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i wanted to write... but not only have i been visited by the red beast something personal came up and i gotta focus on that before i even touch any of my blogs. i'm so mad T-T

... so i'll be around hopefully next week to get some replies answered and such. will also be privately shilling my oc, too.

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Fyodor Dostoyevsky // Alanis Morissette

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requests

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𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒄𝒓𝒖𝒆𝒍 𝒎𝒊𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔, weaving its threads through the fabric of his memories, leaving gaps and frayed edges. the sensation of Akira's hand around his own was both foreign and achingly familiar, like a song he had once known by heart but had forgotten the melody to. the warmth of his touch grounded him in a reality he still struggled to accept.

akechi's breath hitched as he listened to Akira's words, the sincerity and pain in his voice cutting through the fog of confusion. the name 'akira' echoed in his mind, stirring fragmented memories that refused to take a coherent shape. yet, despite the haze, one thing was clear — the man before him was important, a beacon in the darkness he had wandered for so long.

❛ akira, ❜ he tested the name on his tongue, feeling its weight. his voice was hoarse, as though it hadn't been used in years. ❛ how...? ❜

the question trailed off, unfinished, as a torrent of emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Relief, disbelief, fear — they all mingled together, making it difficult to find the right words. he glanced down at the glove in akira's lap, and a lump formed in his throat.

akechi's fingers tightened slightly around akira's, drawing strength from the physical connection. He could see the raw emotion in akira's eyes, the tears he was desperately trying to hold back, and it stirred something deep within him.

the realization that someone had cared enough to search for him, to never give up, was almost too much to bear.

❛ you kept it... ❜ he whispered. ❛ all this time... ❜

he took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

❛ i don't remember everything, ❜ he admitted, his gaze dropping to their hands. ❛ maybe a little? the metaverse stuff is still hazy, but… ❜ he paused briefly, ❛ but i remember y o u. i can't forget you. never. ❜

the words felt inadequate, but they were all he had. He wanted to say so much more, to ask a thousand questions, but the weight of the moment held him back.

he looked up, meeting akira's eyes. ❛ what i said back then… i was so angry, distraught with everything. it all felt like things were crumbling down on me. ❜

inside, however, akechi's thoughts were still a chaotic storm. the facade he so carefully maintained was cracking, and beneath it lay a torrent of emotions he could barely contain. he had always prided himself on his composure, his ability to analyze every situation with cold precision.

he'd seen firsthand what the looming threat of a mental shutdown did to others—the vacant stares, the complete loss of self. The thought of succumbing to that fate terrified him more than death itself. He could feel the edges of his sanity fraying, the pressure mounting as he walked the tightrope between his true self and the mask he presented to the world.

❛ you embodied everything i wished to be. my envy quickly morphed into a deep-seated anger—anger at the world, at my biological parents, my adoptive father, at... myself. i'd been used, manipulated, and i've been teetering on the edge of oblivion. i took everything out on you. i'm truly sorry, akira. from the bottom of my heart, i never meant what i said to you years ago. please forgive me… or at least give me a chance to earn your forgiveness. ❜

for the first time in what felt like an eternity, a small, tentative smile tugged at the corners of his lips. his thumb brushed against the back of akira's hand, a small gesture of reassurance. ❛ i'm glad you found me. ❜

time takes an odd quality. it feels as if he is floating through space, falling, and falling, and falling — and there is no bottom to the pit. a repeated nightmare, a sleep paralysis. no matter how much akira tries, he cannot save him. you cannot save anyone, stop fooling yourself. a dark voice in his head cackles, and he pushes it away. tries to. it remains in the shadows, with all of his demons. waiting to strike. with ugly teeth, ready to bite into the soft skin. it doesn't feel r e a l , none of this does, and as he sits down, with eyes that do not dare blink, he wonders if this too, is a cruel joke. nyarlathotep, mocking him, ready to pull the carpet underneath his feet. maybe, he will blink, and then wake up in that attic, staring into the rotten wood of the ceiling, unable to take in any breath. remember your promise, trickster. it appears, fate has played an unfair trick on you. that gentle voice would say. akira does not think he could take it. from the moment he started to pull the threads, wrapping it around his knuckles, pulling it until it marked the skin red, until it hurt — until he begged and prayed to whoever out there that this was not a false lead, akira never imagined actually sitting here. looking at a hand, reaching out, as if to question the very same thing that goes through akira's mind. it's instinct more than reason that makes him reach out just as quickly, and then slowly, wrapping his hand around akechi's, to convince himself at the same time that this is real — he is here. he is alive. how? does this mean he remembers akira? what exactly happened out there, that day? there are so many questions, but the fear is potent enough for him to not dare push. instead, when he speaks, his voice is quiet, as if handling delicate glass, terrified a wrong move could shatter the whole cabinet at once. "it's — it is me. akira."

