(you can pm me here or on plurk if you'd like to beforehand, but also if you'd just like to drop something at my doorstep with no preamble please do!!)
[ In the months that have followed the fusion of Mementos with reality, things have been quiet.
For a while, it was a profound relief. He hadn't realized just how taxing his work with Azathoth had been until it was no longer necessary. When the world shimmered around the edges one last time before finally settling into itself, when he could see his dream come to fruition and exhale for the first time in years, he'd fallen into a deep, restorative sleep. Just another kindness Azathoth did for him, ensconcing him safely in his Palace to finally rest.
Perhaps some would see it as a cruel twist of fate that utopia has no real place for him, but Maruki knew what the deal entailed when he made it. He's had years to get used to the idea of being forgotten in favor of a better world – Rumi's eyes passing right over him in a crowd as she laughed arm in arm with a friend, her happiness palpable even from afar. He experiences it now every time he ventures out of his Palace. Kawakami across from him on the subway with her nose in a book, Shibusawa standing next to him at a crosswalk with no reason to look his way, the former Phantom Thieves posing cheerily for a photo and thanking him with the politeness reserved for older strangers. It's a small price to pay for perfection.
With no work left to be done, no use for his former profession and no one who knows him, Maruki has been left with– himself. For the first time, he has nothing and no one else to direct his focus toward, and he's surprised to find how unsettling it is. Who is he, outside of the work he poured his entire soul into for so much of his life? He's not sure that he knows.
With the gift of hindsight and the sole custodian of the memories of their old, painful world, he can see that it wasn't terribly healthy of him. If someone had come to him for counseling with the same lifestyle he had, he would have told them to take more time to focus on themselves. And he has that now– he has that now.
It bothers him.
One problem still exists in this world, and it's his own crisis of identity and purpose. Sort of funny, really. The savior is the only one left imperfect.
He's taking small steps toward looking after himself. Trying out activities he never had the time for – last week it had been fishing, a truly spectacular failure that ended in him drenched and nothing but a minnow to his name. The week before, an attempt at a piano lesson after never touching an instrument in his life. A trip to the arcade where a child in a ridiculous hat soundly trounced him at every game he tried, a knitting workshop where he managed to make one uneven dishcloth, a turn on an intramural soccer team where he pulled something in his back and had to rest in the garden for weeks.
He remembers– Akira talking once about playing darts and billiards with his friends. He's never tried either, never been much good at any sort of game, but he figures it's worth adding to the list of potential pastimes. Penguin Sniper is crowded with loud, laughing groups of friends – and he finds himself at the one open machine, alone. The world moving as it always does, perfectly formed around him but never for him. It's fine, he's used to it.
Until–
The voice is instantly familiar – though not the one he heard in person, all barbed acid and barely-masked hatred. This was only ever on the television, the radio. Pleasantly polite, endearing in a slightly awkward sort of way that Maruki's all too familiar with himself. The perfect detective prince – but of course there's been no need to reassume that role here. Only an ordinary student, beloved by the people who matter most.
It startles him all the same. It isn't like dropping by Leblanc for a takeaway coffee and a quick glimpse at their happy, cobbled together family – Maruki knows what he's getting into there, can steel himself for the strangeness of being unknown. But this– he hasn't prepared for the possibility of being approached by one of them out in the world.
He jerks his head to look up from the darts at Goro Akechi, his eyes wide for a flicker of a moment before he catches himself. ]
Ah, sorry! I was so concentrated on this–
[ He waves the little pamphlet of rules and laughs at himself, sliding easily back into self-deprecation. They have never met. He has never threatened Maruki's life or his work, never trawled through his Palace to learn all his darkest secrets, never stood by in Leblanc to hear him plead with Akira one last time. Akechi has no idea who he is. Everything is right. ]
If you don't mind playing with a total amateur, then by all means. The more the merrier.
Edited 2024-04-29 07:58 (UTC)
HRUMMMMMMMMMMMMWRHIRIRHIRH cw: mentions of self harm, murder thoughts, suicide mention!!!
[The man is unremarkable. A tone placid and calm in the swell of excitable noises around them, clinks of classes removed from tables, the sharp contact of sticks hitting resin. A place that's a third home to him, outside of Jazz Jin only a short walk down the road.
Threat. There's a threat. He glances around to see why the flicker of a sensation rushes through his body in a nauseating wave. But-
It's there. It's gone. Pacified by a glance around the boisterous room - being safe is prudent. He is safe.]
I taught most of my friends to play, so you're in good hands.
[With the confirmation he's welcome, his claim is lain on the table nearby with his school bag. Assignments inside on the off chance he had to wait, so the time wasn't wasted. His arms stretch in front of him - catlike and relaxed before he plucks a single dart from the table-
To stab into his own neck, pull the blunted tip across his veins and-
Press it right into Maruki's eye. Don't relent. Hit again and again and-
His eyes are dry, from the intensity of how he's bore them into Maruki's face for-
How long? He doesn't know. Can't remember. Didn't notice. It was weird and-
A small laugh - he waves off the bizarre moment.]
My apologies. We'll play a practice game to learn the rules - simple as they are, it seems to resonate better that way. I'm sure you're familiar with the concept in general - throw the dart to hit specific points on the board. Most people think you're supposed to hit the bullseye every time. That's not the case.
[He stands by the board to reset it - the easiest mode [301] - flashes in bright, obnoxious font.]
Sometimes winning requires you to bide your time and play to your teammate's weakness, as opposed to hitting as many points as possible. That's the reason this can be so challenging as a multiplayer game. It requires a great deal of teamwork.
[He motions towards the array of darts on the table - briefly spells out the quadrants, their point value, and the goal of getting the score to zero as a combined effort.
A phone buzzes from his pocket - it's 50/50 on whether it's an obscene message in the group chat, one that's permanently muted on his phone unless pinged repeatedly, or an actual important message.
This time it is. The phone angled to where Maruki can likely see - it's not like he has any secrets. His mom sent him a picture of Hegel, eyes wild and with one of the previously hidden treats in his mouth. A comment of '(◞‸◟；) he negotiated well. can you pick up more on your way home? we also need -'
A rope. A chair. A sturdy beam in a dimly lit apartment coated in mold and-
He sends back an 'Of course' and repockets it.]
