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quirofiliac · 7 days

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the curious case of killer queen-- or, rather, the why and how of its importance to one kira yoshikage. perhaps, predictably so, it can be traced all the way back to his very first murder (if one wished to romanticize it, they could dare to say that it was his first foray.) of sugimoto reimi.

"murder" is a term that not many would grow comfortable with; it is an act that's considered irredeemable. a person that is apt to kill -- especially in cold blood -- is considered something of a "case study" with a slew of questions following their each and every move. because they are no longer just a person but, in addition, a murderer. there is a certain reputation attached to the title, frequently treated with derision and grounds for exile.

why did they do it? was it planned? for how long did they plan it? or, maybe, did they do it on a whim? what's wrong with them? are they sick in the head? did anyone notice any signs-- any signs at all? what should we do with them? are they even allowed to live?

those were only a small collection of questions that kira, when he was younger, thought he'd never have to answer or, let alone, think about. everyone had the occasional "violent urge" (don't you sometimes just want to bash some heads in? with a hammer, especially?) and those that say they don't... are clearly lying. life is hard; school, work, family, friends? all of those and more can be attributed to stress, whether on purpose or by accident. it's only natural for people to fantasize a little, if only to blow off some of that steam.

kira thought that that's what he was doing and, matter of fact, still does. he's well aware that his daydreams ("fantasy" feels too childish, a little cuckoo, and a little too... light.) were more frequent, especially compared to those of his peers and their own fantastical imaginary subject matters. but it didn't matter to him in the long run. he didn't dare get caught up in semantics. as long as it was confirmed to him that he wasn't "alone", generally speaking, then that's all he needed.

when he saw reimi, though? the urges grew. they crashed over him like a thousand waves, pulling at him and wrenching him away from the surface. it ripped him straight into the watery abyss, one arm outstretched toward the surface as the light drifts further and further away. it posed to him a quandary: what was it about this girl in particular that caught his eye?

it had nothing to do with her personality, he knew, nor did it have much to do with her overall appearance. it was only when she'd wave at him (why did she do that? was she stupid-- flaunting herself for every boy to see? maybe that's what she wanted... but why?) that kira felt his heart leap up into his throat, lodging itself in place and beat to the tune of a thousand drums.

it's when she'd offer him a stick of gum or a pencil -- sometimes the other way around but only the pencil, though -- that he'd realize how slender her fingers were... the shape of her fingernails... how lovely a shade (but he could do better.) her nail polish was... how soft her hands were from only a slight touch...

they always did say that less is more.

killing someone always seemed easy, especially in fiction. kira wondered why that was (he still does... sometimes.) but never thought to pursue further. it was a common enough conundrum (or, more like, he now starts to wonder why there were so many... inaccuracies.) or, well, so kira thought.

reimi didn't have to die that night. kira knew that better than anyone.

if she hadn't ran-- hadn't panicked, started screaming, crying and sobbing like a little bitch kid? then, maybe, things might've ended a little bit differently. or not. in the grand scheme of things, however, it's incredibly hard to say. kira tends not to dwell on such details. what was the point when it already happened? for him to live a peaceful life, there'd be no room for regrets.

so, when he killed reimi, he chose not to regret it. even as his body felt as if it were stagnating, each step out of that now empty house a slow, wide drag (felt like he was towing a corpse, already nice and snug in its body bag.) an action he was watching. a bystander to his own actions, kira watched as the world shifted and changed around him yet couldn't remark on his surroundings. he understood that he was inside a house -- the sugimoto residence, suddenly vacant and on standby -- but didn't understand how he got outside.

it all felt like a blip.

stabbing someone wasn't as exciting as the movies made it out to be. perhaps if reimi wasn't so stubborn (he wakes up with a light slice on his cheek the morning after. "where did that come from?" he asks himself in the mirror.) then, again, maybe things would've been different. but, as it was, stabbing someone was supposed to... make you feel something, wasn't it? it could've been anything. kira wasn't picky.

