perfect waiter behavior, and it never gets less amusing on this person. With their chestnut-brown hair tied back and that auburn gaze now striking. “I’m starting to think you’re obsessed.”

“Am I that obvious?” He fakes sheepishness, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’m actually still gathering up the courage to ask you out.”

Another twitch to those features. And maybe, just maybe, Akira’s heart leaps a little.

“Ha-ha.” The waiter shakes his head. “Well, you haven’t tipped into harassment yet, I suppose. Unless you actually plan on loitering.”

“I’m good with actually paying for something,” he said.

“Then hurry up and come inside.” It was almost snapped at him, but the waiter was back to gentle smiles and a friendly demeanor as Akira followed his lead. He picked up a menu, leading Akira to his usual table, offering that same vapid smile as before. “The usual, I presume?”

“Yeah,” Akira replied, almost absently. “The usual. But maybe something sweet to go with it? Or maybe something spicy. What do you think? Pancakes or curry?”

The waiter froze momentarily, face tightening for a moment. Akira noticed this, and they both reached the threshold of how much they were willing to overlook. If not for the setting, things between them would have erupted on the spot.

Instead, the waiter inhaled sharply, fingers going briefly to his nametag. The name printed on there was just another obvious lie.

“Curry,” was said through gritted teeth. “I think curry suits you best.”

Akechi spun on his heel and stomped away before Akira could say anything else. And he’s really not surprised. He’s nervous as hell, but not surprised. It’s not like brimming tension was unfamiliar when it came to one Akechi Goro.

How nostalgic. He really hasn’t changed from back then at all. Still all fake smiles and broiling with fury. That’s my Akechi alright.

Akira does straighten up, hoping that Akechi doesn’t take this moment to flee the scene. But when he squirms to try and see into the kitchen, there’s not much to look at. Just a bland set piece. Clean, but boring.

When Akechi stepped back out, he avoided his stare. He just went straight to making coffee as if on autopilot, although Akira could definitely criticize his technique. Too much of a shaky hand. Too hasty with the pouring. Not nearly enough creative flair. Clumsy in how he still seemed intimidated by syrup. Endearing in how he was now considerably flustered in handing him the cup.

“I don’t know why you even come here,” he remarked with a huff. “It’s clear I’m still an amateur.”

When I first came here, he was pretty earnest. It was unsettling. Adorable, but unsettling.

“I’m pissed you lied to me, by the way,” Akechi said. “Remember? When I first asked how it was? And you said it was great? Spineless coward.”

Akira shrugged, sipping at his coffee. His face pinched a little at the bitterness of it. Akechi’s messed up the flavor before, and his taste buds are still too refined to overlook it. Still, he offers Akechi an easy grin.

“It’s great. Delicious. I love it.”

“I hate you.”

He can’t help but laugh, especially at how Akechi’s cheeks were steaming red. When Akechi sat in the chair across from him, it was with enough force to cause the table to rattle. The coffee spilled a little onto his lap. It definitely burned through his pants. And Akira kept smiling at him stupidly.

“Your service skills are slipping,” he pointed out. “At this rate, you’re going to get fired.”

“This place is going out of business,” Akechi retorted. “As you no doubt noticed, it doesn’t exactly compare to LeBlanc.”

“I mean, few places do.” Akira shrugged again. “But, I mean, that’s still a shame to hear. I’ll miss ordering from you.”

Akechi’s eyes rolled irritably.

“I’m sure. You definitely weren’t coming here for the food.”

“It wasn’t bad. Do give the owner my regards.”

“I’ll be sure.” Akechi waved his hand. “Considering you were one of the very few regulars, it’ll be appreciated. Although you were also just one of many shallow idiots who only stopped by because you saw a pretty face.”

“You are pretty,” Akira hummed, almost admiringly. Akechi scowled at him.

“Well, great news. I have other jobs you can harass me at. I’ll have to get another to replace this one soon. Bills have to be paid, after all.” Akechi sighed. “And the living expenses just keep building. Just last week, my bathtub broke. Quite the fall from grace, wouldn’t you say?”

“Cheers to adulthood,” Akira chirped, lifting his cup. “You should see my student debt. So many zeroes it could make an old man cry.”

Even now, he got a little weepy remembering. And of course, Akechi giggled at the idea of him in pain. Adorably, at that.

He wanted it to last. He desperately wanted that more than he wanted a lot of things. Of course, Akechi’s smile drops as easily as it comes.

“So,” Akira can only say. “How much do you remember now?”

“Enough.” With a rather cold expression, Akechi pinched at his fringe. “It’s gross, remembering. Like wiggling your way into a second skin. It’s also not fun waking up from the nightmares. The worst part is that there are still things missing. I don’t know what they are and I dread finding out, but I can tell they’re there. Like...there’s some old bastard I’m supposed to hate with every fiber of my being, right? Even more than I hate you.”

“Yeah.” Akira nodded. “There was.”

“Oh yeah, you and your little posse were in the business of mind control, right?” Akechi asks almost saccharinely. “I remember snippets of that. But I feel like it’s still far beyond my current understanding.”

“I mean, it's complicated,” Akira mutters into his coffee helplessly. “It’d take a while to explain, but it’s impossible these days. For what it’s worth.”

“Mmhm.” Akechi’s gaze was lidded. “Whatever those means were, I did terrible things through them, too.”

Akechi didn’t wear gloves anymore. It’s not the first time this has struck Akira as odd. But he does cast a glance at the other’s fingernails, noting how he had a tendency to pick at them. When he takes and squeezes Akechi’s hand, his first thought is marveling at how cold the skin is.

Akechi’s expression is a complicated one. His eyebrows are knitted, his face pinched like he’s anxious. Akira’s thumb running over his knuckles only causes his brow to furrow more and get his face that much closer to distorting. It’s nothing like in dreams or romantic fantasies, to be sure, but that Akechi has yet to stab his hand with a fork is progress.

“You still haven’t told me where else you work so that I can check up on you,” Akira said. “Will you keep your hair tied up?”

“Yes, but because of the wind not because of you.”

“Ooh, outdoor labor.” Akira crooned. “Will I get to see you lift?”

“I direct traffic, dumbass.”

“Oh, that’s actually terrifying. Too much power.”

Akechi snorted before slipping his hand out of Akira’s grip. Akira lets him, although his eyebrow waggles.

“One sec. The food should be ready.”

Akechi does wipe his hands off before going on his way. Perhaps out of spite. Perhaps out of habit. Maybe he actually was self-conscious about it. If he brought it up, he’d just get shut down so he was stuck pondering. There were many things he could only wonder about these days.

Like what he was doing right now, exactly? What was he hoping to accomplish? With Akechi mostly revived and his memories mostly restored, what was supposed to happen between them next?

“Our relationship is purely about equal terms.”

There was no reason to fight anymore. There was also no reason to see each other. And yet, the idea of just letting Akechi go and turning his back like none of it ever really mattered as if their interactions had only ever been out of necessity...and maybe some of them were. Maybe there were utilitarian exchanges between billiards and coffee.

If he really believed that, he wouldn’t have approached Akechi again in the first place. The sentiment of closure only held so much weight when it came to the messy relationships between messy human beings.

“If we had only met a few years earlier.”

Someday, it’ll be a few years later.

“Eat up,” Akechi announced, setting the plate before him. “Also, hurry. You’re the last customer for today and closing hours are coming up.” Akechi checks his watch. Akira notices that it’s pretty cheap. That the face is cracked. “I have another shift after this.”

“Can I come?”

“Only if you can keep up with a bike.”

“I definitely can.”

Akechi gives him a look but the corner of his lips twist the slightest bit upward. With a faded smile, Akechi taps his broken watch. Akira takes his first bite.

The curry was pretty unremarkable as always, but there was still that bit of spice he liked. There was nostalgia to this moment that helped sweeten the deal. It was overall pleasant, even if it, of course, wasn’t going to last. Still.

“It’s quite the run,” Akechi was muttering into his palm, looking away with a light pink dusting his cheeks. “There’s room on the bike. Just this once.”

He had a good feeling about the future.

#shuake #akeshu #goro akechi #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #Magi fics #I hope friendly friend likes it #I'm trying to write more non-dr stuff this month #lemme know if I'm doing this well #There's half a second referencing royal but it's not a spoiler #also yes I very much could've fleshed out this au #maybe I will #MAYBE #I'd have to actually ask friendly friend for advice though #or actually get through the game...and I'd prefer to wait for royal's eng release...#yeah

47 notes · View notes

badlydrawndrawnings · 5 years

Text

I feel like I figured Persona 5 Scramble out on a tiny level

And be warn, there will be Royal spoilers, (major and endgame spoilers) under the cut.

Atlus says that Persona 5 Scramble the Phantom Strikers is canon to the original Persona 5 based game.

We know it takes place after the ending (lol), since Makoto and Haru are in university (they’re probably the closest -unless it’s confirm otherwise if P3 and P4 cast shows up via DLC or not- we’ll get to Persona User as adults).

And Persona Central, thank goodness, has information about a few of the new characters like Sophia (aka, Sophie, which is her codename) who serves a similar role to Jose in Persona 5 Royal and the Shido-Clone Hasegawa Zenkichi, who is a detective chasing after the PT (no doubt for their crimes of the last year and successfully playing the two men tailing them in the ending).

Rewatching the first PV now with more context of him, I personally have doubts if he has access to the Metaverse/Other World. However, it does appears we are having adult villains, via that Shadow of a that pink haired woman (unless she’s some sort of supernatural being akin to Sophia, I’m assuming it’s a Shadow Self of someone we have yet know of). So I’m gonna assume -until it’s confirm otherwise- that Hasegawa has access too.

Now, I have no freaking clue if we should consider Hasegawa a full out villain akin to the Palace Owners just yet. His appearance in the first PV makes him look like the main bad guy, but for all we know, he’s just a harmless as he can be adult antagonist for most of the game with a big beef with the PT.

With all the info lay out, I feel like I figured out Persona 5 Scramble out on a tiny level.

Big Spoiler One: Takuto Maruki is the final boss of Royal’s Third Semester. He’s more of an antagonist bordering the line of anti villain (I refuse to say he’s a villain or even anti villain antagonist), wanting everyone’s wishes to come true so they can avoid heartbreak and pain and have happiness. He is a Persona User who after the defeat of Yabadabadoo by the PT, his Persona Powers are in some ways, hijack by the leftover remains of a God (due to the Pt subconsciously giving him said leftover) and is able to create his dream world and want to make the new reality.

Big Spoiler Two: Takuto’s used his powers on Kasumi Yoshizawa...or rather, Sumire Yoshizawa. The real Kasumi has been dead since pre-Persona 5 Royal, and Sumire out of grief and depression at the lost of her sister, ‘asks’ (it’s...complicated) Takuto to make her become Kasumi, and he did. By the end of Royal, Sumire is back to being Sumire and is like, leaving Tokyo.

Big Spoiler Three: While the two above apparently need to have their Co-Op/Confidant max out (or up to a certain point with Yoshizawa), Third Semester can only be triggered by Goro Akechi death in his Co-Op/Confidant (I have no idea if the player who doesn’t start it gets the original Automatic, since they are still in-game). So by doing it manually, Joker has the wish to see him again, if you chose to forget him, apparently you are lock out of the Third Semester If you pick the option of seeing him again/his promise, when the canon 12/24 date rolls around, Goro Akechi is actually alive, and takes Joker’s place.

But that’s not the spoiler. The spoiler is that, according to Takuto, Goro was killed after all in Shido’s Palace, and that we are fighting alongside Dream!Goro. Trying to steal Takuto’s heart will result in Goro ‘dying’ again. And doing results in Takuto’s dream world to disappearing, with Royal retcon back to the original based Persona 5 game. However, if you max out Goro’s Co-Op/Confidant, Goro will be seen (granted face block by a window glare) with two men (who faces are also block by the window glare). Only the player sees it though.

