Meat is Me.

Sᴛᴇᴀʟ Yᴏᴜʀ Hᴇᴀʀᴛ!

                                 A Roleplay blog for Joker from Persona 5                           No Knowledge of Persona needed; Anyone* can interact.                                    Canon Divergent; Please read my Rules!                                                     Mun & Muse are 18+                                                *Please be over 18 if following.

i could have sworn you weren’t allowed to do drawn porn either? and it’s just written erotica thats being allowed.

{{ Hi! I’m not trying to be aggressive or mean but actually illustrations aren’t allowed. As it says:

But in those forests, if one knew just the right turns to take, touch the right rock three times and knock on the right tree twice (the numbers changing, sometimes no rock and sometimes no tree) they could make it to the little pocket spaces the entity had carved out – placed built perhaps not out of brick and mortar but out of the memories of the entity’s butchers, some things just out of place. Maybe these were all real places that had, at one time, existed.

Kate wasn’t sure she wanted to find out, but she knew – bare minimum, that Badham Preschool HAD to exist somewhere on the planet Earth, because unless Quentin Smith was just a collective hallucination, everyone’s imaginary friend that could pull you them off a hook or blow up a generator, he was definitely real. It didn’t make the place feel any less like a nightmare, however, especially not while she was scratching around in dirt and grass trying to find her pendant after a trial had already ended.

A square, plain silver pendant on a black cord necklace and a lobster claw clasp that loved to come undone in the most inopportune moments. In some places, like meat plant, there were spotlights that would cause the light to reflect off the necklace – but in Badham Preschool (or the memory of it) there was no such luck.

So on hands and knees Kate searched for a little piece of her old life, her teeth gnashing from nerves and hyper-focused on this one task. Find the necklace. Get outta dodge. She had just managed to escape and returning was a bad idea, but leaving this necklace behind felt like a worse idea and she’d always been chock full of bad ideas, anyway – so what was one more to the pile? They had all managed to escape, so it felt like the place would be empty, anyway.

She continued to search – the sound of a chainsaw rumbling still in her ears from the past trial. Like the sound of the generators would sometimes stick around, or the Huntress’s lullaby. Or the heartbeat.

Kate lifted herself off the ground. Huh. She didn’t usually hear the heartbeat with chainsaw sounds at the same time. Kate’s fixation on finding her pendant eased and she finally paid attention to her surroundings. Slowly, she turned around.

Startled from seeing The Cannibal, Kate fell gracelessly onto her ass and back on the dirt with a yelp.

“Oh, shit –”

In fact, when he hears the movement, he wonders at first if it is another killer, if Freddy has come slinking back to the preschool from whatever trial he may have been in, he’s armed, but it’s of only some solace, he knows his own strength, but he doesn’t know the extent of everyone else’s, and the unknown is all at once the most fragile and the most dangerous thing of all.

For all of this, it is relief that washes over him when he realizes it is a survivor scrounging in the dirt and not anything too worrying. She’s familiar in the sense that he’s seen her before, but survivors don’t usually go out of their way to entertain the company of the many predators of the entity’s realm, so superficial sight is all he knows. All the same, the chainsaw winds down into silence: He has no desire to kill when the entity isn’t demanding it of him, his trial is over, and so he is docile once again.

     Curious, actually, why come back? He can only assume from the way she’s fumbling about that she’s lost something, which is unfortunate, he is very particular with his own objects of importance, and would likely be far more irritated even than she if he ever dropped anything in a trial space, the difference is he may not be brave enough to go back for it unless it were something as important as the mask or the saw.

The saw drops heavily, not from his grasp, but so that the blade lodges itself, still, into the ground, a support for him to lean some of his weight on. Her reaction is expected and intelligent, he would be much more nervous if she had been glad to see him after all, he is not stupid: he looks dangerous, he is dangerous, and he knows it. For this reason, he keeps a little distance between them, not too much, but comfortable. 

