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𝙰𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚗'𝚜 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚜𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚎𝚝 𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚎.
𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙰𝙻𝚂𝙲𝙰𝚁𝚂: 𝚊𝚗 𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚂𝙴𝙼𝙸 𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚁𝙴𝙽𝙹𝙸 𝚈𝙾𝙼𝙾 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚂𝚄𝙸 𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙳𝙰’𝚂 𝚃𝙾𝙺𝚈𝙾 𝙶𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙻 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚍 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙹𝚆𝙾𝚆𝚆 ( 𝚜𝚑𝚎 / 𝚑𝚎𝚛 ) 𝟸𝟼.
𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙻𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝙰𝚂: 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚞𝚙, 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚒𝚊, 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍, 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚛.
law.
Renji would be lying if he said he wasn’t a picky eater. Always selecting his cuts based on certain physical attributes. He wasn’t a kid anymore, he didn’t have to take scraps. Renji knew what he liked, what made him feel best. ❝ Too thin. ❞ Was all he said in response as he kneeled next to the body laid out on the side of the street.
❝ He looks like he starves himself. ❞ Fingers tug at the corpse’s shirt, pulling it up to expose the chest, his ribs were visible. Renji preferred a healthy victim, one who took care of themselves, ate well, and maybe even worked out. They always tasted better. He looks back to @sublimisnoct with his brows furrowing slightly that Uta even suggested it. ❝ I’ll just add him to Anteiku’s supply. ❞
Renji let’s go of his shoulder, a soft huff escaping thin lips. Grey green hues remain on the ghoul before him, almost taking pity on him, just for a moment. He’s obviously younger, possibly somewhere in his late teens or early twenties. But he doesn’t seem like he’s always known the struggles that most ghouls faced. Renji can’t help but assume the boy must’ve recently been orphaned, taking on the role of being his own provider.
Renji’s brows furrowed slightly at his comment about not expecting so many ghouls to be lurking about, must’ve originally been from somewhere in the countryside. He feels bad, genuinely, for a second Renji’s mind shifts to memories of fighting for food before Yoshimura gave him a second chance. Eyes glaze over the scene before him in search of a suitable scapegoat, a peace offering for this boy.
❝ If you want something fresh, that’s an easy one. ❞ The choice in question was a man somewhere in his mid twenties, clearly sloshed from the consumption of one too many alcoholic energy drinks. He already looked as if he was going to hurl while he leaned against his car.
❝ He’ll probably crash on his way home, if you follow him you’ll be able to catch it. ❞ It’s better than finding a corpse in some back alley that had already been picked to the bone by other ghouls, this is the only advice he’ll get from Renji.
He must look pathetic, the syllables in each way he spoke lacked the dialect ghouls would speak, too human - too manicured. Unsuspecting, that was what he preferred to escape from being caught, it was strange to hunt for the first time or in this case, scavenge at scrap bones. Finally, his shoulders drop, a deep sigh that emanates from the depths of his chest. He wants to prattle on this was his first time, then it’d make him stand out, a rich boy - spoiled brat. Somehow, paying the expense of another finding meat for him seemed better. Perking, a silver brow cocks upwards, gaze locking onto the poor soul that would meet their end.
“This is such a fall from grace” it would be interesting to read the headlines of his inevitable demise, famous pianist eats his publisher, or maybe PR manager, maybe just the manager - he was a ghoul the entire time. Somehow, taking those pink packets from Anteiku struck him as a better idea, the charity that would bludgeon his pride was worth the decoration of a corpse, being viewed as nothing more than a scavenger despite his strength.
“Thanks, I guess all I have to do is hang back now, huh?” the cool night air is a calming presence, settling the anxiety twisting in his gut, another wayward soul looking for a meal && ignorantly having betrayed the looming hunger in the pit of his stomach. Desire was the basis of a ghoul, though his mind could care less for philosophical rantings, all he wanted was a warm dinner that wouldn’t be shared. Haphazardly a smile extends, he’s polite, although awkward as if he didn’t interact too much with those of similar kin.