[UPDATE/Correction (?): apparently some people say that the choice of Joker seeing him again does not factor into Third Semester; it factors if Goro shows up in the final cut scene with his block out face]

Because of the biggest retcon Atlus could spit into the face of the player, Scramble, while technically a sequel to the based original game, can also a potential sequel to Royal if Atlus plays their cards right and reveal it in-game.

Because of the Kasumi-Sumire spoiler, Scramble can take place in original based game because she doesn’t exist. Or, it’s because she is actually not with them due to gymnastics duties and will be a future DLC/Big Spoiler Player (because Atlus does not want to reveal the Kasumi-Sumire Spoilers just yet without shooting themselves in the foot). This same logic can apply to Takuto (just minus the gymnastics).

But unlike Kasumi-Sumire and Takuto, because of Goro’s MIA fate is in the original based game and Royal, Atlus can easily, without any fear of Royal Spoilers, can pull a Princess Bride for Goro. Atlus can go ‘oh Goro is only mostly dead’, being stuck in some deep coma until March or something, and is held by (and/or force to work with) some people. Like maybe Hasegawa and his people. After all, if the man does have access to the Meatverse/Other World, you got to wonder how he got it in the first place? Clearly, he needs a phone, and it looks like Hasegawa isn’t a Persona User (and I really doubt Atlus wants to introduce another Adult Persona User so soon after Takuto, though I can be proven wrong).

#persona 5 scramble #the phantom strikers #persona 5 #goro akechi #p5r spoilers #persona 5 royal spoilers #persona 5 the royal spoilers #goro the only character i can tag without raising too much suspicions lol #hasegawa zenkichi #just needing to prepare his tag #just in case #weird edit correction inside

6 notes · View notes

majirocksoff · 5 years

Link

Majima breaks Kiryu out of prison; now with alt backstories. Majima x Kiryu / Kiryu x Nishiki (implied) Takes place during Y1. (Longfic, 70k words+)

His name is One-Thousand-And-Five.

Yesterday he was someone else, had been given, with the manners of a machine and the politeness of policy, the name, Mr. One-Thousand-And-Six.

Tomorrow he will be someone else again, at the ringing of the perfunctory bell that divorces one day from another: Mr. One-Thousand-And-Four.

In between the going-aways and the coming-tos, he collects names like dust. He goes to the chow hall, and he becomes Wait Your Turn; in going to the yard he becomes Thirty Minutes More. At the shower he gains a uniquely ephemeral identity: Batch-Two-Quickly-Now. He goes in, let the water scald off his skin, be reborn in water burning so hot it strips him red. Coming out shiny like a cooked lobster, he can wear a new identity for the rest of the night: The Dogshit of Dojima.

— —

In his prison cell he is nothing, his action is waiting.

Waiting is not inaction, this is the second thing you learn in prison.

Before prison you have assumptions, and the assumption is that waiting is just something that happens while the rest of your life is unraveling, becoming, acquainting itself to happenstance; fusing itself, in chemical reaction to coincidence, so that events may soon happen. You are always about to do something while you are waiting: buy groceries, run errands, break someone’s neck. Waiting is anticipation, a pre-meditated murder of time.

You were wrong, you know that now. Waiting is action, this is what you learn in prison.

It is an action that must be actively done. You fold yourself as small as possible into diamond-shaped patterns in the privacy of your cell (waiting is not done in public, it is sacred). You may sit cross-legged or seiza, stand on ceremony or leaning coolly, curled up in your bed with an arm tucked behind your head. Sucking your thumb, if you must.

Your exterior does not matter when you’re waiting, what matters is your interior, which must be shrunk. You shrink yourself inside, small-small as possible, until you can be turned around and poured out, and out-plop comes your soul and it won’t fill even a leaky thimble. You do this by stripping identities out of yourself.

Once upon a time you might have wanted to be great, for example, to follow in the footsteps of Kazama-san, to trace yourself in his shadow.

You take this desire and you erase it, line by line from the top, beginning first from the greatest concept then extending to everything else. You first forget the sentence whole; then you dismiss in inches and angry nights everything else: Kazama-san, the concept of greatness, the idea of footsteps, the desire of wanting, an entity of ‘you’, the stretching of time, once of the past, until at last you can be left alone with nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Then you wait.

— —

The first thing you learn in prison, is that you have no identity.

You’re given an ID the moment you step in, and you think philosophical thoughts: ah, is this what I shall be? You were wrong, of course, because a series of number is an identity, and that identity is more solid than what you’ll eventually end up with.

Your identity becomes the days you have left, because 8-1-5-7-6 rankles your ears and bedevils your patience. At roll call, they put existential fear into you: will you be here for eighty thousand days, each by minutes longer than the last? You cannot. You fear. Your soul trembles and weep. You cast it off and take a new name: Mr. Three-thousand-six-hundred, all ten years to be waited tattooed on you; it is a long time but it can be waited. In contrast eighty thousand is forever.

When you take on the others it becomes easier; take them on in the secret corners of the prison where lips can split, skulls can break, nails torn one by one out of grasping flesh. There are many corners where the guards don’t see, willfully blind, and here you can be beaten by anyone: your seniors, your juniors, your hitmen, your old friends, your new enemies. Gradually in blood you extract from them new names:

The Dogshit of Dojima, that fucking backstabbing cunt, the lil Tojo shit, why ya staring, asswankcuntsucker, goddamned cocksucker, oi fuck off, are-ya-happy-now-ya-murdering-cunt, and so on.

They’re fine names; at least they don’t have numbers.

— —

The man with the one eye comes and instantly breaks every rule. He is an earthquake: in his presence you must obey new rules, run for high ground, cower in clear spaces.

He comes, swinging his hips like a new officer, twirling his hands holding an invisible bat, eating with his lips a pop song five years too new for you. He peels back the skin of the cell the moment he arrives. He overturns containers. He looks into the toilet, opens up the flusher, cracks open the sink to examine the deep sadness of the hole in the middle. He takes out his sheets, folds it messily so that he can lay in it like a well fucked boy.

All this you see, his cell is right opposite yours.

“Yo,” He says. He puts his legs up in a cross, carefully, making space for the steel tips he must have worn once. He straightens the eyepatch he was allowed (they had tried taking it from him, but realized too late it was too much a part of him, it would have killed him).

“What’s yer name?”

You are surprised. It is a terrible question, a faux pas, an abhorrent question never asked in prison. How could he, how dare he?

A name? He wants a name? But you don’t have a name, you’re a condemned spirit. You’ve worked hard to get this far. The Japanese dream: work so hard you don’t know who you are. Once you had a name, and it’d laid discarded in a laundry pile. You wait for him to understand how rude he’s been and go away.

“Oi ya deaf? Ya want me to go over there and beat it out of ya?”

There’s three feet of corridor and two sets of bars separating you, and you see that he means it.

You lick your cracked, chapped lips, tried hard to recall…

“My… Name?”

“Just my luck,” He swore. “I’m roomed with a fuckin’ idiot. Your name! Your name! Are ya daft?”

He needs to be patient. Names are the first thing to go, and the last thing to be replaced. He doesn’t know what he’s asking, demanding a name. Oh, the weeks to come, wracked in the throes of identity. Does he not know? Does he not care, how much this hurt, to recall a name?

Reluctantly, slowly (time itself is slow here) it is said.

“My name is… Kazuma. Kiryu. Kazuma, Kiryu, Kazuma. Yes, that’s my name.”

Oh, he says, mouth perfect on an O. The Dragon of Dojima? That Kazuma-fucking-Kiryu? That you? The Dragon of Dojima? The fucking Dragon of Dojima?

“Hell yeah! Always wanted to fight me a dragon! Sit tight in that cell, dragonshit, because I’m comin’ for ya Kiryu-chan!”

— —

Majima Goro was introduced to him in bits of nerve, bones, and tissues.

Kiryu goes as far away from him as he can. Now that he has identity it is not so easy to walk the hallways of the prison; it clings to him like bits of plastic wrap, tight and suffocating, each piece determined to make themselves be remembered. Every nook and cranny and day and night that once he’d lived as a young man of Kamurocho, clamored to be the one to dice his anonymity to pieces. He will not be forgotten, he cannot forget, not if they have any say about it.

In the manner of Majima’s walking and the dance of his fingers on the cutlery he sees the glittering manner of a younger Kamurocho, a visitor, a stranger, here to tell him: time has passed, but not enough time yet so that you can see it firsthand. Time is here to visit. The outside world has been let in, poured angry but fearsome into his cells.

The rattling of Majima’s bars replaces his roll call, his silent private mornings.

“Hey,” He screams (he is always screaming, he has no other verb). “Hey Kiryu-chan! Wake up, I’m bored!”

At night he rattles them like chains, screaming again: “Tell me a bedtime story, Kiryu-chan! Hey? Ya ignorin’ me? I can’t sleep, why don’t ya stay awake too? We could play imaginary shogi, how 'bout that?”

He is gyoku; the king that has come to sweep all of Kiryu’s neat, patiently-allocated time away and replaced it with himself, loud and trying, rolling over all the hallways into the secret corners where he is allowed to beat up Kiryu.

The first time he does this he shatters bone, broke clean through in one piercing fist Kiryu’s entire cheekbone, part of his jaw. Lovingly Majima brought him to the sink and tended his wounds; he tended him five times, smashing Kiryu up-down-up-down onto the metal until it shatters Kiryu’s nerves, it was so loud, and the metal had caught him in the ear. Majima left him tended, tender, tenderized, lying in a pool of blood leaving him rapidly for the freedom of the drains. The water, slow and warm now, cascading over him, lights bright and disorienting, the smell of soap mixed with the secrets of prison bathrooms.

He is made to realize he is fuhyo; a low mere degraded pawn. Like a pawn he could only move forwards, could not retreat, could then only be pushed into Majima’s arms, holding him in a chokehold over metal plates of curry and rice.

“Ya not such hot shit, Dragon of Dojima,” Majima tells him, whispering in his ear. “Ya just plain shit. I’m so disappointed. Ya disappointin’ me here, with your lousy ass performance. Kiryu-chan, ya need to shape up. Ya the best entertainment I’ve got around here and you’re so. goddamned. boring.”

He cracked his neck and laughed the whole time Kiryu goes down.

Once Kiryu remembers, he would have soared with Majima in his clutches and brought him down like thunder, would have stepped on him and never realized it - ah, might have thought, it’s dirtying the soles of my shoe, the little soul of Mad Dog Majima stuck in the rubbery meat he walks on.

“Kiryu-chan!” The hound howls. “Kiryu-Kazuma-chan! Come on, let’s play imaginary shogi! Are ya mad I beat ya? Or are ya mad that I beat ya up? Don’t be such a princess, Kiryu-chan! Let’s play, let’s play, let’s play!”

The hellhound becomes a puppy at night, frolicking in the lonesome cells; his cell bounded by Kiryu’s bounded by others. Only other people don’t matter to him; only strangely, Kiryu mattered to him. Kiryu was fun, Kiryu was gokudo, Kiryu had a past. The others Majima couldn’t wake up, couldn’t ask: who are you? What did you do to end up here? They can’t answer him, all of them mute and anonymous, because most of them have worked hard to forget, and unlike Kiryu could not be brought back.

With their sad sunken eyes and closed eyelids they watch Kiryu and Majima play imaginary shogi; kei-ma leapt over kin over gin, pushing aside hisha, storming onto kaku. Who are you, Kiryu whispers one night in bravado. He pressed his head back against the cell bars, sitting with his eyes closed to better remember the shogi board. Hands folded loosely across his lap, moving invisible pieces around.