His free hand is waves in a motion of not to worry. which is followed immediately by a curious, birdlike tilt of the head. What are you doing? What are you looking for?

                                                                  I want to believe                                                             No, I choose to believe                                                         That I was made to become                                                                      A sanctuary

         Silence fell as the toxic gaze of the woman turned into that of AWE. 

Sobriety. It felt as if it were wearing thin the more she stood; speaking and taunting him. Failed taunts that might’ve hurt him more than ANGERED. 

Amanda wasn’t sure if it were more FRUSTRATING or satisfying. She aimed to anger him, perhaps even hurt him. But not to abuse him. 

Her body stiffened suddenly when he grabbed her wrist, yet his touch was unimaginable. Gentle, like the grip of a small bird; but his hands were not soft like feathers. Clean- yes. But rough especially. They had character… Told a story. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t interested in his story.

 Tightly her fingers curled into a fist; the fact he touched her so gently was almost IRRITATING. What did he think she was? Some delicate doll, frail to the surface? Perhaps he was just proud of his strength… She could feel it, he didn’t want to hurt her; and clearly he hadn’t the slightest idea how things worked there.

 Clenching her teeth her mind stormed through other ways of provoking him. She really thought her threat would have triggered something… Yet he remained DOCILE. It felt strange. Many scars covered her body, not only from herself, but now from the other killers there. Each one told their own story, but from what she could see- he wasn’t being added to that list.

 As he released her, her hands retreated back to her body; crossing her arms over the crimson of her jacket. “You think i’m beautiful?” She questioned with a coy smile, as if she had never heard the words before. Which really- she hadn’t. At least not for a very long time. 

“Let me tell you something, Jedidiah” her arms fell and swayed as she got closer to him- if that were even possible. Raising herself on the tips of her toes, she inched her face closer to his- as if trying to whisper to him. 

             “You’re in hell,” 

The soft words left her lips, her gaze downcast as she stepped back. Gracefully they fluttered back to look at him. 

“There’s no leaving this place. And you’re here for a reason. That reason being, you’re a murderer” she stated simply, as if she had many times before. “You play ITS game, and we all get to live a little bit easier… That’s if you even consider this living…” She leaned against the wall jadedly. 

      “Now- tell me more about how beautiful I am,” she teased with a mischievous smirk. Amanda knew it wasn’t that easy to process such a thought; but nevertheless it helped her not to think about it all. 

     He lets her do the majority of the talking, she seems good at that, and he sure as shit isn’t, so he’d rather someone else fill the silence than attempt to do so himself, or be forced to do so himself rather. And so he says nothing, even as her arms cross across the crimson of her coat. He can’t entirely say she looks grateful for the compliment, but no one is obligated to.

     Close, almost too close, he’s torn between tilting his head up to regain height or to lean his head down entirely and to rest his forehead against hers simply out of the odd impulse to truly meet her gaze. It’s an idle notion however, he does neither, simply keeps staring as he has been.

You’re in Hell.

He nods, slowly, thoughtfully, and ignores the ice which grips his heart. He’s fully willing to believe her, though he doesn’t really trust her. But it still stings either way, he can’t say he’s surprised. It’s something he struggles with on the regular: Does God still love you? Bloodstained boy with the face not your own?

These internal thoughts are kept just that, internal, to be thought of and ruminated upon in solitude another day.  

Instead he focuses in on her words again.

You’re a murderer.

His reply to that is an almost flat: “I am.” because he is, and he knows it. He won’t deny himself a murderer, he’s not the united states military after all, he’s killed people, so he’s a murderer, intentions don’t really change that. Even if they do justify the actions.

     “One makes th’ best of it.” he has no other choice, he is doing what he has always done, he is clinging to life even if by a thread, existing because there really never was any other choice.

Her teasing is almost endearing, it certainly makes him like her more than her earlier attempts at provocation. 

“Remind me o’ someone actually.”      At least in looks.

