#you would be surprised at how much weird ass conversations happen unprompted

[kiingbiing]

[mallowbees]

4,555 words

POV: Logan centric

Characters: All ts sides

Warnings: Let me know if i need to add any!

From the anon writing prompts^!

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‘Waking up as a cat, however, was a surprising first.’

-----

This was… less than ideal. Hoping down from the edge of the blue duvet onto the floor, Logan stared down in disdain all four of his paws landed with a thud. This was not the first weird situation he had found himself in, being an incorporeal figment of someones personality living without the all the grounding rules of reality often resulted in odd occurrences on occasion ranging from simple to bizarre.

Waking up as a cat, however, was a surprising first.

Logan's tail flicked as he padded through his room. His desk, usually only to his hip, now towered a foot or two above him as he stood on the dark blue rug below. Faintly he could hear the noise of a conversion from down stairs with acute clarity, but he couldn't make out a word being said. He could only hypothesize his sudden transformation had possibly altered his senses as well as his physical form. That seemed to be the case based on his earlier experience 7 minutes, 46 seconds ago and counting.

Logan had tried shifting into a human form upon awakening. Confused and dazed buried under his blankets, that he quickly realized where much larger than usual, or he was, as it turns out, much smaller. However this proved not to be like a simple wardrobe change or a shift that he would under usual circumstance be able to complete. He took a few minute to asses the situation after that.

Now staring up at the deep blue almost black of his door, the next most rational step was to attempt to have Roman change him back. As he usually seemed to be the causation of these things, though not always intentionally. He would also have to avoid Patton preferably, lest he agitate the others allergies with his current form, or worse, Patton begin doting on him. Logan's fur ruffled.

Honing in on the gold door knob, he knew he should have no trouble jumping up to it with the cats average jumping height without running being 5 feet, but the matter of actually opening the door would provide to be difficult without hands. He could just meow loudly at the door until someone came up, but he’d prefer to save that for a, ‘last resort’.

Logan lowered himself to the ground, calculating the general trajectory he could need so he wouldn't just throw himself against the wood. He leaned forward and down on his paws and wiggled in anticipation; He lunged. Logan was air borne, he swatted the doorknob hitting it with his paw, bound off the door with his back paws and he was back on the floor. He regathered himself from the sudden burst of energy. First attempts are often not the successful try. Logan backed up a bit further from his original trajectory point, and began to try again.

--

A time and multiple tries later, Logan stood proudly in the now open and somewhat scratched up doorway. It had admittedly taken longer than he had anticipated, having gotten distracted more with actually trying to catch the doorknob rather than open it having not been accounted for, but he was now free from his own room. And free to go in search of Roman.

Padding down the hallways past the various doors of bedrooms, he could hear everything much louder. Along with conversation, the hum of the refrigerator and tv was also more noticeable than on average. Slinking to the edge of the stairway, Logan could tell the tones of the voices were Patton and Roman, as well as a movie playing. He tail flicked to the side. Having both of them together would provide to be quite the obstacle if he was to get to Roman, and the living-room was a very open to anyone who happened to walk through, which was inconvenient for not bringing attention to himself too. He could wait for them to finish the program they were watching and hide out by the stairs up in the hall, hearing the music number, people laughing, and a door opening on the show he couldn't tell what it was to estimate how long was left but-

Logan froze in the air as he was suddenly lifted up from the floor. Chattering indignantly he found himself suddenly face to face with a confused Virgil. Virgil held Logan in his arms, pulling him to his chest facing him so he was no longer suspended in air. He seemed to ask a question as he lifted a hand gentle up to Logan’s face. It seemed, despite the sudden rude attack of picking Logan up unprompted, Virgil did intend to bond with the random cat he found in the hall, in this case. He wiggled and bonked Virgil’s hand with his head, intending to get him to withdraw it, as there was no need to extend an offer for trust, as Logan already trusted Virgil.

However given the chuckle he suddenly felt rumble from Virgil’s chest he quickly realized his own mistake in cat behavior and went to do anything else, but he was suddenly overtaken by a warm contentment as a hand was placed on his head, beginning to pet him. Logan closed his eyes leaning into it and purred. Very loudly, even to his own ears. Virgil seemed to make some sort of surprised delighted noise and momentarily withdrew his hand with it; Before Logan could think better of himself, he was quickly swatting and pulling Virgil’s hand back to him, rubbing against his shirt.

Virgil said something but he didn't really take note as his ears were stroked, he couldn't understand his words at the moment anyway. Logan briefly had a fleeting thought that this cat transformation was influencing him stronger than he had initially realized, but it was long forgotten with his own figurative motor going and the warmth of Virgil’s hold.

--

Logan had completely melted in a grinning Virgil’s grip by the time he was carried down stairs.

Roman and Patton laid in a partially destroyed blanket fort, now just sitting on the piles of pillows and blankets on the couch, singing along as Moana played on screen.

“Yo guys, since when do we have a cat?”

Patton’s head immediately swung around, nearly launching himself off the couch, his foot getting caught on a light blue comforter, his face lighting up. “Cat?! Oh my gosh we have a cat?  I love him can I hold them?!”

Roman blinked in surprise at the new arrival, the slower of the two to respond verbally. He swiveled in his sitting position to look on as Patton stood up making grabby hands to the cat in Virgil’s arms. “I… have no idea where that cat came from, where on earth did you find-”

“Him I think?” Patton now had the cat in his arms, holding him almost like you would hold a baby; The cat just purred.

Roman nodded. “-him.”  

Virgil shrugged as he shifted the cat to a better suited grip in Patton’s arms. “He was just standing staring down from the top of the stairs when I came out of my room, I’m not sure where he was before that.”

Roman hummed as he got up from the couch and approached the other two, taking a moment to give the black cat some brief loving pets as well. The cat merped when the sides finally stopped, blinking up at them with deep bright blue eyes that seemed to come out of a daze.

“Well that's certainly odd! Do ya think he came from the imagination maybe?” Patton gaze turned to roman.

Roman ran a hand through his hair. “I mean, I’m usually pretty good at keeping the door shut Pat,” He stated, before wincing. “But it wouldn't be the first time I accidentally left it open however, I will admit.”

Patton gave Roman a reassuring pat on the shoulder with his non cat holding arm. “Don't worry about it kiddo! It happens!”

“Yeah and when it happens it usually cause a mess that takes like a week to clean up.” Virgil countered before putting his hands up. “No offense.”

“None taken.” Roman waved him off sheepishly.

“Uhh, anyway do you think maybe hes one of those, what are they called, those things of your that just kind of, pop up?” He grimaced slightly. “Bad explanation.”

“Oh oh!” Patton interjected. “Like those glowy flowers we had for while growing in the storage closet?”

“Drifting daydreams?” Roman gazed over the cat with a skeptical eye. “Perhaps? Though he doesn't seem particularly sparkly, or dream like. And I haven't really been think of any cats more than usual.”

Virgil hummed in consideration.

Roman just stared down the cat, the cat stared disgruntled back, having been watching the three.

Patton cut through the pause. “Soo, can we keep him?” He held up the cat carefully, a bursting smile on his face. The cat looked displeased.

His expression dimmed as Roman and Virgil shared a look. Roman grimacing and Virgil’s face a mix of sympathy and ‘i don't think this is a good idea, we care barely take care of ourselves, we cant take care of a cat’

“I don't think this is a good idea, we can barely take care of ourselves, we cant take care of a cat.” Virgil said.

“But!! He’s only gonna be here for a little while probably, and we cant just leave him to fend on his own in the mindpalace!”

“Pat you are literally allergic to cats, you could inhale his fur and die.” With that Virgil looked uncomfortably aware that Patton was the one holding the cat.

“Well, more likely sneeze like you’ve had pixie dust thrown in your face, but I agree with nightmare before christmas over here. That doesn't seem like a grand idea as far as keeping him. But! I also don't think we should just let him roam.”

Patton tilted his head. The cat shifted slightly in his hold so it was much looser. “Well what can we do with him then?”

“We could put him in the imagination with-”

“Woah!”

“Ah!’

“Great beard of Zeus!”

And with a hiss the cat darted out of Patton’s arms, skid across the floor passed Virgil’s shoes, and bolted down the hallway of the mindscape.

–

Logan ran, the shouts of the others behind him as he zoomed down one of the many connecting hallways as fast as his paws could carry him. The only thought going through his mind saying run, the sudden restless energy seemingly coming out of nowhere, and hearing at least one of the others following after him only spurred him on. He skittered past the bedroom doorway, sliding on the laminate and knocking his own bedroom door back closed as he ran straight into Roman’s open door.

Entering the large room Logan flew by the papers covering the floor on hopped up onto the desk, almost sliding off the ledge as sheets went flying off instead. He could still hear the others calling out for him but not anywhere close, presumable having lost track of him. The moment seemed to subside as the tension started to ebb from Logan. He reflected, dumbfound, at his behavior and sat down on the desk corner, absentmindedly fixing his fur with his paw. This momentary lapse in logical thinking, in human logical thinking, flustered him at his lack of self impulse control as a cat.

The others had seemed to be debating something about him while he was in Patton’s hold, and he could almost feel the conflict in the room when instinct of some sort, he could only guess, encouraged him to bolt. An odd thing to warrant running at full speed from a non-threatening situation, but his cat body supposedly disagreed with his rational brain.

His ear twitched as he heard the voices seeking him, now getting further way. Going down a different hallway it seemed. Patton cooing for him and Roman calling out fading away, Virgil likely with them as well, just less vocal. Now presented with an unaccounted for minor difficulty in being turned back, the best course of action would be to stay as far away from from the others to avoid physical contact with the other to reduce the amount of stimuli that could induce a reaction, while also somehow alerting them to his unfortunate transformation.

Perhaps he could write some sort of message, that would be the most straight to point way to inform them, without being physically direct. Looking around Roman’s desk, the cherry wood stained with paint and markers, it was only covered in one or two papers that were left on its top and a pair of scissors. Looking around the room it seemed he had knocked the pen holder off as well in his earlier haste. Logan realized while he had been in Roman’s room many times prior, he had very seen it from this angle. Being a cat sitting on his desk, obviously not. Though the room itself had not changed at all.

It was still the same large room, white cream walls and intricate swirling wall trim. The desk he was sat upon, the vanity adjacent to it, and the bookcase all appeared as they usually did, and dull white glow from the fairytale-like door to the imagination cast over them. The fairy lights on the walls cast as a main light source however, tacked on the walls next to Roman’s ‘prince’ bed, a canopy bed with tall cream and gold drapery, hanging down in twisting towers of fabric, soft and delicate, easily ripped. A thing that could easily offer him the highest vantage point in the room.

Logan involuntarily found himself lowering slightly. The fine sparkly drapery was perfectly climbable, he could just make his way up and see the room much better. Surely, he could find a pen much easier that way. Logan wiggled and a resounding ‘no!’ echoing from behind him as he pounced and launched himself up onto the curtains, claws digging in as he quickly began pulling himself up them.

He panicked as one of his claws got caught up in the fabric. Logan wiggled wildly and flailed his paw in all directions trying to untangle himself. He could feel hands attempt to pluck him from his mess and began to wiggle more. he was caught and something was grabbing him and he did not like this. He was lifted upwards and his claw came out from the drape, frenzied he did what felt natural and now latched onto the hand holding him so he wouldn't fall. He was dropped to the floor while at a loud exclamation came from the side who had been muttering as he tried to release him. Logan, now on the floor, meet Roman frazzled eyes with his own and fluffed up as large as he could.

Roman glared down at him for a moment, saying a word Logan could only guess was a swear before his shoulders slumped and he sighed, holding his slightly scratched hand. Logan stood his ground as he slowly held his hands up and conjured a water bottle and a band-aid. Roman didn't seem to be trying to hold him now and Logan felt a pang of regret as his heart rate came down and he watched Roman tend the wound. Before he knew it Logan padded over to the wary creative side and rubbed against his leg. Roman huffed but gave him a quick gentle pat.

