[It doesn't hit. It doesn't hit. It doesn't hit. It never hits. It doesn't hit. It doesn't hit. It never hits. It doesn't hit. Something hits. Something hits. Something hits and hits and hits and hits.
Slamming into the ground doesn't register - a sudden loss of view does. Maruki gone from his line of sight, both hands empty, dragged back into the muck and rot because it doesn't hit, it doesn't hit, it doesn't hit and-
'If you kill me, Akechi, do you know what you'll have?'
A life set in stone, a life free of bonds.
He has no bonds. Lacks them. It doesn't exist and it's not a lifeline through barbs and twined wire wrapping again and again and again and again around his heart.
It doesn't exist. Not in the fading vision of a swinging corpse hung from a rafter. He can see her face. Hear her voice. Disappointment in the gnarled, warped body of a son that resembles the man she despised most. But Akechi has him - has Shido, who utters false praise with a barrier between them. Always between them. They don't stand together - they're always apart, ten splintered ■■■■■, and desks and it's all split between them. It's split between them.
Maruki stands beside him.
Words come in, and leave. And return, and leave. Repeat against a skull pounding, ripping, shattering apart - every splintered edge grating, dragging, digging, etching too quiet, too loud, too many words in a million little notches. Crippling. A noose around his neck that only he and Maruki can see and-
'But that's what you want, isn't it? To be alone again?'
He's alone. Has been. Will be. Exploitation isn't friendship. Exchanges aren't bonds. He's alone. He'll be alone. Even though the grasping, grappling hands and weight against his body make it seem like he's not alone. Doesn't feel like he's ■■■■■ and he's wondering what it would be like to be alone-
In a dark alleyway, the edge of Tokyo, intestines pooling from his body and-
Put the pulsing wet organs back in. Scoop them with his hand and think about the bodies he took down with him. Maybe one, maybe two, enough of a warning and a loss for loss.
He wouldn't try to struggle for air or stagger to a hospital.
He would wish for-
'Nothing. You'll have nothing here. Nothing. You'll have nothing here. Nothing.'
He has hands forcing him to the ground, bile in his throat, a shuddering breath that hasn't been choked out with-
Staged suicide in the Detective Prince's home, no split rafter because his unit is new. He isn't that far up. Blood will stain the apartment. He won't go down with a fight. He never does. Always does. More bodies than Akechi's littering that untouched carpet. Police take an easy way out from a man they'll never see with their own two eyes.
Akechi will dangle - bloated and blue. No one left for Akechi Goro, no one left to shake a corpse's hand.
He'll have nothing. You'll have nothing. 'If you kill me, Akechi, do you know what you'll have?' Nothing. It always becomes nothing - rot sinks into dirt. Maruki stinks of it. They'll sink together. They'll be alone. Akechi's alone. He's alone. There's no difference if they're alone. Who gives a shit if they're alone and -
'Too bad. I won't allow it. You're stuck with me, and it's exactly what you deserve.'
He knows what comes next when Maruki's voice loses its veneer. Poison and venom over empathy and kindness. The part he likes best. Most. It's vicious and unyielding.
A consequence welcomed from someone who has nothing because that voice is something.
Akechi knows what will happen when he forces his hands under his chest. Push up. Push up. Get up. Get up. And up. and up and up and up andupandup and again and again andagainandagainand again..
When Shido knocks him down-
He has to get up. Every time. Every attempt. Can't leave the cognitive world until he's ripped apart. Can't do the same in reality. Has to slice him. Shred. Destroy.
By all means, any means, no matter what.
Can't breathe and move. Moves anyway. Can't move his leg. Moves anyway. Chest tight, throat tighter, eyes screwed shut under beads of sweat and blood.
Moves anyway. Up anyway.
He can't win. It doesn't matter. He knows what coming and
wants it.
Won't stop. Won't end it. Won't need Loki, who no longer heeds his call, gone. Lost. No stamina, no health. Akechi can't win, but he doesn't care. Feels copper in his mouth - bites it back, bites it down. No more words, no time, only up. Pushes up. Feels shoulder coming apart, maybe it's his head. Thinks it's split open and moves fingers up to his forehead, to top of his skull, to ensure it doesn't stick into thick viscera and brain matter. It hurts and it doesn't.
