tags: body horror, of the decapitated variety Makishima/Kinjou, Yowapeda 491 words remix of blueminuet's fill here, and a shout-out to mother_herbivore for linking me to the original because 🔥🔥🔥
Makishima woke up with his head on the pillow and his body on the bed but with noticeable air space between the two body parts.
His first assumption was his greatest worry, that somehow, in the middle of the night, his ribbon had come loose. If his head were attached to his neck the blood would have drained out of his cheeks. With Kinjou not in the bed next to him, that meant that certainly Kinjou had seen, and who knew how traumatized, how upset, he was feeling now?
Makishima’s head lolled to the side in his panic and that’s when he saw his ribbon was neatly folded on the bedside table.
Oh.
He sat up and used his hands to pick his head up, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He held it to the nightstand to take a closer look. Yes, definitely folded with purpose. Very typical Kinjou, he reflected, frowning, to make it clear that he had removed the ribbon himself to satisfy his curiosity. Even in what must have been a confusing and upsetting moment he had remained clear-headed.
The grip Makishima had on his head tightened, making his teeth grind. This was not how he had wanted things to play out. He did not know how he had wanted things to play out, because there was no happy ending, really, for a decapitated person, but this had not been a contender. He switched his grip on his head to holding it by the hair with one hand and swiped the ribbon off the table onto the floor. Then he stood up and kicked the ribbon around the room, which did nothing to calm him down. He thought of the hole in the wall he used to punch.
Finally he stopped, shoulders slumping, the neck of his head brushing the floor. He looked at the ribbon. He had to see how Kinjou was doing. Makishima should have expected this, maybe, since he had noticed Kinjou’s gaze lingering on his neck more than usual, had noticed the hesitant brushes to his shoulders, had noticed the uptick in being asked about the ribbon.
He was still staring at the ribbon. Should he put it back on? To talk to Kinjou?
There wasn’t really a point. He left the ribbon rumpled there on the floor, part of it hidden under the bed, and walked to the front door stoop where he knew Kinjou liked to go.
Kinjou was there, sitting and staring out at the sky. Why? Makishima wanted to ask. Why couldn’t you have been more patient? I would have figured it out, how to break it to you, so that we wouldn’t have to go through this.
Kinjou turned to look at him, eyes going reflexively up to where his head usually was, then dragging down to where it was actually swinging.
Makishima stared back at him. “I told you," he said. "You weren’t ready to know.”
FILL: TEAM KANZAKI MIKI/TACHIBANA AYA, T
Makishima/Kinjou, Yowapeda
491 words
remix of
Makishima woke up with his head on the pillow and his body on the bed but with noticeable air space between the two body parts.
His first assumption was his greatest worry, that somehow, in the middle of the night, his ribbon had come loose. If his head were attached to his neck the blood would have drained out of his cheeks. With Kinjou not in the bed next to him, that meant that certainly Kinjou had seen, and who knew how traumatized, how upset, he was feeling now?
Makishima’s head lolled to the side in his panic and that’s when he saw his ribbon was neatly folded on the bedside table.
Oh.
He sat up and used his hands to pick his head up, brushing the hair out of his eyes. He held it to the nightstand to take a closer look. Yes, definitely folded with purpose. Very typical Kinjou, he reflected, frowning, to make it clear that he had removed the ribbon himself to satisfy his curiosity. Even in what must have been a confusing and upsetting moment he had remained clear-headed.
The grip Makishima had on his head tightened, making his teeth grind. This was not how he had wanted things to play out. He did not know how he had wanted things to play out, because there was no happy ending, really, for a decapitated person, but this had not been a contender. He switched his grip on his head to holding it by the hair with one hand and swiped the ribbon off the table onto the floor. Then he stood up and kicked the ribbon around the room, which did nothing to calm him down. He thought of the hole in the wall he used to punch.
Finally he stopped, shoulders slumping, the neck of his head brushing the floor. He looked at the ribbon. He had to see how Kinjou was doing. Makishima should have expected this, maybe, since he had noticed Kinjou’s gaze lingering on his neck more than usual, had noticed the hesitant brushes to his shoulders, had noticed the uptick in being asked about the ribbon.
He was still staring at the ribbon. Should he put it back on? To talk to Kinjou?
There wasn’t really a point. He left the ribbon rumpled there on the floor, part of it hidden under the bed, and walked to the front door stoop where he knew Kinjou liked to go.
Kinjou was there, sitting and staring out at the sky. Why? Makishima wanted to ask. Why couldn’t you have been more patient? I would have figured it out, how to break it to you, so that we wouldn’t have to go through this.
Kinjou turned to look at him, eyes going reflexively up to where his head usually was, then dragging down to where it was actually swinging.
Makishima stared back at him. “I told you," he said. "You weren’t ready to know.”