“Is this an everyday occurrence or did I stumble upon a special night?”
He can smell the embarrassment emitting from the boy’s pores ( maybe it shame, but Renji wouldn’t press him ), the scent mingling with the remains of a cologne he knows he couldn’t ever afford. A forgotten Tsukiyama? No, Satoru lacked the prominent traits. Not to mention that even with their prestige every member of that family was capable of hunting for themselves. Still, Renji won’t judge, but there was a small twinge of jealousy, it’s clear the ghoul before him didn’t know what struggle was, not until recently.
But he pushes that aside. He’ll choose pity instead.
❝ Usually a weekend thing, everyone tries to keep it under the radar. Some only do it for money, others because they love cars. ❞ Renji will keep it simple, not seeing the point in going into depth. What was going on around them wasn’t important, rather the boy’s growing hunger. That had to be taken care of before it got out of hand. Renji’s seen to many ghouls fall victim to the growing pit in their stomachs and how it could bring the end to them.
❝ If there’s a bad crash, I usually try to get to the bodies before anyone else, bring them back to Anteiku to help those who need it. ❞ He carefully extends the olive branch, knowing that it would make Yoshimura proud. Usually not the most vocal man, but in this moment he’ll try.
He had allowed himself to get too comfortable at Helter Skelter, opening up just a bit too much to Itori, letting thoughts and emotions he’d usually keep private fall from blood wine stained lips. Renji never wanted his old friend to speak on it, to put her own opinions in on the topic, it made it all worse. Now barely holding himself together he can feel parts of his mind being tugged at like loose threads, unraveling memories he had long since pushed into the deepest parts of himself.
Where was he now? Renji knows he left his car at Helter Skelter ( Itori had promised it was safe from getting towed, she refused to let him drive knowing it wasn’t the best idea ), he knows he hoped onto a train or two, but where was he now? He catches a whiff, the overwhelming smell of tobacco mixed with marijuana filling his nostril ( his nose was always more sensitive to such things after he drank ), the buzzing noise of music and drunken laughter, the flashing neon lights featuring three x’s straining his eyes.
Why was he here again, in the fourth ward’s red light district? Oh, that’s right, he’s looking for her.
Usual spots are checked, shady underground gambling dens where ghouls hired by the Yakuza ran security, the bars that had peepshows in the basement that you could never talk about anywhere else ( you always had to give them a special code to get tokens after handing a couple thousand yen, why does he know that? He doesn’t like how he knew that ), to the back alley doors that lead into warehouses with cage fights ( he’s spent too much money there than he’d like to admit, hoping for an easy win to afford the rent on his converted shipping container ).
Renji can’t find her. It was always like that, whenever he wanted - no, needed her most, she was nowhere to be found. Wait.
An aroma had made its way through the stink that littered the street, suddenly his senses are perked up. He’s quick on his feet, practicing running like a rabid dog towards it. Eyes fall onto glossy black hair and he practically pounced on the woman. It’s a right embrace, almost suffocating the woman he held in muscular arms. ❝ Let me walk ya home… ❞ Words are soft, gentle, spoken like a desperate plea. But something’s different - no something’s wrong. His neck craned down differently, his chin not resting in its usual place on her head. Renji pulls back, eyes widening in shock and embarrassment, he quickly pushes away from @usagimen and making space between the two.
❝ M’sorry… thought you were someone else… ❞
She needs this, something to turn her mind into a flurry of nonsense, drowning out the sensation survival brings. Always full of adrenaline, a heart that skips a beat that she’s become to terminally ponder if it’s working properly anymore, if it at all. She sits further adjacent from those who gather, becoming drunk off the fabrication that liquor gives to them, temporary rest - maybe, she should have gone for iced coffee instead. There’s a wave goodbye, she needs to leave, find somewhere to rest for a bit or call to see if there is an open shift, something to pay the bills && home herself in that small apartment. Ruffled ghoul drinks, garnishes that were ghastly && gaudy, beautiful women that coo her title in saccharine sweetness; Alice, won’t you come back again? She’s started to believe that aliases are the reality nowadays. Humans are none the wiser to what lurks around them or maybe they know && just don’t care.