the words choke him, they are barbed wire stuck in his throat. the back of eyes sting, and he does his best to will the tears away. doesn't want to upset akechi — or make him feel anything he doesn't want to feel. this isn't about him. he doesn't want to make it about him. "found you. i'm... finally here." i can't believe it, doesn't utter out loud. it has been so long. instead, long fingers wrap gently around his, bringing it down, thumb rubbing against the back of his knuckles. his hold is weak around his hand, giving him leeway to pull back if he wishes to. the silence s t r e t c h e s. , and even if akira still feels terrified to say the wrong thing, to utter the wrong words, he feels as if he needs to prove that this is him. that he kept his promise. all through these years. "i have something of yours." his other hand reaches into his pocket, wrapping around the fabric of his lone glove. then, holds it out, gently dropping it on his own lap. "i... never gave up on trying to find you." would find the admission difficult to say, if it was someone else. right then, he just needs akechi to know it's the truth. "i'm sorry it took so long." if his voice is wet with tears that threaten to overcome him, he swallows them down. "i'm here now, i promise. for- anything you need." and he means it. akira has always kept his promises, and he does not make them lightly.

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i'm legit just taking the week to write up some headcanons and some metas for this boy. i'm also writing up some verses for both p3 and p4. p3 and p4 follow my personal timeline and main verse for akechi. then i have a Q-esque verse so for easy interaction with the others. it's so difficult due to adhd but i'm getting there

don't mind me, i'm just flapping my lips.

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「Unter der Haut」

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𝙷𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙲𝙰𝙽𝙾𝙽𝚂 . : click the link to get some random headcanons for your muse.

Goro Akechi chews their nails when nervous.

Goro Akechi can play the guitar.

Goro Akechi would succumb to the fog. ( WHADAFU - he would tho)

Goro Akechi is an introvert.

Goro Akechi almost drank the lethal dosage of caffine once.

Goro Akechi is oblivous to any and all romantic interest someone may show them.

Goro Akechi can drive.

Goro Akechi gets road rage.

Goro Akechi has chronic nightmares.

Goro Akechi had an emo phase. (he still does, wasn't a phase)

Goro Akechi sings in the shower.

stolen from : @infog !

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Vincent Van Gogh // Clarice Lispector

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– Audrey Hepburn

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update. for those who followed i'm still check ya blogs , but for the rest of the weekend i'mma be off ( travelling ) & i'll be back on mon! love u

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𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒚𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒈𝒐, 𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒄𝒉𝒊 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒖𝒍𝒆𝒅 into the hospital laughing like a madman, screaming at the top of his lungs about gods, shadows, and the metaverse. he knew they existed, but at the request of shido, he was sent to a mental ward. and there akechi stayed away from society, undergoing intense psychotherapy that delved into his past and present.

his room was practically empty, save for a small table and a bed without sheets. the windows were reinforced with bars . . . they even cut off his hair because every chance he got, he tried to take his own life. isolated from other patients to prevent fights, he felt like hannibal lecter behind a large plexiglass wall full of holes for ventilation. it felt more like a jail cell than a hospital room, and he began to wonder what this place really was: a hospital or a jail? either way, maybe it fit him, after all, wasn’t he sick in the head? two years of therapy had convinced him it was true.

but today, he was moved back to his old room. for "good behaviour" they say and his reward for his "efforts" was getting a visitor—an event that hadn't happened in the last two years. with both his biological parents dead and his adoptive father, shido, jailed for life, who could possibly want to see him? he knew the phantom thieves despised him, and his relationship with akira was fraught with bitterness. the last time they'd spoken , it had ended with a stinging insult. maybe that’s why akira only appeared in his dreams now, those nightmarish encounters ending right where their conversation had left off. the idea of having a visitor seemed surreal.

