[ When implementing one of the many lessons J has enacted upon his protégé, the demon sheds his frivolous persona the way vipers slough off old skin. Underneath, no matter how violent a turn these moments take, there's a grim neutrality to them. J's discipline is not administered with the bite of venomous curses or the howl of a raised shout, wrought out of frustration or sheer rage, but the briefest glimpse into the cracks beneath what Makoto has always perceived. Exposing the truth behind the creature J really is, shrouded within his campy demeanor.
Seven hundred years is a time in which planets realign and island beaches may sink back into the sea, or whole civilians come tumbling down. Imagine the erosion it lends upon a soul that watches time whirl past, leaving nothing untouched but himself.
He's seen his methodologies fail, time and again. How the only other success in J's innumerable attempts at sculpting the wet clay of an impressionable soul to reflect an idea in his mind, had turned complacent and let his ambitions stagnate. Datenshou had fallen short like all the rest before him. He would never become the weapon J needed to cut himself down, but before that, an equal in the glorious moment before his life came to a close.
Makoto is different. He'd taken to J's harsh lessons, adapted to his brutality, and come out stronger for it. A tried and true method that has worked up until now finds employment again, as he guides Makoto towards the path of comprehension. Not vital to be realized in this instant, but it's a seed that had to be planted eventually. With the subject breached, now is as perfect a time as any. ]
Oh? Why is that of any consequence to you now? [ Firm words bleed from his mind into the space designated for their exchange, their pacing gradual as a slow exsanguination and just as foreboding. Using the same tactic that had once guided J's ward straight into reaping his own father's soul, he falls back on one of the few traps that Makoto is most susceptible to: reverse psychology. By implying that Makoto will not do something or is incapable of it, history has shown this to have the opposite effect. Stirring Makoto to action and igniting a fiery sense of rebellion in his ward, to prove to the authoritative figure J takes on in their relationship, that he's wrong in his assumptions.
In a way, it's not a stretch to compare it to a child wanting the one thing they're denied, or attempting feats that others have decried as impossible. By tapping into that stubborn streak, perhaps J can pry something else from the steel trap of Makoto's heart. Or merely incite him to react. ]
And if I've already decided to do precisely that, what then? [ Communion isn't just an invasion of word or feeling, but imagery as well. With no barrier left between them, J can press each recollection of their collective history back into the forefront of Makoto's mind. An array of memories floods the space, from their last tussle in his ward's bed. J is careful with him then, in the moments before meeting Makoto's demands head-on, with the clamp of teeth, harsh kisses and the spill of J's blood across bedsheets.
The thing that stands out most is one of the earliest moments, shown at the tail-end of this montage. It isn't a reel composed of the demon sprawled out on a young man's bed that appears with brilliant clarity, that first time mortal teeth pulled away bites of J's flesh. It's Makoto's own youthful face, ecstatic and enthralled. His mouth wet, full and dripping red. ]
Tell me what you stand to lose if everything, all of this, is given to someone else. [ It's as though J's words, comprised of a smokey hypnosis born of his silvered tongue, pry open the delicate cage of his ward's ribs, to search with wandering hands into the depths of his chest. Tearing open the membranes and layers that divide the curve of sharp nails and caresses of curious fingers from the target, muscled and heavy where it stirs. There, J can wrap his hands around the heat of Makoto's yet beating heart and stroke over it until it pulses to the very rhythm he sets, into a peaceful calm or the agonized panic this moment edges nearer towards.
Makoto stands on the precipice of understanding. Those cracks in his composure not superficially skin deep but a ravine he can't yet see. In another time and under different circumstances, some hundred years later, it would come to him. But J's seen the signs for so long, he doesn't need to see that future to know jealousy is only the start of what he's nurtured. And as his ward teeters on that edge, J attempts to push him off into a more complete understanding of himself. He may not fall and hit rock bottom, where Makoto is forced to stare himself in the mirror and question why he craves more from the man he wants to kill than merely his death. But given enough time to let these thoughts take root, he may. ]
The answer should be nothing, when you need no more from me than to 'devour and destroy' my life.
cw: depictions vore & blood, fantasized NSFW gore
Seven hundred years is a time in which planets realign and island beaches may sink back into the sea, or whole civilians come tumbling down. Imagine the erosion it lends upon a soul that watches time whirl past, leaving nothing untouched but himself.
He's seen his methodologies fail, time and again. How the only other success in J's innumerable attempts at sculpting the wet clay of an impressionable soul to reflect an idea in his mind, had turned complacent and let his ambitions stagnate. Datenshou had fallen short like all the rest before him. He would never become the weapon J needed to cut himself down, but before that, an equal in the glorious moment before his life came to a close.
Makoto is different. He'd taken to J's harsh lessons, adapted to his brutality, and come out stronger for it. A tried and true method that has worked up until now finds employment again, as he guides Makoto towards the path of comprehension. Not vital to be realized in this instant, but it's a seed that had to be planted eventually. With the subject breached, now is as perfect a time as any. ]
Oh? Why is that of any consequence to you now? [ Firm words bleed from his mind into the space designated for their exchange, their pacing gradual as a slow exsanguination and just as foreboding. Using the same tactic that had once guided J's ward straight into reaping his own father's soul, he falls back on one of the few traps that Makoto is most susceptible to: reverse psychology. By implying that Makoto will not do something or is incapable of it, history has shown this to have the opposite effect. Stirring Makoto to action and igniting a fiery sense of rebellion in his ward, to prove to the authoritative figure J takes on in their relationship, that he's wrong in his assumptions.
In a way, it's not a stretch to compare it to a child wanting the one thing they're denied, or attempting feats that others have decried as impossible. By tapping into that stubborn streak, perhaps J can pry something else from the steel trap of Makoto's heart. Or merely incite him to react. ]
And if I've already decided to do precisely that, what then? [ Communion isn't just an invasion of word or feeling, but imagery as well. With no barrier left between them, J can press each recollection of their collective history back into the forefront of Makoto's mind. An array of memories floods the space, from their last tussle in his ward's bed. J is careful with him then, in the moments before meeting Makoto's demands head-on, with the clamp of teeth, harsh kisses and the spill of J's blood across bedsheets.
The thing that stands out most is one of the earliest moments, shown at the tail-end of this montage. It isn't a reel composed of the demon sprawled out on a young man's bed that appears with brilliant clarity, that first time mortal teeth pulled away bites of J's flesh. It's Makoto's own youthful face, ecstatic and enthralled. His mouth wet, full and dripping red. ]
Tell me what you stand to lose if everything, all of this, is given to someone else. [ It's as though J's words, comprised of a smokey hypnosis born of his silvered tongue, pry open the delicate cage of his ward's ribs, to search with wandering hands into the depths of his chest. Tearing open the membranes and layers that divide the curve of sharp nails and caresses of curious fingers from the target, muscled and heavy where it stirs. There, J can wrap his hands around the heat of Makoto's yet beating heart and stroke over it until it pulses to the very rhythm he sets, into a peaceful calm or the agonized panic this moment edges nearer towards.
Makoto stands on the precipice of understanding. Those cracks in his composure not superficially skin deep but a ravine he can't yet see. In another time and under different circumstances, some hundred years later, it would come to him. But J's seen the signs for so long, he doesn't need to see that future to know jealousy is only the start of what he's nurtured. And as his ward teeters on that edge, J attempts to push him off into a more complete understanding of himself. He may not fall and hit rock bottom, where Makoto is forced to stare himself in the mirror and question why he craves more from the man he wants to kill than merely his death. But given enough time to let these thoughts take root, he may. ]
The answer should be nothing, when you need no more from me than to 'devour and destroy' my life.