The certain thrill at knowing they’ve lost the hierarchy or flirting with death, she didn’t want to think deeply about it. There’s a comfort hiding underneath the bright lights, ignoring everything && everyone, she’s nameless without any knowledge that her family was an aristocratic lot, eager to marry for higher social standings. A few smile, others furrow their brows, those who pick for scraps don’t even pay attention, hunger is the bane of a ghoul, be it for anything than the mere sliver of life they were given. Exhaustion weighs in her bones, she wonders if Anteiku is still open at this hour? A place to crash that is warm, throwing her scent off from others that trail it, light meals && those weird cubes that keep her sanity from snapping. She’s lost in her mind, unaware of what surrounds her, then a chill crawls up her spine. A scent that is different, one that causes her to shriek, too close - Sayuri hates it. Who is this? An embrace that feels too intimate, goosebumps that shiver as her slender frame is embraced.
“Oh, sorry, lover boy - you got the wrong woman” a mocking voice that slips out like ice, there it’s that wretched sense of decay all beings like them possess, not even the cheapest most tackiest colognes could hide it. Whoever he remembers must be a specter, she oddly felt sympathetic, whatever happened must have been horrific or another tale of tragedy between lovers. Now, he understands that she was not who he desired, pulling back she grasps the fabric of her pale blue dress, hollow laughter as her head shakes. “It’s fine, don’t mention it, happens to the best of us” she’s used to it, the plenty who rest their head upon their lap, crying for a remnant that cannot return as she takes on the form of a bygone past && dream that ceases to be. A sense of panic washes over, she calmly removes the compact in her pocket, hues of red && black - he must have startled her enough to trigger a response from her kakugan. Now, they’re both humiliated as she clenches through her teeth.
“Usually someone buys me a drink before they start to think I’m their ex or wife, girlfriend, boyfriend even” a casual joke as her shoulders lift then drop.
“Are you looking for someone? Doubt they’d be in this region, it’s particularly unsavory even for people like us”
This ward, one he once called home, was now filled with the stink of flesh soaked in sin. It wasn’t always like that, well at least it wasn’t so prominent. Sticking to skin and hair like cigarette smoke even after just taking a quick stroll. He reeks, the lingering scent of blood wine still clinging tightly to his lips. Renji awkwardly looks away, eyes falling onto small herds of people, human and ghoul alike, drunkenly walking about. Some will fall victim to a siren’s call, doesn’t matter if it was for feast or finance. Stories soon to be forgotten.
He’s slow to shed his coat, holding it out to Sayuri as a token of apology, it’d offer some protection from the eyes of others who held ill will, and his own scent would throw off anyone who believed they had a chance. At least if they had some respect. How funny her comment is about doubting that she isn’t here. As if the spider wouldn’t have the red light district be part of her web. Renji decides he’ll give up on looking for her temporarily, they’ll see each other again. Clearly there’s a reason he had mistaken this one for her, it has to hold some sort of purpose.
❝ Best I can do is coffee.. ❞ Words are spoken with hints of embarrassment, his tone showing signs that he’s ashamed. He’s trying his best to make her comfortable, doing what he can to make up for grabbing hold of her. But Renji’s suggestion for coffee stems from his own needs, he’s well aware that stumbling back to that damned shipping container isn’t what he needs right now. The chill inside the metal box would only just remind him of how alone he truly is.
❝ It’s late but Antieku’s open, at least for us. ❞ Us as in ghouls, even if it was closed it wouldn’t have mattered, he has keys to the shop. Renji just wants a warm bed, he always had a room there. He’ll deal with the lecture from Yoshimura in the morning.
“Have you ever noticed when you’re tired, your fingers don’t grip things as tightly as they should? That things slip through them more often than you wish? I feel as though I am those fingers and life is slipping through me.”