“Somethin’ about the cheeks” he exhales, soft but abrupt in something like a little laugh to himself, it’s not precisely humor however, “‘nd the hair, ‘course, yours is nicer th’n hers was.” There is a narrowing of the eyes behind his mask.

“That’n y’ strike me as th’ sort t’ not play at bein’ kindly when you ain’t” it may be a bit of a backhanded compliment but it really isn’t in his eyes, he would rather someone just behave as they are than pretend like they’re perfect. 

     “B’t then.”

a hand is raised, fingers touching the lower lip of the mask, the half towards the bottom, including the mouth, is soft and feminine. The gentle swell of a lip once belonging to a nurse who didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut, who got a boy killed because she didn’t understand that cops weren’t always friends. And then, who had the gall to insult his mother when he may well have spared her life otherwise.

“I s’ppose she got wh’t she deserved.”

     It’s almost a threat, but not quite, instead it’s a truce: I’ll give you information about myself, if you’re willing to play nice.

“‘nd you.        Pretty as y’ may be, y’ must be here f’r a reason other th’n that. Guess’n that makes you a murderer too.”

            A presumptuous smile molded the girls lips as her gaze eyed him. 

Up and then down, she wondered if the man had begun to feel uncomfortable yet… Or better. ANGRY. The energy that resonated from the unfamiliar man was complex. Confusion- FEAR, yet it was laced with a hidden hatred. But of whom? Or what? He didn’t seem to be directing that anger towards her, at least not head on. It INTRIGUED her to say the least, and the urge to play with him more grew stronger. 

Amanda was like a fire; and though no fuel was give, she would continued to DEVOUR til she grew. In a way- it made her feel better… STRONGER. 

The womans cold gaze retreated to his, FIXATING on them, and watching the slightest twitch of his eyes as she spoke about his face. Yet still. No reaction. She expected him to grab her, to yell, to EXPRESS his monster that he hid- TRAPPED inside of him; but got naught. It was almost amazing.

Pink nails began to ever so lightly rake against the outside of his shirt, lowering until she reached the trim of the cloth; and hovered above the rim of his belt salaciously. Waiting. Waiting for even the slightest push of her hand- or grip. A toothy grin became her face as her stare moved from her hand, back to his eyes- like an empty abyss of emotion. 

“Deserve to?” she questioned, tilting her head ever so lightly. She deserved EVERYTHING. 

“What happened to those manners your mama taught you? Tsk tsk tsk,” she smirked impishly. “Maybe i’ll just take it… And maybe I wont give it back,” she threatened, her fingers lightly curling to grip the cloth of his shirt. Amanda was used to everyone underestimating her. Even before when she wasn’t in the realm. Admittedly then, people got the better of her. But here… No one did. 

Though smaller than everyone else, she was STRONG. Stronger than she ever had been, and that’s what made PLAYING all the more fun. 

     Watching. Watching. Watching. The unseen abyss, the dark of the sockets, what little can be seen of the mouth. And yet, they remain neutral. He just doesn’t get her, what is she playing at? In any case, he doesn’t think he’s comfortable with the drifting of her hand, how she plays her fingers along his waist. And this time, he does grab her, but only by the wrist, and only very very gently, he could break every bone in her wrist if she wanted, but he holds her as one might hold a bird fallen from the nest.

“Mama’d say th’ same.                      Ain’ the sorta thing y’ show a lady.                                                                    ‘specially not one painted up t’ be pretty”

His tongue runs along the ragged scar tissue of one cheek, it aches from speaking, but more than that it’s a reminder, it keeps him in place, it keeps him in the now. Remember: You’re hardly fit to be seen by polite company. There’s a touch of anger there but it isn’t directed at her, it’s directed at someone long dead. Directed at people long dead, who he keeps with him still, layered over his own face.

“‘d ‘preciate it much if y’ didn’t take it ma’am.                                                 Don’ much know why y’d w’nna.”