he thinks it might've been a bit of adrenaline, mixed in with a touch of exhaustion. an ugly combination, because all kira wanted to do was to go home and take a nice, long, hot shower.

when he climbed out of the window, he remembers hearing his pant leg tear on the broken glass. he doesn't remember cutting himself. why should he? nothing happened that night besides the obvious: somebody died. kira killed someone. that was fine. that was normal. people die all the time, don't they? of course they do. it's nothing out of the ordinary.

as he trudged home that night, kira recalled how his neighborhood looked. some houses looked too bright while others looked... off. blurry might've been too on the nose, as he could make out some defining features but not all of them. he remembered looking down at his hands, the undersides of his nails caked with blood (he needs to clip them when he gets home, he thinks.) and his palms spritzed with red. where did all that red come from again?

there's an urge to lick it off, if only to clean himself. but he tells himself that the shower would be better. he resists the urge all the way home, arms limp at his sides.

setting foot into his home was something he knew he did but not the how. everything either happened too slowly or too quick. he doesn't know what was supposed to happen first, either-- was their grandfather clock always that loud? it's starting to hurt his head. he thinks about smashing it. he's pretty sure he smashed it, because the sound did eventually stop.

his clothes were set aside in a heap, bloodied and rancid. the shower could wait, he suddenly decides. a fresh, clean set of pajamas did just fine. he didn't need to go through any extra effort. tomorrow, he'll wash his old clothes. or maybe he'll burn them. that was a tough choice to make. if his mother were to find out... it might actually kill her (she watched him unveil them from a finely wrapped present, smiling and squeeing in joy when he thanked her for the gift.) if she found out what he did. that would've been too much of a hassle, dealing with two bodies in sitting.

when yoshihiro finds out -- quicker than the police, though, for what it's worth -- was when kira realizes. he expects... something, though he isn't quite sure what. a beating, perhaps? apparently corporal punishment was a common form of discipline from yoshihiro's time (it goes way back.) but kira's never heard his father mention it once. surely, if not because of the sugimoto "mess" then he'd definitely be furious about their clock. that much was to be expected.

instead, though, yoshihiro doesn't do anything. the next morning, the grandfather clock's still in one piece.

kira learns, in lieu of any sort of punishment, that yoshihiro "understands" why he did what he did. this realization, he thinks, should've confused him. but it didn't. sitting in school, anxious with your fingernails bitten to a near pulp (they know, don't they? no, they can't know. no one cares enough about some girl.) hardly compared to coming home with your father standing in the doorway as opposed to your mother. that birthed a completely different sense of dread.

and, yet, kira hardly felt much of anything. maybe it was due to the shock... or something.

they had a "talk" in kira's room, with his father somberly pointing to the neatly folded stack of clothes at the corner of his bed. there was no need for him to look, already understanding that those were yesterday's clothes-- only, now, they were freshly washed and as if nothing had ever happened to them in the first place. they were spotless. sterile. yoshihiro asks him a question ("did you want to burn them?") and kira, after a beat, responds ("i think that would be best.") cordially.

there's a lot to take into account when killing someone; it seems simple on the surface but that's only what the media wants you to believe. "murder" holds a certain weight to it, affecting all of those involved and those indirectly involved. kira would never come out and say, bluntly, that he holds any sort of "trauma" in regards to reimi's death. it was something he was told that he "didn't need to worry about", personally, by his own father.

it only felt appropriate to obey the kira patriarch's words.

he never quite found out how the sugimotos' bodies were disposed of. all he knew was that his father had something to do with it. then it took maybe a week or so before the news finally caught wind of it, expressing that they were "missing persons" before, eventually, it evolved into a presumed death. kira wondered how people would bury a body that couldn't be found.

over time, killing becomes more of a "hobby" of sorts for kira. yoshihiro accompanies him each and every time-- this must be what father-son bonding was like. with each stab of the knife, each dragging of a body into only god knows where, he's starting to grow comfortable with the act. there's still the inevitable shudder that courses through his body, the shivers that wrack his entire self and make his teeth chatter... he assumes that's normal. it must be normal.