His ears perked up, turning his head as Virgil entered the room, quickly followed by Patton. He skittered back a bit as Pat rushed pasted him to Roman who just laughed and waved him off, showing the small scratches. Virgil said something, the only one still standing in the doorway.

Logan suddenly remembered his search for a pen now that everyone was in the room. Running over to the scattered pens and papers, he heard Roman groan, as he had apparently just noticed that specific mess he had caused, as Logan picked a pen up in his mouth. Not the most ideal thing but it would do. However, it was quickly pulled out of his mouth by Virgil. Logan hissed up at him in annoyance, Virgil hissed back. As Virgil reached down to pick him up and presumably move him away from the pens, Logan decided he was not getting picked up again.

The cat bolted once more, a frustrated yell from one of them as he narrowly dodged Virgil’s grip, practically using him as a spring board in the process. Virgil probably would have been successful in grabbing again if he hadn't slipped on the pens scattered on the floor. There was a concerned call from a conflicted Patton but Logan was off once again.

No one had followed him this time it seemed, Logan noted. He had concluded he likely couldn't get any pens with the other sides around. Bur looking around the kitchen all pens seemed to be put away, not that there logically should be pens in the kitchen anyway, but there usually was. Any and all of his personal pens were stored in is room, which the door was now closed to, thanks to himself.

Claws tapping on the tile Logan leapt up on the marble counter-top. There wasn't anything up there either, aside from a few unwashed dishes. The room still smelled like microwaved thai noodle leftovers too. His ears flattened as the smell was much stronger as a cat. He could try doing things to indicate who he was, but that would require going right back up the others again, and he wasn't sure about trying that direct of a method after those other stunts he had pulled.

Logan's eyes drifted to the far hallway, this one a little darker. He could hear loud cackling laughing coming from down that way, and it wasn't a movie playing either.

Perhaps the others had some spare pens lying about.

--

Logan strode down the hallway, which usually seemed much darker than it actually was now that he was in it, likely dew to his current senses. The sound of Remus cackling somewhere down the way getting louder. The hard wood floors transitioned to light grey carpeting and Logan entered the other half of the mindscape. It seemed Remus was somewhere to his left from what he could tell, so Logan took a right and found himself in the living area.

Scanning the floor from next to the coffee table, he couldn't see anything that would indicate any writing utensils laying about. He quickly scaled up the side of the dark grey couch poising himself on the arm of it to get a better view. It was immaculately clean in here, much more organized than their current mess.

Searching around the room once more from his perch there still didn't appear to be any stray items he could write with that were visible. Going across the cushions he hoped down from the other side of the couch. While perhaps not the option with the best success rate, his next option he planned to take, was searching the next most likely place he would be able to find something to communicate with, where most of the sides personal stuff was stored. The bedrooms.

Logan was usually someone who respected the other sides privacy in his own option. But he found as a foot tall ball of fur and claws he didn't find himself caring much. Walking into the corridor he could still hear Remus, who was clearly doing, something, in his room, and he didn't intend to tread into it with him still there. So Logan now stood in-front of the door on the other wall, a pale yellow door that was thankfully cracked open slightly, Deceit’s room.

Slipping through the small opening Logan immediately froze. Staring into the lush room, he found himself making direct eye-contact with a startled Deceit who kept his gaze as his office chair slowly stopped spinning. Logan's ears flattened but he took a cautious step forward. Deceit tilted his head to the right before slowly holding his hand down and out to Logan.

He didn't seem particularly bothered by the sudden addition to his room surprisingly, one would think deceit would be more bothered by an intrusion of privacy. Regardless of how unbothered he seemed, Logan wasn't going to take any chances of getting to close, lest he get pet again. He padded past him and hopped up on the desk. Deceit made some sort of remark but otherwise did nothing about him invading his space. There was a tank with a snake right in-front of the desk inlayed in the wall that he hadn't noticed from the floor: Logan sniffed the glass but he couldn't see the snake inside at the moment. Looking around the other edge of the glass he searched to see if he could see the snake. The door suddenly banged open and Logan fluffed up.  Pushing himself to the corner of the desk, Logan watched Deceit turn around with Remus now in the room.

–

“Hey double dee!” Remus exclaimed slamming open the door easily with a wide grin. “Guess what I just-”

He blinked in surprise as his ivy eyes locked in on an un-amused deceit and some sort of small grey puff on the corner of Deceits desk. Hissing, not at deceit, but at him.

“Congratulations Remus, you've now startled the cat.”

“The cat?” Remus parroted bewildered.

“No, the dog that is clearly here.” Deceit drawled. “Yes the cat Remus” He said as he rolled back a bit to give some space to the cat pressed against the wall. “He made him self at home a minute ago after slinking through my door.”

“But that can’t, that doesn't,-” Remus looked genuinely stumped, somewhere between recognition and conflict on his face. “-but Roman’s still in the light sides commons?”

Deceit’s eyes narrowed as he quirked a brow, leaning forward in his chain, now intrigued. “Oh? What does this have to do with Roman?”

“I was gonna turn him into a cat! I made a potion and everything yesterday!” He gestured to the door behind him. “I used some dragon bones and swap slug water and magic powder and a piece of his hair and everything!” He lamented dramatically.  “But I was just down there and hes still the same boring him! I was gonna watch emo and debbie downer freak out about it but everyone was down stairs except for logic!”

Deceit froze for a minute, what had just clicked in his head clearly clicking in Remus’s head too as his face lit up with realization.

“Remus,”

“Dee dee.” He grinned guilty.

“Where did you get the piece of hair you used for your potion?”

“Off their kitchen table...”

“And who exactly was last at the table?”

“Roman, i thought, but there was a jar of crofters sitting out too...”

They both turned to the cat, who still couldn't understand them.

Deceit leaned back to face the somewhat calm cat, staring back at them with curious eyes.

“Logan?”

He certainly reacted to that.

---

Logan jolted as Deceit very clearly said his name to his face.

Remus cackled loudly practically wheezing while Deceit gave him an un-amused glance. Logan looked rapidly between the two for some insight. Deceit tried to say something to Logan as he usually would.  

He tilted his head as he spoke, still not understand what was being said beyond a single word. Deceit turned to Remus and asked him something before looking back to him. Logan watched them both with calculating eyes, this was certainly not who he expected would be the ones to realize his situation. Though connecting context clue’s he had a guess of who changed him in the first place. Remus nodded to something Deceit said and ran off down the hall. Logan just sat patiently, as the wasn't much he could do for now, though he could run once more if need be.

Deceit suddenly smirked and gave Logan an, albeit very clearly patronizing pat, it was sympathetic in nature. Logan couldn't help the sudden loud rumble that came from him, despite his best efforts, slightly leaning against the gloves hand. His ears flatted in embarrassment as Deceit pulled back looked stunned, but quickly put himself back together. Thankfully doing nothing more, if only for Logan’s own self-respect.

Remus returned skidding around the corner holding a sloshing bottle filled with a saturated pink liquid, it almost glistening in the light.

Logan was suddenly picked up by Remus and he dug his claws into the puffy sleeves as he was transported to the dark living-room. Deceit briefly scolded Remus lightly but the latter just shrugged with a teasing smirk. Logan fluffed up again when he was set down on the floor, the others much taller than him standing up, but before he could do anything the cold liquid suddenly splattered onto his head. His thoughts briefly became fuzzy as he felt his senses dull and felt a similar flip of when they changed from as suddenly, opening his eyes once more after getting a grip on reality, Logan, the human Logan, stared up at the ceiling.

–

Logan blinked a few times at the sudden change in lighting and sound feeling a bit disoriented, a dull throb behind hid eyes, but not painful.

“Whoo! It worked! Aaand you didn't turn into a glob of mutated human flesh!”

Logan tilted his head back glaring slightly at the delighted Remus looming above him with a grin.  He adjusted his glasses slowly sitting up and regathering his bearing.

“Thank you for the lovely visual Remus.” Deceit quipped. “And I’m sure this totally was what Logan expecting for this morning, so my apologies.”

“Always here to please! In more ways than one.” Remus shimmed next to deceit who rolled his eyes with a slight smirk.

Logan stood up, fixing his hair which seemed to have residual fluff from the transition and re-adjusted his tie. “It is quite alright Deceit. And I would also like to apologize for invading your space, and will soon be leaving your metaphorical hair. However, to be clear i take it Remus is the one responsible for my sudden feline attributes?”

“Yep!”

“Unfortunately.”

“Ah. I shall have to take that into consideration then.” Logan nodded to himself.

Remus stared blankly with a smile tilting his head. “What?”

He reassured him. “Nothing of concern or malicious intent, merely an event to take into consideration when future events may take place. As they say, ‘keeping receipts’.”

Deceit raised an amused eyebrow.

“But I believe I shall be leaving now. And hopefully reconciling any mishaps that may have taken place by some cat in the past hour and 32 minutes I was away. Goodbye Remus, Deceit.”

“Don’t look froward to seeing you again Logan.”

“Bye Nerd!”

And Logan sunk out.

–

“What d’ya you think he meant by mishaps?” Remus looked to Deceit while picking his ear.

Deceit hummed. “Gossip seems to find its way around when you live in one persons mind, I suppose I could find out later and let you know.” He drawled with a smirk. “Secrets are my thing after all.”

“Whoo!”

[fortysevenswrites]

SETHKATE and KASTLE and KIMBERLY/TOMMY

HAHA Emily, I had a feeling I’d get these from you (though pleasantly surprised at the inclusion of Tomberly!)

SethKate

Gives nose/forehead kisses - Seth, but Kate has been known to when she being patronizing, usually because Richie is right about something and Seth is not happy to have to acknowledge that

Gets jealous the most - Seth. 10000%. He knows how OUT OF HIS LEAGUE his tiny, vicious person is, and really does not like how she insists on being SO DAMN NICE AND GIVING THE COMPLETE WRONG IMPRESSION to anyone (any MAN) who comes into Jed’s.

Picks the other up from the bar when they’re too drunk to drive - Both. Usually Seth (especially when he gets caught up in his feelings), but then there are the nights where Kalinda convinces Kate to come out with the Jed’s staff and they all get full on shmammered.

Takes care of on sick days - Both. Seth gets really worried about Kate when she gets sick, like REALLY WORRIED, because of the whole...Amaru of it all, and is SUPER into taking care of her. But when Seth gets sick, he is a whiny, needy mess of a human person, and Kate basically has to cuddle him until he feels better (”has to” in HUGE quotes)

Drags the other person out into the water on beach day - Kate. Fuller. Full stop. Seth, for all that he wouldn’t shut up about El Rey, doesn’t actually like the beach all that much (Anakin Skywalker anti-sand vibes here), but he does let Kate drag him into the ocean whenever they go to the beach because she loves it. And also because she’s in a bikini and DUH.

Gives unprompted massages - Seth is the handsiest and cuddliest. Of course he would.

Drives/rides shotgun - Seth drives. Kate controls the music, and doesn’t always play music he can’t stand.

Brings the other lunch at work - Kate. Not that she slides into the homemaker role that her mother took with her family, but Kate knows that Seth gets distracted and forgets to eat, and when he remembers, he eats like shit, so she takes it upon herself that he has at least a meal or two a day that will help him maintain that six-pack for as long as possible.

Has the better parental relationship - Hahahahahahahahahahaha. Kate by default, even though....neither parental relationship is all that great? Jacob did lie to Kate, a lot. And Jennifer, well, she struggled with her own issues and that did put a strain on her relationship with Kate, especially since Kate didn’t KNOW what was going on behind the scenes.

Tries to start role-playing in bed - I actually don’t think either would. They get up to a LOT in bed, but Kate does not have it in her to role play, I don’t feel. And Seth goes along with what’s going to make Kate happy and not embarrassed, because an embarrassed Kate does not have sex.

Embarrassingly drunk dancer - Kate. She just gives no fucks, and once she starts drinking recreationally, she just likes to have fun. Seth thinks it’s fucking adorable.

