Mememeforrp:

mememeforrp​:

Send “I’ve got you” to help my muse wash off blood from their body

ken & shinjiro

shinji doodles that twitter enjoyed

for any Persona 3 muse you have (cause I can’t decide XD) :: [ calm down ] sender pets receiver's hair and tries to soothe them after a scary situation + reverse

He can taste blood. ━ a busted lip demands it's presence with an electric kind of pain, a bruise beginning to dye his cheek a maroon, to blue, to something like purple, his knuckles warped and broken under his gloves.

God, that hurt. but it's hardly what matters anymore.

It's rare that Shadows follow them up Tartarus' stairwells, an endless labyrinth, but it's even rarer that they head downwards. As though catching the scent of blood, the halls of the maze ever indifferent until malice seemed to rear its ugly head in the face of those sought it's destruction ( the Dark Hour like a looming gaze on those beneath it; Tartarus like the twisted internals of some great God they were crawling through ) ━ tonight, the blood they smelled was Fuuka's, first. An easy target, he imagined, with no one to protect her.

It made Akihiko's blood boil. He nearly threw himself at the shadow when he'd heard the buzzing spitting crackle of the teleporter back down fill his ears and felt the tile floor under his feet. He thinks he nearly missed, bad form & worse impulse; it landed, though, but he can feel the poor technique radiating down his wrist like an incessant twinge of nerves. It takes a second, after the Shadow was reduced to smoke and tar for him to realize the fear in her eyes. Doe-like, if Akihiko were anyone else. He recognizes it immediately in his own way ━ and it reminds him of himself, when he was new to this and the enemy got the jump on him for the first time. He got knocked on his ass faster than he should've, legs coming out from under him, and he'd been lucky Mitsuru was fast back then. She still is, he knows, but tonight was a busy night. Fuuka didn't have the luxury of a bodyguard.

In a funny way, it nearly feels like repaying a favor. ( She'll hate him for it when he takes off his gloves. he can feel the crooked knuckles. )

━ Shit. Akihiko wasn't exactly the most comforting of the group, and at best, he hardly knew Fuuka to begin with. Junpei had always been the most lax of the group maybe, but he knew the words to these kinds of routines. ( Yukari, lion-like in her own regard, but understanding of the feeling beneath. It wasn't as though Akihiko didn't understand what it felt like to be afraid, of course he did, but the static shudder of any other body but his own was as foreign to him as a different language. Sometimes, like living in a different world... )

... He's not sure why he does what he does next, shaking fingers bent to just barely card between tufts of her short blue hair and palm gently smoothing in it's wake, perhaps kneeled to do so; ignoring the sharp protest of the broken knuckles as he does so ( though, he can't help a wince ). a part of him wonders if it's something he learned from Shinji when they were younger. He brushes off the thought, weighing against his collarbone.

" Hey. You're fine now. It's gone. Take a breather, alright? Are you alright? " he speaks, hoping to offer some form of soothing, and in turn hoping the words sound more natural than they feel.

ONCE YOU'RE STRIPPED CLEAN, WHAT'S AT YOUR CORE? ━ behind the mask.

you aren’t slick about whatever you think you’re hiding. glass shatters in your midst, blood spills, children scream. like some of your friends, your personality of choice is entirely artificial. the difference between you and them is that you can get away with it. you’re unknown, perhaps even to yourself, and your goals are complex and unknown. anyone stupid enough to fall for you is setting themselves up to be frustrated and confused, owing to your being ultimately unknowable. i hope you can find an identity that makes you comfortable.

━ silent admission. in tarot, the fool is numbered 0 ━ the number of unlimited potential. as the protagonist, he is ever present and therefore needs no number as well as no introduction. the world revolves around you in ways that i can't begin to describe, though you'd shrug it off if i were to begin to explain. i need you to know that time is running out. if you want to get this done, you need to start now. sloth is your greatest enemy in this world, and you can only run so far from the opposition when you start with such a disadvantage. keep your head high, yeah? the kid you were is still in there somewhere. you need to show him that it was worth it.

tagged: @yukcri THANK U SM <333 tagging: @autonomousxselves @moonrecalled @shadowedresolve @tenebriism @hellboundhermit @tacitusauxilium @insidesketches @segnisacfessis & anyone wearing jewelry or hairties!

patch . help my muse patch up a wound . - Shinji or Ken!

Shinjiro had always been able to handle pain. To him, it was second nature. Growing up with Akihiko being the rough-and-tumble type he is even before learning how to box, in the Orphanage they both were raised in, meant there was a level of necessity to be able to roll with the punches, rewarded when you could, punished when you couldn't. a skill he'd learn repeatedly, endlessly, the necessity of during his time away from SEES. ━ the second you were on your ass, or you froze up, or your arms were tied, it made you easy. easy to hurt. easy to kill. ━━ Shinjiro never liked making things easy for anyone.

SEES had always been an exception, though : or rather he should say it'd always been to those he considers friends, which might be why for all the way he twitches; arm in Takeba's grasp as the muscles seize & he can't help the way the overzealous pang of nerves make him want to rip it away outright; he does not pull away even as he draws a sharp breath through his teeth, ignores the way the smell of antiseptic makes him feel more than slightly lightheaded, clenches his hands into fists before; in a moment of surprisingly animalistic single-minded worry; thinks that shit, he'd rather not look like he's about to hit her when she's helping him out, and lets his rough hands go limp again.

Still, his fingers twitch as the burns are cleaned, nerves overworked and bitterly loud in this fact. He'll have to jab at Akihiko later to aim his Zionga's better next time they're in Tartarus together, just for the fun of starting a fight, even if he knew damn well it wasn't Aki that kept lighting him up like a Christmas tree this time...

" Damnit... " the curse writhes between his teeth, bruised jaw grinding. his eyes linger, intense, at Yukari's hands as they work & he sits on the first floor of Tartarus; bones aching; staring as though in judgement ( even as he attempts to make himself as pliable to work with as possible. ) " Those annoying Maya did nothing but cast Zionga the whole damn time... "

a piece of Shinjiro recognizes that Yukari might be helping him in the first place because of this fact, but as it is not the one cussing wildly ( and he can't pretend he knows her all that well to begin with ), he elects to ignore it.

a well-worn sigh escapes him, gazing at the burns littering his hands & arms as the roughest parts that had to sustain the damage; melee be scorned, his axe like a lightning rod. it deepens into a light scowl, stare flicking to Yukari's face. it stays there a long few moments, before he speaks again.

" ... I'm lucky it's not bad enough to get Mitsuru in a twist about it, but you don't gotta do this, you know. " Shinjiro studies her, meticulous, which always ends up feeling like he's trying to scare you out of something when it was him doing it. maybe he was. " It's some burns. It'll heal fast. Besides, you were carrying my ass most of the way anyways. "