he tells himself he doesn't mind the feeling but, in truth, he absolutely hates it. yoshihiro notices, because he's a good father. egypt was the next course of action for the ever-doting father.

what he doesn't notice, however, were kira's lingering stares on any of the girls' hands they kill. no one's perfect, after all.

when kira's stabbed by the arrow, he at first thinks it's a nightmare. only when his vision's clear enough does he see his father standing over him, face an ugly sight from the flood of tears rolling down his face. no sound escaped him, though he found the urge to call kira yoshihiro "hideous" an astonishing temptation.

killer queen's manifestation was one of minimal fanfare. at first, kira doesn't say anything of its appearance to his parents-- especially his father. kimiko never found out, but yoshihiro eventually did. it was only a matter of time, honestly. when they did so much together... it was foolish to think that a boy could keep such a big secret from him.

using his stand and realizing its true potential, he started to realize that killing didn't have to be a hands-on job. in fact, it didn't need to be such a huge deal in the first place. he'd experiment, coming to understand that killer queen was there to make his life easier. it was just another tool, existing purely for the benefit of its user and owner: kira yoshikage. what made matters only better, too, was that killer queen simply couldn't argue. it did as it was told, with zero complaint, and did so efficiently.

it was much better than a warm body, always huffing and puffing about wanting to do everything for kira and how much he loved him. eventually, and he knew this, he'd have to grow up and do things on his own.

his first kill without yoshihiro was fine. it went off without a hitch. there was no struggle, no real mess to clean up (besides a bit of vomit.), and it was relatively painless. as a bonus, his teeth no longer chattered nor did he feel oddly cold after wards. everything on his person was calm and relaxed, almost eerily so. touching a person was near unavoidable, but the less physical contact... the better. killer queen was what made that possible.

being able to separate the "good" from the "bad" was just another bonus. chopping at a person's wrist was surprisingly difficult, and the bone was only part of the problem. there was all that sinew, all that muscle, all that blood... it was far too messy.

that was one of the few times killer queen acted on its own accord (or, maybe, it was purely working off of its user's subconscious.) and touched the still-attached arm. in an explosion of red, orange, and a bit of yellow, kira saw only just a hand that remained. there was a distinct odor of gunpowder, but the open windows was already beginning to vacuum it out and kindly disperse it.

luck was in kira's favor, and his stand was the harbinger of it. everything fell into place one way or another, as was deserved.

growing up led to him realizing that, sometimes, things couldn't go his way. there would always be a few times when he'd need to push back, grabbing onto someone (the neck was his favored spot, because of how thin it was. it was easy to hold onto and felt nice, soft, and squishy in his grip-- like a clump of putty.) or merely having to chase them... but that was fine. if anything, it did yield onto kira the experience he so desperately needed. he heard such things were called "growing pains".

but it worked in his favor. killing someone wasn't necessarily a bad thing to him; it was simply something he had to do because it was a "hobby" of his. if he wasn't allowed to do it then why was killer queen given to him, of all people? the logic was totally and utterly flawless. kira was one of lady luck's chosen.

it was as they always say: good things come to those who wait, and kira knew himself to be the poster child for it.

#＊ 💥 断片：headcanon.#derealization tw /#dissociation tw /#ableism tw /#not directed at anyone but more-so the language used in kira's experience/s

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quirofiliac · 10 days

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#＊ 💥 鑑賞：aesthetic.#gif for ts /

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quirofiliac · 12 days

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Maniac (2012)

#＊ 💥 態度：ism.#blood tw /#gif for ts /

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quirofiliac · 13 days

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It was within that very moment that one Kira Yoshikage understood what it felt like to want to die. Without warning did past memories (his coworkers -- all male, too -- slapping him on the back, foresaking traditional niceties... and for what?) haunt him, immediately flooding back into his brain like a migraine that simply refused to go away. He could feel it, too, starting in the back of his skull.