Still cries watching Titanic - Seth. It’s a f i l m, and the man knows to appreciate a good movie. Kate just can’t understand why they couldn’t just share the door.

Firmly believes in couples costumes - Kate. Fuller. With backing from Richie. Seth hates it, but well, happy wife, happy life ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas - Seth. Gecko. Full stop. Kate never really saw a need for money growing up, what with her dad and that constant message of providing for your community, so she really doesn’t know what to do with the money she gets being part of Los Tres Geckos outside of some small splurges. Seth, on the other hand, sees things and doesn’t look at price tags because he loves her.

Makes the other eat breakfast - Both. Since they keep such weird hours while running an operation that is predominantly nocturnal, it’s really just whoever is up first and remembers to check that they need to eat.

Remembers anniversaries - Seth. The man forgets nothing, like, from the big things to the little things (it makes him more than a little petty, too, but hey, what can you do?). Kate remembers the big dates, but Seth seems to have an anniversary for every day of the week for the two of them, whether it’s the first time Kate successfully learned a trick of the trade from him, or the day he realized she was still alive, or any milestone time period after Matanzas, or when Kate learned how to bartend, or, of course, the day he and Richie kidnapped her and her family.

Brings up having kids - Seth. He doesn’t want to be the one to bring it up, but eventually, LONG into the future, Seth realizes he DOES want that with Kate, and it’s a very uncomfortable (for him) conversation because she’s still so much younger than he is and he doesn’t want to pressure her, but also he wants it all with her in a way he never eve thought he’d want with anyone.

Kastle and Tomberly under the cut!

Kastle

Gives nose/forehead kisses - Frank Castle, full stop. When he lets himself, he is v e r y affectionate. It comes to a surprise to Karen, but she gets used to it quick.

Gets jealous the most - Frank, because he feels guilty about the whole thing where he’s a criminal/vigilante and every man who breathes in Karen’s direction he feels could be her chance at a normal life. It takes a while for Karen to beat the stupid out of Frank in that regard, but does happen eventually.

Picks the other up from the bar when they’re too drunk to drive - Frank, every single time. Girls night with Sarah and Marci and Jones and Trish and Claire? Yeah. Frank plays DD more often than he ever imagined he would. Whenever he gets shitfaced off his ass, which is VERY rare, he usually bunks down wherever he is, which is always a controlled environment where he’s safe enough to let go.

Takes care of on sick days - Both. Frank is SUCH a family man, and can’t stand it when someone isn’t feeling well, and Karen is the QUEEN of overdoing it when she’s sick, so he has to make her rest. And the rare times where Frank is the one who’s sick? Karen has to force him to accept her help. That’s when she tends to comment under her breath about how exasperating he is, even though she knows he can hear her.

Drags the other person out into the water on beach day - Karen. They don’t often do normal things like, “Hey, it’s beach day!” Because of the well, vigilante of it all, but when they do, it’s definitely Karen who has to drag him out from under the umbrella. The bikini helps a LOT with her case.

Gives unprompted massages - Frank. He knows Karen gets VERY stressed (he doesn’t blame her, working with Murdock and all), and she spends way more time than he things could possibly be healthy hunched over her computer, so shoulder massages are the norm in the Kastle apartment.

Drives/rides shotgun - Frank does most, if not all of the driving, which, of course, isn’t much when you live in NYC. Unless he’s been hurt and Karen has to cart him back home from wherever he was where he got his ass kicked (which, also, is rare.

Brings the other lunch at work - Frank, because A, he loves taking care of Karen, but also a little bit because Matt HATES when Frank stops by the office, and it scares the CRAP out of Foggy, which is endlessly entertaining.

Has the better parental relationship - Well, neither Frank nor Karen’s parents are in the picture, but it would have to be Frank by default, seeing as Karen’s mom is dead and Karen’s dad is a jerk.

Tries to start role-playing in bed - Neither. Frank is pretty straight-forward in bed, and it never occurs to Karen that she’d want to pretend they’re anything but Frank and Karen.

Embarrassingly drunk dancer - Karen. She doesn’t let loose often, but on girls night? Endless entertainment.

Still cries watching Titanic - Karen gets teary because she gets frustrated. Titanic is just…not a movie that Frank’s a fan of, but he humors Karen whenever she chooses to hate-watch something.

Firmly believes in couples costumes - Not that they really partake on Halloween much, but Karen would be the one most likely to come up with a couples themed costume. Frank would probably find any and every excuse to be busy on Halloween so he can avoid it.

Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas - Neither really. Holidays are hard for Frank, and neither are very materialistic. They tend to just spend holidays with one another, or they go to the Lieberman’s, and most of their efforts center on getting nice gifts for the kids.

Makes the other eat breakfast - Frank. If Karen had it her way, she’s subsist on coffee and spite. Frank makes sure she gets enough caloric energy in her so she can instill fear in the unjust.

Remembers anniversaries - Both. Frank can’t forget any of his anniversaries and important dates with Maria and the kids, but also really can’t forget things like the day he met Karen at the hospital, the day at the hotel with Lewis, and of course, the day he pulled his head out of his ass and apologized for telling her to walk away. Karen also can’t forget the day she met Frank, when he used her as bait in the coffee shop, also the hotel, and when Frank totaled her car when she was being held hostage by Schoonover.

Brings up having kids - Frank, but only in the sense that he’s concerned that Karen doesn’t know what she’s getting into with him (yeah, right). Karen sets him straight that she really doesn’t want kids and also doesn’t want to think that she wants to replace Lisa and Frankie. They talk about it once and it never really comes up again.

Kimberly/Tommy

Gives nose/forehead kisses - Tommy. Because as much as Kimberly can hold her own in a fight, she is still is tiny and adorable girlfriend.

Gets jealous the most - Neither really (BECAUSE IN THIS UNIVERSE THERE WAS NO STUPID FUCKING LETTER). Yeah, long distance is hard, but they manage to keep things together pretty well while Kimberly competes internationally.

Picks the other up from the bar when they’re too drunk to drive - Tommy absolutely plays DD. When they’re old enough to drink, Kimberly absolutely enjoys letting loose and going to a party or two or…twelve.

Takes care of on sick days - Kimberly, because Tommy, being a leader and all, rarely lets anyone see him when he’s sick or struggling. He is very stubborn.

Drags the other person out into the water on beach day - Kimberly. On days where the bad guys choose not to attack when the Rangers are out at the beach (or, well, the lake in Angel Grove, California, Canada), it’s Kimberly who pulls Tommy into the water with her, but also Tommy who pulls Kim back out with him when he gets bored of her lying around working on her tan.

Gives unprompted massages - Both. They’re both not just Rangers, but they’re athletes too, and they know how important it is to avoid muscle strain as much as possible.

Drives/rides shotgun - When they’re not teleporting to and from the Command Center, it’s Tommy who does most of the driving, so Kimberly can finish doing her makeup or filling him in on the latest school gossip.

Brings the other lunch at work - Neither. They’re both very self-sufficient, but will trade off who picks up their smoothies from Ernie up at the juice bar.

Has the better parental relationship - Neither. Kimberly’s parents are suuuuuuper MIA (like, if they weren’t, they’d probably figure out pretty quick that she’s, you know, A FUCKING POWER RANGER), and Tommy’s parents are also pretty…MIA. Like, really, do ANY Rangers have parents other than…Billy? It’s not that Zordon was looking for teenagers with attitude. It was attitude AND absentee parents.

Tries to start role-playing in bed - They are way too damn vanilla to even consider role play.

Embarrassingly drunk dancer - Tommy. Oliver. For all that he’s very good at fighting, it does NOT transfer to da club.

Still cries watching Titanic - Kimberly. She just gets emotional about how Jack sacrificed himself so Rose could live. Tommy wishes Kimberly would watch more movies with explosions. (And also wonders why the hell they couldn’t have just shared the door)

Firmly believes in couples costumes - Technically both, because Tommy is INTO Halloween and is happy to let Kimberly pick the costumes for them,

Breaks the expensive gift rule during Christmas - I mean, they’re in high school and fighting a war, so I don’t think they really think much about presents (plus, they get pretty sick gets in terms of tech from Zordon), but as adults, definitely Tommy doting on Kim, who gets annoyed that he’s using his teacher salary on extravagant gifts (she’s the real moneymaker in the family as a world-famous gymnast and coach)

Makes the other eat breakfast - When they do live together, Kimberly does the meal making because she finds cooking therapeutic.

Remembers anniversaries - Both, but Tommy remembers some of the more obscure anniversaries, like the day Kim fainted when she saw him in the new White Ranger uniform.

Brings up having kids - Kimberly. She tells Tommy that she’s planning on retiring from competing and going to coaching full-time, and when Tommy asks why, Kimberly tells him that it’s really hard to do a side aerial off the balance beam while pregnant, since balance is…hard when there’s a bun in the oven.

[kareofbears]

blinding lights, chapter 3/4

Their height gap is a wide one, but in no way is Sumire going to let Akechi keep looking down on her. “It became my business the minute we wanted the same thing: to fix this reality.“

—

Akechi and Sumire have to traverse through the events of the third semester without Akira (or rather, against him).

read on ao3 or under the cut!

——

On a technical standpoint, rain doesn’t bother Akechi.

Whenever it rains, no matter if it was just a drizzle or a downpour, people scramble to the nearest overhang, praying that they don’t get drenched. Such a trivial thing to get panicked by, he thought. City rain like this was hardly something to fear, yet it remains a constant in societal culture—water starts falling from the sky and people stop whatever they’re doing to duck for cover.

And since Akechi had long since accepted to reform himself into the mold of society rather than the other way around, here he was, in the middle of Kichijoji, shoulders pressed back against the building of Darts & Billboards, waiting for the rain to tire itself out.

Out of all the habits he’s practiced and perfected from his days of deceit, it’s strange that hiding out from rainfall is one of the few that he still can’t shake, inconsequential as it was. He had learned that mimicking what can be considered societal norms and exercised it in everyday life can at least trick most people that he, Akechi Goro, can be lumped in with the norms and be heightened to excellence later on. People hid from droplets and because the path of normalcy is what he wanted, he decided that he’ll hide with them.

It took him a long time to narrow down why it bothered him. Why, for some reason, it had pissed him off that idiots would commit to such an insignificant action. It’s because when people run for cover, when they prioritize the act of hiding over everything else, they’re essentially allowing the rain—this overall harmless entity—to prevent them from reaching their destination. Fools let their decisions be dictated by the weather, wasting their time waiting it out, letting themselves be dictated beyond their control.

It’s a product of the collective unconscious; rather than pushing past the drizzle to reach their destination, or continue living their life as it were before the storm clouds rolled in, the masses decided that the better decision was to cease all movements because it would be easier. When it rains, society comes at a standstill.

“D’you always just stand in the middle of the promenade lookin’ pissed, or am I just lucky?”

Akechi blinks and turns his head to see a patch of bright, blond hair with an even brighter grin. His purple hood was pulled up, but it’s too short that it does little to block out the downpour.

Sakamoto Ryuji stands in front of him, completely drenched and unbothered.

“I’d hardly call it luck, so much as a coincidence.” Flicking his eyes downward, Ryuji adjusts the heavy looking plastic bags hanging off of his wrists. “And you?”

“Doing some grocery shopping for my ma. She’s been real busy at work, so…” he shrugs.

It really was a strange coincidence that he shows up like this, unprompted. The universe, if it ever was sentient, had never thrown him a bone. However, for Ryuji to show up, it almost seems like a waste to let it go.

If he’s been wanting to see Sakamoto up close, this is as good as it’s gonna get.

“How do you feel about joining me in some people-watching?” Akechi asks.

Ryuji’s eyes light up. “Sure! These bags are getting heavy anyway, could use a break.” He dodges a stream of water flowing cleanly from the gutter and joins Akechi underneath the overhang. Whether he can sense Akechi’s discomfort or perhaps it’s a feeling residing from the real reality, Ryuji had kept a gap of about a meter between the two.

