HATE / HURT.

@forgenotes​  said :  ronnie's gonna just.. lowkey hug chris... nbd bro don't make a big deal out of it u kno it's not like she has a crush or anything ahahha lmao nahhhhh nothing like that :sweats: -  

     well,  that’s  new.    she’s  caught  him  off  guard  ( which  he  desperately  wishes  was  easier  to  do )  and--  is  he  blushing?    god  forbid.    he’s  only  been  trying  to  win  her  over  for  the  last  three  months  --  but  how’s  a  geek  like  him  supposed  to  get  a  knockout  like  veronica  freakin’  sawyer?    given  the  way  she’s  pressing  into  him,    arms  wrapped  around  him  like  a  vise  ( an  exceptionally  pretty,  nice - smelling  vise )  he  might  have  overestimated  his  own  undertaking.  

@forgenotes​  said :  aLSO... what if ronnie just... leans into ryou's side.... just a cautious physical contact... she's shy ok.... 

       the  sudden  contact  catches  him  by  surprise.    it’s  not  like  her  to  be  so  openly  affectionate,  though  he  knows  he’s  not  one  to  talk  --  pun  fully  intended.    he’s  been  showing  her  the  streets  of  shibuya  for  several  weeks  now,    and  their  exchanges  have  been  on  the  more  platonic  side  of  things,    which  is  why  he’s  so  taken  aback  by  how  closely  she’s  now  walking  alongside  him. 

          various  shops’  neon  lights  glare  down  as  they  pass,    looking  more  like  two  normal  teenagers  than  a  sullen  delinquent  and  an  out - of - place  exchange  student.    he  catches  two  women  pointing  at  them  from  the  sidewalk,    giggles  hidden  behind  their  hands,    and  frowns.    what  business  was  this  of  theirs?    

          turning  his  attention  back  to  veronica,    he  tilts  his  head  curiously  and  makes  two  fluid  motions  near  his  chest  --  slowly,  so  she’ll  catch  on.  

                 ❝  i-it hurts .  ❞  the brief reminder that all her thoughts are narrowed down to this singular moment of pain and suffering . she’s tired , she’s aching all over . it should be inconceivable that a woman like her should ever have to go through such pain , such suffering . but it was the norm now , SHE WAS LEARNING TO LIVE THROUGH IT . the way that she swallows back howls of pain , screams of terror . the conditioning of her brain : quiet is safe , safe is being unseen and unheard . jake had thought her to bite down on the pain , to stifle the horror . she couldn’t always keep it in , but she was so quiet … so complacent in her own death . 

                some part of her forgives the killer ; because she too was a woman suspended . be it the spirit or the hag or anyone in between . the horrific realities of life , the knowledge of their own unmaking . claudette remembered the scrap of paper they had found . the twisting of flesh that did not obey , the snatching of sanity . she wants to go home , but right now she wants to go back to the campfire .  ❝   y-you’re hurt … y-you can just l-leave me .  ❞

                herman’s voice keeps her from the brink from the twisting maw of death . she reaches out to fist a bloody palm in his filthy dress shirt . they were so much alike , and it seemed that they would die together ( but not alone , they had each other , that’s what mattered ) . she wanted him to be safe , she wanted him to get out . but she clung in fear of being alone once more . ❝   i-i’ll be o-okay…  ❞

          her  selflessness  is  admirable,    but  won’t  sway  him.    as  stubborn  as  he  can  be  about  not  making  idiotic  decisions  when  one  loss  would  only  multiply  towards  the  end  of  a  trial,    he  finds  himself  running  back  into  the  fray  for  her.    only  her.    his  legs  feel  like  they  could  give  way  at  any  time  as  he  traverses  the  boggy  swamp,    mud  and  muck  squishing  beneath  his  now  worn  dress  shoes. 

           in  the  distance,  he  can  see  the  entrance  to  the  gate,    and  his  chest  swells  almost  painfully  with  the  faintest  glimmer  of  hope  -----  until  he  sees  a  bulky,  mask - clad  figure,    gleaming  hooks  jutting  from  its  skin,    standing  patiently  nearby.    his  shoulders  deflate  as  that  brief  beacon  of  light  gives  way  to  darkness,    despair.    

           one  wrong  foothold,    and  blinding  pain  shoots  through  his  mangled  leg  like  a  rocket,    bringing  him  to  his  knees  with  a  low,    agonized  groan,    head  hung  low  in  reluctant  defeat.    as  usual,    his  mind’s  going  a  million  miles  an  hour,    running  through  every  possible  scenario,   analyzing  every  outcome  --  and  coming  up  empty.    there  is  no  happy  ending  to  this,    no  chance  for  both  parties  to  escape.    even  if  they  were  able  to  find  the  other  door,    there  wouldn’t  be  enough  time  to  open  it.    his  broad  frame  tenses,    fingers  trembling  anxiously  while  they  draw  claudette  close. 

            a  flash  of  metal  catches  his  eyes,    hidden  beneath  the  clumps  of  grass  that  litter  the  swamp’s  muddy  floor.    as  with  most  things  in  this  realm,    this  exit  comes  with  a  price,   one  that  he  knows  she  won’t  like,   but  also  can’t  protest  in  her  current  state.    teeth  clenched,    he  forces  himself  to  his  feet,    legs  wobbling  with  uncertainty,    and  approaches  the  hatch.    once  more,    he  drops  to  his  knees.    he’s  nearing  his  limit.    as  gently  as  he  can  manage,   he  places  her  next  to  the  trap  door,    one  arm  keeping  her  upright. 