— Kelsey Danielle, from “Life And Other Things.”
hey, starter call.
I mean, what do you do, when you find that things are not what you were taught they’re supposed to be? What do you do with the desperation that boils up from your stomach when you know there’s a road out there with your destination at the end of it, but it’s too damned dark to even find the road? You turn and turn and turn around like a dog trying to escape. Shrieks in the cavity of your head that so urgently needs to be filled with facts and challenges.
DIEGESTINGS: an INDEPENDENT and SEMI SELECTIVE portrayal of UTA from SUI ISHIDA’S TOKYO GHOUL. Tormented by JWOWW 26, ( she / her )
❝ IS… IS THIS CAR YOUR’S, YOMO-SAN? ❞
❝ NO. ❞
𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙰𝙻𝚂𝙲𝙰𝚁𝚂: 𝚊𝚗 𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚂𝙴𝙼𝙸 𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚁𝙴𝙽𝙹𝙸 𝚈𝙾𝙼𝙾 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚂𝚄𝙸 𝙸𝚂𝙷𝙸𝙳𝙰’𝚂 𝚃𝙾𝙺𝚈𝙾 𝙶𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙻 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚍 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗, 𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙹𝚆𝙾𝚆𝚆 ( 𝚜𝚑𝚎 / 𝚑𝚎𝚛 ) 𝟸𝟼.
𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙻𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝙰𝚂: 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚠 𝚞𝚙, 𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚙 𝚘𝚏 𝚗𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚐𝚒𝚊, 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚞𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎, 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚊𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍, 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚛𝚘𝚖 𝚊𝚏𝚊𝚛.
Yomo cries after sex.
It’s a silent cry. He just takes the fact that his partner trusted him enough to be in a completely exposed and vulnerable state into heavy consideration and doesn’t stop thinking about it when they’re done. He thinks it’s beautiful, an emotional man.
𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙹𝙾𝚁𝙾𝙶𝚄𝙼𝙾 𝙸𝚂 𝙰 𝙼𝙾𝙽𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 𝙹𝙰𝙿𝙰𝙽𝙴𝚂𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝙻𝙺𝙻𝙾𝚁𝙴 𝚆𝙷𝙾𝚂𝙴 𝙽𝙰𝙼𝙴 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙽𝚂𝙻𝙰𝚃𝙴𝚂 𝚃𝙾 ❝ 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙸𝚃𝚄𝚃𝙴 𝚂𝙿𝙸𝙳𝙴𝚁 ❞. 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚓𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚖𝚘’𝚜 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐, 𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚖𝚎𝚗 𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎—𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛𝚜. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚊 𝚓𝚘𝚛𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚖𝚘 𝚜𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚜 𝚊 𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜, 𝚜𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚞𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙷𝚎 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.
𝙹𝙾𝚁𝙾𝙶𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙻: 𝚊𝚗 𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙴𝙽𝙳𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚂𝙴𝙼𝙸 𝚂𝙴𝙻𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚃𝙾𝙺𝚈𝙾 𝙶𝙷𝙾𝚄𝙻 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎. 𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚐𝚘𝚍 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗. 𝚃𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝙹𝚆𝙾𝚆𝚆 26 ( 𝚜𝚑𝚎 / 𝚑𝚎𝚛 )
𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙻𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝚃𝙷𝙴𝙼𝙴𝚂 𝚂𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝙰𝚂: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚍𝚒𝚜𝚐𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚑 𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝚝𝚛𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚔 𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚕𝚢 𝚏𝚊𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝙸 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗 𝚠𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏, 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎 𝚠𝚎𝚕’𝚕𝚕 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚞𝚙 𝚐𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚝, 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝙸 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚠𝚊𝚗𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚘𝚛 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚌𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎, 𝚏𝚒𝚐𝚞𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚞𝚖𝚊, 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝙸 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚋𝚎 𝚟𝚒𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚗 𝚘𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚛𝚎.