I am Kei-ma, Majima whispered. Kiryu collects this identity, examine it in the moonlight, thinks fragmented thoughts –

“Are ya an idiot, Kiryu-chan? It just looks like my name - it’s a joke! Ya stupid ass thinking it means anything?”

He grinned, laughing so hard he overturns their imaginary board; neither can remember now which pieces were where. “This prison getting to ya, you’re a goddamned old fuck now.”

— —

Trapped now in the machine of his identity, Kiryu loses his numbers. He realized this one day when he had to go down to the office, to ask with form in hand exactly how many days he had to wait; the answer came back and surprised him, he is holding less numbers than he thought he had. They had slipped through his fingers and rolled into forgotten corners when he wasn’t watching.

He is now Mr. Nine-Hundred-and-Fifty, a whole month having passed him in scorn. Those numbered days he could no longer wear; Majima had forced his identity back onto him and they won’t go on now, came on like a loose coat, baggy in the elbows. He can no longer wait, at least wait the way he used to. There is no patience to be had, with Majima strolling bored and callous into his privacy, intruding with answers, leaving with questions.

Why are you here, Majima-san, he asked - desperate to give Majima more form, more identity, to know more so that he can become less to Kiryu.

What crime did you commit? Who did you kill? How did you live?

“Wouldn’t ya like to know, Kiryu-chan? I’m bored, bored, so maybe I’ll tell ya - but ya have to beat me first.”

They dance in the yard. They have exactly six minutes before the officers come with batons and extra days, so they must be quick, trading fists until their faces are bloated with blood and torn epidermis; Kiryu dancing better now but still far from a match to Majima, so that Majima danced with him only because he had no better partners. A fallen dragon made of shit was still better than just plain shit. Majima pivots on the officer, says: it’s me, I started this.

An act of generosity. It surprises Kiryu, he doesn’t know what to say, Majima taking this sin into the confession of his records.

“I ain’t plannin’ ta stay here twenty-five years, so what’s a few months that I won’t be around for?” He bared nasty teeth at Kiryu. “I ain’t like ya. I ain’t the wallowing sort. I’ll be out before six months is up.”

Oh, Kiryu said. Glad but sad, sad and glad. He is relieved that Majima in leaving will restore him to his formless mass again; bittersweet that he loses such a strict mold. Kiryu Kazuma Kazama Nishikiyama Dojima. Things he can’t forget as long as Majima is around, rooting him, anchoring him without his permission and against his wants.

“Whoooo—”

— —

The days are slipping away so fast now that he has to seize it with both hands clenched so tight his knuckles go white. Stay, he commanded. Stay. Seizing his miserable days in his hands, he watched Majima prepare for flight. By inches and minutes and lost seconds he withdraws from Kiryu, become more and more likely to disappear during yard time and bath time and free time, to meet with associates strange and shapeless huddling in the other yard.

Lined up against theirs but separated by a fence is the small-timers, the low-hitters, the off-ballers, little people who won’t be doing more than six months in the most deprived luxuries, off-site beside them, counting less than one-hundred-eighty-days.

It is these people that Majima meets, forehead-to-forehead like lovers, whispering convoluted plans calculated like algebra. When they hide, when they bother to hide, Majima scratches at the fence with loose-tipped fingers, plucking the fence like a guitar, plucking tunes at his associates until they come: unwilling but bowed by Majima’s boys who’d sequestered themselves in the smaller prison.

Where is — He demanded.

What is —

How shall —

How does the flight mechanism work? How does Kiryu find out? He finds out in nerves; Majima sometimes, sidling up to him, having the nerve to ask: I have a question. Where is the control room for —

Kiryu frowning, turning away, saying go, go I don’t know, don’t trouble me, I’ve never seen, I couldn’t possibly know, I never meant to go, never meant to leave, this prison is for me, nine-hundred-days only left to be. Majima beating him with his fists until he lay shivering and nurturing wounds on the ground, beating his identity into him.

Tell me what you see, Majima demanded.

“Kiryu-chan, don’t ya lie to me. I’ve been watchin’ ya watchin’ and ya know it. Ya just don’t know that you know it. Well, that’s what I’m for. I’m going to beat your piece of shit memory into your head.” He seized Kiryu by the collar, lift him up so that he could be closer to the sun, shaking him over and over again.

“Tell me! Where is it? You know where it is!”

Come, Kiryu told him, spitting out blood. Led him to the dark places in the prison where things can be seen, push him into corners angled right, take him away from plans angled wrong. You’re not doing this right, he told Majima. This control room is patrolled all the time, six-at-a-go, it’s a no-go, a no-show, what you want, really want, is this other place. You won’t know it unless you’ve been like me; a man without identity, they don’t let anyone see if they’ve got eyes. The crow-pig comes and pluck out your eye, one on each side, if they see you waiting to watch.

“I get it,” Majima said. “Thanks.”

More, “Hey, ya wanna come with—”

No, he said, he only had nine hundred more to go, it didn’t mean anything to him. All he wants is for Majima to leave, and quickly - so that he can once more be subsumed by anonymity.

— —

In bits and pieces he watch Majima assembled his plan; in his patience Kiryu had learned to see everything, and in so seeing saw that his plan would work before Majima himself knows it. Majima shrunk and wrapped himself in ignorance until the plan itself is executed. He goes with the flow, himself. Doesn’t need to have foresight. He’ll work it until it works, even if he fails this time. They waited calm and nerveless in their cells for the escape that will come soon.

“It’ll work,” Kiryu told him sleepily. Tomorrow, he’s thinking. This will be their last game of imaginary shogi, so he slipped: slipped the golden knife in and ate Majima’s king whole.

“Damn, ya good, Kiryu-chan. Ya totally wreck me this time.”

“Thank you for teaching me how to play.”

“Teach ya? Kiryu-chan, ya always knew how to play. Don’t ya know? Don’t ya remember? You could do anything you wanted - that’s why you were the dragon. All I did was make ya remember.”

Oh, he doesn’t remember anymore; all he’d wanted to was forget. Tomorrow when Majima is gone, he’ll go back to forgetting again. Reverse-engineering an onion, putting back layer by layer his thin skin to cover the sound of the silence inside. Eight-hundred-something more days to be lived. The days had leapt from his hands but he’ll have them back under rein again. When Majima is unleashed.

“Good luck, Majima-san,” He said.

“Thanks, Kiryu-chan. Couldn’t have done this without ya,” Majima said.

— —

He comes awake, frightened by the silence.

Kiryu sat in the dark and listened: there were no sounds. Not just the greater sounds of the outside world: cameras that had stopped working, alarms silenced and napping, doors grinding to a halt in mid-air. There is silence in him everywhere that frightens him - he can no longer hear the sound of forgetfulness, he’s forgotten how to forget…

A knife pressed itself tightly to his jugular, nicked him not because it’d miscalculated. Its owner was just sadistic, wanted him to bleed, wanted to see the sheen of a dragon’s blood.

“Kiryu-chan.” whispered Majima. “Ya coming with me.”

“No,” He gasped. “No.” He wanted to stay, was terrified by the outer world.

“I ain’t givin’ ya a choice. Ya coming with me, whether ya like it or no. Ya my present to that fucking Nishikiyama cunt.”

He pushed his knife in. Hissed orders at Kiryu until reluctantly, Kiryu unfolded himself and groped with seeking hands in the darkness. At length he found the thread of the plan, and began to follow it as it unraveled in the darkness of the prison, its silvery length glowing with hope. They walked down the halls quiet and empty illuminated by the shining spool. Somewhere somehow Majima had secreted all the officers away.

The inmates lined row by row in their rat-holes to watch them, trapped in their cell that wouldn’t open. When they realized what had happened, they howled like hell itself - unfair! unfair! unfair! - and hands scratched, brushed, rend at them from all sides. The inmates will drag them down to the pits if they could only reach…

Outside.

Air the same but different; they’re on the other side of the fence now. There is a motorcycle waiting, a snakeskin jacket, a small tanto and a helmet. A set of clothes prepared by someone who thought Kiryu was as big as he’d seen Kiryu last. Untrue, he has shrunk now, made skinny by the weak broth of prison.

“Put on the helmet,” Majima said. There was only one.

“Don’t you—”

“I can’t fuckin’ see with a black glass on, asshole. Vision strictly 10/20. 'sides,” He smiles. “That skull of yours worth ten of mine, isn’t it?”

Kiryu knew nothing; there was too much not being said. He climbed onto the motorcycle, clamped loose hands around Majima’s middle, and then they flew, across snowy landscapes into the cold and a freedom he never wanted but had received.

#kazumaji #majima #majima goro #yakuza #fanfic #ryu ga gotoku #kiryu kaz

7 notes · View notes

r95irth · 6 years

Text

me : hey, we could draw the next part of the doodles-comics tonight !

Brain : no, I drew and animated all day at work I don’t wanna.

me : Okay...then, what about writing the next part of our current fic ?

Brain : it implies being sit in front of computer right ? Our back hurt for month, I just want to lie down.

me : okay then video games in bed ?

Brain : Yeah.

*ends up writing a whole scene that has nothing to do with anything and spends two hours sitting with her back hurting*

me : WHY ???

brain : I DOn’T KnOW JuST DO As I SAY !

So here; gift.

“As you all know, heroes business is oversaturated. There are too many heroes on the market and it’s hard to make your own name. Now that the policy of the hero business is team work, since the fall of All might, this is even truer than before. You might all hope to become the next Deku, but there a thousand who dreams like you, and only one get the spot.”

Well, thought Satoru ; that was harsh. True, yes, but still. It wasn’t because it was the truth that it was worth saying ; especially to a bunch of teenagers who were currently studying in hero course. But he supposed that this “teacher” was somewhat special. She wasn’t even a teacher, just a ex-hero that UA invited to help supervise on the mental health of it students on regular basis apparently. If someone asked Satoru about it, he would say she did a terrible job.

Peacemaker, as it was her ex-hero name, and the only name that most of the student could pronounce right, looked as f she had just came out from the hospital, with the right part of her face paralyzed. Her face was awfully scared, and she was missing half of her right ear, and scalp, and missing her right leg. She introduced herself, days ago, by saying “this is what happen when you go fight alone against a bunch of villains and you loose”. The dark tone of her lessons was already here. But there was always a moral, a point, behind each one of his session. So Satoru waited for this one.

“What i mean by that, resumed Peacemakers, as she used her cane to support her body’s weight, is that it’s really hard for new heroes to distinguish themselves. You need to have something special to really stand out and succeed.”

Most of the students in class nodded as she gave them a printed piece of paper. Well except Lazare, who sneezed right into it and looked with pure disgust as he saw the mess he had made.

“What makes you special can be your talent, your quirk, or your looks, let’s be honest here, explained Peacemaker with a sigh, as she handled him a new piece of paper. -But, if i were you, i would rather bet on more...easier to control, particularity. Anyone has any idea of what i’m talking about ?”

“A special move ! Immediately stated Yosuke, proudly. -Like Satoru’s “All is one” move !”

Satoru blushed at the mention of his name, and even more when he heard the “name” that his classmates gave to his special move. It sounded like All might and Izuku’s quirk ; even if they didn't’ know, he did, and so all of his parent’s friends. It was awfully pretentious to even think he could come close to their level !

Though, Peacemakers didn’t seem to be chocked by that and simply half smiled.

“This is indeed a way, but you will, luckily, all get to develop your own special move during the three years you will spend in UA. As you will develop your quirk. So you will all be at the same “virtual” level once you graduate. So. How will you stand out among your peers ?”