akechi realized he had no friends and no family left.

even more puzzling was how someone had managed to locate him in this remote mental ward tucked away in rural japan. he briefly considered if it might be naoto or possibly even akihiko , perhaps to question him about his association with the antisocial force and what he knows about the kirijo group ( it's happened before, it can happen again ) , but he quickly dismissed the thought; he wasn't in any state to answer questions.

now, akechi stared outside the window—a thousand-yard stare—the chirping birds outside almost mocking his caged existence with their freedom. He's interrupted by the soft click of the door. probably a nurse to leave a tray of bland food on the small table near his bed. this ritual had become something he'd grown accustomed to loathing. then he heard a familiar voice.

He whipped around to see the mop of black hair and bespectacled dark eyes , the last person he expected to care enough to find him : akira.

akechi sat there, staring as if he were a figment of his imagination. ( maybe he was. ) it wasn't the first time he'd imagined akira—idealized him, hoped for his forgiveness, wished for a closeness that never was . . . but it couldn't be real, could it? was akira actually there? despite his doubts, akechi reached out and lightly grazed akira's cheek with his fingers, pulling back as if burned.

he was real—solid and warm—and the words can't escape his lips. it's only the soft sound strangling of his breath in his throat. the realization hit akechi hard, provoking an immediate surge of tears.

all he could think was : 𝗱𝗼𝗻'𝘁 𝗹𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝗮𝘁 𝗺𝗲, 𝗶'𝗺 𝘀𝗼 𝘂𝗻𝗿𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗴𝗻𝗶𝘇𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲.

&&. | @ruethless ♡’d ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ: HOSPITAL, PSYCH WARD

this is something he has been holding a secret from his friends. this ongoing investigation he is sure that would make them question his sanity. the pitiful stares he would get, the gentle hands that would set on his shoulder, the quiet words that would offer no help. 'it's been two years, akira. it's time to move on.' they would utter, and he would eventually explode, say something he would regret. and then they'd continue looking at him with that sorrow — so no, no one in akira's circle knows about this. he has made sure.

the sterile smell of the hospital makes the nervousness weighing down on his chest worse, one hand buried in the pockets of his jacket, tightly wrapped around a lone glove. it's been so long, it feels unreal that this is happening. the mirage on the train's window, the tuft of brown hair that would plague the corner of his eyes, the dreams that wouldn't end. he would turn, and there would be no one there. his mind, playing tricks on him, this urge in his chest that never let him give up. he had picked on a loose thread, and another, then another — and here he is. it was his psychology professors and the connection he had with them in the last year that finally led to this breakthrough. his footsteps echo in the empty halls, and akira feels more afraid than he ever did staring up at a god. will akechi remember him? is he alright? does he even want to see akira, after everything? one of the nurses leads him down a corridor, and once the door is pushed open, he feels like someone punched the breath out of his lungs. "akechi." it's him, alive, in one piece. it doesn't feel real. quietly, as if afraid to break something that isn't already broken, he sits down on the chair next to him. "it's- me. how... how are you?"

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i want a theme for my boy. the whole package . . . i'm going all in for this jackass, which surprisingly, i'll admit, i've actually hated his guts since he dropped into existence lmao. irony

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please don't mistake silence for hatred. please don't mistake unanswered plotting messages as indifference, or a lack of enthusiasm towards you. considering the ages of most roleplayers, many of us have bills to pay, families to take care of, medical conditions to treat, appointments to make, classes to take, homes to clean, and lives to live away from the computer that are far, far more important than writing on tumblr — life has a tendency to get in the way of hobbies and fun things like this. be patient with your fellow writers. if it doesn't work out, it doesn't work out. of course you can set your boundaries, keep your space comfortable, and softblock whoever you wish, but do so while recognizing it's probably not hatred or apathy that keeps them from leaping into your dms with message after message. they probably love this hobby just as much as you... but sometimes life gets in the way.

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Marya Hornbacher // Maya Angelou

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