Cry of Fear (2013) ↳ dev. Team Psykskallar
silent hill 1999
Tokyo’s side streets were bustling with life, the parking garage filled with the scent of burning clutches, hints of corner store booze, exhaust dust, and a combination of both humans and ghouls alike. Another thing that brings them together, finding home in the underbelly of a rebellious society, dodging the average driver and cops as they tried to make quick money with machines with more than over a million yen put into put into them.
He watches intently as girls roam about, fawning over pretty cars with sakura themed wraps, boys hooking up laptops to engine plugs to guarantee they could race tonight, people selling tanks of nos out their trunks, and the music that blared from Mazda RX-7s trying to compete against each other for who had the better sound system.
But Renji wasn’t one to engage with all these people, he’ll just scope it out, looking for a suitable competitor that he’d bet a couple hundred thousand yen against. He’ll win just as he always does, no one expects the beat up Nissan Skyline GT-R with cracked fenders and scratched rims to win, but no one cared to look under the hood upon seeing its grime filled windshields. Always assuming it was nothing more than a shit box with a mangled dream.
Then he catches it, a smell that stands out amongst it all. Eyes fall on @kuraokcmi and his eyebrows knit together. He’s quick to push himself off the hood of his money pit of a project car and walk straight to the other. Stepping up to him from behind, Renji places his hand on his shoulder and leans right into his ear.
❝ We don’t hunt here, this is how a lot of us make money to survive, so don’t mess it up. ❞ Words are barely spoken above a whisper, but his tone is stern, hints of a warning embedded within.
Each smell became entangled into one, it was pitiful, the thought of asking for substance from those ghoul pantries. He nearly could laugh, the prodigal son that was reduced to a lowly creature like everyone else when hunger set in, this was a joke or some retribution for his arrogance. Illness, too strong perfume, the scent of greasy oils, his mouth was starting to water. Bright lights that passed on by, the old flip phone clutch tightly, a burner just in case, who knew stealing corpses could be considered criminal activity? Everyone but him. Gasoline, he dodges not wishing to smell the fumes, the thought that occurs within his mind; too fast cars that he would never need, someone else would drive him.
Satoru hangs back, red hoodie up, fingers jammed within the pockets - stomach painfully growling. It’s different from the posh crowd that seems to follow every waking moment, ghouls that act higher than they are, speaking of art, culture, he wants to laugh; what a joke. Too kept together, clean with immaculate fingernails, not a single bruise && he wore the facade of a human in the most uncanny way.
The few glances that would be exchanged, trying to figure out, what is this strange being? A ghost or another ghoul? Just a rich boy far from his usual territory. This guy, what the hell is he doing? Instantly, bird-like shoulders lock, nearly jumping out of his skin as he stifles a scream. “Seriously?” the voice is mature, bratty, one that wasn’t accustomed to being told no. Turning, his hood drops with a brief flash of blue that lingers, nose wrinkling. What a scary face, too broad, powerful. “You guys are near the location of a corpse I was told about” teeth gritting tightly in his small pout.
“I was just hanging back! Really, not looking to start trouble. Eating remains is a lot more dignified than begging, didn’t expect to see a bunch of other ghouls in the same region, unless I was tricked” he most likely was.
Renji let’s go of his shoulder, a soft huff escaping thin lips. Grey green hues remain on the ghoul before him, almost taking pity on him, just for a moment. He’s obviously younger, possibly somewhere in his late teens or early twenties. But he doesn’t seem like he’s always known the struggles that most ghouls faced. Renji can’t help but assume the boy must’ve recently been orphaned, taking on the role of being his own provider.
Renji’s brows furrowed slightly at his comment about not expecting so many ghouls to be lurking about, must’ve originally been from somewhere in the countryside. He feels bad, genuinely, for a second Renji’s mind shifts to memories of fighting for food before Yoshimura gave him a second chance. Eyes glaze over the scene before him in search of a suitable scapegoat, a peace offering for this boy.