Apologies again. That was my mother - would you like to go first or shall I demonstrate?
Edited (I’d fully expected to find the motorcycles standing before me, with those same obnoxious grins, but what I receive could not be any farther removed. There in the doorway is a tall, breathtakingly handsome dinosaur, shirtless and chiseled . ) 2024-04-29 15:52 (UTC)
i'm gonna lose my mind akechiiiIIIIIIII POOR THANG........
The last time he dropped by Leblanc, a Sunday afternoon as pleasant as any other, Akira had been behind the counter. For a fraction of a second, between weighing the beans and heating the carafe, he thought he saw a flash of recognition in Akira's eyes. Gone as quickly as it came, probably just a trick of his imagination now that he's more isolated from human interaction than he's been in many years. There is no reason to doubt that the fusion worked perfectly as intended when proof of that is everywhere he looks.
Still. That was five weeks ago and he hasn't been back since.
Just the same before, the strange moment passes before he can fully process it. Akechi is laughing, Akechi is chattering on with an easy set to his shoulders and a friendly sort of expertise. Akechi is mentioning my friends and my mother like they've always been a part of his life – and they have, Maruki reminds himself. He's finally given Akechi exactly what he deserves. Set aside a few unnerving seconds to enjoy that gratification: Someone who had suffered so much now having everything they missed, being so wholly content. This is the world he wanted. This is right. He has control over the situation, it wouldn't exist without his influence, he wouldn't have set himself up for failure after all those years, Azathoth wouldn't have let him–
Focus. ]
If you had asked me five minutes ago, I would have said you're supposed to hit the bullseye every time… I'll do my best, but let me apologize in advance for just how many weaknesses you'll need to compensate for!
[ He picks up three darts, feels the weight of them in his hand. They're heavier than anticipated, that was what threw him off at first. And the target is farther away than he thought it might be. Ah, he really should have tried to get out more back in–
It doesn't matter. He smiles and steps up to take a shot. ]
I'll go first, it's better to rip the bandage off.
[ The quadrants and numbers swim before him, and after a few moments of hesitation about where to aim for, he figures it's probably best to just aim to hit the board at all.
Which he fails at. Three times in a row. The last dart grazes the edge of 14, a few millimeters difference and it would have had a fighting chance at clinging on, but no luck. Maruki blinks at the fallen soldiers for a moment before turning back to Akechi with an embarrassed, self-effacing laugh. ]
[Determination isn't enough to overcompensate lack of skill and that showcases itself the instant he throws. Aim off, grip uncertain - practice games are vital for this type of newcomer because there's no reason to win.
It reminds him of Akira whacking himself in the face with a pool ball while attempting a difficult trick.
Except this is a novice. A grown man unable to hit even the smallest sliver of this board, but they all start somewhere. A laugh - light, airy and genuine passes through the fist covering his mouth. Sympathetic to his newbie plight, he-
Wants to really-
Teach him.]
You didn't hit a person or the wall. That's better than the attempt of at least two of my classmates.
[He glides up to the edge of the mat - practiced and efficient in how the darts are held in his hand.]
Be more confident. Keep the dart held near eye level, but don't look at it. The target is where your eyes should be - for the time being, simply aim for the center to ensure it hits the board at all.
[Left hand poised to throw, he uses his right one to point out his shoulder and the way his elbow is stabilized.]
Keep your shoulder immobile and try to arc your throw - the power behind it is less important. You don't need to heave it.
[A motion, a small step backwards and-
One, two, three bullseyes in a matter of seconds.
He-
Wishes the man's head could be placed against that neon lit backdrop and-]
Try again.
hegel hard carrying akechi through this reality i fear
Cleaving through shadows on security camera footage, barking at Akira to keep up and only sparing genuine praise for Yoshizawa. Spitting venom about the reality he created, rebuking it with such instantaneous, violent conviction. Making it perfectly clear that he's interested in only one way to deal with him, and it's by the grace of their mutual acquaintance that he doesn't follow through on it. A white hot blur of raging betrayal, one of the last negative sensations Maruki can remember feeling out in the world before everything sewed itself neatly together.
No.
Akechi is encouraging. Patient. Too polite to really laugh at him like he probably deserves. Articulate in his explanations and flawless in his execution.
The two are more difficult to reckon than Maruki anticipated.
Three bullseyes, with pinpoint precision. It's surprising enough to knock Maruki out of his own cognitive dissonance, grinning widely as Akechi turns back to him. ]
Wow! Are you sure you're not a professional? Ah, is this a prank for a variety show?
[ He makes a show of searching for cameras before stepping up to the mat again. Akechi's advice really is genuinely helpful – he keeps his shoulders still and pays careful attention to the angle of his arm, trying to mimic the motion of Akechi's throw.
He forgets to focus on the board, so the first dart still winds up too low and bounces off the machine. With a huff of a sigh, he readjusts and trains his eyes on the center, ignores the urge to look at the dart to make sure it's where he thinks it ought to be. Eye level, arc, don't heave it.
The second dart manages to hit a single 3. ]
Oh!
[ Akechi snarled at him more than once about his desire to become a god, and maybe for a time he was more right than Maruki would ever have admitted, but in this new world he's back to being all too human. The satisfaction of managing a difficult task buzzes through his body, takes the edge off some of his unease.
The last dart wavers a bit more but makes its target too, just outside the tiny box that would have made it a triple 18. Hardly anywhere near as impressive, but he still turns and raises a hand for Akechi to high five. ]
Thank you, all the credit for that belongs to you!
poor hegel where's his wish maruki bc it wasn't to be akechi's pet. step up do better.
You're far too kind with your praise - I've had time to practice is all. I have a friend who is quite skilled and he's had less time to learn than me.
[Akira, who picks up any new task or hobby with bizarre ease. It doesn't matter what - coffee brewing, billiards, retro games, and any sort of item that has to be created by hand. They're almost rivals sometimes, in the way Akechi needs to work to keep up. It's fun. Drives him to do better at every opportunity. Makes Akira the first person he drags to a new game room opening or some bizarre event - after he has time to practice first. To one up him before he even sets eyes on the rules. To-
Find a way to jam those rusty lockpicks straight into his throat - make him pay for-
Everything. Akechi drags him to everything.