“I hope I didn’t take you away from any pressing matters, Sakamoto.”

“Nah,” he gently sets down his bags before turning to give Akechi his full attention. “Don’t got much waiting for me back home with my ma at work, but can’t stay for too long,” he nods his head down to his bags. “She’d kick my ass if I let the milk go bad.”

Ryuji laughs, shoulders shaking. “But y’know, I see you hangin’ with ‘Kira sometimes, and any friend of that bastard is a friend of mine. And, uh, speaking of…” With an expression of guilt and reluctance so tremulous that Akechi can only compare it to a child getting caught with their hand in a cookie jar. “That’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.”

Yes, technically he’s an unforgivable hypocrite for advising Sumire against speaking to Ryuji, but that won’t stop him from getting the information he needs. (It never has.)

After all, there must be something special about Sakamoto in order to have Kurusu Akira wrapped around his finger.

“Oh?” he responds.

“Yeah, it, uh, might be a bit awkward so I’ll do my best to be straight about it,” Ryuji looks embarrassed, but determined. “I know the feeling of not wanting to say something, to have it weigh you down and shit. Basically, what I’m tryna say is: you don’t just gotta rely on Akira!”

Akechi’s eyes widen. It should’ve been impossible. How did he figure out about Akira and the other reality when he hasn’t even been snapped out of it—

“You looked super stressed back in New Year’s and I get that you’d rather talk to Akira, but he’s a busy guy. And I know we aren’t close, but if you want to vent, or just, I dunno, get some ramen together?” he shrugs and throws a smile in Akechi’s direction. “I’m here for you.”

Akechi’s face is carefully blank. He’s wrong, because of course Sakamoto didn’t figure it out. (Has he ever figured anything out?)

He had done extensive research on the Thieves the second he got a whiff of who they might be, and that was especially the case for the initial members of the group. Sakamoto Ryuji, a second-year in the now infamous Shujin Academy. Formerly the star of the track team, his leg was snapped beyond repair by Kamoshida, the Thieves’ initial target. While he had always possessed a temper, it had grown exponentially when the teacher had faced no charges and he was shunned by the rest of the school. It’s like the Boy Who Cried Wolf—except there had undoubtedly been a wolf, and the boy ended up with a lifetime’s worth of permanent damage.

At first, he had chalked up Ryuji’s temper as yet another weakness—Akechi had learned firsthand just how fast the hand of authority strikes if one were to place a toe out of line. It’s how he decided to perfect the weapon of deceit. Akechi learned from his mistakes, to the point that his heart had split itself into two people he could become: Loki as his true self, and Robin Hood as who he needs to be.

Even Akira had understood the hubris of exposing himself, had felt the same punishment that Akechi was subjected to (ironically by the same person). In a world where a mask can be the difference between life and death, Akechi and Akira had decided to be its executioner rather than the one subjected to the sharp end of the guillotine.

By the nature of these rules, Ryuji should have been beheaded. And he was.

But instead of learning his lesson the way Akechi and Akira had, he had been rejuvenated. Instead of bending to the will of authority, he let that pressure mold him into something tougher, let the anger inside him fester and grow.

It had made sense, in hindsight, why Ryuji had treated him the way he did (it’s not like Akechi had the best intentions). So seeing him like this, where he never found out Akechi’s true personality, allowed him to see Ryuji in his natural state.

A feeling surges within Akechi, so foreign that it takes him slightly too long just to name it. All around him, deep in his gut, spread all the way to the tips of his fingers and his toes is wave after wave of…

“I’m done here,” Akechi says.

Discomfort.

“Huh?” Ryuji cocks his head. “Uh, was that weird of me to say? My bad, Ann’s always said I had a big, fat mouth. Sorry, yeah we aren’t close and stuff. Just thought it’d be nice—”

Akechi holds back a click of his tongue and, with a little effort, morphs his expression into one of false platitudes and plasticity. A slight quirk in his lips (not too high or it’ll scare them), tilt his head at a certain angle, and raise his voice an octave to indicate an apology. “Sorry to leave so suddenly. Thank you for your time.”

The rain had stopped sometime during their conversation and he hates that the universe seemed like it had taken pity on him.

Ryuji says something to him, but Akechi refuses to listen to another word—he doesn’t need to. He got what he wanted. All it took was one conversation for Akechi to know exactly what Akira sees in him.

That incessant authenticity and kindness shouldn’t exist in a world like this. It shouldn’t have existed in an angry boy like him.

Akechi tries (and fails) to look like he isn’t running away.

It was only when he was in bed later that night that he realized he didn’t find out what Ryuji’s wish was. Given the way he said Akira’s name though, Akechi didn’t have to think too hard.

—

AG: The biggest gray area in this has to be with Niijima Makoto YS: wow. I didn’t think you’d be straight-forward with your relationship with her. thank you for your honesty. YS: you both must have a difficult history with one another :( AG: What are you talking about? AG: I’m saying I don’t know where to find her. YS: ah. i see. YS: haha how about we just pretend that never happened?

They checked Shujin Academy (closed for winter break), Aoyama Itchome (for good measure), and finally the bookstore in Central Street (the smell of books is so lovely) before Akechi began to lose his temper.

“It wouldn’t be a huge surprise if we just found her in the middle of Tokyo University impersonating a research assistant as some sad excuse to feel some adrenaline for the first time in her life,” he says as they walk down the escalator, prepared to hop on the train and try somewhere else.

Sumire frowns. “Being studious doesn’t make someone boring.”

“Of course it doesn’t. Kurusu is at the top of his class and a huge public nuisance. No, Niijima’s absolutely underneath the sole of academics and government propaganda from her father since day one.”

“You don’t like her?”

“I don’t like anyone,” he replies. “Especially not someone so tied with practicing law like she plans to.”

They round the corner. “You can talk to her about that yourself.”

Standing by the overpriced-looking smoothie bar is Niijima Makoto, accompanied by a beautiful older woman who looks like she can melt down a rusted car with a single glare.

“I would think that Sae-san would quite actually murder me if I were to bring that up.”

“You know the other woman?”

“It would be rude not to know my co-workers after all,” says Akechi. “That’s prosecutor Niijima Sae—Makoto’s sister as well as one of the Thieves’ targets from the past.”

Sumire ponders over the odds for a second. “Did she happen to have a casino as a Palace?”

He pauses. “Yes. As a matter of fact, she did.”

“Amazing! What luck!” she beams. “May I try and guess what their wish may be?”

“Is this nothing but a game to you?” he says immediately, before stopping himself. “…One guess.”

Brows scrunching together, she leans towards him, shoulders sagged as if she was carrying a secret so heavy that it physically weighed her down. Poker chips, alcohol bottles, and slot machines… “Did Makoto-senpai wish for Sae-san’s gambling addiction to go away?”

Akechi stares at her. “Who was it again that taught you how Palaces work?”

“Morgana-senpai.”

“If that’s the case, I’m simply over the moon that he didn’t join us on our mission.” They walk towards the Niijimas, who were still chatting amicably with one another. “Their father passed when they were young; it left their family jaded, it was traumatizing, et cetera, I’m sure you get the gist.”

“Wait, I really don’t—”

“Akechi? What a coincidence!”

The sisters greeted them with kind eyes and soft smiles, and Sumire has to accept that she’s out of her league for this one—the student council president may have been a common name around school, but it hardly ever came with more information other than how good her grades were, as well as the potential ‘narc’ comment. But despite what Akechi thinks, no Phantom Thief could possibly be on the side of the police; they’ve all had enough firsthand experience with that particular institution to see just how often the system has failed them.

Akechi nods. “It truly is,” he says, as if they hadn’t spent half the day walking around Tokyo scrounging for them. “This is Yoshizawa Sumire, Sae-san.”

“Pleasure to meet you!”

“Likewise,” Sae says.

“I have to admit, I’m quite surprised to see you here,” Akechi says. “Did we interrupt you both?”

“Not at all. We were just doing some grocery shopping for dinner tonight. Our father’s been having a craving for teriyaki,” she answers. “Why so surprised, Akechi?”

“Nothing in particular,” he says, and Sumire can feel his smugness radiating from where she’s standing. Well, he is a detective, so she’s not too shocked. “It’s simply refreshing to see you spending time with your family, despite being as busy as you are.” With a tilt of his head, he turns to Makoto. “I haven’t heard about your father for a long time.”

Makoto recoils a little, and winces. “My…father? No, wait, dad’s been gone for…It doesn’t make any sense…:

Sumire nearly startles when Makoto suddenly straightens up, gaze clouded. Akechi clicks his tongue.

“Sorry,” she says, a bit dizzily, already taking a step back. “Sae and I need to make it to the grocery store before it closes.”

Sumire waves half-heartedly and sighs when they’re gone. “Niijima-senpai perhaps had the most graceful escape so far,” she comments.

Pulling back his sleeve, Akechi peers at his watch. “It’s two pm. She could’ve done better,” he scoffs. “It’s a shame. I had high hopes for her to be the first one. She’s the only one in that circus who had more than one brain cell and isn’t named Kurusu.”

“…May I ask you something?”

“You’re already asking a question, just ask it.”

Sumire rocks back and forth on her heels. “Why do you call him that?”

“Because that’s his name?”

“Last name,” she corrects. “Why not call him by his first name?”

“What kind of question is that? Is this a test? A trial to prove that I’m willing to be honest?” Sumire stays silent. “Alright then, if it’ll help you sleep at night. I can’t possibly fathom how you still haven’t figured out that he and I aren’t as buddy-buddy as you think.”

“Well, yes, I know that but—”

“And you?”

Her heart rate skyrockets. “What about me?”

“You call him by his surname as well, even topped off with a ‘senpai’ at the end,” Akechi raises a brow. “Why not on a first name basis?”

“W-we aren’t that close!” she exclaims. “That’s reserved for people who’s close to him, like a good friend, or a girlf—boyfr—partner. We just… aren’t that.”

“Strange, isn’t it?” Akechi says. “We aren’t even on a first name basis with him, yet here we are; fresh from New Year’s, running around Tokyo for his friends who should be doing this instead.”

(Sumire very nearly says it, what’s been on her mind since Maruki’s Palace. But as it stands, she doesn’t want to ruin the foundation—very unstable, can most definitely blow away with a strong gust of wind, but a foundation nonetheless—that she and Akechi reluctantly built.)

“Yes, it really is strange.”

—

AG: Are you particularly close with Okumura? YS: unfortunately not, no. i’ve heard about what happened to her father, though. Perhaps her wish is related to his passing. AG: …Yes, I believe it is. I would think that the two of them would look at ways of expanding the Big Bang business. So basically, Tokyo Hotspots. YS: kichijoji? that place is always bustling YS: not to mention, i’d love for them to open up there. their milkshakes are incredible ( ◜‿◝ )♡ AG: Good call. We’ll try there first then. AG: At any rate, it will be a very quick confrontation with her.

“So I’ve been thinking—”

“A dangerous pastime, but go on.”

Sumire huffs without heat as they traverse Kichijoji—busy even in this time of year, though in no small part because of the shrine nearby. “We’ve been doing this…” What are they doing? “Saving our known reality business for nearly a week now. It hasn’t been going the best.”

Neither of them need a reminder that their victory ratio is currently at a strong zero to six. “So maybe we need to change it up a bit! I thought up a strategy last night that I think we should implement today,” she beams up at him.

Akechi’s gaze can wither flowers. “Do you need me to explain how idiotic that sounds?”

“Oh, come on Akechi! We need all the help we can get, especially since we only have two left. Plus, you haven’t even heard the strategy. Would you like to hear it?”

She doesn’t wait for his response before eagerly pushing through. “I understand and accept that you’re a bit ruthless, which is great! Well, great if that’s who you are. And since you called me a goody two shoes that one time, I figured we can go with that.” Sumire steps in front of Akechi and raises her hands to the sky, chin tilted upwards. “We can do the ‘good guy, bad guy’ strategy! That’s what we’ve been doing anyway. It can be like Zootopia.”