Silence followed, as students looked at each other puzzled. Satoru frowned, trying to find the solution, but, sincerely, he had no clue at all. What made a hero popular ? Surely, looks and charisma. But that was not always true. All might wasn’t that good looking, neither was Izuku. Yet they all rose above the rest and earned the number one spot rank. Power ? Surely, but lot of heroes had quirk that were just more...not powerful but showy, than their. Yet they were outshined by such a simple power as “super strength”. Not that Izuku’s power was lame -Satoru would dream to have something close to that- but it was certainly not original nor flashy. It was the way they used it that-

Oh.

“How your use your power ?” He said to Peacemaker.

The ex-hero stopped, and stared a moment at Satoru, before nodding with her half-smile:

“Close call, but no.”

Well. he tried. Some whispers behind his back made him realize that every one of his classmates were counting on him to find the answer for them, and that they just gave up. So did Peacemaker, probably; because she explained :

“It is principles. A line of work : a sense of purpose, call it as you want it. Whatever floats your boat. And this is what i want you to think about for next lesson. You will write down an short essay on what kind of hero you want to be in the future.”

She pointed the piece of paper she handled, on which there were only a couple of questions like “how do you want to be viewed ?” ; “do you have a motto ?” and such. probably to help student figures out the image they wanted to build.

It didn’t.

***

“What kind of hero i want to be?”

The question kept coming back and forth as he stared at the plain ceiling of his room. The deadline was coming closer and closer and Satoru was still unsure of himself. He asked his dad and mom about it, through phone call...but their answer didn’t help much, well...Mainly because it sounded :

“I wanted to be hero worth of respect, unlike my father at the time” or “I wanted to unite heroes under one flag so that our peace symbol would never crumble again”. Outdated, great, admirable...There were many way to call those reasons, but Satoru couldn’t say it was his own.

Why was he even in the hero course? He thought immediately, as doubt made his way to his brain. Immediately, he answered : “To become the greatest duo of hero with Mahô” but again, it sounded fake. It wasn’t his reason, it was their. And Mahô wanted to be a hero for a whole different reason on her own.

“I want to be a hero that makes miracles ! One hero that, when you see them enter the fight, you expect them to turn the tide, one that make you want to get up and fight again because you know you can do it if they are here !”

Which was very Mahô’s. And also very brave and cool, he wished he could have thought of that before. She could probably do it, unlike him. When he was beside her, he certainly felt that way, and sometimes, when they fought together during Kirishima’s duel club, he certainly felt like he was doing miracle with her. Heck, she even managed to make Endeavor see her as a serious opponent in their fight during the festival ! If someone could achieve this, it was probably Mahô. But not Satoru.

But again, was it the kind of hero he wanted to be?

“URGH ! THIS IS SO COMPLICATED!” He screamed into his pillow.

He decided to stop complaining without any chance to get over it, and left the bed. Surely, someone would be willing to help at the common area. After all they needed to return the paper for tomorrow first hour.

Satoru didn’t expect to find half of his class B...and half ot class A, stucked and stressed together, screaming about that damn essay.

“She said Short essay, but what is short exactly ? was panicking Kahei, writing frantically.

-I don’t know, i would say, one page ? Answered Kino with the face of someone who hadn’t sleep for days.

-I know, what about you use your power to turn into the me of ten years in the future, so he can say to me what’s his motive, suddenly asked Arya.

-For the last time Arya ; that’s not how my power work, i’m still me when i turn into your future version!

-Yes but then you have dreams about the future, right?

-And in the extreme case you’re lucky i dream about this subject specifically, when do you find the time to write your essay ? While we eat breakfast tomorrow?”

Arya groaned as her head hit the table, drawn back to reality.

“So many people are clueless about it?”

This realization made him feel a little bit better, but he definitely pushed aside this selfish satisfaction : he shouldn't be happy about his classmates’s troubles. (But he kind did anyways). Instead of taking a seat in the middle of the storm, he sat in the couch, where people watched the mess from distance. Tsubaki, his friend, was among them.

“You already did the essay ? What did you write?”

Silently -as always- His friend pulled out of his pocket a folded piece of paper. All Satoru could read on it was: “I want to be a silent hero”.

Well. That was short. He sure hoped for Tsubaki’s sake that it would not be graded.

“I wrote that i wanted to be a hero my little brother would be proud to call his brother, i hope it’s okay, it sound a bit lame…” Added Goro, suddenly appearing behind Satoru’s back.

His heart leaped in his chest. Dang. He wished the boy could stop doing that. But unfortunately he seemed quite good at appearing out of nowhere ; despite the fact that it was Kyouji who had the astral projection / ghostly quirk, not the bunny boy !

“I don’t think so, th-that’s cute of you...It sounds like my papa’s reason to be a hero...” He explained, as he looked away, feeling his blush reaching his ears.

Goro grinned. And gods, what his smile made to Satoru’s heart, that was embarrassing. He tried to think of something else, in vain.

“Thanks Satoru it’s nice to cheer me up, but it lacks a bit, you know...mondial feel to it, right ?”

Among the working student, Max suddenly stood up, screamed, spilling wax all over, and his fire growing dangerously. Then he sat back silent as if nothing happened.

“This is scary, simply stated Goro.

-Don’t talk about world around Max...His mother is a diplomat, she kinda put pressure on him about how the world will interpret their every move. It’s like a trigger word for him, Satoru explained.

-This is scary, repeated Goro.”

He couldn’t agree more. Satoru started working, though, as his homework would not be done by itself -unlike mahô’s. Some only had redaction problems related and found it difficult to put into words their ideas, and he helped them a bit. That was simple, easy, he did that a lot when Mahô thought about her next enchantment.

Ume wanted to be a hero that made everyone thinking their worth her time, which was such a wonderful idea. But she had troubles to find the right word and it took them half an hour to write it down.

Takashi, though he had a clear vision of what he wanted to be like, was too eager to put example rather than give a clear statement. In the end, they decided on this : “A model hero ; an example of morality”. Which started an argument between him and his step-sister - and gave a reason to satoru to gently step away.

At one point, he offered his classmates a gigantic brainstorm, hoping it would help everyone who, as him, just didn’t know what to do. It ended up in a mess. When Mahô came back from her special training, at 10:30 PM, they were still on it. And when she returned from her bath, none of them had made any progress.

“Wow guys you’re just too tense, just write whatever comes to your mind, i mean it’s supposed to come from the heart right ?” She said as she took a bit of what was left of the diner.

“You’re right Mahô, you’re totally right! This is so obvious, why didn’t i think of it sooner?”

Yuu stood up, looking dead serious and determined as she took her pencil and brandished it like a sword.

“I’m gonna be a cupidon hero ! The protector of the lovers, the instigator of the greatest love stories ever ! I will make every one and-

-And what you’re gonna make the villains kiss and apologize like children ? Mocked Kahei.”

That didn’t end well; the two girls almost fought right here and now. While Mahô just laughed and said : “Sound cool : i didn’t know you could do that as a hero !” which was, somehow an hasher remark. At least from Satoru’s point of view. Finally, Yuu decided to indeed go for this, adding just a part that sounded like Ume, about giving helping people who felt all alone and unable to love. It might be only a desperate chance because she was tired and done and just wanted to go to bed at this point, but Satoru still found it pretty great. It fit the lovely girl he knew.

The common area was getting lonelier and lonelier, as his classmates found their reason, bullshitted their essay or just simply gave up. And before Satoru knew it, he found himself be almost alone, with only Mahô and a couple of others who were playing video games on the couch. Damn, he wanted to join them and forget this essay : but he couldn’t. His only asset in UA were his grades, he couldn’t afford to get a bad mark.

“I don’t know why it’s so hard for you, don’t you already know what you want to be? asked Mahô, as she enchanted her pencils and papers so it could do her other homework while she slept.”

“I’m not as confident as you, you know…Mahô.

-Well, i will be confident enough for both of us then.

-This isn’t something we can do together. I mean, yeah i want to be a your partner and become the greatest hero duo ever, but myself ? I don’t know. You need two great hero to make a duo, not one and a half !

-Why are you even talking about us? Sure i invited you in my dream when we were kids, but you wanted to be a hero back then, right ?”

Silence. Mahô’s face lost all its color as she looked shocked.

“You didn’t?! Did i force this on you?”

She seemed so lost, Satoru immediately tried to comfort her, and words spurted out of his mouth before he realized :

“No of course not! I wanted to be a hero of course ! But i couldn’t believe someone like me could ever achieve that alone!”

Mahô sighed in relief, and immediatly found back her smile as she whispered :

“Soooo- why did you want to be a hero back then?”

Satoru shut up. He didn’t know how much she manipulated him in order to get this embarrassing confession -and he doubted she even did it on purpose. But yet…Yet it worked.

“I suppose...i wanted to be like Shouto.”

Mahô nodded vigorously.

“Yeah ! We both want to be like our dad, right? That’s a given, they’re so awesome!”

Satoru nodded, another thought running through him. Yes they were : but what made them awesome in their eyes? What made them want to be like them? For once, the answer came easily.

“He picked me up. He gave me a place when i was the world didn’t have one for me.”

He remembered the moment as he sat in the police interrogation room, where Naomasa explained him that Satoru didn’t even exist in regard of the law, because he had no birth certificate. Back then he thought it was stupid : he was there, so how could the world deny even his own existence? Shouto reached for him, and made sure that he saw him and cared. Shouto saved him.

But how many people were like him, back then? Like Big Mother and Death-pair? Thinking that they had no choice but to follow the path in front of them? Thinking that the world didn’t want them? When tomorrow held nothing for you, and you didn’t have even one bit of curiosity or care about what the future could hold. He knew how dreading this feeling could get, how desperate it got, when you wished nothing, hoped for nothing, only surviving, existing but with no purpose. To the point, that one day, you would just wish you could even stop doing that.

Who would save them, then? Shouto couldn’t adopt every lost kid in the world. Neither could he. And some of them were adults already, like big Mother and Death-pair were. He couldn’t give up on them just because they were older, right ? It didn’t sound right or fair. They deserved a place. Everybody deserved one.

He rose his eyes and met Mahô’s, bright and proud, as if she knew that he had found his answer.

One day, they will be a duo. She was sure of that, Satoru still had doubt, but he had decided a long time ago to trust his friend. His confidence wasn’t as reliable as her. But she was also too rash and often forgot details. She liked to go past her limit, and sure she wanted to save people; but she liked fights too much. She would never care about such tiny details as care about her opponent, or people that were not in front of her. That would be Satoru’s job. He would. It would be his role, his place in the duo.

With a bit of a smile, he started to write down the first sentence of his essay :

“I want to be a hero that will save everyone, even villains and people forgotten by society.

5 notes · View notes

kihocrystal · 6 years

Text

Spring 2018 - Final Impressions

Sorry this post is so late (again)! I had a *really* busy July, which really didn’t help at all. But anyway, here’s my thoughts on the shows that I finished this past season! All but one are sequels, though (and the one non-sequel was a carryover from last season)... Don’t worry, I’ll watch stuff like Megalobox and Hinamatsuri eventually! :’D

All “reviews” are listed in alphabetical order!