And Maruki who takes the advice with grace, despite the vast difference in their age. A remarkable improvement in every way by only his second turn. The numbers on the board dwindle down and-
He comes over with a raised hand - there's no hesitation as he meets that action and high fives with a gentle, soft pat against his palm. It's common to do. He's been watching other players as well.
Sick to his stomach. Nausea overwhelming and-
He drops his hand, smile genuine across his face.]
While I'll accept my hand in offering advice, you can't teach someone to listen to it. If there's credit, it lies with you and you alone. You did quite well for a second try.
[Back to the mat - darts in hand yet again. One bullseye, two in the quadrants next to it.]
I heard somewhere a high five actually raises your skill level. It sounds ridiculous, but I imagine it has to do with the elation of success and the brain chemistry surrounding that.
[He raises a hand up - ready-
To break his fingers, break his arm, rip him apart-
[ Maruki has taken the time to check in on all of the former Phantom Thieves here and there, both from the safety of his Palace and out in the real world. He doesn't harbor a single ounce of ill will toward any of them, and he cares just as deeply about them as he did before. Seeing them so peaceful and fulfilled warms him like nothing else. Personal satisfaction in seeing his work well done plays a role too, of course, but for the most part – he just likes to know they're really, truly happy.
And they are. But they're also largely the same people they were before. Sakamoto just as hotheaded and liable to shoot off at the mouth before thinking, Kitagawa just as lost in his own fanciful world, Sakura just as chronically plugged into the internet. They didn't wish for those core aspects of their personality to be changed, they only wished for fixes to their greatest pains.
Akechi is–
Different.
This is different.
Why is this different?
He is deferential, and complimentary, and chatty, and kind, so incredibly kind. Even when Maruki wished they could have met under happier circumstances to debate free will and all that entails, he didn't kid himself to think Akechi would act anything close to– this. For whatever reason, seeing this doesn't spike the same affectionate pride in him. Maybe it's because he never had a chance to counsel Akechi, never spent time forging that bond in the long shadows cast in the nurse's office even when nothing substantial was said. Or maybe– ]
I believe it. Dopamine is hugely important to cohesive teamwork, so anything that heightens that release could help.
[ He steps up to the mat for his final turn, aware that it's highly unlikely he'll hit the right number to get them down to zero. At least the machine is kind enough to tell him what to aim for, but he's definitely not good enough to guarantee any accuracy. Next time, he'll let Akechi go first so they have a fighting chance at winning. What a strange concession, considering– everything.
Maruki shakes the nervous tension out of his arms and shoulders before setting himself up, dart at eye level, squinting behind his glasses.
The way he sees it, there are three options for what's going on with Akechi.
One: The Akechi that he met in his Palace, in Jazz Jin, was never his true self after all. Whatever happened to him in Shido's Palace warped and twisted him into a vengeful, irritated young man with a white knuckle grip on his calm exterior. What he's seeing now is the truth, an Akechi that he never got to know. That Akira surely never got to know either. But if Akira wished to have him back, then that doesn't quite line up, there's a discrepancy that should have been addressed–
Single 9.
Two: Akechi's wish was to become a different person entirely. This Akechi behind him is the one who never existed, not even in concept. A fabricated identity that Akechi wanted to retreat into because living as himself was too painful. That feels closer, but still–
Double 11.
Three: Akechi's wish had nothing to do with this person that he is now. When Maruki gave him the gift of a painless life, it changed his circumstances so severely that he became someone else entirely. Which is fine – it's good, actually, because he never should have been put through such a hell in the first place, should have been allowed to live an easy life full of love and every opportunity to pursue his dreams. It's what Maruki wanted to do for everyone. It's what he did do for everyone. But this is the only one he's encountered who–
He remembers with a sudden spike of clarity: I will not turn into a puppet.
Single 5. Just a hair outside the bullseye.
Too many points left on the board for them to check out. He turns back to Akechi with an apologetic smile. ]
I definitely did better than I would have if I tried to learn to play alone, but I'm sorry we couldn't win.
[ There is no room for doubt in a perfect world. There is no reason to question anything. There is nothing to worry about. He removed those difficulties – for everyone else. It's a reprieve he won't be allowed in the same way, and until tonight, it wasn't really an issue.
An ache is starting to form just behind his eyes, but he soldiers on, raising his voice a bit to be heard over a sudden commotion from one of the billiards tables. ]
With defeat in a game, a loss felt and burning furiously in his chest. A pain ripping and searing every across his flesh like lashes from claws and teeth in a world blurred at the edges.
He didn't hear a word over the raucous group next to them. The man's voice drowned out by the-
[ Before the fusion of this perfect world, he was already extraordinarily skilled at picking up on subtle shifts in mood, tone, body language. Since then, even with his limited interaction with other humans, it's only been heightened. It must be part and parcel of being the one to stitch this world together. Of course any flicker of stress, unhappiness, confusion, pain registers to him. It shouldn't exist.
He sees Akechi's breath catch, hears the absent tone of his voice.
Azathoth is with him, always. They rarely have reason to communicate outside of his Palace, but now there is the familiar voice in his head, snaking around his senses like dark tendrils, telling him to either fix this or leave.
But Maruki isn't a god. He's a vessel, and one that's still all too human. His instinct kicks in before he can stop to consider anything else, and he leans in closer to be heard over the laughing group. ]
I only asked if you wanted to play again, Akechi-kun, but if you're not feeling well–
[ Panic squeezes his heart before he can finish.
Akechi never told him his name. ]
OH THIS IS QUITE THE PICKLE DICKLE A LITTLE PROBLEM WOBLEM
[That's his name That's his name That's his name that's his name that's his name-
it's his name that's his name and-
It's his name. He said his name. Akechi is his name. He knows his name. They've never met and the name falls from his lips with certainty, with confidence, with-
Knowing. Knowledge. He knows his name.
Nothing floods back.
Like an hourglass stuck mid drop, a vase drained of all but a single drop.
Nothing changes and everything does. It's being filled with nothing, ripped apart to air. For a second, split feels whole and-
He laughs - frazzled, saccharine, miserable and joyous all the same. A mixture of static as he threads both his palms through his hair, tugging at strands. As if the sting against his skull is enough to keep it there, keep him there, keep this feeling there with-]
Maruki.