A silence stretches out—Sumire’s grin unfaltering and Akechi’s perfectly blank.

Then, “What the fuck is a Zootopia?

“Did you not watch that movie? It was pretty big.”

“Do I look like someone who’d watch a documentary on the animal kingdom?” His eyes zero in on something. “Lucky us, we found them.”

Okumura Haru stands with whom Sumire can only assume is her father. The speak amicably with each other, adoration radiating off of them as they point and gesture at the various businesses around the promenade.

“Don’t forget the strategy,” she whispers.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds sarcastically.

A feeling of optimism blossoms in Sumire’s chest as they approach the Okumuras. Maybe it’s the nice weather, or it’s another opportunity to finally achieve their goal of gaining one of Akira’s allies. Mostly though, she chalks it up as relief that even though it’s far from perfect, Akechi’s finally starting to let down the drawbridge, bit by bit.

And that’s when Haru decides to look in their direction.

Instead of the initial small talk, the breadcrumbs that hint towards their other reality, instead of gently edging them to the truth, Haru had completely bypassed all of that. A feeling of deja vu tugs strangely at Sumire as she takes in her expression—the usual confusion and pained tightening of the brows, but this time, a raw, unquestionable fury morphs onto her features.

It’s a near-perfect replica of Futaba’s expression.

After a few seconds, Haru says something to her father, and they leave, leaving Akechi and Sumire mid-stride in the middle of the promenade.

Another silence reigns over them, heavy and suffocating despite the bustle of Kichijoji.

“We didn’t even need to talk to her,” Akechi says. “An efficient failure.” The silence stretches on. “You have something to say..”

Sumire shoots him a dark look. “Alley,” she says, voice uncharacteristically low. “It might upset the families if we speak rudely in front of them.”

She leads them to the backstreets, where most stores are closed until the nightlife crowd rolls in. It was empty, and only the metal shutters and stray plastic bags strewn about the pavement were present to hear them.

“Of course I have something to say,” Sumire says, fists clenched tightly at her sides. “You promised back at Leblanc. You said that you won’t withhold information from me anymore, for the sake of the mission.”

She points behind her in the direction of where the Okumura’s left. “Despite what you may like to believe, I’m not an idiot who won’t notice something as obvious as Okumura-senpai running away the second she sees you. She didn’t even speak to us before she ran, which is considerably worse than Sakura-chan.” Sumire’s eyes narrow. “What are you still hiding from me?”

Throughout her speech, Akechi didn’t even blink. “Has it occurred to you that I simply lied when I made that pesky promise to you, or are you still the same person who fell right into Maruki’s waiting hands last spring?”

Sumire recoils as if she’d been hit. “Don’t bring that up, it has nothing to do with this—”

“Doesn’t it?” his voice is cold. “Isn’t the reason why you’re so desperate for me to be open with you is that you have some sort of trust issues?”

“That’s not it.”

“Finally we’re getting somewhere,” Akechi’s red eyes seem to be glowing despite the darkness in the shadowed alley. With a sickening feeling, she realizes he’s enjoying this. “Let me take a guess. You’re doing this out of the goodness of your heart, an overflowing kindness that you have to act on and spread across the globe. And, if you’re simply good and lucky enough, maybe, just maybe, your beloved ‘Kurusu-senpai’ will look away from his little group long enough to see how sweet and kind you are—”

“Shut up,” she cuts him off. Her voice is slow and deliberate. “You want to know what I’m doing this for? It’s because I’m sick and tired of these hellish lies.”

Akechi stays quiet as she continues, struggling to speak while her eyes blazed with fury. “I basically just found out that I’m not who I thought I was for the past ten months. Do you know what that feels like? It’s like if someone kidnapped me, shoved me in the back of a van, blindfolded. Maruki, bless his soul, forced me to believe whatever garbage he thought was best for me. It makes me sick to think that I fell for that reality, never once did I question it.”

She clenches her jaw. “You know what I want, Akechi? It’s not the philanthropy you’re so obsessed with, or senpai’s affection. What I want is my kidnapper to fail. I want him to regret what he did to me, to stop what he’s doing to everyone else. Even if his intentions were good, I am not going to let him get away with this,” Sumire looks directly into Akechi’s eyes. “And you are not going to be the one to slow me down.”

Chest heaving, she realizes she’s breathless. After a brief pause, Akechi speaks.

“Our motivations aren’t too far off from one another,” his voice is strangely cool, as if his fury and long since dissipated from the surface and had manifested into something sharp and dangerous. “You said you’re tired of the lies? Of being used like some kind of puppet, a test subject? Of having the rug pulled from you just because someone fucking felt like it? Good. But our similarities stop there.”

He leans back against the metal gate of a closed bar. “At the root of it, you want to stop Maruki so that he doesn’t push his beliefs to anyone else. Whether you like it or not, your motivation is accidental philanthropy. I could not give less of a shit about Maruki, or Tokyo, or even the rest of this damned world. I just want to be able to live in a reality where I get to choose what I want to do.”

“So let me help you!” she exclaims, frustrated. “Some detective, you are—keeping secrets isn’t going to help this situation.”

“You still don’t get it, do you? I tried to make this as easy to understand as possible, but I guess I just have to make it obvious.” Akechi straightens up and from the smirk resting on his mouth and the way his brow is lifted, condescension is simply dripping from him. Sumire refuses to recoil. “I don’t care if you want to help me. I am a selfish person who does what he wants. I’m willing to tear down anyone in my path, use anyone in my way, if it means that I get what I want.”

“Maybe you are!” Sumire says. “A selfish person, I mean.”

Akechi blinks, and throws his head back, loud laughter echoing through the alley. “‘Maybe I am?’” He laughs again, nearly doubling over. When he sobers up a bit, she has to force herself not to flinch. It’s as if something had unhinged in Akechi and she’s seeing the result of that—his eyes are twinkling as his smirk stretches even further over his face; an edged grin. “Do you need an example, Yoshizawa? Proof? Citation for what I’ve done just so you can understand? Look forward to it, since you’ll learn at long last why Sakura and Okumura took one look at me and fled.”

Bending over slightly so that he’s eye-level with Sumire, he announces: “I killed Sakura Futaba’s mother and Okumura Haru’s father. I am a murderer.”

“So am I.”

Akechi stops breathing, blinking as he processes what Sumire just said. She only looks back through narrowed eyes, daring him to say something.

When he doesn’t, she relaxes a bit. “Are you in the mood for darts? Since we finished with Okumura-senpai much earlier than expected, we have some time. And besides,” Sumire brushes her bangs out of her eyes. “There’s more to discuss, and I’m not really feeling this alley anymore.”

—

“It’s different. You must know that it’s different.”

Sumire waits until she gets their darts from behind the counter. “I know.”

Darts & Billiards was never particularly full, but it was never empty either. There were a few groups, pairs, and serious soloists that filled the entire room with indecipherable chatter and the loud clack of eight-balls colliding with one another. Anything that Akechi and Sumire might talk about thankfully gets shrouded by the white noise.

“Any preferences?” she says, waving around the dart in her hands.

“701,” he says immediately. “Anything lower is child’s play.”

Sumire nods as she inputs the settings. “Kurusu-senpai said something before he went with Dr. Maruki,” she began. “He said that he was doing this for his friends—the Thieves, myself,” she glances back. “And in his words, ‘especially you.’”

“And what of it?” Akechi asks.

“I believe that Kurusu-senpai knows of your past, knows your struggles and whatever you’ve gone through. I can only guess what you’ve had to endure, and how it led you to what you did to their parents.” Sumire offers him his set of darts. “May I go first?”

Akechi nods and she takes her stance—despite everything, she’s a little nervous playing darts with someone who actually plays to win.

Sumire throws it as best she can when Akechi speaks. “Does it justify it, then? If my life was difficult enough, would you give me a pass for killing innocent people?”

“No,” she casts another dart. “It doesn’t. Nothing really justifies that.” Pinching her last dart between her fingers, she fiddles as she thinks. “But I accidentally killed my sister over my incompetence in gymnastics.”

“But that’s the difference,” Akechi waves his hand. “It wasn’t an accident that they died by my hands. I had planned it, plotted it, and accomplished it. What you did wasn’t deliberate; it was a spur of the moment decision to run into traffic.”

Sumire hurls her final dart a little harder than usual. “I didn’t say that you should be forgiven, Akechi! I mean, I still don’t forgive myself. But even if it is different, I can at least understand your sentiments a fraction better than anyone else can. Do I think that it’s fine that two people who’re the same age as us lost their parents? Of course not. It makes me ill just thinking about it.”

She walks to the board and gingerly plucks off her darts. “But if I tried to pretend that I don’t understand what you’ve done—that isn’t right, either.”

He has a thoughtful expression on his face, his darts rolling between his fingers similar to how people fidget with loose change; Sumire hadn’t even known it was possible to do that. “Interesting.”

Stepping up to the mat, Akechi tilts his body sideways, obviously practiced in the game. His expression doesn’t change when it lands on a triple twenty.

“Do you regret it?”

His hand is steady as he throws—another triple twenty. “The murders? It depends.”

“On?”

“Do I regret being caught, used, and humiliated by losers who I thought were beneath me? Yes. Do I regret ending the lives of many?” casting his third dart, it lands so close to the others that they wobble in unison. “No. Not really.”

Sumire’s next round was a silent one, Akechi’s confession playing on repeat in her mind. He had simply said it with no hesitation; his tenor hadn’t changed, posture didn’t shift. The words that flowed out of him had no emotion whatsoever—they were clinical, like a doctor stating the facts to a terminal patient.

The ongoing background noise paid no mind to their silence, stuck in its blissful ignorance despite the pair’s topics. If there’s one guarantee in this world, it’s that it’s extremely likely that no one will listen just as the conversation is getting important.

Akechi’s on his second turn when he says, “You took well to the fact that I’ve killed in cold blood.”

“I knew that you were hiding something,” she says. “It’s because of how you act. You were a little cruel back in the Palace, and while it’s no excuse, people who have…” she scratches her head. “A hardened heart usually has a nasty past, and what Kurusu-senpai said only confirmed it.”

No matter how many times he does it, Sumire still gets impressed by his casual triple twenty.

Swapping places with him, she closes one eye as she ponders over her strategy. “But despite the fact that you’re a ruthless sort of person—” her dart sails forward and sticks to the board. “I’m willing to look past it if it means we can change reality.” Sumire cocks her head at him. “Can you?”

Akechi stays silent as Sumire launches another dart—one more and they can win it. “Selfish is what we call ourselves, right?” she says. “That we’re only in it for yourselves, regardless of what happens to everyone else. If we work together and it raises the odds of getting what we want, doesn’t that still play into the fact that we’re acting for our own benefit?”

She lines herself up for the last point, and takes a deep breath. “What did you call it? Accidental philanthropy?” she throws her dart and watches as it curves beautifully—only for it to miss her mark by quarter-inch. “Oh no!”

“Accidental philanthropy…” he muses, indifferent to their loss. “That doesn’t sound half-bad.”

Sumire raises her eyebrows, skeptical. “Really?”

“I know that my past actions may have dictated our failure to some extent. That was my fault,” Akechi crosses his arms. “I won’t let it happen again.”

Maybe she was too forgiving, or too trusting, or maybe it’s the closest she’ll get as an apology out of Akechi, but she finds herself nodding. “That’s all I wanted.”

He moves to put on his coat. “Was it to your satisfaction?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve wanted to talk even before we discovered Maruki’s schemes,” he shoves his arms through his coat sleeves. “Are you satisfied”

“Pretty much,” Sumire nods. “I understand you much better than before, at least.”

Collecting his darts, he heads to the register. “Why do you want to understand?”