Amanchu! Advance - 8.0 / 10 (B-)

I liked season 2 as a whole! (Except for one episode / thing…)

QUEERBAITING SUCKS

I dunno if this is the fault of the anime or the source material…

…but this is still the most blatant example I’ve ever watched >_>

episode 11 didn’t need to happen!!! Why couldn’t Kokoro just… be a girl

or y’know, just let Pikari and Teko continue to “love” each other as they have! OTL

maybe why it annoyed me so much is that it’s like… a total bait & switch that went on for 2 SEASONS

to be fair, the reveal kinda went over my head? But when r/anime pointed it out, that’s when the salt began :/

yet the finale still has them blushing over reading thank you notes? It’s like this show wants its cake & eat it too

at the end of the day, the Kokoro stuff just… got in the way of Teko & Pikari’s interactions, platonic or not >_>

Also I’m one of the few people who actually liked the Peter arc

and it gave Ai some spotlight time!!!

it’s nice to have a little story arc to change things up (as opposed to an episodic structure)

(though I understand why many didn’t care for it… it leans a lot more towards supernatural than usual)

IMO they at least gave precedent w/ that one lucid dreaming episode w/ Teko, though

AND THERE’S ACTUAL SCUBA DIVING THIS TIME \o/

the underwater moments can be very magical… definitely the visual highlight

And the cast of characters is still enjoyable to watch too~ (def. a good group dynamic there)

Kokoro is considered a polarizing character for sure

I didn’t mind him that much until, y’know… his gender reveal led to the queer-baiting thing >_>

The finale was really nice though! It had pretty diving scenes and had cute Teko & Pikari moments~

In any case, this is still a very relaxing and heartwarming anime~

It has all the things I enjoyed about S1 here; it’s just the things added on top were a mixed-bag

Cardcaptor Sakura: Clear Card - 8.0 / 10 (B)

EVERYONE IN THIS SHOW IS BEING VAGUE AS SHIT

But at least the mystery is interesting!

It’s just too bad it took like… 20 episodes to start getting any kind of explanation :’)

I actually watched the original series through a r/anime rewatch at the end of last year!

(meaning there wasn’t much time for me going from that series to this sequel)

I enjoyed the callbacks to the original series as well!

(including going from *anime* canon! i.e. the 2nd movie actually being canon)

The visuals look nice! Even though it almost looks a bit… *too* rounded in comparison to the original

I enjoyed watching Sakura capture all the new cards in different ways~

Even though this season was VERY light on plot (mostly), this aspect provided the action~

Also I enjoyed watching the character interactions too ^^

But yeah… the lack of overarching plot development and VAGUENESS kinda holds this season back

that being said, the final episodes set up some potentially interesting developments to come

and the finale itself *definitely* was not a conclusive one, so S2 better be confirmed soon!

Overall, I still enjoyed this continuation for the things it did right! I’ll be looking forward to a S2~

Darling in the FranXX - 8.0 / 10 (B)

Well this is/was a… polarizing show, to say the least.

I enjoyed it overall, but certain things about it hold it back from a higher score for me.

There’s two main elephants in the room with this series, really

#1 is… the heteronormativity

this was basically from the get-go, and in the roots of the story / themes itself

since the themes revolve around male/female partnerships & the importance of that… Yeah

one of the core quotes being “a female and a male aren’t complete w/o the other” …Yeah, again

also the sex-like positions of the “stamen” and “pistil” while piloting also doesn’t help

the workings of this world’s society has hetero relationships as the standard and doesn’t really allow for other options

(i.e. the FranXX piloting, Ikuno’s female attraction not working out in both operating the mech & her feelings for Ichigo, etc.)

at least Ikuno and Ichigo got a scene to talk about their attraction feelings & make up somewhat ^^

plus the Nines are basically gender non-binary but are seen as antagonistic forces for most of the show… Yeah

and just basic hetero things (like sex & pregnancy) were like being attacked in this show (when it’s not in real life???)

there’s an image meme that’s like “no, Prime Minister Abe… this will not get people to have babies” (…agreed :’D)

sure, there are *many* ways you can interpret this show, but the fact that so many people have seen it as such is Not Good

#2 is… the show supposedly “jumping the shark” towards the end

the main culprit of this (for many people) seems to be the “suddenly aliens!” reveal in episode ~20

this didn’t really impact my enjoyment of the show at all, but I definitely understand why people would be disappointed

in a way, it does kinda shift the story away from the themes it was using prior to this…

perhaps the lack of foreshadowing was another reason the shift in plot didn’t go well

plus it tends to directly riff off of certain visual cues from other mecha (like Eva & Gurren Lagaan)

Those two main gripes aside, the directing & visuals in this show were what kept me interested throughout

music choices, visual choices, etc. just really made certain moments better than they probably should’ve been

I enjoyed the characters as a group as well (even if most of them individually weren’t anything to write home about)

Goro’s a good bro, Ichigo went through good development, Kokoro & Mitsuru developed as a good pair…

Futoshi ended up being kind of a fat joke to the end though (& it was interesting that him & Kokoro didn’t end up together)

of course, Zero Two is the one everyone loved (& I liked her & Hiro’s dynamic as well)

sure, some people felt like she had “no personality” after she realized the truth about Hiro, but I didn’t mind the change

Plus I like that this show had a… pretty good ending, actually! (All things considered)

Directing as always was on point, and we got to see everyone’s lives over time (& Hiro + Zero Two eventually re-uniting as kids)

I just wish the main group got to see the two of them again :’)

though I do wish VIRM actually got full-on destroyed instead of a “we might come back” ending :/

and the ending was also kinda like “oh yeah, all the Children sent away didn’t actually die!” ???

This show will likely have a legacy not unlike Guilty Crown going forward, but I thought it ended better than that show, for the record

But yeah, this show is far from perfect and has questionable themes. But I still enjoyed it over all for the things it did well~’

Nanatsu no Taizai S2 - 8.0 / 10 (B-)

Unfortunately, not as good as S1 (but I still enjoyed this season overall)

S1 felt like its own self-contained story, but this season is clearly a “Part 1” for things to come

I wish Diana had more to do this season… she lost her memory early on and STILL doesn’t have it back

she was out of the main conflict (& separated from the group) for most of it :/

she also had these WEIRD ANGLES & POSES all the time… the fan service w/ her was *Really* distracting

the only consolation is that we got to learn some backstory for her & meet her fellow giants

oh well, at least she’s met up with King again and is enjoying his company by the end :)

The Gowther twist is interesting, but the way they revealed it was kinda… underwhelming

plus that *also* hasn’t been resolved yet (like many other things this season)

Some good moments this season were centered around Ban

such as his relationship w/ Jericho, time w/ a resurrected Elaine, and the small arc w/ his foster dad :’)

Also the final Sin got introduced w/ Escanor! PRAISE THE SUN

he’s a fun character; skittish by night and INVINCIBLE by day

The addition of power levels was kinda weird

it wasn’t necessary in S1, so why add it now???

The training arc gave us a full flashback to Melodias’ past w/ losing Liza, which was nice (and sad ;~; )

plus the vs. 10 Commandments fight actually showed Melodias full-on dying? That doesn’t happen much

it was a brutal death too! Hard to watch ;~;

plus they even changed the OP animation to reflect that he died… now that’s commitment

of course he came back later on, but there’s a catch… (since he loses some emotions every time)

There were some good fights, mostly during the “tournament” arc

(especially Melodias vs. all commandments… a sakuga highlight for sure)

The finale had a good stopping point, but it definitely makes clear that the story’s not over

so yeah, unlike season 1, this season *needs* a season 3 to be worth the watch

So yeah, there were some good moments & fights this season, but as a whole, it’s weaker than S1

Shokugeki no Souma S3 (Part 2) - 8.5 / 10 (B+)

I enjoyed this season! Continuing on the darker tone that the first half of S3 set up

This plot line of Central taking over the school is still my favorite plot point thus far, tbh

in other words, shit is finally going down!

…even if many of Central are just mustache-twirling villains :’D

Erina’s gotten great development from this arc too…! She’s not just a typical stuck-up tsundere anymore

her backstory is definitely a harsh one. It was great seeing her gain the courage to stick up to dad!

We also learned more about Souma’s dad! :O

Especially about how he was seen as feared, and the pressure of success got to him :’(

along with how this backstory tied into Asami’s motivations as well

Most of the season was kinda a gauntlet of opponents for the “resistance” to face off against

seeing Akira turn evil (for a bit) was interesting, but it’s a good thing he turned good again~

we oddly haven’t seen a lot of the Elite Ten in cooking action yet???

The final part of the season started off the big Team Shokugeki! …but it only got through the first round

the stakes are definitely high for this one, and also seems like the big conflict of this arc for sure

it’s just, y’know… the season ending in the middle is not a good look, really

at least the ending wasn’t abrupt; it was open-ended but still had a sense of conclusion

All in all, a good second half of season 3 (with some of my favorite plot content thus far!). Keep it up!

#amanchu #amanchu!#amanchu advance #cardcaptor sakura #cardcaptor sakura clear card #darling in the franxx #nanatsu no taizai #the seven deadly sins #shokugeki no soma #food wars #Final Impressions

3 notes · View notes

dissirnulo-blog · 7 years

Note

Hello! I just stumbled on this blog by complete accident, and it's interesting to read your posts about akechi! I'm sorry if this actually comes of rude or ignorant or whatever, but i'm genuinely curious about life in orphanages in japan. Your akechi seems to be awfully not fond of it, and i guess the same with go with canon akechi actually. What are you thoughts?

OH MY GOSH? im really flattered that you found them interesting, and im more flattered that you actually want to hear my thoughts on such a delicate subject. youre not being rude or anything!!

i very well cant give proper opinions on a subject without laying down the facts first, though, and surprisingly, other than passing mentions and links to an article or two, no one really talked about just how awful the system is in japan, and in turn how it affected goro, so let me talk about the system while adding in my own commentary

WARNING: WERE GOING TO SPOILER TOWN HERE.

spoilers and very, very, very, VERY heavy text under the cut. im so sorry mobile users

these are all articles i have bookmarked lolol i suggest yall read them but tldrs aint that bad too

What’s it like to be raised in a Japanese orphanage?

many kids that wind up in orphanages were neglected by their parents or suffered some kind of abuse from their parents. its also not uncommon for parents to leave their kids there simply because theyre too overwhelmed by the job

but even then, some (read: a whole fucking lot) of these parents refuse to let their children be adopted bc of a social stigma involving it. they cant support/cant take care/dont give a fuck for their children but theyre too scared of the shame that comes from getting their kids adopted to let them live in a family that can care for and love them. think about that for a minute.

these kids are sometimes called throw away children by society. goro is a throw away child, you can say.

the kids tend to form a hierarchical society where the oldest or the biggest kid orders all the other kids around. refuse to listen to them, and you get beat up. abuse and bullying is rampant because of this

a child leaves their orphanage at around 15 to 18. once they leave, any kind of support from the government is cut off. gone. nada. youre on your goddamn own.

japan is a country thats held together by connections. you get a job if you have a good network to back up your credibility. basically, without any kind of networks, youre already ruined before you even got outside of that goddamn orphanage you live in

to add: its not uncommon to hear about orphans released from orphanages becoming homeless or unemployed, and without a support network, more often than not they also suffer from mental illnesses such as depression. or theyre also manipulated into committing murder. you know.

im gonna throw my assumption out here that goro most likely was released from whatever orphanage he was in when he was 15. not too long after, he had awaken to his persona, and thats when he approached shido. probably. if that were the case, then it would align with when the mental shutdown cases started: two years before the main game. goro died at 17 years old.

with these facts, we can assume that HE WAS LITERALLY A HOMELESS KID WHEN HE WENT TO SHIDO, AND HE WAS BARELY LEGAL WHEN HE DIED, YOU FUCKING MONKEYS

“When I was growing up in orphanages I sensed the staff was fulfilling their responsibilities but I didn’t feel protected or loved. When I had to leave the orphanage I was all alone. I had no one to turn to.” — Sayuri Watai, 27, founder of a support organization run by and for ‘graduates’ of childhood welfare facilities.