Slowly, it clawed its way (his head pounded, like taking a hammer to that, one stubborn nail.) to the forefront. As its approach drew nearer and nearer, he could feel each and every metaphorical drag in the form of a hard-hitting thud. He clenches his jaw, as it's the only thing he can do without starting a ruckus.

He doesn't know why he's deciding to be so courteous. This bitch woman certainly wasn't trying, so why should he?

"I--" he tried, index finger twitching even as her hand had retreated (he thinks about grabbing her dainty, little wrist and biting one of her fingers off. that'd teach her to touch others without permission.) only to return moments later with the aforementioned card. "Er, I mean... I, uh..."

His lips sealed shut after wards, eyes darting between her and the cashier ("help me, you fucker," he wants to say, "this woman's forcing me into something i don't want!") before averting completely. Nostrils flared in a small show of aggravation submission as he sighed, quiet and light, with no other choice.

This was so humiliating.

"Th... Thank you," he murmured after watching the cashier take her card, hardly regarding the blond himself as they do. Tucking his wallet back into his suit's inset pocket, he swallowed as he mulled over his thoughts before proceeding. "I-- I... would like to repay you, though. It... just doesn't sit well with me otherwise."

Gaze flickered, glancing at her gloved hand (you think you're so special that you can cover up? you're just begging for someone to rip it off of you, slut.) only to blink away seconds later. He licked his lips and, once certain that she was looking his way, gave a bow of his head.

It's gratitude that she didn't deserve but, out of the kindness of Kira's heart, was given nonetheless. She should consider herself lucky.

"What I mean to say is--!" Keeping his head low, Kira squeezed his eyes shut and held his arms straight at his sides with both hands clenched into tight fists. "It's something I want to do."

@quirofiliac asked: "sorry, i've got... it's just-- i've got a lot work to do." @ ruan mei! (teehee hi ani)

she'd reached out with silk-gloved hand to pay for the check of their outing, pushing his hand aside as he pulled out a rather nice wallet. it's almost endearing how such a gentleman can become easily flustered. almost. instead, it sits on a peculiar border, one that teeters between off-putting and charming. in his own awkwardness he may be saved yet.

after all, men did have their own stipulations regarding these unspoken social codes. ruan mei cannot claim to be expert in navigating them — any of them, really — though she can feign understanding why this reaction had been begotten at all.

"then, it'd be faster if you didn't protest," she replies, retrieving her own card and handing it over to the nice cashier. "allow me to reward your kindness and you will be on your way."

#literanis #literanis: ruan mei #＊ 💥 持味：in character.#＊ 💥 𝐯.one，今：another one bites the dust！！

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quirofiliac · 15 days

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The Amityville Horror (1979)

#＊ 💥 鑑賞：aesthetic.#blood tw /#flashing tw /#gif for ts /

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quirofiliac · 15 days

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Anthony Perkins as Norman Bates Psycho II (1983) dir. Richard Franklin

#＊ 💥 態度：ism.#gif for ts /

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quirofiliac · 16 days

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#＊ 💥 態度：ism.#＊ 💥 𝐆𝐆，determinazione：where is that rage？isn't it time you taught them all a lesson？#＊ 💥 𝐈，yukikorogashi：hasn't anyone taught you to keep your nose out of places it doesn't belong？#awawawawa

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quirofiliac · 17 days

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jayjaykay posting rq but peep mine and snii’s mania under the cut we had to split the OG doc into four separate docs in a folder cause the OG started lagging real bad 😭🙏🏻

#＊ 💥 摘発：out of character.#tbd /#half of my jjk muses kitty “pressured” me into picking up (they read me like a book and assigned them accordingly to me)#but no frfr i love our jjk lore........... im excited to write them all :''')#idk if i wanna do a multimuse situation for some of em but we WILL see... we WILL SEE...

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quirofiliac · 18 days

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"..."

Why must all shinigami, especially @keikakudori, be so obnoxious?