[Inhale. Exhale. His hands still and affixed to his skull until-
It drops. Both hands fall, like a marionette snapped free from the shadows.
He smiles. It's normal. This is all normal.]
My apologies - I think I need some air. Will you come with me?
[Please come with him. He hopes Maruki comes with him. Dreams and thinks about all the times he came with him and filled an alleyway with blood splattered with him in a world that doesn't need him and-
He blinks.]
To-
[And again. What was he saying? More wants to come out and-]
I'm afraid I'll pass out and don't want to be stuck there alone.
[Is he even talking? And-]
I feel like a prince lost in my own palace right now. Is that weird?
stares up at the sun until my eyes burn out of my head
He freezes, gaze wide and wild and fixed directly on Akechi, a rush of blood pounding relentlessly in his ears over everything else he says.
Leave. He needs to leave. He needs to leave without Akechi, get away from Akechi, get himself back to the Metaverse, where nothing and no one can touch him, where he'll never venture out into this world long enough again to catch any sight of even the slightest imperfections, where he'll complete his life sentence alone, where he'll eventually die, if he can even still die–
No, he can. Not a god, but a vessel. He absolutely can.
Prince and palace seize him around the throat and hurtle him back into reality all at once, the overwhelming noise of Penguin Sniper flooding back in, the shifting look in Akechi's eyes. ]
No. I don't think that I should.
[ Azathoth first appeared to him in the true reality, both of them seeking one another out across time and space, that perfect moment under a bleeding sky finally making it possible to connect.
Just as Azathoth would not be able to use the Metaverse to bring about global change without him, Maruki cannot summon his power when he is outside of those bounds. That latent connection between them throbbing in his temples is a pale version of what they're able to accomplish together in their own realm, and it beats now like a warning signal, an alarm calling him back.
By not walking away at the first sign of Akechi, by indulging his ego enough to think he could slide comfortably around the shimmering edges of this reality, he's made himself a sitting duck.
Maruki swallows hard, stares Akechi down, horrified and furious in equal measure.
A crack. Plaster splintering, spreading, consuming-
It doesn't matter-
That reality is warping, twisting, churning in Akechi's mind alone. His heart alone. Fear in Maruki's eyes his to consume alone. A betrayal so vile the thought makes his tongue feel coated with acidic sick. The man in front of him is the cause. A temptation provided.
A knife in his back-
What he deserves
More than anything and-
A brewing, all consuming wrath in his chest that's no longer an ache - it's a numbing agent as his soul forces itself through every shattered piece of Akechi Goro that remains.
And Akechi Goro will make him pay.
The screams
Don't
Register.
An opportunity - a frayed edge. Akechi has always thrived with his back pressed into a corner, with an ever dimming room closing in around him.
The darts are in his hands and-
the pointed tips aim for Maruki's neck as he lunges across the table.
His mom, not his mom, never his mom, that wouldn't be his mom, that disgusting abomination of a copy isn't his dangling, step stool kicked under her, blue tinted body mom and it's not the mom of Akechi Goro so he doesn't register her splintered, ten splinters, ten pieces of glass shattering against the floor as she ring, ring, rings in a tone that compels someone who isn't Akechi Goro to pick up and -
[ The needle-sharp tips of the darts make impact and–
Reality tears. Rips. Shreds. Falls away, like so many scales from Akechi's eyes, furious gaze boring holes into Maruki's own as he dives, shoves, topples both of them over onto the ground.
Each point dug deep into his throat shreds, rips, tears, and if Maruki screams, if he cries out, if he makes any noise at all, then he can't hear it. Can't hear anything but the blood pounding in his own ears like ocean waves–
the weekend spent at Kamakura with Rumi, how she laughed when a rogue wave crested overhead and knocked him clean off his feet
–and the rumble of Azathoth's might, distant from him now, muted by layer upon layer of cognition holding this reality together as it rips, tears, shreds–
There's blood in his mouth and
streaked across her hands as she searched for any sign of life in her parents
streaking down his throat with
the delicate, graceful curve of her neck as she turned to call to him in that field of wildflowers
every gasping breath
quiet and even when she slept in on her days off, sometimes past noon, he could never bring himself to disturb her when she looked so peacefully content
and blind plea. ]
Get off–
[ Hands fisted in his shirt. Arms trying to shove him off. Reality unraveling beneath his fingertips as Akechi Goro only comes more alive.
Every word burns, chokes, but Maruki can't stop himself, could never stop himself. An appeal to the better nature that he knows must have existed once, that he ensured could exist again. ]
You don't want to do this, please, you aren't a puppet, you're–
[It won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter -
how Maruki struggles under Akechi's grip.
it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter because
He won't stop. He won't stop. He won't stop. He won't stop. He won't stop.]
I'll be joining you.
[Another needle to the eye, viciously dug until an offwhite liquid with streaks of red flow out and-
He won't stop it won't matter he won't stop it won't matter he's free he's free he's free he's free and-
He laughs - light, and airy. Bright, and joyous. Content and
free]
I'm Akechi Goro and we will never meet again.
[Wisps of smoke appear in his vision he remembers -
The first he killed someone in a terrifying, massive, overwhelming world - he can't remember who it was.
Can't remember how he felt. Only recalls the shadows pulled free from a false corpse that now return to pull him down, down down.
Drag him down. He deserves it. Maruki deserves it.
He remembers his mom as bruises form around Maruki's neck from fingers that lock together like rope -
Ten splinters on a rafter - he counts the veins popping in the man's neck. Not ten, maybe five, it's blurry.
A blinding television studio where he met Akira -
Maybe on the subway
Maybe on the street. Maybe passing forces on a sidewalk and their fates were intertwined from the second he stepped foot in Tokyo.
Akira betrayed him. Kurusu betrayed him.
Akechi will never forgive him. Wishes for him to be trapped in a false world he condemned them all too, even as reality crumbles.
He can't breathe. Neither can Maruki. Maruki isn't breathing. The chest under him stops moving, hands stop moving, Akechi-
stops moving
because he can't.