Japan: Children in Institutions Denied Family Life

basically, the foster care system and the alternative care system (aka orphanages) in japan are a fucking trainwreck, but thats the whole point of this post, so its not that surprising.

orphanages are just really fucking bad, theres not enough space, bad facilities, abuses from both staff and fellow children, that kind of shit

its also mentioned here how those who leave the orphanages have no support to help them ease back into society and again brings up the importance of having connections in japan

adoption is rare. by 2011, only 303 kids (out of like, roughly, 30,000) were formally adopted out of the alternative care system. more on Why later

childrens’ best interests are often set aside in favour of letting the parents or family, who put them there in the first place, decide what happens to the kid, which basically means if the parents/family of the kid doesnt want the kid to get adopted, then no, the kid wont be adopted.

basically, the system favours the stupid adults’ opinions over the kids’ wellbeing. as quoted from one of the careworkers mentioned in the article, “In Japan, the interest of the parents is seen as more important than the interests of the child.”

“The Convention on the Rights of the Child states that for the full development of a child’s personality, they ‘should grow up in a family environment, in an atmosphere of happiness, love and understanding.’”

hey so guess which persona 5 character never grew up in a family and ended up screwed up in the personality department and got so lost and confused with what he really wanted so he desperately clung to the flimsy fame he had and the idea of revenge and fake praises from a certain shido masayoshi? yeah i thought so

japan likes to cram all these kids into orphanages that, even though there are caretakers who do want to take very good care of these sad kids, there isnt enough staff to deal with them, and thats when what looks like neglect from the staffs part arises

the article lists testimonies from children and adults who are and were from these institutions. one of them, a one sentence testimony, stood out to me in particular: “I don’t have any dreams for the future.” it sounded so jaded and tired to me, and it makes me think of the last time we saw goro in the game. that really tired smile really hit it home for me. goro had goals, but what about dreams?

lets speak in hypotheticals: if goro managed to inflict his revenge on shido, and he won, what comes after? what will he do? he spoke in the ship about being heralded as the hero who took down shido, sure, but do yalls really think, after everything, he actually plans to get out of that goddamn mess alive? goro made it his life mission to ruin shido. nothing matters but that, not even himself. after all is said and done, it doesnt seem very plausible for goro to keep on wanting to live. theres nothing to live for, after that

Witness: Lack of Support in Japanese Orphanages

“Masashi cared about his appearance – he wore fashionable [ … ] clothes and had styled his hair – but a sense of isolation clung to him.” that sounds familiar but maybe thats just me

studies show that children younger than 3 who grow up in orphanages have the risk of delayed mental, emotional, and even physical development because of the lack of bonds with a proper adult or family. orphanages are also a really poor environment for older children, who most likely already experienced abuse in the hands of their families or severe trauma after losing their parents. either way, orphanages are just a really bad idea for children

the first two articles have mentioned this, and now this article mentions this again: kids who grow up in orphanages are often poorly equipped for the real world because of the lack of support after their release, and yeah yall know how they end up homeless and jobless bc of it

as continuation, sometimes, education for these kids are so poor that they get out of the system barely able to read or solve simple math problems.

children get subsidies now (bc back then they didnt wtf). its around 55,000 yen, or 550 usd. they cant even get a drivers license with it, which also happens to be really good extra points for when applying for a job. another opportunity lost for them

Adoption in Japan Part 1: Why are there so many kids in orphanages?

this article focuses more on why adoption is so rare in japan and also reinstates some things that have been mentioned earlier, namely, childrens’ well being getting set aside in favour of what shitty parents have to say

majority of kids in orphanages have living parents who retain legal custody but are not raising them. because of this, they are not allowed to be adopted, even if the parents dont come back for them

for some reason, japan is really insistent on giving the parents full control on their kids life even though they already abandoned them. this idea is so strictly followed that even a baby found in trash cans or some shit are usually ruled by court as not allowed to be adopted in case the biological parents come looking for them. i know. its full of bullshit.

with that and the stigma of a family letting their kid adopted, it makes me think that maybe its why goro ended up stuck in orphanages and never lasted in foster homes. because despite being a good kid (which i actually think he was), he was never adopted bc his mothers family refused to let him be adopted. its really messed up

apparently, people think orphanages are “the right place for nobody’s children to be raised.” add in the “throwaway children” nickname from one of the earlier articles, i get where goros coming from with his whole “unwanted, cursed child” mentality, and why hes so desperate for anyones attention. spend your entire childhood having the idea that youre a throwaway child, that youre a nobody’s child, that your mother killed herself because youre unwanted planted in your vulnerable mind, and then taste praise for the first time despite it coming from the one person you want to ruin the most, no wonder goro was intoxicated by it.

while there are orphanages with staffs that try their best, sexual and physical abuse are still prevalent, mostly in private orphanages. though they are supposedly monitored by the government, those sent to inspect these private orphanages have little to no training for the job. most of the time, the inspector only comes for tea, then they fucking leave, and the abuses and badly maintained facilities continue to prevail

the article brings up again how children are badly prepared for the real world and are doomed to a life of hardship when they leave. it never stops

in japan, only middle school is compulsory, but most jobs require that you should be at least a high school graduate. only 10% (or lower) of kids from orphanages get to attend high school, because 1) getting into high school is like a super big deal and hard, maybe like getting into college, and normally, middle schoolers attend cram schools to prepare for their entrance tests, 2) these orphans cannot afford cram schools, 3) the government refuses to fund cram schools for these kids bc its also acknowledging that their public education fucking sucks and cant afford to get anyone into a high school

imagine goro burning his fucking eyebrows to be able to get into high school. although, truthfully, i wouldnt be surprised if shido had something to do with goro being able to get into high school, if we still go along with “goro approached shido at 15″ thing. but i stand with the whole “goro is actually smart and intelligent despite being a wack detective” thing bc lets be real, that shit he pulled in saes palace is fucking nuts. you cant deny the kids a genius in his own right

Adoption in Japan Part 2: Attitudes to Adoption

adult adoptions, the kind thats done by adults (duh) for convenience or inheritance etc etc, is a frequent thing in japan, but child adoption, the kind that we all are more familiar with, is apparently kind of a wack concept in japan. its entirely new to them. in fact they only legalised that shit in 1989

koseki likes to make everything complicated. its so fucking hard to describe, but its like a family tree of sorts, except when you (the mother) have a kid out of wedlock, youre not allowed to register your kid to your family tree for some fucking reason; you have to start your own family tree with just you and your kid. if you give up your kid for adoption and they got adopted, their name doesnt get removed from your family tree for some fucking reason, but the fact that they were adopted is noted in your family tree. and this starts the discrimination and stigma that comes from getting your kid adopted, and it makes parents who leave their child to orphanages unwilling to get their kids adopted. its also the source of stigma surrounding single mothers and children born out of wedlock. (hey guys guess whos both a kid born out of wedlock AND an orphan?????) NOTE: this is how i understand the concept of koseki so far, and i may not be 100% right bc that shit confuses the fuck out of me. idk. japan why

so yall know how obsessed goro is with being perfect—perfect grades, perfect public image, perfect everything? as it turns out, theres this stupid idea in japan thats widely accepted that “everything from your taste in food to the language you speak is biologically pre-determined” now that makes a shit ton of sense, considering the kind of person shido is. that fucking asshole. holy fuck.

Japan’s Forgotten Children

it says here that about 4,000 children were formally adopted out of the system, as opposed to an earlier article that says 303. i dont know which one is true.

this entire paragraph:

“Last month, a Chukyo Television director who was documenting this problem, asked a high government official why Japan had such a system, as opposed to promoting adoption and foster care like other developed nations. The man, whom I respect for his honesty, basically said that after the war there were many children without parents. At that time, many orphanages were built. So, that became Japan’s system to this day. Let me translate that for you…There are many jobs involved in this system. Plus, we don’t like change.”

orphanages run by the government receive funding based on how much kids they have, so more kids = more money, and that basically is also one of the reasons why no ones making an effort to get these kids out of the system. the kids are their means of getting free fucking money.

the government isnt trying to remedy this problem bc it doesnt want change, at least according to this guy named yamanta tokuji. hes an ex-child welfare worker who wants change, to put it simply.

he also says that living in orphanages for years damages a childs well being and behaviour. some who end up in family environments can develop reactive attachment disorder in which they regress to behaving like a baby.

the government wont tackle the issue “because it doesn’t want to know the truth and thus be forced to change.” yamantas opinion again

look, before anything else, i dont condone what goros done. shits fucked up, kids killed a whole lotta ppl, and he didnt fucking hesitate to pull the damn trigger on akira, but since this is fiction, context is important. if youre one of those people who simply dismissed goros character and went “eh. hes fucking evil with daddy issues” im just….. :(, bc you fucking missed the entire point of his character. its important to note hes the only teenage antagonist in a game where the adults are the Bad Guys™. i dont remember where i read this, but i (sorta) quote: hes a warning of what couldve happened to the phantom thieves, without morgana, without the support system that they had, without the positive influences that made them decide to do what they did. even yusuke acknowledges this, once they come back from shidos palace after Hell™ happened (i would have put a link to a photo, but where the fuck do i even find a pic of it).

i think that people seem to misunderstand goros character simply because of really fucking bad writing atlus COME THE FUCK ON they forget that theyre playing a game based on japan, where culture and society are very different from theirs, and in turn they dont understand the context behind goros backstory and how japans society views orphans and illegitimate children can really fuck with a kid, and okay, just because youre either of the two doesnt mean youll resort to murder, but 1) this is a modern fantasy game, where cats can become buses and fake gods can force a lonely kid who happens to be a wild card into the depths of hell, come on, 2) goro wasnt even the one who came up with the murders, it was shido. he fucking bragged about it in his boss fight you fucking monkeys!!!! i forgot to mention this, but shido also threatens goro if he ever so much expresses doubt

its also because of bad writing. its mostly because of bad writing. god. goro deserves better than this

goro was a vulnerable kid with powers, and that made him a perfect puppet for shido. imagine if he had known about changing hearts sooner, because no one ever told him about it. imagine if he was able to bring his wild card ability to its full potential, and dont even get me started with the fact that he was a wild card user. this post about wild cards and goro really makes you think, but that isnt the point of this post, so

anyway its 2 am im tired Good Night Have A Swell Night Sir

#goro akechi #akechi goro #persona 5 #p5 #spoilers #This Is Really Long I Cried #uughhh i wrote this instead of replies i hope youre happy anon!!#rtrp ooc #( 2/2. )#( ooc. )#( asks. )#anonymous

269 notes · View notes

general-loki · 7 years

Text

Title: Premonition in Decaf

Series: Persona 5

Ship: Akira(Protag)/Akechi (vaguely)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No direct spoilers, but things are alluded to. Takes place Mid Palace 6. One shot for now.

Summary: No matter how confidently Akechi carried himself on the battlefield, something about it irked Akira. Of course he knew exactly what the problem was, but actually talking about that with the detective? That was the issue--one he couldn't exactly avoid forever. Not when Akechi could impact the team in a serious way. And not when it distracted him this much either.

What's the best way to make the detective prince a captive audience?

[Read on AO3]

Or Keep Reading Below

A premonition lurched in Joker's stomach and traveled up to his throat. Breaths still passed between his lips—quieted with the hefty footfalls belonging to shadows trudging around the corner. He pressed against the wall, his new cohort at his side. Further down the hall where they'd come from the incessant noise of the casino slots singing drowned out to a waning cry. If it weren't for that the employee halls would feel like another world.

He tried not to think about the world outside this cognitive space—what it looked like, how close it drove them to danger, what would happen if he chose to ignore this particular request. More like a coercion than a request.