“…Because I’m curious. You changed so abruptly, I didn’t even know who you were anymore—not that I did to begin with. Not to mention, the people Kurusu-senpai knows are always interesting, and you’re definitely not an exception.”

Akechi turns, and from the doubt on his features, he doesn’t take the bait.

“Fine. That wasn’t a lie, though. I just…” she hesitates, and decides to throw caution to the wind. “I want to get to know my teammate better.”

Anything could’ve happened in that beat of silence, much to the ignorance of the loitering patrons.

“See,” he replies. “Now that I can believe. And here I thought I was the only one who needed to practice honesty more.”

He walks back to register. “I’ll handle the bill. Call it a repaying of debts, in a way.”

“For what?”

“That’s what teammates do, don’t they?”

Sumire feels herself smile widely. It had only taken about six days, their entire reality shifting, and a busted game of darts, but it finally feels like she and Akechi are fighting the same battle.

—

AG: If it all goes to plan, we should’ve at least been able to convince one of them AG: As much as it truly pains me to say it, putting our faith in them is our best chance at success. AG: Worse comes to worst, there’s a reason why we’re making him the last one to convince. He’s our trump card. YS: you mean sakamoto-senpai? AG: Ugh, don’t make me say it.

According to Akechi’s knowledge of Ryuji’s whereabouts (as unhappy as he was to recite it), there are two places that he frequents—the arcade in Shibuya or loitering around Shujin.

The arcade was full of random teens and pre-teens, all deeply invested in games that Sumire had never taken up but Akechi was apparently knowledgeable in (“Good practice,” he had replied when she asked, and she opted not to pry any further).

The two had hopped back on the train to Aoyama-Itchome, forced to stand as life resumes back to normalcy post-holidays. Despite the tight fit of the car, Akechi had placed a good amount of space between them—whether it’s for his sake or hers, she can appreciate the gesture.

The morning was a strange one. Ever since their darts game and impromptu heart-to-heart, the atmosphere between them had shifted. It’s still a few miles off from being friendly, but it’s easier now; there’s an unspoken understanding between them, a common goal that drives them forward.

Still, it would’ve been nice if they had gotten their act together prior to meeting with their last Phantom Thief.

“By the way,” Akechi says, and Sumire’s eyes flicker up at him in interest. They had been silent since they stepped on the train. “In the acknowledgement of…team spirit,” his lips curled, unable to keep the mocking out of his words at such a ridiculous concept. “I should let you know that I’ve spoken to Sakamoto.”

“Oh.” She can’t seem to muster up any shock. “When? Did you plan it?”

“A few days ago, and no, it was by chance,” his eyes narrowed. “Did you speak to Sakamoto?”

“Not on purpose!” Sumire defends, shifting her sweaty grip on the plastic handle. “He just happened to be there.”

“He seems to have a knack for that,” Akechi says, and Sumire doesn’t comment on the strange quality of his voice—bitterness? “Well? Anything worth repeating?”

“Uh…” she racks her brain. Somehow, she doesn’t think that Ryuji’s blow by blow of the new shounen manga was what Akechi’s looking for. “Nothing in particular. Oh! He spoke quite a bit about Kurusu-senpai, but that’s not too surprising, considering his wish and all.” ‘Quite a bit’ might be a bit of an understatement.

He squints at her. “Whose wish?”

“Kurusu-senpai’s? Obviously Sakamoto-senpai would still be affected since he’s directly tied Kurusu-senpai’s wish.”

His stare doesn’t relent. “Why on earth would Kurusu’s wish still be affecting Sakamoto? He already broke free of the fake reality, meaning that Sakamoto isn’t affected by Kurusu’s wish,” says Akechi. “The idiot has his own wish. Did you not know?”

Sumire would describe herself as a person with a decent amount of pride, but an obvious fact like that has heat rushing to her cheeks. She ignores him and instead asks, “Did you figure out his real wish?”

“On a technicality, no. Though I have a rather strong hunch on what it is, based on my interaction with him,” he cringes a bit when the train rocks someone into him. “It’s likely that his wish may be the exact as Kurusu’s.”

“As in…” she blinks. “He wished to be with senpai?”

“It’s possible. Disgusting, how desperate they are to bring something to fruition that could easily be done without the Metaverse.” And he adds, “Your conclusion wasn’t too far off.”

“Wow,” as articulate as it was, it was really all she could say about his observation. It sounds like an impossibility; having two people wish for each other, like some cheesy rom-com but with way more monsters and magic. Yet it makes sense—the way Ryuji spoke of Akira like he put up the moon, with a feeling of undeniable admiration and respect sandwiched between friendly jabs at him. It sounds like an impossibility, she realizes, because it probably is one. It would take something as insane as the Metaverse to create something as equally improbable as their level of requited love.

The speaker overhead announces their station and they both exit with no small amount of polite shoving.

It’s a short walk from Aoyama to the school, a route familiar enough to Sumire that she can probably traverse it with her eyes closed.

“Do you know where in Shujin he might be?” Akechi asks, and belatedly she realizes she hasn’t given him any indication for where to go. Not that it was a problem—for someone who doesn’t go here, he seems to know the path just as well as she does. “Is the school even open?”

“It should be fine,” Sumire says. “The grounds, maybe? Actually, the track is probably our best shot, since he goes for a run pretty often.”

A beat passes.

“How often?” he asks slowly.

“Um—” she spots a familiar patch of bleached hair. “Look, there he is! It looks like he’s talking to…is that the track team?”

Akechi hums. “Is it, now?”

“Pipe down, dumbass!” Even half a block down, Ryuji’s voice rings loud and clear. “I’m only tryin’ my best so you guys don’t laugh me—oh, no effin’ way. Yoshizawa! Akechi! Sorry, gimme a sec,” he calls back to the others as he half-jogs towards them.

“I knew it,” Akechi mutters.

“Huh?” she asks.

“His leg. He isn’t limping.”

Sumire’s brow creases. She’s about to ask Akechi to clarify when it dawns on her:

Kamoshida had explained to her (in full, descriptive, unhesitating detail) about the delinquent students that roamed the walls of Shujin, there was one in particular he had a special hatred for—Sakamoto Ryuji. Rumors had done little to reveal the truth of his declaration, but a single conversation with Ryuji had cleared away any possibility that he was the type for unnecessary violence.

However, there is one truth that came from every lie that was spread about him; his leg has been damaged to the point where professional running is no longer a possibility.

Ryuji approaches them, smiling and limp-free.

Which means—

“What’s up?” he asks. Just like when Sumire saw him before, Ryuji is donned in the standard school P.E track pants (red and white and cuffed at the bottom). It didn’t mean much to her then. “Whatcha doin’ here, Akechi? You transferring schools, or something?”

In all of ten seconds, Ryuji had proved them wrong without even knowing it.

“I was here to pick up a few books from the library when I bumped into him,” she lies for the both of them. “And you, senpai?”

Ryuji takes a step back, shocked. “Damn! You’re makin’ the rest of us look bad. Nah, the track guys just forced me to hangout with them to celebrate.”

“Celebrate?”

“Yeah, uh,” sneakers scuffing the concrete, Ryuji turns a light shade of pink when he admits, “The school might’ve let slip that there’s some colleges that might be scouting after me after my last meet.”

Even Akechi looked a little impressed. “That’s no small feat.”

“That’s incredible, senpai!” Sumire cries, unable to hold herself back. “That’s—that’s huge! Bigger than huge, it’s being scouted! Do you know how cool that is? Of course you do, you’re the one who got scouted!”

She throws both her hands up to the sky and Ryuji slaps them, the pleasant echo resounds through the alley and leaves them both shaking out their palms.

“Thanks,” Ryuji grins. “But don’t get too excited. It ain’t confirmed or anything,” he tries to keep the elation out of his voice and fails miserably. “I’m just so dang happy cause that means things’ll be easier for my mom down the line, y’know?”

It’s like a slap to the face, a jolt that sends her crash landing back to reality. Because she isn’t here to congratulate Ryuji for his success—she’s here to take that away from him. Not for the first time, she wonders if they should be doing this.

Then she recalls the painful but relieving feeling of getting her own memories back. Yoshizawa Sumire back. She recalls the boy beside her who’d do quite literally anything to get rid of this reality. She recalls a busy street, blood pooling on the concrete.

Sumire focuses. If not for herself, or for Akechi, then she’d focus for Kasumi.

“I’m happy for you,” she says, meaning every word. “How did Kurusu-senpai react?”

“Oh, that guy? I haven’t told him yet, so let’s keep it between us, y’know what I’m sayin’?” Ryuji goes for a wink, though it’s definitely closer to a blink.

Akechi coughs. “Is there a reason you haven’t told him yet? You both are quite…close, after all.”

“He’s been tough to contact the past week,” Ryuji shrugs, and neither of them mention that working with a Palace ruler probably consumes a good chunk of one’s leisure time. “I really wanna surprise him, though! Considering that he supported me more than anyone when it comes to track.”

“That’s kind of him,” says Akechi.

“Well, yeah. Both of us had to deal with Kamoshida toge…ther…” he seemed to listen to what he was saying, and stops abruptly. Any excitement that was on his face is wiped clean. Finally.

“How did you deal with Kamoshida together?” Akechi asks slowly. They had to be careful—this is their last shot.

“It, uh,” he purses his lips. “It was an accident at first, I think. Didn’t mean to.” Eyes sliding shut, he mutters, mostly to himself. “It was raining, I remember that. So why can’t I…?”

The two of them lean forward unconsciously as they gauge Ryuji’s reaction.

“You’ve got this, Sakamoto-senpai,” Sumire prompts gently.

It isn’t too different from watching someone do a math problem and seeing them do one, tiny thing wrong; seeing that tiny mistake being overlooked, even though it’s so obvious to the observer. He is so close, one breath away from—

“Sakamoto!”

Ryuji jerks, eyes flinging open and her heart sinks, irritation blossoming towards this random athlete who unknowingly jeopardized their known reality.

“Uh, yeah!” he calls back, shaking his head as if ridding himself of a bad dream. “Be there in a sec!”

“If that pesky runner is in Mementos, I swear he’ll be dead by tomorrow,” Akechi mummers darkly, because he always takes things too far.

“Sorry, gotta bail,” Ryuji apologizes. He still looks slightly unsettled, a little unnerved. “It was good to see you. We should grab some food sometime!”

“Wait!” Sumire blurts out before he can leave. She scrambles for something to say, finding the thought of their failure unbearable. “If—if you change your mind (or start to remember), we’ll both be in Odaiba tomorrow! At the stadium, to be exact,” she tries for a reassuring smile. “You were there in the summer, remember?”

“If I change my mind…?” he repeats, blinking. “Nah, you guys are wild. I don’t know what you’re talking about, but thanks for the invite. Later!”

He throws double peace signs up before joining his track mates once more, laughing and shoving each other in a way only teenage boys can pull off.

“An outstanding zero to seven loss,” Akechi dictates with a dead voice. “What a team we make. I’m floored.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t notice!” Sumire exclaims, slapping her hand to her forehead. “I literally saw him running, and I didn’t put the pieces together.”

He shakes his head. “How are you focusing on his wish?” Akechi asks, leaning against the stone pillar near him. “It doesn’t matter what his wish is. The point is, we lost. We wasted this week, and we don’t have a choice other than to confront Kurusu alone.”

“You forgot about the whole point of our plan, Akechi. Just because his friends didn’t realize the truth right away, doesn’t mean they won’t.”

“They probably won’t.”

“We’ll just have to see, then. If Kurusu-senpai has one talent, it’s his natural…thing, with people. You get what I mean, right?”

“No.”

“Liar. And hey!” Sumire gives him a pointed look. “You aren’t doing this alone! We’re working together—like two peas in a pod.”

“Yes, I haven’t forgotten our oath of team spirit. But still, that doesn’t change the fact that with the combined powers of Maruki and Kurusu, we’re as good as dead,” he says, and pauses. “Unless Maruki isn’t there.”

Sumire frowns, “Even if we could, I don’t think we should kidnap a doctor.”