Because he isn't there. Because he is. Because there's a second, a minute, a moment where he wonders -
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
LITERALLY THE BEST THING THIS COULD BE CHRISTENED WITH THANK YOU AND ALSO I'M SORRY
For a while, it was a profound relief. He hadn't realized just how taxing his work with Azathoth had been until it was no longer necessary. When the world shimmered around the edges one last time before finally settling into itself, when he could see his dream come to fruition and exhale for the first time in years, he'd fallen into a deep, restorative sleep. Just another kindness Azathoth did for him, ensconcing him safely in his Palace to finally rest.
Perhaps some would see it as a cruel twist of fate that utopia has no real place for him, but Maruki knew what the deal entailed when he made it. He's had years to get used to the idea of being forgotten in favor of a better world – Rumi's eyes passing right over him in a crowd as she laughed arm in arm with a friend, her happiness palpable even from afar. He experiences it now every time he ventures out of his Palace. Kawakami across from him on the subway with her nose in a book, Shibusawa standing next to him at a crosswalk with no reason to look his way, the former Phantom Thieves posing cheerily for a photo and thanking him with the politeness reserved for older strangers. It's a small price to pay for perfection.
With no work left to be done, no use for his former profession and no one who knows him, Maruki has been left with– himself. For the first time, he has nothing and no one else to direct his focus toward, and he's surprised to find how unsettling it is. Who is he, outside of the work he poured his entire soul into for so much of his life? He's not sure that he knows.
With the gift of hindsight and the sole custodian of the memories of their old, painful world, he can see that it wasn't terribly healthy of him. If someone had come to him for counseling with the same lifestyle he had, he would have told them to take more time to focus on themselves. And he has that now– he has that now.
It bothers him.
One problem still exists in this world, and it's his own crisis of identity and purpose. Sort of funny, really. The savior is the only one left imperfect.
He's taking small steps toward looking after himself. Trying out activities he never had the time for – last week it had been fishing, a truly spectacular failure that ended in him drenched and nothing but a minnow to his name. The week before, an attempt at a piano lesson after never touching an instrument in his life. A trip to the arcade where a child in a ridiculous hat soundly trounced him at every game he tried, a knitting workshop where he managed to make one uneven dishcloth, a turn on an intramural soccer team where he pulled something in his back and had to rest in the garden for weeks.
He remembers– Akira talking once about playing darts and billiards with his friends. He's never tried either, never been much good at any sort of game, but he figures it's worth adding to the list of potential pastimes. Penguin Sniper is crowded with loud, laughing groups of friends – and he finds himself at the one open machine, alone. The world moving as it always does, perfectly formed around him but never for him. It's fine, he's used to it.
Until–
The voice is instantly familiar – though not the one he heard in person, all barbed acid and barely-masked hatred. This was only ever on the television, the radio. Pleasantly polite, endearing in a slightly awkward sort of way that Maruki's all too familiar with himself. The perfect detective prince – but of course there's been no need to reassume that role here. Only an ordinary student, beloved by the people who matter most.
It startles him all the same. It isn't like dropping by Leblanc for a takeaway coffee and a quick glimpse at their happy, cobbled together family – Maruki knows what he's getting into there, can steel himself for the strangeness of being unknown. But this– he hasn't prepared for the possibility of being approached by one of them out in the world.
He jerks his head to look up from the darts at Goro Akechi, his eyes wide for a flicker of a moment before he catches himself. ]
Ah, sorry! I was so concentrated on this–
[ He waves the little pamphlet of rules and laughs at himself, sliding easily back into self-deprecation. They have never met. He has never threatened Maruki's life or his work, never trawled through his Palace to learn all his darkest secrets, never stood by in Leblanc to hear him plead with Akira one last time. Akechi has no idea who he is. Everything is right. ]
If you don't mind playing with a total amateur, then by all means. The more the merrier.
HRUMMMMMMMMMMMMWRHIRIRHIRH cw: mentions of self harm, murder thoughts, suicide mention!!!
Threat. There's a threat. He glances around to see why the flicker of a sensation rushes through his body in a nauseating wave. But-
It's there. It's gone. Pacified by a glance around the boisterous room - being safe is prudent. He is safe.]
I taught most of my friends to play, so you're in good hands.
[With the confirmation he's welcome, his claim is lain on the table nearby with his school bag. Assignments inside on the off chance he had to wait, so the time wasn't wasted. His arms stretch in front of him - catlike and relaxed before he plucks a single dart from the table-
To stab into his own neck, pull the blunted tip across his veins and-
Press it right into Maruki's eye. Don't relent. Hit again and again and-
His eyes are dry, from the intensity of how he's bore them into Maruki's face for-
How long? He doesn't know. Can't remember. Didn't notice. It was weird and-
A small laugh - he waves off the bizarre moment.]
My apologies. We'll play a practice game to learn the rules - simple as they are, it seems to resonate better that way. I'm sure you're familiar with the concept in general - throw the dart to hit specific points on the board. Most people think you're supposed to hit the bullseye every time. That's not the case.
[He stands by the board to reset it - the easiest mode [301] - flashes in bright, obnoxious font.]
Sometimes winning requires you to bide your time and play to your teammate's weakness, as opposed to hitting as many points as possible. That's the reason this can be so challenging as a multiplayer game. It requires a great deal of teamwork.
[He motions towards the array of darts on the table - briefly spells out the quadrants, their point value, and the goal of getting the score to zero as a combined effort.
A phone buzzes from his pocket - it's 50/50 on whether it's an obscene message in the group chat, one that's permanently muted on his phone unless pinged repeatedly, or an actual important message.
This time it is. The phone angled to where Maruki can likely see - it's not like he has any secrets. His mom sent him a picture of Hegel, eyes wild and with one of the previously hidden treats in his mouth. A comment of '(◞‸◟；) he negotiated well. can you pick up more on your way home? we also need -'
A rope. A chair. A sturdy beam in a dimly lit apartment coated in mold and-
He sends back an 'Of course' and repockets it.]
Apologies again. That was my mother - would you like to go first or shall I demonstrate?
i'm gonna lose my mind akechiiiIIIIIIII POOR THANG........