That very physical, bodily feeling laced the ends of his fingertips sealed safely under gloves. One hand helped confirm and press against the wall behind his back, the other hand free to grasp his blade if things went poorly. His focus split briefly as the new partner nudged a bit closer, trying to have a look for himself at the situation around the corner.

“They look strong,” Crow murmured as he leaned in front of Joker to get a better look. Almost comically, the beak of his mask poked around the corner, but the whole figure of the detective left Joker pushed up against the wall to avoid making too much contact. Crow retreated back soon enough, his posture straightening out—a little too perfect. He seemed to wait for Joker's focus and when their eyes met, he smiled with a sort of casual ease that would have seemed out of place if he too hadn't adjusted to cognitive forays.

And yet there was something dangerous about it. About Crow, Akechi, in general. He found himself fighting mental slippage on the codename. This was the same Goro Akechi who had held himself with such poise in public and still wound up depressed and distraught in Leblanc. This time they met evenly—mask to mask—gaze charged. Whatever he sensed about Akechi, he set that aside for a moment to actually answer him.

“One turns the hall—we take the closer one then. We take them out before the second comes back,” Joker decided firmly, confidently—at least enough to match the aura of assurance emanating from Crow. That sick feeling still tangled in his stomach but he'd fought it down at least that far. Crow didn't seem to notice anything at least. He smiled and even gently clapped his hands together once.

“Now I'm seeing how the Phantom Thieves leader operates and plans their battles. Fascinating to see your work up close,” Crow replied.

Something about that answer felt like a trap. Joker took his time, turning back to look at the pacing shadow guards around the corner once more. A few more moments before the other was out of sight...

“Everything you dreamed of?”

“That and more,” Crow laughed lightly.

That laugh drained all the fun out of Joker's body. Usually he could find a little thrill in all this, but Crow's cross of casual and enchanted weighed on him. Maybe it was more what the detective represented—the possible end of the Phantom Thieves. He felt a sensation worming back up into his chest.

No, not here.

He grinned crookedly back at Crow, head tilted slightly as if to spur him on a little more. “Try to keep up.”

On that note he sprung around from their hiding point and charged across the gray floors toward the first shadow. With a practiced ease he vaulted up onto the shadow's back and shoulders, his hand guided almost if by something else to meet perfectly with the mask of his enemy—ripping it off and casting it aside. As the enemy reformed Joker hopped back, knife ready this time as Crow joined close at his right hip. Filling in from the back two other partners in “crime” drew horizontally over the space of the hallway—Skull and Queen—effectively set to all tear into the shadow as soon as it was clear.

At this point the greater collective of the Phantom Thieves had already somewhat mastered maneuvering around each other—knowing the others' range and reach, their skills and how they might generally use them. Between them they called out moves as they were in need of space to safely used them, but for the most part the Thieves had an undeniable flow. Each fixed as a piece of puzzle into the other—balance each other out and supporting them as more shadows rolled in. Something in Joker swelled seeing how smoothly this encounter was going. They were always pretty in sync but perhaps his own thirst for this fight translated across to the rest of them.

Skull remained unshakeable at his side—covering as Joker made some strategic checks on their enemies, eventually giving them an upper hand that Queen could use to tear into them. The three of them as one unit handled much of this battle. One element remained shaky in the lineup and Joker didn't miss a second of it.

Crow took to mostly holding his own with an enemy slightly less in focus or ones aiming for Queen before they could reach her. That he acted outside the group dynamic threw off some of their own flow. He wasn't terrible out of sync—his moves were efficient and certainly wouldn't get anyone killed, but Joker felt it distinctly: Crow didn't know how to function as a team.

Joker framed it in steel at the front of his mind: A Future Liability.

Once the room was clear Crow let out a breath of relief, the smile returning to his face again. “They were pretty tough. But look at that. All cleaned up,” he said as if he'd expected worse somehow.

Maybe he did.

Joker's hands fit into his pockets and he approached Crow. “We need to talk.”

The smile fell from Crow's face, a more confused look settling over him. “Right now?”

“After we break for today.”

Crow's eyes searched Joker's face in a quick scan of his features—something to tell him what was going on in the other's head. It was either fruitful or he gave up. “Very well. Whatever you say, leader.”

Joker ignored the odd tone in that final word, instead turning his back on Crow and leading the group onward. He caught Skull and Queen exchanging looks , but he could explain it to them later. If he was going to have to carry the label of “leader” he might as well do it right.

* * *

When they finally left the cognitive world it was wearing down into the last shreds of the evening outside. That feeling from earlier stuck with Akira as he made his way home. A part of him was still processing everything about the new palace—so much so he was back at Leblanc before he really expected it. His eyes trailed up to the now familiar sign above, then to the placard reading “OPEN” still flipped out his way. His fingers grasped the door handle and he let himself in.

Within Sojiro was just cleaning up the last few things in the shop—a quick wipe down of the counter and the towel was tossed back into it's place.

“You're late aren't you?” he commented dryly. Akira expected that much at this point. The old man seemed especially tired for some reason.

“Long day.”

Sojiro accepted that as well as he could be expected to. At this point he'd gotten used to some of the shifts in his mood. It had probably been an especially slow day. Of course he'd be more irritable. He made his way out from around the counter, nearly to the door when another figure stepped in.

“Well, you're open later than I thought,” the figure commented in a cheery tone Akira knew pretty well now.

Akechi stood between Sojiro and his exit home, almost unaware of himself before stepping aside. It didn't really fix the slightly annoyed look on the old man's face.

“I'm closing right now.”

“Oh that shouldn't be a problem. I'm here to talk to him,” Akechi replied cooly, tilting his head slightly Akira's way.

He felt a shift in the weight of the back on his shoulder, Morgana sticking his head out to observe. At least he wasn't going to have to deal with Akechi entirely by himself.

“This late?” Sojiro pressed, an eyebrow raised the detective's way, then Akira's by association.

“It should be short,” Akechi insisted.

Sojiro groaned and moved to flip the sign to read CLOSED. “If you use anything, clean it up. I'm not going to police your bedtime but don't have friends here overnight.”

“My thanks,” Akechi said as Sojiro stepped outside. The old man didn't exactly welcome the gesture, shrugging it off and heading home. Akira knew he was expected to lock up—he'd gotten the drill by now.

Once his guardian was out of the picture Akira took a seat at one of the chairs lining the counter. In all honesty, with everything that happened in the palace that day he'd almost forgotten he asked to talk with Akechi. It seemed the detective didn't forget. And didn't think he should just call or message him. He was here, in the flesh. Something about it irked Akira, but he couldn't put a finger on why exactly. Morgana helped himself out of the bag, sitting in a chair at his right.

“You know when you said you wanted to talk it seemed urgent. So I took you very seriously. I had something to attend to, but with that out of the way, you have my full attention,” Akechi said to begin. He remained standing for the moment but did stand close to one of the chairs at Akira's other side.

Against his better judgement, Akira stood up. Morgana looked confused at first, but understood when his path took him around and behind the counter. “Coffee?” he offered shortly as he pulled on his apron.

Akechi looked a touch surprised himself, but soon smiled once more. “If you're offering, how can I say no?”

There wasn't a ton of it around, but he picked out something decaf. It wasn't going to be the best blend or anything, but he had a feeling Akechi would drink it and like it regardless. He didn't seem to be one to complain about what he ate. The invitation finally drew Akechi into one of the counter chairs, his hands folded neatly on the surface.

“Coffee and then we talk, I suppose?”

“Unless you want to come back here and help.”

The tone of the suggestion puzzled the detective for a moment. He couldn't seem to gauge it at first.

“Would your Boss allow me back there?”

“He's not here right now.”

That seemed more open and gave clearance for Akechi to laugh a little. “It sounds to me like you'd rather have me back there.”

“Well you handle yourself so well in a fight I figure you can handle a little coffee.”

Akira's remark seemed to caught Akechi a little off guard. His usual smile stiffened slightly—almost annoyed somehow. “I can't say that I'm as good as you are. You certainly make it look easy.”

Rather than answer that, Akira instead shifting his weight to one leg, arms crossed for a second. He gives Akechi another moment before turning toward the back kitchen area and producing another apron. “This one's your's,” was all he said after holding the item up.

Morgana glanced between the two of them, a little delight in his eyes. “We don't have all night you know,” he said Akechi's way.

Somewhere in the strangeness of it all Akechi finally got up and stepped around to join Akira behind the counter. “I'm going to say this probably won't go well.”

“Why is that?” Akira asked back casually, handing him the apron and only then starting to pick out the items he would need.

“Isn't that obvious? I'm no barista. I'd be learning from you.”

“That's fine. If you don't have a lot of experience I can't expect you to keep up with what I know.”

A pause nestled in between those words. Akira kept his eyes down on his work, gaze somewhat hidden by a reflection of light in his glasses. He laid out a pair of cups and stepped back. Only then did he look Akechi's way.

“You've seen this done a few times at least. Where are you going to start?”

Akechi finished putting the back of apron into a neat bow before tilting his head at the question. “Is this how you're going to teach me? A little rough isn't it? This is my first time you know.”

Akira held his chin—a thoughtful look in his eyes. “So you aren't some kind of genius?”

He could tell that stung, but Akira held each word with a casual curiousness that perhaps he couldn't be blamed. Or Akechi preferred to take the higher ground. “Hardly. Detective work is a bit specific. Observation doesn't mean I can do everything for myself.”

“So how do you learn then?”

The quickness of the follow-up left the detective searching for an extra second to sort it out in his head. “I...suppose by seeing and doing for myself. Isn't that how many people are?”

A nod later and Akira's hands went to work preparing coffee one cup at a time. He took his time with the first round, silently demonstrating the motions, but no how or why—just the act. It was only once he finished pouring hot water into the dripper and it was starting to seep through the blend that he looked at Akechi. He made a gesture toward the empty cup.

The pair exchanged looks; Morgana watched unblinkingly. Silence fogged up the room and no one made a move. Not for another moment at least.

Akechi didn't back down, his eyes still on Akira's a second longer before he had to break contact to see what he was doing. He silently urged a trading of spots and got to work trying to follow Akira's wordless lead. His observational skills took him far enough into copying the motions for the most part. Something was missing, of course. It would go unspoken for as long as he could get away with the silence and just watching what the detective would do. Something of a feeling of rivalry simmered in space between them, Akira deeply aware of the kind of focus Akechi was trying to play off as casual. He held himself well, but something outside of his plan left him open—or at least that was the impression Akira was getting then. There could be more to it, but for now it gave him something to play off of.

Akechi finished his task, a little flourish in his pour over at the end. He put on a smile of confidence and yet still that same level of pleasantry that Akira had come to expect.

“Well? How do you rate my performance?”

“Taste test comes first,” Akira corrected him, moving first to lift the dripper and clean up. Akechi took that as a signal to remove his apron as he put it back then moved to take a seat at the other side of the counter. By then Akira was ready, standing behind the counter as usual. He moved first to take a sip of his own brew. Just the way the boss taught him.

With the first cup mulled over for a moment, his hand moved for the cup Akechi brewed. He felt the detective's gaze fixed on him, an intensity in the look. In the end, he was competitive, wasn't he?

Akira tipped the cup gently to his lip, the taste variation pretty obvious to him. He'd had Sojiro try enough of his own attempts to figure out what the old man was picking out as wrong—even if his feedback was lacking most of the time. It did feel a little good to get to be the one passing judgement this time.

“It's off.”