He gets up. Can't feel leg, can't feel arm. Gets up and keeps his gaze level to Maruki's as best he can when the edges of his vision get darker, and darker.
Maruki remains a light in the center.] Screw you, you high and mighty piece of shit.
cw: violent thoughts, violence, gore, murder, suicide, suicidal ideation sorta kinda
Slamming into the ground doesn't register - a sudden loss of view does. Maruki gone from his line of sight, both hands empty, dragged back into the muck and rot because it doesn't hit, it doesn't hit, it doesn't hit and-
A life set in stone, a life free of bonds.
Maruki stands beside him.He has no bonds. Lacks them. It doesn't exist and it's not a lifeline through barbs and twined wire wrapping again and again and again and again around his heart.
It doesn't exist. Not in the fading vision of a swinging corpse hung from a rafter. He can see her face. Hear her voice. Disappointment in the gnarled, warped body of a son that resembles the man she despised most. But Akechi has him - has Shido, who utters false praise with a barrier between them. Always between them. They don't stand together - they're always apart, ten splintered ■■■■■, and desks and it's all split between them. It's split between them.
Words come in, and leave. And return, and leave. Repeat against a skull pounding, ripping, shattering apart - every splintered edge grating, dragging, digging, etching too quiet, too loud, too many words in a million little notches. Crippling. A noose around his neck that only he and Maruki can see and-
He's alone. Has been. Will be. Exploitation isn't friendship. Exchanges aren't bonds. He's alone. He'll be alone. Even though the grasping, grappling hands and weight against his body make it seem like he's not alone. Doesn't feel like he's ■■■■■ and he's wondering what it would be like to be alone-
Put the pulsing wet organs back in. Scoop them with his hand and think about the bodies he took down with him. Maybe one, maybe two, enough of a warning and a loss for loss.In a dark alleyway, the edge of Tokyo, intestines pooling from his body and-
He wouldn't try to struggle for air or stagger to a hospital.
He would wish for-He has hands forcing him to the ground, bile in his throat, a shuddering breath that hasn't been choked out with-
Staged suicide in the Detective Prince's home, no split rafter because his unit is new. He isn't that far up. Blood will stain the apartment. He won't go down with a fight. He never does. Always does. More bodies than Akechi's littering that untouched carpet. Police take an easy way out from a man they'll never see with their own two eyes.
He'll have nothing. You'll have nothing. 'If you kill me, Akechi, do you know what you'll have?' Nothing. It always becomes nothing - rot sinks into dirt. Maruki stinks of it. They'll sink together. They'll be alone. Akechi's alone. He's alone. There's no difference if they're alone. Who gives a shit if they're alone and -Akechi will dangle - bloated and blue. No one left for Akechi Goro, no one left to shake a corpse's hand.
He knows what comes next when Maruki's voice loses its veneer. Poison and venom over empathy and kindness. The part he likes best. Most. It's vicious and unyielding.
A consequence welcomed from someone who has nothing because that voice is something.
Akechi knows what will happen when he forces his hands under his chest. Push up. Push up. Get up. Get up. And up. and up and up and up andupandup and again and again andagainandagainand again..
When Shido knocks him down-
He has to get up. Every time. Every attempt. Can't leave the cognitive world until he's ripped apart. Can't do the same in reality. Has to slice him. Shred. Destroy.
By all means, any means, no matter what.
Can't breathe and move. Moves anyway. Can't move his leg. Moves anyway. Chest tight, throat tighter, eyes screwed shut under beads of sweat and blood.
Moves anyway. Up anyway.
He can't win. It doesn't matter. He knows what coming and
wants it.
Won't stop. Won't end it. Won't need Loki, who no longer heeds his call, gone. Lost. No stamina, no health. Akechi can't win, but he doesn't care. Feels copper in his mouth - bites it back, bites it down. No more words, no time, only up. Pushes up. Feels shoulder coming apart, maybe it's his head. Thinks it's split open and moves fingers up to his forehead, to top of his skull, to ensure it doesn't stick into thick viscera and brain matter. It hurts and it doesn't.He gets up. Can't feel leg, can't feel arm. Gets up and keeps his gaze level to Maruki's as best he can when the edges of his vision get darker, and darker.
Maruki remains a light in the center.] Screw you, you high and mighty piece of shit.