“I meant that he might willingly not be there. He’s quite democratic and trusting—I can see that he might leave this in Kurusu’s hands. Don’t be fooled, though. If Kurusu wanted us gone, we probably would be.”

“I can’t imagine that he would ever do something like that.” The idea of Akira using his powers in that way… she doesn’t even want to indulge in the thought.

“He won’t,” Akechi agrees. “He never shoots to kill when it comes to real people,” he sighs. “A weakness on his part.”

“But you’re still saying that we should fight senpai. Fight Kurusu Akira.”

“I’m saying we should beat some sense into him. Convince him like we tried to convince all of his little gremlins, except we succeed this time around,” his face pinches together, as if he had something sour. “It’s not as if we have a choice.”

She hesitates, despite knowing that Akechi’s right. He scoffs at her. “Worried about scratching up the pretty boy? Trust me—we couldn’t finish him off even if we tried.”

It’s a little worrying to see how sure he is that Akira is apparently very difficult to murder. “Fine,” Sumire relents. “But I’m still going to hope for the best with his friends.”

“Then I’ll prepare for the worst, as per usual.”

A water droplet hits Sumire’s cheek, startling her. She looks up to be greeted by dark clouds.

“It’s raining.”

“I suppose we should rest for today, considering what we’re up against.”

“Hold on,” Sumire says, feeling bold. “The Metaverse—I’m still a little unsure about all that but bear with me—is about the strength of the heart and cognition, right?”

“Yes?” he nods at her in a go on manner.

“So, hypothetically, if we got some…cognition strengthening breakfast food together—”

“No.”

“I think it would be beneficial to us!” she says. It really did seem like a good idea when she first thought it up, but she really should’ve expected the resistance that comes with it; Akechi seems to hate the notion of fun. “The way you looked at my plate from back then is still stuck in by brain on loop—”

“That look is called disgust—”

“It would be really fun! Or um, not fun, but advantageous to the strength of our—our Personas?”

She’s grasping at straws, but optimism is one of her better traits. Still, Akechi’s withering glare is proving to be a tough foe. Sumire’s not going to back down, though. Whether she wanted it to happen or not, she finds herself liking his company more and more despite his thorns (many, many thorns).

Sumire couldn’t help but break out into a grin when Akechi speaks, voice void of any emotion:

“I’m picking this time. IHOP is an abomination.”

—

She didn’t think that hole-in-the-wall breakfast cafes existed, and if she did, she most definitely never would’ve guessed that Akechi would be leading her to one.

Laughing out loud at the situation would grant her a death wish through Loki, but it’s impossible not to. The light pastel shades of the cafe are comically paradoxical to Akechi’s eternal conniving expression and tone, yet the employees seem to light up when he enters and even greet him by name.

He orders without even looking at the menu and she decides to get two of whatever he’s getting; partly because she has no idea what to get, mostly out of curiosity.

They seat themselves in one of the frilly booths and once the food arrives, she has to physically stop herself from drooling.The three tall stacks of pancakes were steaming, thick, fluffy, and perfectly golden brown. The neapolitan ice cream was placed precariously on top, slowly melting and all completely drizzled in chocolate and strawberry syrup. Akechi almost looks like he wants to tell her that it physically isn’t possible to fit both stacks inside of her, but she’s already halfway through her first stack by the time he eats a forkful.

Unable to hold back, Sumire brings up his comment from back when they all went to the Kichijoji cafe with Akira.

“Oh, that?” Akechi reaches over to grab the syrup bottle. “I said I didn’t like sweet bread. Sweets are, in and of itself,” he pours an alarming amount of strawberry syrup on his plate. “Not bad.”

The conversation is light—none of the darker topics that were present during their darts game. Sumire hesitatingly asks him what it’s like to work with the police as a detective. She wasn’t expecting a detailed point-by-point explanation about the cops being the most ‘incompetent people who have ever wielded any amount of power, and yes I’m counting Mona in his normal cat form.’

In turn, Akechi seems genuinely interested in Sumire’s athletic career, wondering if her skills help her fight in the Metaverse.

Eventually, they even start talking about more mundane topics; clubs that they might have been participating in (“Gymnastics, obviously” and “Detective work if that counts, but not so much anymore”), what Akechi’s high school is like (“Boring, but I get excused often enough that it makes it bearable”), if they’re on social media much (“Yes! But my smartphone can barely open up any apps” and “I have a phone number and an email—that should be enough”).

Despite Akechi’s ever-present clipped comments, Sumire has to admit that this was all a nice change of pace. She’s having fun, sitting here, eating pancakes and talking. And if his replies were getting less snippy and more talky, maybe he’s feeling the same way.

Even if it’s only for an afternoon, even if they have to fight their counselor who now apparently controls reality, even if they have to fight Kurusu Akira—

It’s nice to just act like two teenagers with a sweet tooth for a day.

—

It’s just as cold as it was a week ago.

They’ve already been transformed into their Metaverse customers, and it’s blessedly warmer near the elevator than it is on the outskirts. None of that matters though; not with them standing in front of Maruki’s Palace once again.

“It has a certain beauty,” Sumire comments. “The Palace.”

“It’s a safety hazard, is what it is. Realistically, these would all crumble like tissue paper without Maruki holding it all up.”

“Still,” the abnormal swirls and teetering light fixtures possess a charm that she finds lovely in it’s own way. “I can admire it for what it is.”

Akechi nods at the elevator, “Let’s get this over with.”

“Wait.”

He stops. “What?”

“Kurusu-senpai gave sort of a battle plan before we went in,” Sumire reminded him. “Do you have one?”

“Hit him harder than he hits you,” Akechi pulls out his serrated steel, reflecting the light of the entrance hall. “Other than that, don’t die, and don’t fall behind.”

All things considered, it isn’t the worst pep talk she’s ever heard.

They start off to the depths of the Palace. The journey to see Akira is different without him present, but it’s as if the shadows are purposefully less aggressive with them—whether it’s because Maruki wants them to get there safely or what, but it lets them traverse through the lab with a fair amount of ease.

An announcement rings through the grand halls. “VIP patients identified. We will now begin the grand tour—please head to the auditorium through the door on your left.”

Definitely Maruki, then.

“How kind of them to politely inform us of their location,” Akechi remarks, and they head further inward.

They pass by what looks like research centres—powerpoints plastered by pie charts and numbers, shadows giving lectures on cognition (which is a strange sight to see), brain scan posters and lab coats strewn about. Sumire imagines that this might be what a university would look like in amidst of organized chaos.

Turning the corner, a double-door awaits them.

“Alright,” Sumire steels herself, hand finding her rapier’s hilt. “I hope senpai’s ready for us.”

“Trust me,” he reaches out to grab the handle. “He will be.”

A hallway meets them when they pass through. A long, white staircase elegantly leads them down and into what looks like a small version of a football stadium—seats filled up with faceless shadows and unlit theatre lights are hung from the beams above. Maybe it’s because this area has an uncanny resemblance to her competition venues, but she feels a tingle run down her spine: the feeling of anticipation.

They walk to the centre of it with caution, footsteps slow yet it resounding out all the same. She glances forward, squinting slightly against the darkness; a set of stairs that lead atop a stage are laid out in front of them, carpeted and plush. Ready for a performance.

Suddenly, all the lights flash on, white fluorescence blaring down on them mercilessly. Sumire and Akechi cringe against the unrelenting assault on their corneas.

“Welcome back.”

On top of the steps stood Akira, cloaked in his black Phantom Thief garb and drenched in blinding lights.

“I’m glad you two seem to be doing good. Honestly, I was a little nervous at first,” he descends the staircase, unhurried, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Looks like I was worried for nothing.”

“Worried? About us?” Akechi levels him with an incredulous look. “We aren’t the ones who are actively advocating the side of brainwashing.”

“I’m advocating the side of my friends being happy again,” he corrects firmly, turning to make eye contact with Sumire. “I want you to look me in the eyes and tell me that they weren’t happy, that they weren’t over the moon with euphoria. If you can tell me that, then I’ll join you in the fight against Maruki.”

Gazing into Akira’s eyes, Sumire opens her mouth, before looking away.

“That’s what I expected,” he shrugs, “It’s nice seeing them happy, right? But I’m not stupid—that won’t stop you two. You’re nearly as stubborn as I am.”

“Senpai,” she pleads. “I don’t want to fight you.”

“Neither do I. But you need to get Maruki to revert reality back to what it was,” Akira adjusts his gloves, and they both tense. “And to get to him, you have to get through me.”

“He’s really not backing down, isn’t he?” she mutters, her heart rate picking up rapidly.

Akechi snarls. “The tide sooner stop washing up before he quits being a fucking idiot.”

“You guys ready?” Akira calls. His tone is light, but there’s an undeniable glint to his eyes, similar to how the edge of a knife reflects light, and spreads his arms out. “Give it all you’ve got.”

Sumire meets Akechi’s eyes, and they nod.

They had a strategy, as loose as it was; there’s strength in numbers, and for once they have the advantage—pin him down, corner him, whatever they can manage, and incapacitate him until he listens to what they have to say. While this plan would certainly be more effective with more people, two should be enough to get the job done.

The air whistles around them as they dart forward, masks burning blue.

“Give him hell, Loki!”

The monochrome trickster bursts from the cinders with its eyes dead set on Akira. He raises a heavy hand and brings down his blade, slamming into the flooring as if it was warm butter, but Akira was already gone—he had hopped away just in time, giving them a cocky little smile.

Akechi snarled and swung again, only for Akira to bend backwards as if he’s in the most crucial game of limbo in recorded history, Laevatein missing him by an inch.

Before he can straighten himself again, Sumire shouts, “Dance, Cendrillon!”

As if the bells of midnight were calling her, a woman of glass and elegance manifests, white cloak blowing back from an unknown wind. A burst of light shoots from her crystal form but Akira had expected it, turning his bend into a backwards roll, not even trying to hide his grin. She’s starting to think that he was lying to her when he said he had no history with gymnastics. Maybe once this is all done, she could introduce him to her coach.

This back and forth continues, black and white and red all clashing together without anyone finding a target at all—that is, if Akira even had a target to begin with.

It’s as maddening as it is impressive to see him dodge and parry every attack; a hop here, a tilt there. It’s almost as if he knows what they were going to do before they even did it. It’s glaringly obvious why, yet it was another simple fact they overlooked—he was their leader, the person who made sure they had two, three, four possible strategies in their back pocket going into every fight. If not to ensure victory, then he does it to make sure that each and every one of them were capable enough to keep themselves safe.

But that just makes it all the more impossible to gain the upper hand.

By the time Akira had traversed nearly half the stadium in his evasion, not a hair out of place and unperturbed, Akechi and Sumire were breathing hard.

“He has,” Sumire gasps between breaths. “No intention of hitting us.”

“Dammit,” he hisses. “He’s turning this into a stamina battle.”

“Did you guys think I’d attack?” Akira frowns. Squinting at Sumire, he rummages through his pockets and tosses something to her. She catches it on instinct and peers down at the bottle of Arginade in her hand.

“It isn’t much, but I don’t want you hurting yourselves over this. I’d, uh, give one to Akechi too, but I think he’d throw it at my head or something.”

“Thank you,” Sumire sets the bottle down gingerly. “But I don’t think I should.”

“Suit yourself.”

“He’s wasting our time,” says Akechi. He points his steel at the corridor behind Akira. “Let’s just move past and find Maruki ourselves.”

She nods and they take a step forward before—

“Come, Black Frost.”

A flash of blue and a split second is all it took for the hallway’s entrance to be completely concealed in thick ice. “If you do that though, we’re gonna have a problem.”

“That wall won’t be enough to stop Cendrillon, senpai.”

“Probably not,” Akira agrees, gloved hand touching an invisible mask. “But a week was a lot of time to mix up some Personas.”

The implication makes Sumire swallow—Akechi wasn’t exaggerating.