Akechi's eyes widened at the verdict. He didn't believe it, clearly, since he went right for the first cup, tasting Akira's work to test it against his own. “I want to see for myself,” he insisted once he'd had his drink. He moved to take his creation from Akira's hands, their fingers meeting to pass through the handle of the cup, an awkwardness unmistakable, but unavoidable in Akechi's hurry. It didn't even seem to cross his mind until he had the cup, fresh from his rival's lips that he considered it. Tension gripped the detective's shoulders a second longer before he drank.

Morgana and Akira both tilted their heads, waiting for a response.

A sour, disgusted look etched into Akechi's face. It was clear the taste wasn't the cause. Not exactly.

“It is different...But I did it just the same.”

Akira broke Leblanc barista rules for a moment and rested his elbows on the counter, his hands webbed together to catch his chin. Something of a grin teased the corner of his mouth. “A novice is going to make a mistake in the final moment.”

Something flared up in Akechi, but he persisted in his usual smile, even if the chuckle was broken by a hint of frustration. “I followed your instructions precisely, I don't know what you mean unfortunately.”

“You poured the water over too quickly, it's weaker. But...” Akira trailed off for a moment to make sure he held all of Akechi's attention before breaking it off to settle back coolly, his hands back in his pockets, posture corrected to the usual. “It takes practice to get the timing right. You can't be a natural at this as much you are at handling yourself on the battlefield.”

It was small, but Akira could feel Akechi holding back. The detective pushed to keep smiling.

“I have some degree of practice in self-defense. Any detective worth his salt does. It seems to guide me well enough.”

Akira grinned a little more back at him. “That explains it. Where you're lacking is probably something else.”

“I'm lacking?” Akechi said back quickly.

Akira took his time, watching Morgana for a moment, who seemed very amused. “You handle yourself alright, but some part of how you are on the battlefield...something's off about it. I guess the coffee you made reminded me.”

The longer it took the more it seemed to strain Akechi's patience. After his behavior in the Palace, Akira had to admit he was having fun holding this over his head. Blackmail deserved some punishment back. Even if it had to be petty.

“Well I am new at this after all,” Akechi relented through another of those television-ready smiles.

“You know,” Akira started, directed more Morgana's way, “I think it might be important.”

“Oh definitely, it's major. Critical even,” Morgana agreed.

Akechi straightened up more, if it were at all possible with his perfect posture, and smiled harder. “You'll have to tell me then. We do need to survive this mission. I can't be the one holding us back.”

On that note Akira dropped it. “It's teamwork. You have no sense of teamwork.”

“You communicate your moves kind of terribly. You're gonna hurt someone else at this rate,” Morgana added.

“You do your own thing and it messes with the rest of us covering for each other.”

“And your moves are kind of lame,” Morgana added in, definitely outside of the plan.

Akira looked at Morgana over his glasses and the cat shrugged about as well as he could be expected to in that body.

Akechi slumped slightly in his chair, his hands still clasping the cooling coffee. “That's a bit much, isn't it?”

“You're a novice, remember? You're learning. But since you're not just following example, maybe you should try some team building exercises with me,” Akira said casually.

“Exercises?” Akechi repeated back.

“Right. What I usually do with members of our group.”

That remark hung in the air for a moment, Akechi curiously studying it as if he could know what sort of exercises the leader meant without actually asking. It seemed dangerous to dig in that moment. It was a take it or leave it offer, Akira's look said enough.

“If we want to avoid some kind of major mistake during this operation I suppose all I can do is agree.”

“It's for the best,” Morgana said almost soothingly at the inevitability.

With a big sigh Akechi leaned a bit further into his cup. He started to work on finishing what he'd made at least. Akira moved to do the same himself.

“Are we doing this now?”

“Tomorrow. Let's meet after class.”

“Not going to the Palace?” Akechi said, sounding astonished. He hadn't considered taking a break, it seemed. “You don't simply push through it?”

“No, we need breaks here and there. Pace yourself,” Akira answered and felt wise about it.

“Very well...You're the leader after all. I suppose you know what's best. I'll look out for a message from you then?”

Akira found himself smiling more easily. “You've got the start of it already. Don't worry. I'll go easy on you this time.”

Akechi seemed to want to press that, but instead let it crumble away. The pair finished off their coffees, only talking about the flavor for that short time before Akechi stood up, looking prepared. “I should be off then. It sounds like a busy day is ahead of me.”

“Look forward to it,” Akira teased a touch instead. The two exchanged looks that carried less intensity than those they had during their contest. The moment seemed too short in light of how gently it lingered and briefly it lasted. Animosity parted just long enough to recall the short meetings in the studio and at train stops. They had before really only existed in brief passes of each other. Today was the first they'd come close to much extended shared time.

They parted with a few casual words, the bell on Leblanc's door jingling shortly on the heels of the detective. Akira took his time. Flipped the sign. Locked up. Shut down the lights. Made his way upstairs.

Once he was settled and in bed, Morgana at his side, he lifted his phone and started to surf for around to distract some thoughts.

* * *

“There you are. Is this really the best place to meet?”

The familiar voice pushed through the din of the games alight around them. Not as many other bodies occupied the arcade at this hour on a weekday. It helped make spotting Akechi easy, but he had a way of standing out. It seemed like the uniform Akechi had was built around his image. Being something of a minor celebrity helped him stand out too. He had that sort of made-for-TV air he'd probably cultivated somehow. Akira wasn't sure he wanted to know. Blending in worked well enough for himself.

The two traded looks.

Akira leaned off the wall and stepped up closer so they could hear each other better. “This is where we're starting.”

“Excuse me?”

“We're starting here.”

The repetition did nothing to clear the confusion from Akechi's face. He blinked a few times, like that would do the trick, but that did nothing too. He parted his lips and after a pause tried again. “...Is there some kind of game here that helps teach teamwork?”

Akira pointed his arm out at some of the machines nearby, a stool at either side clear at the moment. “We're fighting first.” Unwilling to take more questions, he moved to take a seat, feeding change into the machine and gesturing for Akechi to sit nearby.

Confused, but unable to really back out, Akechi took the seat at Akira's side, a hand fishing into his pocket for the right change. “Do I get any instructions for this one?”

In a moment of pity, Akira leaned over and started pointing to buttons, describing each function shortly to make it easier. He could see some focus in Akechi's face as he tried to probably memorize it. Soon enough the two were ready, screens blazing in crisp colors and music mixing into the rest of the regular buzz of the arcade. Fighters were picked for the challenge, the boys' eyes fixed hard on their screen. A bit of that competitiveness flared back up as the countdown finished and both were left to their own devices in the battle.

Admittedly, Akira didn't play games that much, but Akechi definitely didn't play them often, if at all. The one thing he could tell he had over the detective was that he'd worked out guarding more often. The match gradually descended to button mashing on both sides, but the edge Akira had was enough to give him two rounds in a row.

Clearly defeated and a tad frustrated, Akechi leaned back, his hand a thoughtful fist under his chin. “I would need more practice at this sort of thing as well...” he trailed off.

Akira took the signal well enough and stood, gesturing for Akechi to follow. The pair waded deeper into the arcade and, with a little prodding Akechi's way, the pair took on a few more games—shooting, drumming, racing. The first loss faded into the backdrop and conversation turned more natural—almost normal even. Somehow the goal of the meeting was lost in an hour or so and in another the pair found themselves thirsty and ready for a break—normalcy driving them to the diner nearby. It wasn't until both had settled down, drinks on the table and drank a quarter through before Akechi looked surprised, some kind of shock wedged in between the previous conversation. Akira waited.

“That's odd...It seems we lost track of time and forgot our meeting's purpose.”

Akira grinned in the slightest way, lips half sealed behind his knuckle, his elbow rested against the table. “This was the purpose.”

A brief silence.

“I'm not sure that I follow you entirely...Games I guess can do something but...” When his deductions couldn't follow through, the leader took it up from his feeble grasping.

“It wasn't about the games. It was about the time.” There was a pause. “We work well as a team because we actually just hang out.”

Akechi stared, blinking, before his gaze fell into his drink. “This isn't going to have me retract our deal.”

“I'm already doing what we are for Makoto's sake more than for your deal.” He let that hang for a calculated second. “But if you're going to be on the team, even if it's once, I might as well show you what it's like. Might keep you from killing us.”

Akechi's confusion turned even more flustered. “From what?” he blurted, his eyes terribly wide.

“With you slipping up and playing solo in battles. That could get one of us killed. I'm trying to prevent that,” Akira said flatly.

It was an easy motion to see. Akechi calmed, his hands folded into his lap, his eyes closed more gently. It all looked like a way to recenter himself. He sighed. “So in the end, this is for your teammates?”

“Yeah. It's always been about them. And you're in that group for now.”

Those last words drew Akechi's eyes open, contact made between them again with that sort of intensity in a way. That friendliness they'd teased out in the last couple hours would need time again, but this Akira could deal with too. Whatever this feeling was. Something gnawing at the edge of his thoughts and lurking at the bottom of his throat. He said nothing of it.

“I see. Then I'll do my best not to become a problem,” Akechi finally answered, some humility in his tone—something honest about this time. The controlled face of Akechi's personality eased for that moment reminding Akira a little of the day he'd come into Leblanc depressed. Whatever his case was, and whatever this ended in, a person still resided within the form of Goro Akechi. Akira withheld open pity.

“Thanks. Hard to advise some big-shot celebrity,” Akira said with a small, amused smile.

“You're something of one yourself—even if people don't know your name,” Akechi answered pleasantly, perking up some. His wilting finished, he grasped his drink again. “Do you really do this with all your group members?”

“More or so. Different places sometimes.”

“They must be lucky to have such a leader.”

“It's the other way around.”

The answer came quickly and easily to him, but it seemed to surprise the detective. Still, his surprise softened. Something strained him deeper down, Akira could feel it, but Akechi gave him a smile regardless. “I suppose you are lucky to have them then...But it's been some time since I've been treated to an afternoon of anything.”

“Anything for the team. You can reach out anytime if you need something,” Akira offered a bit more forwardly. “You have my information.”

Akechi glanced aside. “Maybe some other time. I have matters to attend to early in the morning...”

He couldn't put a finger on it, but some piece of that felt fake in a way he didn't really want to nail down. Maybe this was bound to happen—that Akechi would dodge and keep playing games with him. He'd hoped somehow things would turn around. The impossibility of it—the high stakes, low chances gamble pressed him harder than anything in the Palace had yet. But he wasn't going to win anything if he didn't gamble harder.

“Too bad. I'll have to ask for another date later,” Akira said with the slickest look he had, eyes narrow behind his glasses.

Akechi's grip on his phone and bag he gathered nearly faltered, his hands fumbling to catch both. “Excuse me...?” he got out only after disaster had been averted.

“Take it easy. We're meeting at the usual place tomorrow,” Akira said smoothly, a casual change in his looks. It was more fun when two could play games.

Almost cautiously, even through the pink in his face, Akechi spoke, “Of course. I'll...see you then.” With that he said a short goodbye and hurried off, pace a touch quicker than usual as he pushed through the doors. Akira watched the space now absent of the detective for a long moment. He had to wonder how much he could get away with. It definitely got a rise out of him this time.

All his plotting came to a close as a stream of messages flooded into his phone. He picked it up, seeing the threads coming from Ryuji.

“I totally saw you all cozy with Akechi in the diner and I had to split.”

“It was weird. Like how could I interrupt your moment? So I left.”

“Anyway I can't believe you're dating Akechi.”

Akira took a deep breath as he looked at where the messages were posted to. He wrote a reply:

“Ryuji this is the group chat.”

At that moment, every other Phantom Thief started typing.

#Persona 5 #Akira Kurusu #Goro Akechi #akira/akechi #akechi/protag #not sure of this ship's name tbh #i tried!#my writing #fanfic #premonition in decaf

4 notes · View notes