      ‘  𝐲𝐨𝐮  𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞  𝐭𝐨  𝐠𝐨, ’   he  mutters,    brown  eyes  staring  intently  into  hers.    he  knows  it’ll  be  over  quickly  once  he  makes  his  presence  known  --  he’d  already  watched  the  grizzled  veteran  being  hacked  apart  by  the  killer’s  cleaver,    his  old  body  flayed  and  bleeding.    ‘ don’t  argue ;  there  isn’t  time. ’  

        wearily,  he  rests  his  forehead  against  hers  and  sighs,    eyes  closed  in  a  silent  apology.    this  isn’t  the  ending  he  wanted,  either.   

         ‘ i’ll  see  you  at  the  campfire. ’ 

mike. 

get your fuckin dog 

snow is dangerous 

what’s it like... 

too much to do 

who’s there?? 

anne. 

i won’t hesitate 

so annoying 

a friendly reminder 

oh look at us 

akechi.  

    --  used to have shorter hair, but after a single, passive comment from shido about how it would look more professional with a better cut, he let it grow out.  while it causes him intense gender dysphoria, he endures it solely because it’s one of the few things over which he feels he has complete control.  when every other aspect of his life is performative and based around the needs / desires of others, he craves any semblance of power. 

     --  despite his inflated ego, he bases his self-worth entirely on how useful he is to people, which is why he tries so hard to keep himself looking nice and presentable  --  it makes it much easier to play the part of the charming detective prince and maintain a cheery facade. 

     --  craves affection / attention, but after going through life, impoverished and unknown, the sudden interest from the media came as a shock, and he was disappointed to realize that their attention couldn’t fill that hole in his heart. 

     --  the continued use of his persona to induce psychosis on himself has really and truly fucked with his head.  he was unstable and kind of a wreck to begin with, spent countless nights having breakdowns in his apartment, but he’s become even more emotionally unpredictable.  he feels too much or not at all. 

     --  does not seek a redemption arc, nor do i want him to have one.  it’s not that i think he’s a bonafide villain, necessarily, certainly not in comparison to some of the adults in the game.  i’d just much rather see him forced into seeing that the phantom thieves care about him, even try to befriend him, despite him kicking and screaming the whole way. 

     ryou. 

     --  mute.  communicates solely through actions, stares or sign language.  as the student council president, makoto took it upon herself to learn at least a few basic phrases when she learned of his transfer, but had no idea of his status as a delinquent.  it was an awkward first meeting, for sure. 

      --  that being said, he has not always been this way, though it did start at a very young age as a result of intense trauma.  he has not spoken a word since then, and the shift in his personality has caused a severe rift between him and his parents.  being accused and later convicted of a crime he didn’t commit certainly didn’t help matters. 

      --  the stigma that surrounds him is something that he’s leaned into.  even without a proper way to communicate with his peers and teachers, they’re already so deeply invested in how dangerous he’s supposed to be that they wouldn’t believe him if he tried.  his posture and body language is constantly imposing, and people tend to clear out of the way wherever he walks. 

       --  beneath it all, he’s a lowkey softie who just wants someone to take the time to understand him.  he primarily works at rafflesia, the flower shop in shibuya’s underground mall.  unlike the other part-time jobs, this requires far less verbal interaction with customers, and he grows to enjoy working with and learning about each individual flower.  he uses this knowledge to surprise a certain class rep later. 

@wholeads​  said :  ‘ can  you  prove  you’re  really  here? ’ 

       lips  part  soundlessly  to  offer  an  answer,  then  close  abruptly  when  he  realizes  he  hasn’t  an  easy  one  to  give.  ‘ of  course  i  am ’  dies  before  it  even  hits  his  tongue,  bright  eyes  downcast  in  a  sudden  wave  of  doubt. 

      with  all  that  he’s  been  through,  and  the  things  he’s  seen...  how  can  he  truly  be  sure  of  what’s  real?  how  can  he  be  certain  that  he  didn’t  simply  die  here,  left  to  wander  desolate  streets  for  the  rest  of  an  undoubtedly  hellish  eternity? 

       it  seems  a  befitting  penance,  all  things  considered. 

     --  brad’s social shortcomings and rapid-fire, stilted speech are a result of asperger’s.  his favorite topics revolve around historical events  (particularly wwii)  and computers / video games, and his tendency to repeat phrases and body movements becomes more prominent under stress. 

     --  recently graduated high school.  before the incident on the ourang medan, he was taking a sabbatical year to figure out a little more about himself and the world around him before committing to a career choice. 