#keikakudori #＊ 💥 持味：in character.#＊ 💥 撃力：commentary.#remember when you liked for a starter but i deleted the call and it was too late...#this is me making it up to you.#:)

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quirofiliac · 19 days

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There's no reason for all of this "booping" nonsense-- just because he's fond of cats doesn't mean he should be treated like one!

#＊ 💥 持味：in character.#＊ 💥 撃力：commentary.#okay there you go :~)

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quirofiliac · 19 days

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Everything that Kira Yoshikage has ever worked for and towards... would it all truly be gone in an instant? All because of something as humiliating and foolish as this? There's no way. There had to be a "catch"-- something... anything that proved to him that he wasn't being led astray.

No, he had to remain calm.

Through the rapid and thunderous pounding (that's normal. he wasn't having a heart attack. if he was, he'd be dead already.) of his heart, he felt his eyes vaguely squint. Eyebrows dragged towards the bridge of his nose, furrowing in a near instant as a handful of creases formed within his forehead. His jaw clenched, arms straightening at his sides while both hands balled up into fists. All of his fingernails barely scratched the surface of his palms. However, as the "conversation" progressed, more and more pressure was added.

He could feel the bite of his nails, stabbing and slicing into bare skin. It didn't hurt, though. All it did was remind Kira that this wasn't a dream (or maybe it'd be more accurate to say an absolute fucking nightmare.) and that this was, in fact, real.

None of those realizations brought him any sort of comfort. In fact, it seemed to have done the complete opposite.

No, he can't overthink this. What he had to do was stay calm.

"... I don't understand what you're saying," he said, voice teetering ever and ever closer to a stammer (would it have helped in this situation? probably not.) yet never fully committing. Lips remained parted after finishing the statement, eyes peering straight ahead without a clear focus. "I haven't done anything wrong."

In spite of his insistence (what was the proof? where was the evidence? what was so incriminating about kira trying to live his own life?) and his attempts at quelling the other's concerns, Kira's entire body flinched upon the change in his demeanor. Everything moved too fast and too suddenly. Why was this happening to him of all people?

It made him feel like he was in a movie, forcefully typecasted into the villain's role and Caesar, of course, typecasted as the hero. With all of the clichés he was deciding to fill in for, though... maybe he was trying to play the hero without even asking.

No, it's alright. All he had to do was stay calm and collected.

Kira swallowed, mulling on how to respond before letting his prior smile drop. As soon as he did, his face no longer ached. There was no more strain, no more stress. Maybe that's something he should've done in the beginning.

"Threatening to--" he briefly paused to glance the other blond up and down before taking half a step back, both hands coming up -- his palms pulse in irritation, the indents from his nails a fresh red -- to shield himself from further aggression, "--kill me doesn't make you any better than what you... ah, "perceive" me as. You know that."

Attempting to play it rationally wasn't going to work. Kira knew this, but he also knew he had very few options otherwise.

"I-- I think you're misunderstanding me. We can still talk about this, like, er... adults."

No, there's nothing to worry about.

"So, please...? I'd just like to talk."

adrenaline - fueled blood lust surged through veins upon the realization that this was him, recognizing the visage of the one before him. a cursed and evil killer, unrelenting and cowardly, presented within his close vicinity after an exhausting search. a youthful need for revenge ( one buried over fifty years ago, deep underneath tears and evening conversations ) burned in his chest, scalding surrounding soft tissue until merciless heat ached in his throat.

“ absolute scum, you are … ” words spilled like venom dripping from fangs, gritted teeth functioned as barriers halfway between unbridled rage and battle - ready calm. disregarding its scars and dysfunction, his body shifted, instinct guiding him as he took on a defensive stance. all before @quirofiliac’s eyes.

“ do you have anything to say, before i wipe you from this earth? ”

#crocifissione #＊ 💥 持味：in character.#＊ 💥 𝐯.one，今：another one bites the dust！！#ACH! * i am trapped and unable to free myself bc the process has already occurred *#AND THAT'S OKAY!! :-D we don't need icons. we can rawdog it like real men

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