“We have to stop him here,” she says quietly. “Even if we got lucky and ran, there’s no way we can reach Dr. Maruki with senpai trying to catch us.

Akechi clicks his tongue. “Unfortunately. We can’t win against him in a battle of stamina, but if we move fast and hit hard enough, we can catch him off guard.” His eyes flicker at Akira watching them speak, posture relaxed. “I’ve never had to reserve energy in a fight much, so this is the best plan with what we have.”

“Got it.”

“Don’t hold back,” Akechi huffs the same time Sumire says, “Don’t kill him.”

And then they sprint forward, rapidly closing in the distance to Akira.

Akechi meets her look before they split off wordlessly, approaching their target from either side.

“Hit him hard, Loki!”

“Aid me, Cendrillon!”

Curse and bless, dark and light come at Akira like a hand of judgement, narrowly escaping by flipping backwards with one hand and throwing out the other. “Let’s go, Yoshitsune.”

And like a scene from a classic Japanese period tale, a swordsman emerges from the embers, dual-wielding Katanas in either hand. WIth an air of divinity, he slices sideways, forcing the two to jerk away.

Perhaps it’s the effect of the Metaverse, its link to cognition, but the use of words became futile beyond the calling of their Personas—she can judge what Akechi had in mind without language just as he can support her in her strikes, where to stand so they don’t get caught in each other’s crossfire.

Sumire pulls out her rapier and swipes at Akira’s torso but it’s too slow; he shifts out of the way and again to dodge Akechi’s bullets like a true Phantom Thief—as elusive and hard to catch as mist.

“You’re pulling your punches, Yoshizawa!” Akechi shouts.

“I’m not trying to kill him!” Cendrillon moves her own weapon impossibly quick, glowing lines appearing midair like a child drawing on paper, and it all bursts in unison—slicing through everything indiscriminately, yet Akira remains untouched.

“Give me some credit,” he calls, coattail swishing stylishly. “I don’t think I’m doing too bad.” Yoshitsune dashes forward, armor glinting and steel sparking as lightning shoots from his katanas, several inches to Sumire’s right. It leaves her hair filled to the brim with static.

Exhausting as their back and forth was, Akira hadn’t once attacked them directly. Even when they roll or sidestep, every movement is accounted for and he adjusts his blows in turn—close enough for them to stagger back from him, but never enough for them to be touched. The message was clear: I’d never hurt you, but there’s no chance in hell I’m letting you win, either.

Still, Sumire wipes her glistening temple as Loki brings down his blade where Akira was and into the ground, the collision forceful enough to make the stage lights above rattle. It’s beginning to be clear that it would be near impossible to maintain Akira’s pin-point accuracy, given his lack of compromise on it. His rolls are getting lethargic, backflips half-assed; whether he knew it or not, he’s beginning to slow down.

And Akechi is starting to get desperate.

Precise swings from before are losing control, wild ones taking place instead.

Akira reaches up once more. “Lend me a hand, Metatron.”

What looks like an archangel crafted during the industrial revolution bursts forth where Yoshitsune once stood, eyes filled with divinity and judgement as he launches a small army of rainbow, psychokinetic spheres around Akechi’s vicinity, but fatigue causes a slight miscalculation—one of the pink orbs barely grazes his brown hair, causing him to flinch back from shock.

It didn’t hurt, it couldn’t have hurt, but it’s the first hit the Akira had landed all day, accidental or otherwise.

A beat passes as they both freeze, and Sumire slows when she sees the expression on Akira’s face, unobstructed by his mask; all the bravado, the cockiness and boldness is gone like it was never there. In its place, a gaunt, horrified look.

“I…” he breathes, unnaturally pale. “Shit, I’m sorry. Here, just…” he starts rummaging through his pockets, hands shaking. “I know I have a bead in here somewhere, just let me—” Akira’s voice cracks. “Dammit, of course I can’t find it when I actually—why can’t I—”

Akechi takes an uneasy step backwards, overexertion threatening to take over. As if it weighs a hundred pounds, he raises an arm, red eyes disturbingly bright and dead-set on Akira.

Sumire feels her breath catch in her throat; she’s in a clear position to see it happen. Akira is still frantically looking through his stuff, an overwhelming guilt seeming to cloud his senses. Akechi, in his state of mind and body, is refusing to see the facts in favor of following his instincts—because even now, he still truly believes that Akira will remain untouched, no matter what.

Because, to Akechi, he is Kurusu Akira.

“Come, Loki!”

“Goro, wait!” Sumire cries.

Time slows down as Loki raises his blade, serrated steel exuding a curse potent enough to bring down any archangel to its knees several times over. And Akira looks up, eyes wide and dilated, but it’s too late to do anything other than take a deep breath and tense himself for the devastating blow—

Footsteps resound behind them, light and fast, and before Sumire can even turn around, a familiar voice yells out:

“I don’t fucking think so.”

Sakamoto Ryuji sprints past her and as Loki brings down his sword, stands directly in front of Akira, arms wide and acting like a barricade between him and the rest of the world.

[bakusquadup]

Hey there! May I please request Deku, Bakugo, Todoroki, Shinsou, Monoma, and Sero (Kaminari, Kirishima, and Tokoyami as extra if you want to/have time!) with a really ticklish female s/o who enjoys being tickled which she's really embarrassed about since she think it's weird so she tries to hide it/pretend she doesn't? Thank you so much!

Hey friend! I actually totally forgot to link my rules to the post about requests being open, so I’ll make an exception this time, but I only do a maximum of 6 characters for headcanons and 4 for scenarios. I’ll go ahead and do the extras too because it was my mistake, but just as a note to requests in the future! Also, the headcanons are on the shorter side because of the sheer volume of characters. But, that being said, I still put a good amount of thought into each one! Hope you enjoy this!

-Shelley

Midoriya Izuku

Midoriya discovers this about you when he accidentally brushed against you and you burst out into a fit of giggles.

He was incredibly surprised by it, but thought the outburst was adorable coming from you.

He thinks you have the prettiest laugh in the world and it makes him blush, so he’s a little embarrassed to tickle you at first.

When you shyly tell him that you kind of enjoy it, he’s surprised at first, but again, he just thinks it’s a cute quirk about yourself (personality kind, not power kind).

After a little while, he gets more into it. Usually, when the two of you are alone and cuddling, he ends up starting to tickle you which results in a fit of giggles with red faces and teary eyes on both sides.

You don’t really tell others that you like being tickled, so Midoriya is secretly happy that he knows something about you that no one else does.

Bakugou Katsuki

When Bakugou first discovers you’re ticklish, you don’t tell him that you enjoy it because you’re embarrassed about it. This means he thinks it’s a good way to tease you.

He starts to tickle you all the time. Like, ALL the time. He’ll sneak up behind you when you’re having conversations with friends to surprise attack you. It frightens you the first few times, but you actually find it kind of endearing.

After a little while, you finally tell him that you actually enjoy the tickles. In public is still kind of embarrassing (although, let’s be honest, your friends think it’s sweet), but in private it’s fun.

Suddenly, Bakugou is doing it not only doing it in public as a surprise, he’s doing it just the two of you in the dorm. He doesn’t tell you this - because he’s a tough guy that doesn’t show emotions except anger and pride - but he thinks it’s a little hot.

Todoroki Shouto

Todoroki is not really, to say the least, the type to like to tickle others or the type to like being tickled. It’s just not really something that ever happens between the two of you unprompted.

That meant you had to be the one of bring it up.

One night as the two of you were taking a break from studying in his dorm room (you loved his Japanese style room), you decided to ask him about it.

“I don’t know…you can say no…it might be weird, but…I was just wondering…” You trailed off a lot and were incredibly roundabout trying to get to the point. Todoroki patiently waited for what you wanted to say.

“IjustkindalikebeingtickledandIwaswonderingifyouwantedtodothatever.”

You said it ridiculously fast, forcing out the sentence in half a breath. Todo had stared at you silently, head tipped sideways.

After a moment, he had given you a small smile and just nodded.

Shinsou Hitoshi

Shinsou is probably the fastest person of this entire list to figure out that you actually enjoyed being tickled (despite the squeaks of protest every time you’re being tickled) because he’s able to read you so well.

He’s not really the tickling type in general because the large amount of touching makes him kind of uncomfortable. But, the longer the two of you have been dating, the more open he is with physical contact. He starts to initiate stuff on his own.

When you tried to tickle him back one time, he freaked out and accidentally activated his quirk. That was kind of a sore spot for you for a few days, but it made for a funny story after the fact.

Monoma Neito

You can bet your ass that you didn’t need to tell Monoma you were ticklish or that you liked it. He figured out that you were ticklish pretty much as soon as you became friends (certainly before you started dating) and he just determined that you enjoyed it because you never stopped him (he didn’t stop to consider that you may be too nice to, it worked out though).

Before you two started dating, he took it as kind of a pride thing that he was better than you. Kept saying things like “you’re weak enough to be tickled by only this?” but once you started dating all of that flipped. He started gloating about how adorable his girlfriend was.

Either way, it was pretty embarrassing for you (you still liked it though) and the rest of the class was growing annoyed with Monoma fast.

Often times, he would trying and tickle you around the rest of the class and Kendou would come in and smack him on the head. What a great situation.

Sero Hanta

Before Sero was aware of how incredibly ticklish you were, whenever he accidentally bumped into and you would make an odd noise, he would go “what happened? You get stunned by the feel of my toned muscles?” He’s such a string bean, it made you burst out in laughter because of how ridiculous of a concept it was.

When he learned what was really going on, his response would shift to “looks like the tickle monster is back at it again.” It didn’t really mean anything, but it was so stupid that you would always laugh at it.

Over time, he started to do it intentionally more often (before it was just on accident) and it would drive you crazy. The combination of the tickling and the jokes he would crack all the time, you spent 90% of your time around Sero laughing.

Kaminari Denki

Kaminari is actually just as ticklish as you are, so whenever he starts to tickle you, you end up tickling him right back. This almost always ends up spiraling into an all-out war in which the two of you are laughing like maniacs and flopping around on the bed.

Your friends get a little aggravated being around the two of you for two long because they have to monitor you guys to make sure one of the “wars” doesn’t happen when you’re out in public.

It’s still cute that you guys are competitive over such a ridiculous thing, but it’s always odd.

Sometimes Kami will sneak up on you and just give you a tiny static shock that is surprisingly ticklish. You’ll let at him about cheating, but he claims it’s entirely fair game and doesn’t stop doing it.

Kirishima Eijirou

Kirishima thinks this is the absolute most adorable thing he’s ever learned about you. You’re giggles are so cute in the first place and the fact that he can induce them whenever he wants to makes him excited.

He also doubles checks that it’s okay if he does it though because he knows how some people are weird about being tickled. When you let him know that you actually enjoy it, his face lights up with joy. He starts to do it a lot more often because of that.

Even though you two aren’t particularly secretive about your relationship, he doesn’t really do it in public because “real men don’t show such intimate moments in front of others.” You really didn’t understand the logic behind that, but you didn’t question it because you were shy about doing it in public anyway.

Tokoyami Fumikage

Tokoyami first discovers you’re ticklish because Dark Shadow popped out one day, sliding around you to talk. He had rubbed against a weak spot and you had exhaled sharply as a result.

Tokoyami and Dark Shadow had both turned toward you with worried looks on their faces, afraid that you had been hurt (Dark Shadow was a dangerous quirk after all). You had to repeatedly reassure them that everything was perfectly fine.

Toko had brought it up again later (he was genuinely concerned about you) and that was when you finally admitted it. You were incredibly embarrassed and knew that he would think it’s weird. Such a cool guy like that would think you’re creepy.

Of course, he wouldn’t.

He had actually poked you in the side out of curiosity after you explained. When you yelped out at the touch, he had to stifle a snicker.

Dark Shadow, of course, had been over the moon with the new-found knowledge. He was excited to sneak attack you when you were least expecting it.

Basically, you wound up with 2 people doing it quite a bit.