     --  terribly jealous of alex’s success and the ease with which he makes / keeps friends, and is constantly torn between gratitude and irritation at how protective alex is over him.  as excited as he was about going on his first dive upon the duke, he’d wanted it to just be the two of them ;  since alex’s friends only ever enjoy his company by proxy, he always feels like a third  (or in this case, fifth)  wheel. 

conrad. 

     -- passed off by most of his friends  (and even julia, to an extent)  as the flippant, egotistical funny guy, but he’s actually quite intelligent and perceptive.  however, any logic that dictates him is thrown out the window when someone else’s safety is involved ;  he’ll gladly play the martyr and put himself in danger, not as an act of heroism, but to ensure that nobody else has to run the risk of being injured. 

     --  doesn’t necessarily respect authority, but does value positions of power and influence  (i.e., “if anybody knew what the hell was goin’ on in this place, it would’ve been the captain”)  and hopes to one day have both.  in the meantime, his goal is to ensure the happiness of those he holds dear, working day and night to keep their spirits up with a few laughs. 

@pathoflogic​  said :  ‘ i  don’t  feel  enough  for  you  to  cry. ’ 

       her  innate  need  to  be  on  guard  is  not  dissimilar  to  his  own,  even  after  months  of  working  to  let  people  in  again.  he’s  trying  to  move  on,  even  with  his  father’s  old  enlistment  jacket  adorning  his  frame,  with  the  shepherds’  insignia  ring  hanging  alongside  the  dogtags  around  his  neck.  if  you  can’t  outrun  your  past,  you  might  as  well  bring  it  with  you. 

        he  recognizes  the  pain  in  her  eyes,  hidden  carefully  behind  an  outpouring  of  wariness  and  anger,  a  rampant  fear  that  allowing  anyone  close  would  lead  to  heartache.  love,  loss  --  these  days,  they  seemed  to  go  hand  in  hand.   but  heather  truly  seems  to  have  loved  her  father,  before  he’d  been  prematurely  torn  away  from  her.  idly,  alex  wonders  if  he  could  say  the  same.  

@jennymyers​  said :   ▨ : rubbing their back to calm them down when they’re upset 

     the  clock  ticks  endlessly,  but  time  feels  like  it’s  stopped.  he’s  not  sure  how  long  they’ve  been  here,  seated  upon  instruction  in  the  station’s  waiting  room.  the  sounds  of  police  chatter  and  bustling  cops  has  become  little  more  than  white  noise  to  him,  rimmed  blue  eyes  hazy  in  their  distanced  stare,  fixed  on  some  unseen  point  on  the  far  wall.  only  vaguely  does  he  register  jenny’s  presence  beside  him ;  he  knows  they’re  both  exhausted,  nerves  frayed  within  an  inch  of  splitting  after  a  night  of  desperation  and  bloodshed. 

        what  he  doesn’t  notice  is  the  way  his  leg  bounces  restlessly,  the  ceaseless  fidgeting  of  his  fingers,  the  way  he  picks  at  the  skin  around  his  nails  until  pinpricks  of  blood  well  from  the  exposure.  he  feels  as  though  he’s  aged  a  decade.  the  paramedics  have  already  tended  to  his  leg  as  best  they  could,  tendons  and  muscles  torn  apart  by  the  hungry  jaws  of  a  rusted  bear  trap.  the  rest  are  cuts  and  bruises  that’ll  heal  with  time.  they’re  the  only  things  that  will,  he  thinks.  

       tears  brim  at  his  eyes  before  he  can  even  react,  cascading  down  dirtied,  bloodied  cheeks,  and  a  shaky  breath  hitches  into  a  quiet  whimper.  the  shock  and  emptiness  gradually  gives  way  to  realization  and  fear,  fear  of  what  they’d  lost  and  what  they  will  be  unable  to  gain  again.  the  levees  break  and  his  lean  frame  shudders  as  he  begins  to  cry  softly,  emitting  little  more  than  uncertain  gasps. 

        after  tonight,  the  feeling  of  an  unexpected  touch  will  plague  him,  send  his  mind  spiraling  into  memories  of  being  effortlessly  lifted  into  the  air  by  his  neck,  as  though  he  weighed  little  more  than  a  feather,  thick  fingers  intent  on  crushing  his  windpipe.  but  jenny’s  hand  is  gentle  and  soft,  shifting  between  her  palm  and  the  tips  of  her  fingers  as  it  smooths  the  torn  fabric  of  his  dress  shirt.  he’d  already  given  her  his  sweater  and  promised  to  burn  whatever  of  hers  that  had  touched  the  horrid  one  they’d  found  at  the  makeshift  shack  near  the  lake. 

       he  tries  to  speak  but  finds  that  he  simply  can’t,  any  semblance  of  a  voice  or  intelligible  thought  stuck  deep  in  the  confines  of  his  throat.  instead,  he  merely  adopts  the  best  smile  he  can  muster,  the  muscles  at  the  corners  of  his  mouth  screaming  in  protest,  and  wraps  one  weary  arm  around  her  shoulders  to  pull  her  closer.