The last time he dropped by Leblanc, a Sunday afternoon as pleasant as any other, Akira had been behind the counter. For a fraction of a second, between weighing the beans and heating the carafe, he thought he saw a flash of recognition in Akira's eyes. Gone as quickly as it came, probably just a trick of his imagination now that he's more isolated from human interaction than he's been in many years. There is no reason to doubt that the fusion worked perfectly as intended when proof of that is everywhere he looks.
Still. That was five weeks ago and he hasn't been back since.
Just the same before, the strange moment passes before he can fully process it. Akechi is laughing, Akechi is chattering on with an easy set to his shoulders and a friendly sort of expertise. Akechi is mentioning my friends and my mother like they've always been a part of his life – and they have, Maruki reminds himself. He's finally given Akechi exactly what he deserves. Set aside a few unnerving seconds to enjoy that gratification: Someone who had suffered so much now having everything they missed, being so wholly content. This is the world he wanted. This is right. He has control over the situation, it wouldn't exist without his influence, he wouldn't have set himself up for failure after all those years, Azathoth wouldn't have let him–
Focus. ]
If you had asked me five minutes ago, I would have said you're supposed to hit the bullseye every time… I'll do my best, but let me apologize in advance for just how many weaknesses you'll need to compensate for!
[ He picks up three darts, feels the weight of them in his hand. They're heavier than anticipated, that was what threw him off at first. And the target is farther away than he thought it might be. Ah, he really should have tried to get out more back in–
It doesn't matter. He smiles and steps up to take a shot. ]
I'll go first, it's better to rip the bandage off.
[ The quadrants and numbers swim before him, and after a few moments of hesitation about where to aim for, he figures it's probably best to just aim to hit the board at all.
Which he fails at. Three times in a row. The last dart grazes the edge of 14, a few millimeters difference and it would have had a fighting chance at clinging on, but no luck. Maruki blinks at the fallen soldiers for a moment before turning back to Akechi with an embarrassed, self-effacing laugh. ]
Was that good?
he's fine he's got a emotional support dog now 🐩
It reminds him of Akira whacking himself in the face with a pool ball while attempting a difficult trick.
Except this is a novice. A grown man unable to hit even the smallest sliver of this board, but they all start somewhere. A laugh - light, airy and genuine passes through the fist covering his mouth. Sympathetic to his newbie plight, he-
Wants to really-
Teach him.]
You didn't hit a person or the wall. That's better than the attempt of at least two of my classmates.
[He glides up to the edge of the mat - practiced and efficient in how the darts are held in his hand.]
Be more confident. Keep the dart held near eye level, but don't look at it. The target is where your eyes should be - for the time being, simply aim for the center to ensure it hits the board at all.
[Left hand poised to throw, he uses his right one to point out his shoulder and the way his elbow is stabilized.]
Keep your shoulder immobile and try to arc your throw - the power behind it is less important. You don't need to heave it.
[A motion, a small step backwards and-
One, two, three bullseyes in a matter of seconds.
He-
Wishes the man's head could be placed against that neon lit backdrop and-]
Try again.
hegel hard carrying akechi through this reality i fear
Cleaving through shadows on security camera footage, barking at Akira to keep up and only sparing genuine praise for Yoshizawa. Spitting venom about the reality he created, rebuking it with such instantaneous, violent conviction. Making it perfectly clear that he's interested in only one way to deal with him, and it's by the grace of their mutual acquaintance that he doesn't follow through on it. A white hot blur of raging betrayal, one of the last negative sensations Maruki can remember feeling out in the world before everything sewed itself neatly together.
No.
Akechi is encouraging. Patient. Too polite to really laugh at him like he probably deserves. Articulate in his explanations and flawless in his execution.
The two are more difficult to reckon than Maruki anticipated.
Three bullseyes, with pinpoint precision. It's surprising enough to knock Maruki out of his own cognitive dissonance, grinning widely as Akechi turns back to him. ]
Wow! Are you sure you're not a professional? Ah, is this a prank for a variety show?
[ He makes a show of searching for cameras before stepping up to the mat again. Akechi's advice really is genuinely helpful – he keeps his shoulders still and pays careful attention to the angle of his arm, trying to mimic the motion of Akechi's throw.
He forgets to focus on the board, so the first dart still winds up too low and bounces off the machine. With a huff of a sigh, he readjusts and trains his eyes on the center, ignores the urge to look at the dart to make sure it's where he thinks it ought to be. Eye level, arc, don't heave it.
The second dart manages to hit a single 3. ]
Oh!
[ Akechi snarled at him more than once about his desire to become a god, and maybe for a time he was more right than Maruki would ever have admitted, but in this new world he's back to being all too human. The satisfaction of managing a difficult task buzzes through his body, takes the edge off some of his unease.
The last dart wavers a bit more but makes its target too, just outside the tiny box that would have made it a triple 18. Hardly anywhere near as impressive, but he still turns and raises a hand for Akechi to high five. ]
Thank you, all the credit for that belongs to you!
poor hegel where's his wish maruki bc it wasn't to be akechi's pet. step up do better.
[Akira, who picks up any new task or hobby with bizarre ease. It doesn't matter what - coffee brewing, billiards, retro games, and any sort of item that has to be created by hand. They're almost rivals sometimes, in the way Akechi needs to work to keep up. It's fun. Drives him to do better at every opportunity. Makes Akira the first person he drags to a new game room opening or some bizarre event - after he has time to practice first. To one up him before he even sets eyes on the rules. To-
Find a way to jam those rusty lockpicks straight into his throat - make him pay for-
Everything. Akechi drags him to everything.
And Maruki who takes the advice with grace, despite the vast difference in their age. A remarkable improvement in every way by only his second turn. The numbers on the board dwindle down and-
He comes over with a raised hand - there's no hesitation as he meets that action and high fives with a gentle, soft pat against his palm. It's common to do. He's been watching other players as well.
Sick to his stomach. Nausea overwhelming and-
He drops his hand, smile genuine across his face.]
While I'll accept my hand in offering advice, you can't teach someone to listen to it. If there's credit, it lies with you and you alone. You did quite well for a second try.
[Back to the mat - darts in hand yet again. One bullseye, two in the quadrants next to it.]
I heard somewhere a high five actually raises your skill level. It sounds ridiculous, but I imagine it has to do with the elation of success and the brain chemistry surrounding that.
