#bonescribes

    ❝ Yeah, I'll be back at the office soon. Just smoothing out some loose ends. See ya soon. ❞

     ‹ Beep-click, CRACK! A phone call ended, a broken road sign swung upwards with blinding speed to cut through a strange monster with ease. The stake-out had become exciting and he was going to wring every minute of this for every drop of worth it had. With the metal pole adorned by a triangular stop sign in hand the private detective would slide his phone away into one of his side pouches and proceeded forth through the side roads until he managed to break into a major street where more of those beasts congregated. ›

     ‹ Despite the more haphazard way his weapon was obtained, it was swung with a strength and precision that belied a man familiar with makeshift armaments. Steel gray and red would become a blur so swift that to blink would be to entirely miss its arc, and even its follow-through. Those that stood beyond the initial blow would find themselves stumbled back with the crack of a fist meeting their bodies, the assault carried through with this strange sense of calculated calmness; there was either an absence of fear, or an abundance of knowledge present within him. ›

    ❝ It's around here somewhere... ❞

     ‹ A few more brutish monsters would fall by the sign, and yet the man would spare them not even a glance afterwords; his attention shifted through his surroundings, the foes that stalked the streets and zeroed in on him paid little heed beyond knowing where they were coming from. ›

❛ yeah, me too. ❜ she's hissing as she tries to adjust her bow and arrow to hit the targets, dangling upside down via the trap they ( he ) triggered, the rope tied tightly around their ankles. there's a moment where he swings into her and she pushes him off, using the momentum to make another successful shot. only eighteen more targets left.

———— 🖤┊   ❝ LUCKY FOR YOU, ❞   she scoffs, chin raised, nose arched upwards, and eyes narrowed.   ❝ i am more than happy to fulfill that desire. all you've gotta do is, get this, open the fucking door. ❞   long has her patience dwindled — the audacity of these commoners, poking and prodding at her like one would a caged animal. and, like an exotic beast, no amount of time would dull her claws, fresh dirt and grass nestled beneath glittery pink polish after her... 'departure' from the second floor of a library window.

she didn't belong here — and once bail was set, she would be rid of these power - hungry bastards. the least they could have done was give a more suitable stay in a cleaner detention center. could you blame her for running? look at the size of these tools! they chased her first.   ❝ i'm not going to run or anything, birdbrain. ❞   

     𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐃 𝐍𝐎 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐌. It just so happens his fangs tend to burrow deep once he starts biting. He’s worn a muzzle for so long, he’s never learned the necessity of curbing his bite. Without a public persona he’s mandated to sustain, he’s little more than a caged, thrashing animal, all hackles, all teeth. Bristling at any hand that dares an approach. Civility has become a farce he’s not interested in humoring any longer. A distant echo of a life that chewed him up and spat him out once it had sucked all the fat from his bones. At least his scowls are authentic. At least they’re his.

maybe you hear it on the wind, past the ebbing tide. it is the drone of something sorrowful, yet heavenly ; it is pained and yet healing all the same. in the wind, long purple hair flows freely from the source of the song. rumi stands in the water, ankle deep, her sneakers kicked haphazardly away without a care behind her in the sand.

with her hands tucked against her chest, her song reaches its crescendo. the song is a hymn of release as the patterns painted on her skin shimmer, glowing vibrant pink, as her fingers sharpen into claws, skin died dark up to her wrists in a pale gradient.

when she hears the sound of kurama's footsteps though, she turns her gaze towards him, slow and shining gold as her song ends.

" ... it's rude to stare, you know. "

the intonation is dull, hollow. like she doesn't care if you were looking or not, claws still folded against her shirt.

This... Was...?

This... was...

Slowly, her eyes opened, staring into the dark expanse. The sky was alive with millions of stars... But no. Those weren't stars. Upon closer inspection, she could see they were fragments of crystalline glass, floating in an endless ocean.

The girl carefully sat up, a hand coming to her head. "What happened...?" Her voice felt foreign, cracked from sleep—or death.

That's right. Rena had died. She had been killed by someone—or something— with everyone else in the club. Hinamizawa was gone, set to sink below a dam's waters. The swamp of demons would return.

So where was she now? Was this Hell? Heaven? Or was she in some sort of purgatory?

She turned her head, red hair sliding along her shoulders. Deep blue eyes widen in fright upon witnessing—

The Furude Shrine, floating upside down in mid-air. And before it, a strange girl with horns. Without even thinking, Rena scrambled back, a gasp ripped from her throat like that of a terrified prey animal.

THE TORTURED POETS DEPARTMENT - THE ANTHOLOGYBY TAYLOR SWIFT PROMPT LIST / accepting

Well, he wasn't wrong was he? She saw how he fought in Tartarus and only heard bits and pieces from Akihiko and Mitsuru before Shinjiro rejoined SEES. And in the first week from seeing him in his natural habitat of the dorm, he was more brooding and kept to himself, but still was willing to help someone IF they needed the help.

Fuuka only saw someone who wanted no one to invade his personal space and didn't want to be troubled for anything. As if he was just trying to survive, to live. So, while standing next to him, watching Koromaru playing with Junpei and Yukari, she had to reply to his statement with her hands on her chest.