❝ If you want something fresh, that’s an easy one. ❞ The choice in question was a man somewhere in his mid twenties, clearly sloshed from the consumption of one too many alcoholic energy drinks. He already looked as if he was going to hurl while he leaned against his car.
❝ He’ll probably crash on his way home, if you follow him you’ll be able to catch it. ❞ It’s better than finding a corpse in some back alley that had already been picked to the bone by other ghouls, this is the only advice he’ll get from Renji.
He had allowed himself to get too comfortable at Helter Skelter, opening up just a bit too much to Itori, letting thoughts and emotions he’d usually keep private fall from blood wine stained lips. Renji never wanted his old friend to speak on it, to put her own opinions in on the topic, it made it all worse. Now barely holding himself together he can feel parts of his mind being tugged at like loose threads, unraveling memories he had long since pushed into the deepest parts of himself.
Where was he now? Renji knows he left his car at Helter Skelter ( Itori had promised it was safe from getting towed, she refused to let him drive knowing it wasn’t the best idea ), he knows he hoped onto a train or two, but where was he now? He catches a whiff, the overwhelming smell of tobacco mixed with marijuana filling his nostril ( his nose was always more sensitive to such things after he drank ), the buzzing noise of music and drunken laughter, the flashing neon lights featuring three x’s straining his eyes.
Why was he here again, in the fourth ward’s red light district? Oh, that’s right, he’s looking for her.
Usual spots are checked, shady underground gambling dens where ghouls hired by the Yakuza ran security, the bars that had peepshows in the basement that you could never talk about anywhere else ( you always had to give them a special code to get tokens after handing a couple thousand yen, why does he know that? He doesn’t like how he knew that ), to the back alley doors that lead into warehouses with cage fights ( he’s spent too much money there than he’d like to admit, hoping for an easy win to afford the rent on his converted shipping container ).
Renji can’t find her. It was always like that, whenever he wanted - no, needed her most, she was nowhere to be found. Wait.
An aroma had made its way through the stink that littered the street, suddenly his senses are perked up. He’s quick on his feet, practicing running like a rabid dog towards it. Eyes fall onto glossy black hair and he practically pounced on the woman. It’s a right embrace, almost suffocating the woman he held in muscular arms. ❝ Let me walk ya home… ❞ Words are soft, gentle, spoken like a desperate plea. But something’s different - no something’s wrong. His neck craned down differently, his chin not resting in its usual place on her head. Renji pulls back, eyes widening in shock and embarrassment, he quickly pushes away from @usagimen and making space between the two.
❝ M’sorry… thought you were someone else… ❞
Tokyo’s side streets were bustling with life, the parking garage filled with the scent of burning clutches, hints of corner store booze, exhaust dust, and a combination of both humans and ghouls alike. Another thing that brings them together, finding home in the underbelly of a rebellious society, dodging the average driver and cops as they tried to make quick money with machines with more than over a million yen put into put into them.
He watches intently as girls roam about, fawning over pretty cars with sakura themed wraps, boys hooking up laptops to engine plugs to guarantee they could race tonight, people selling tanks of nos out their trunks, and the music that blared from Mazda RX-7s trying to compete against each other for who had the better sound system.
But Renji wasn’t one to engage with all these people, he’ll just scope it out, looking for a suitable competitor that he’d bet a couple hundred thousand yen against. He’ll win just as he always does, no one expects the beat up Nissan Skyline GT-R with cracked fenders and scratched rims to win, but no one cared to look under the hood upon seeing its grime filled windshields. Always assuming it was nothing more than a shit box with a mangled dream.
Then he catches it, a smell that stands out amongst it all. Eyes fall on @kuraokcmi and his eyebrows knit together. He’s quick to push himself off the hood of his money pit of a project car and walk straight to the other. Stepping up to him from behind, Renji places his hand on his shoulder and leans right into his ear.
❝ We don’t hunt here, this is how a lot of us make money to survive, so don’t mess it up. ❞ Words are barely spoken above a whisper, but his tone is stern, hints of a warning embedded within.
hey, starter call.