When he releases her hand, it’s as gently as he had initially taken it, his hands are much rougher than hers, calloused by farmwork and the general hardships of life, they’re clean of course, but they show their history. And upon releasing Amanda’s hand, his own moves to adjust the tie he wears slightly, less a nervous motion than a habitual.

He’s used to people saying mean things about him, he’s even used to them being grossly touchy, he endured worse in Gormon House, and the only time he ever snapped there was when one of the other boys there killed one of the nurses and tried to kill another, yes, he’d beaten that boy’s face in, but it had been a desperate measure to protect someone innocent...

Well, someone he’d thought to be innocent. Maybe he should have let her die then.

A sigh at the memory, but it’s merely tired, more sorrow than anger.

“Miss ‘manda, ain’ real sure why ah’m even here.                                                      But I’d take kindly t’ us agreein’ t’ git along. Never was th’ type who liked t’ quarrel, ‘specially with beautiful woman”

          Her poisonous gaze eyed him. 

The poisonous eyes of a woman. One that appeared simple, yet FIENDISH at the same time… So many secrets one could hide behind a pair of eyes- her light blue that looked innocent, but proved to be devilish. 

Tilting her head inquisitively; the dark tendrils of her hair followed, swaying against her back. How curious. A man like him, eyes a warm colour, full of expression unlike the face hidden below. Perhaps he believed himself innocent? A lost soul convicted of false crime- but Amanda knew better… No one was without sin; and to her it wasn’t something enforced. NO, it was something desired. Something done out of anger- hatred, or dread. 

Raising a small hand she placed her palm on his lower stomach, feeling him through the cloth of his clothing. Her gaze was almost RIDICULING, as her hand intrusively felt his abs. “Jedidiah… I like it,” she smirked, observing the structure of the visible parts of his face. “And hes polite,” she nearly gasped, faking a surprise at his soft words. 

“Tall… Muscular,” she smiled lightly. “But is he… HANDSOME?” She narrowed her eyes tauntingly, as if she KNEW it was something that would bother him, or HURT him in some way emotional. 

With parting lips she released a short laugh of amusement. How else could you RILE up someones killer? By touching all the soft spots that just weren’t meant to touch… 

Amanda wondered just how FAR he would let her push him- before he finally BROKE. That was the womans favourite part. As SICK and twisted as she was, it was her favourite part of being there. Other than that, she preferred not to be. Nevertheless; she no longer had a choice. 

Her hand slid against his stomach as she slowly began to circle around him, taking in his full size. “Show me that pretty- PRETTY face Jed,” she coaxed him, keeping her gaze up towards his own, TESTING him. 

     He does not like to be touched beyond his consent, and the feeling crawls beneath his skin like so many maggots through a carcass, he does not like the look of her, pretty girls are trouble, and the prettier they are, the more trouble they tend to be. And this one, this one is definitely trying to get on his nerves. Joke’s on her though, he grew up with siblings and cousins, he’s more patient than she might think, especially when it comes to insults or jabs hurled at himself.

The silence simmers, and he wonders what joy she could possibly glean from this. Just one of those people he supposes, like Ike or his psychotic girlfriend. Look where they ended up. But then, look where he did, maybe they got the better end of the deal, how cruel. Either way, he follows her with his eyes, moving his head only when absolutely necessary, trying to keep her in range of his better eye. 

     “Looks like old roadkill.                        Th’t the answer y’r lookin’ f’r?”

He knows how he looks, the mask is not intended to hide old wounds so much as it would be a companion whether his face had been ravaged or not, it is a reminder, a shield, a security blanket, and a warning. All wrapped up into one. It is so much more than the shame of a disfigured man, it is the warning flush of color on the poison frog, the stripes on a stinging insect which say ‘Danger’. 

And then, his head turns, and though his eyes are hidden in the shadows of his mask leaving not but empty voids, he finds her eyes with his own all the same, like a dog with a threat to make, and after a moment of heavy, aching silence, speaks again.

     “You do not deserve t’ see it.”