[He raises a hand up - ready-
To break his fingers, break his arm, rip him apart-
For another high five.]
Good luck.
no subject
And they are. But they're also largely the same people they were before. Sakamoto just as hotheaded and liable to shoot off at the mouth before thinking, Kitagawa just as lost in his own fanciful world, Sakura just as chronically plugged into the internet. They didn't wish for those core aspects of their personality to be changed, they only wished for fixes to their greatest pains.
Akechi is–
Different.
This is different.
Why is this different?
He is deferential, and complimentary, and chatty, and kind, so incredibly kind. Even when Maruki wished they could have met under happier circumstances to debate free will and all that entails, he didn't kid himself to think Akechi would act anything close to– this. For whatever reason, seeing this doesn't spike the same affectionate pride in him. Maybe it's because he never had a chance to counsel Akechi, never spent time forging that bond in the long shadows cast in the nurse's office even when nothing substantial was said. Or maybe– ]
I believe it. Dopamine is hugely important to cohesive teamwork, so anything that heightens that release could help.
[ He steps up to the mat for his final turn, aware that it's highly unlikely he'll hit the right number to get them down to zero. At least the machine is kind enough to tell him what to aim for, but he's definitely not good enough to guarantee any accuracy. Next time, he'll let Akechi go first so they have a fighting chance at winning. What a strange concession, considering– everything.
Maruki shakes the nervous tension out of his arms and shoulders before setting himself up, dart at eye level, squinting behind his glasses.
The way he sees it, there are three options for what's going on with Akechi.
One: The Akechi that he met in his Palace, in Jazz Jin, was never his true self after all. Whatever happened to him in Shido's Palace warped and twisted him into a vengeful, irritated young man with a white knuckle grip on his calm exterior. What he's seeing now is the truth, an Akechi that he never got to know. That Akira surely never got to know either. But if Akira wished to have him back, then that doesn't quite line up, there's a discrepancy that should have been addressed–
Single 9.
Two: Akechi's wish was to become a different person entirely. This Akechi behind him is the one who never existed, not even in concept. A fabricated identity that Akechi wanted to retreat into because living as himself was too painful. That feels closer, but still–
Double 11.
Three: Akechi's wish had nothing to do with this person that he is now. When Maruki gave him the gift of a painless life, it changed his circumstances so severely that he became someone else entirely. Which is fine – it's good, actually, because he never should have been put through such a hell in the first place, should have been allowed to live an easy life full of love and every opportunity to pursue his dreams. It's what Maruki wanted to do for everyone. It's what he did do for everyone. But this is the only one he's encountered who–
He remembers with a sudden spike of clarity: I will not turn into a puppet.
Single 5. Just a hair outside the bullseye.
Too many points left on the board for them to check out. He turns back to Akechi with an apologetic smile. ]
I definitely did better than I would have if I tried to learn to play alone, but I'm sorry we couldn't win.
[ There is no room for doubt in a perfect world. There is no reason to question anything. There is nothing to worry about. He removed those difficulties – for everyone else. It's a reprieve he won't be allowed in the same way, and until tonight, it wasn't really an issue.
An ache is starting to form just behind his eyes, but he soldiers on, raising his voice a bit to be heard over a sudden commotion from one of the billiards tables. ]
Shall we have a rematch? You can go first.
no subject
Rebels.
It-
Aches.
It-
Stings
With defeat in a game, a loss felt and burning furiously in his chest. A pain ripping and searing every across his flesh like lashes from claws and teeth in a world blurred at the edges.
He didn't hear a word over the raucous group next to them. The man's voice drowned out by the-
fake, fake, fake, fake, fake, fakefakefakefakefakefake-
Happy world around them.
Breath paralyzed, heart racing - recovering from a marathon instead of two step walk to a too bright machine.]
The air quality was supposed to be good today.
[Absent mindedly - like the woes of his current situation are due to smog on a hot summer evening, instead of-]
I'm sorry - what did you say? I couldn't hear.
hands you a tear in reality hands you a tear in reality :3c fuck it up king
He sees Akechi's breath catch, hears the absent tone of his voice.
Azathoth is with him, always. They rarely have reason to communicate outside of his Palace, but now there is the familiar voice in his head, snaking around his senses like dark tendrils, telling him to either fix this or leave.
But Maruki isn't a god. He's a vessel, and one that's still all too human. His instinct kicks in before he can stop to consider anything else, and he leans in closer to be heard over the laughing group. ]
I only asked if you wanted to play again, Akechi-kun, but if you're not feeling well–
[ Panic squeezes his heart before he can finish.
Akechi never told him his name. ]
OH THIS IS QUITE THE PICKLE DICKLE A LITTLE PROBLEM WOBLEM
it's his name that's his name and-
It's his name. He said his name. Akechi is his name. He knows his name. They've never met and the name falls from his lips with certainty, with confidence, with-
Knowing. Knowledge. He knows his name.
Nothing floods back.
Like an hourglass stuck mid drop, a vase drained of all but a single drop.
Nothing changes and everything does. It's being filled with nothing, ripped apart to air. For a second, split feels whole and-
He laughs - frazzled, saccharine, miserable and joyous all the same. A mixture of static as he threads both his palms through his hair, tugging at strands. As if the sting against his skull is enough to keep it there, keep him there, keep this feeling there with-]
Maruki.
[Inhale. Exhale. His hands still and affixed to his skull until-
It drops. Both hands fall, like a marionette snapped free from the shadows.
He smiles. It's normal. This is all normal.]
My apologies - I think I need some air. Will you come with me?
[Please come with him. He hopes Maruki comes with him. Dreams and thinks about all the times he came with him and filled an alleyway with blood splattered with him in a world that doesn't need him and-
He blinks.]
To-
[And again. What was he saying? More wants to come out and-]
I'm afraid I'll pass out and don't want to be stuck there alone.
[Is he even talking? And-]
I feel like a prince lost in my own palace right now. Is that weird?
stares up at the sun until my eyes burn out of my head
He freezes, gaze wide and wild and fixed directly on Akechi, a rush of blood pounding relentlessly in his ears over everything else he says.
Leave. He needs to leave. He needs to leave without Akechi, get away from Akechi, get himself back to the Metaverse, where nothing and no one can touch him, where he'll never venture out into this world long enough again to catch any sight of even the slightest imperfections, where he'll complete his life sentence alone, where he'll eventually die, if he can even still die–
No, he can. Not a god, but a vessel. He absolutely can.
Prince and palace seize him around the throat and hurtle him back into reality all at once, the overwhelming noise of Penguin Sniper flooding back in, the shifting look in Akechi's eyes. ]
No. I don't think that I should.
[ Azathoth first appeared to him in the true reality, both of them seeking one another out across time and space, that perfect moment under a bleeding sky finally making it possible to connect.
Just as Azathoth would not be able to use the Metaverse to bring about global change without him, Maruki cannot summon his power when he is outside of those bounds. That latent connection between them throbbing in his temples is a pale version of what they're able to accomplish together in their own realm, and it beats now like a warning signal, an alarm calling him back.
By not walking away at the first sign of Akechi, by indulging his ego enough to think he could slide comfortably around the shimmering edges of this reality, he's made himself a sitting duck.
Maruki swallows hard, stares Akechi down, horrified and furious in equal measure.
A statement, not a question. ]
You know who I am, don't you.
surprise
All at once-
He doesn't fucking care anymore.Controlled. Tamed. Leashed. Chained.
Manufactured.
Wanted pliable, malleable, easy-A wish.
A crack. Plaster splintering, spreading, consuming-It doesn't matter-
That reality is warping, twisting, churning in Akechi's mind alone. His heart alone. Fear in Maruki's eyes his to consume alone. A betrayal so vile the thought makes his tongue feel coated with acidic sick. The man in front of him is the cause. A temptation provided.
A knife in his back-
What he deserves
More than anything and-A brewing, all consuming wrath in his chest that's no longer an ache - it's a numbing agent as his soul forces itself through every shattered piece of Akechi Goro that remains.
And Akechi Goro will make him pay.
The screams
Don't
Register.
An opportunity - a frayed edge. Akechi has always thrived with his back pressed into a corner, with an ever dimming room closing in around him.
The darts are in his hands and-
the pointed tips aim for Maruki's neck as he lunges across the table.
His mom, not his mom, never his mom, that wouldn't be his mom, that disgusting abomination of a copy isn't his dangling, step stool kicked under her, blue tinted body mom and it's not the mom of Akechi Goro so he doesn't register her splintered, ten splinters, ten pieces of glass shattering against the floor as she ring, ring, rings in a tone that compels someone who isn't Akechi Goro to pick up and -He won't stop.
He'll never stop.
It was always too late to stop.]
I will never be your goddamn puppet!
S̵̬̚ ̸̭͊Ü̸͕ ̶̦̔R̴̺̆ ̵͚͝P̶̝̋ ̸͘ͅR̵̭͑ ̵̲̏Í̷͇ ̴̧̇S̸̈ͅ ̵͈̌E
Reality tears. Rips. Shreds. Falls away, like so many scales from Akechi's eyes, furious gaze boring holes into Maruki's own as he dives, shoves, topples both of them over onto the ground.
Each point dug deep into his throat shreds, rips, tears, and if Maruki screams, if he cries out, if he makes any noise at all, then he can't hear it. Can't hear anything but the blood pounding in his own ears like ocean waves–
the weekend spent at Kamakura with Rumi, how she laughed when a rogue wave crested overhead and knocked him clean off his feet
–and the rumble of Azathoth's might, distant from him now, muted by layer upon layer of cognition holding this reality together as it rips, tears, shreds–
There's blood in his mouth and
streaked across her hands as she searched for any sign of life in her parents
streaking down his throat with
the delicate, graceful curve of her neck as she turned to call to him in that field of wildflowers
every gasping breath
quiet and even when she slept in on her days off, sometimes past noon, he could never bring himself to disturb her when she looked so peacefully content
and blind plea. ]
Get off–
[ Hands fisted in his shirt. Arms trying to shove him off. Reality unraveling beneath his fingertips as Akechi Goro only comes more alive.
Every word burns, chokes, but Maruki can't stop himself, could never stop himself. An appeal to the better nature that he knows must have existed once, that he ensured could exist again. ]
You don't want to do this, please, you aren't a puppet, you're–
[ a̶͉̱͊ ̵̲̤̻̉͑h̸̨̞́͊ơ̷̺͊̏s̷̛̪͒̿t̴̳͂̍̕ǎ̷͔͊g̴̳͐e̸̱͋̍ ]
:̵̨̺̙͈̞̬̱̮̩̳̗̖͖͚̥̲̙̿̌͆͊̂̓͗̉͛͑̅̋̑̽̋͑̒́̿̈̇̇̑̓̂͌͘͘͘͜͜
how Maruki struggles under Akechi's grip.
He won't stop. He won't stop. He won't stop. He won't stop. He won't stop.]it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter it won't matter because
I'll be joining you.
[Another needle to the eye, viciously dug until an offwhite liquid with streaks of red flow out and-
He won't stop it won't matter he won't stop it won't matter he's free he's free he's free he's free and-
He laughs - light, and airy. Bright, and joyous. Content and
I'm Akechi Goro and we will never meet again.
[Wisps of smoke appear in his vision he remembers -
The first he killed someone in a terrifying, massive, overwhelming world - he can't remember who it was.
Drag him down. He deserves it. Maruki deserves it.Can't remember how he felt. Only recalls the shadows pulled free from a false corpse that now return to pull him down, down down.
He remembers his mom as bruises form around Maruki's neck from fingers that lock together like rope -
Ten splinters on a rafter - he counts the veins popping in the man's neck. Not ten, maybe five, it's blurry.
A blinding television studio where he met Akira -
Maybe on the subway
Maybe on the street. Maybe passing forces on a sidewalk and their fates were intertwined from the second he stepped foot in Tokyo.Akira betrayed him. Kurusu betrayed him.
Akechi will never forgive him. Wishes for him to be trapped in a false world he condemned them all too, even as reality crumbles.
He can't breathe. Neither can Maruki. Maruki isn't breathing. The chest under him stops moving, hands stop moving, Akechi-Because he isn't there. Because he is. Because there's a second, a minute, a moment where he wonders -
Where he wishes