good-beanswrites

[good-beanswrites]

Tell Me About Forsyth

Summary: Over the course of the war, Python reflects on the kind of man that Forsyth is.

A gift fic for @luce-speaks ! Using some fun metaphors to talk about how much everyone loves Forsyth :'))

[good-beanswrites]

Now presenting, the main cast of Beans’ Fantasy Novel Project With A Placeholder Title ATM: Music Over the Sea

Under the cut are the character introductions -- feel free to ask questions/give commentary :3

Dawn Hallower

Age 26, born in a small religious town within the kingdom of Nykial named Windhaven. 

Curious, magically inclined, and arrogant. She has a passion and genius regarding science/magic and tends to assume she’s the smartest in the room because of it. Experiences a lack of self-preservation when overcome with her interests – out-of-hand experiments/spells are the reason she lost her eye, arm, and has a scar on her lower back.

Both her prosthetics are self-made (and created outside the scope of magic regulations set in the kingdom.) She never treats others with illegal/experimental methods, but that doesn’t stop her from testing them out in her own home. 

She honors her family name by maintaining the temple and helping with services, but she’s much more dedicated to her apprenticeship under the town healer.

She is very pious to Nykial’s main deity, Creation (uses the speaker’s pronouns, and is said to work through the people – mirrors are a sacred object as they allow mortals to view Creation’s face). However, Dawn has been going through a period of repentance, for reasons unknown to all but her family. She refused to choose a surname at her coming of age.

Silly fact: I don’t do character moodboards or anything, but I used to have a folder of Mad Scientists and Autism textposts that I’d labeled Dawncore

Velius Darling 

Age 107, a siren born in Maramere before traveling to Nykial disguised as a human.

Emotional, artistic, and subject to indulgence. They find themself ruled by their emotions, though it doesn’t make them moral (they commit plenty of crime and murder without remorse). Pleasure is their priority now that they realized having good intentions won’t save the people they wanted to protect.

They were born with another name in their own language, but chose Velius upon donning their disguise. Finding out that this kingdom chooses a surname based on the occupation/trait that one is proud of, they go with something simple. 

Upon arriving in human civilization, they were cursed to be mute, so they’re currently on a hunt to regain their voice They get distracted often by sightseeing human culture, but that’s always in the back of their mind. 

They’ve always relied on their voice/talons for battle, so they’ve been practicing with basic knives and weapons to defend themself and attack. 

They learned sign language in record time, chalking it up to their superior mind as a siren, but found that most people only have a shaky knowledge of it, so they still can’t communicate. Still skilled at reading and charming people, but exceedingly frustrated by this barrier.

Silly fact: In very early stages of development, I was inspired by art of Howl Movingcastle that had a kind of gender ambiguity I liked for them, and proceeded to create a character who’s looks way more Creature but acts just as dramatic as Howl. (If they could Slime themself and wallow that no one was paying attention to them 24/7, they would.)

Prince Malory Theodore Victor

Age 27 (though actually 24, as he’s only acting the part of Prince Malory), Crown Prince of Nykial. 

Observant, socially inclined, and learning to be harsh. He’s mastered the art of charming people to get what he wants, and doesn’t enjoy violence as a means to an end. However, now that he’s taken on his act as Malory (who has a reputation of cruelty and coldness,) he’s been understanding and enjoying how threats/force can get the same outcomes.

The king recently disappeared – on a voyage, as war is brewing with the nearby sirens. As the only remaining member of the Victor family, Malory is acting ruler of the kingdom during this absence. He’s outwardly stated it’s temporary, but has already begun assuming the throne/crown/rule as his own. 

Enjoys battle strategy and civil work more than the real Malory had, and has been struggling to keep up with the extreme sword skills he’s supposed to have.

Abysmal predisposition to magic, so he hires bodyguards/a physician who can sense it easily. 

Silly fact: Malory is my middle child…. I know as the hot scary prince he’ll be people’s favorite, but I always forgor about him… I’ve gone back and forth on his characterization and role in the story like a thousand times… I keep forgetting what he looks like… Despite knowing his backstory I still haven’t decided on his real name before Malory… Sorry man….

I'll dive into the plot and more of their secrets in later posts, but I wanted to share and get myself excited to chat about it! Though this will not be ready for publishing by December, the major draft is due then, so

[good-beanswrites]

Waauuugghhh he looks so cool!!! I'm going insane over this thank youuuu 👀👀👀

Jackalope Daily Day 527

MY KING WITH A GUN AND HE IS POINTED AT YOUUUU AAAAAHHH SHOOT ME PLEASE PLEASE ILL ILL GIVE ALL THE COINS IN MY WALLET AND THE PAPER MONEY IN MY PURSE JUST. ok I will stoppeth. BUT SERIOUSLY ARGHGH IF YOU COULDN'T TELL, BEAN'S FIC FANART. BECAUSE YES. BECAUSE WHY THE HELL NOT. GO READ IT ALSO TAGGING Y NOW @good-beanswrites VERY POGGERS WELCOME TO THE FANCLUB AGAIN. THANK YOU FOR BRINGING THE FEAST TO THE TABLE. Dude ionno who wouldn't be glad to be killed by him man I would be so happy this is the only way I die peacefully and I did I actually ascended I became an angel and died peacefully the following are texts I wrote to my bestie right after reading it:

𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓮 𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓬𝓮 𝓱𝓪𝓼 𝓵𝓮𝓭 𝓶𝓮 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓪𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮. 𝓲 𝓪𝓶 𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓾𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓭, 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓮𝓿𝓲𝓵𝓼 𝓱𝓪𝓿𝓮 𝓫𝓮𝓮𝓷 𝓹𝓾𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓭 𝓸𝓯 𝓶𝓮.

𝓲 𝓪𝓶 𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝓶𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓹𝓾𝓻𝓮 𝓵𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽 𝓸𝓯 𝓪 𝓬𝓪𝓵𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓲𝓷𝓽𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓲𝓽𝔂. 𝓕𝓮𝓪𝓻 𝓷𝓸𝓽, 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝓶𝔂 𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓫𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 𝓪 𝓼𝓮𝓷𝓼𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓻𝓪𝓷𝓺𝓾𝓲𝓵𝓲𝓽𝔂 𝓸𝓷𝓵𝔂 𝓯𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭 𝓲𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓭𝓮𝓮𝓹𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓰𝓸𝓸𝓭𝓷𝓮𝓼𝓼 𝓲𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓻𝓽. 𝔂𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝔀𝓪𝓼 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓾𝓬𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓳𝓪𝓬𝓴𝓪𝓵𝓸𝓹𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓬 𝓲𝓽'𝓼 𝓼𝓸 𝓹𝓮𝓪𝓴

Fin. What wise words melly. Such peak. Anyways you know who I am you know what I do you know my drip marketing we got a second version!

WOWZA! A HEART!!! FOR ME?? 😍😍😍😍🥺🥺🥺 HOW PRETTYYYYYY not prettier than him hehehah yeah I got a third version too-

I NEED HIM ANGRY I NEED HIM CRASHING OUT and I am working... I am working away at the peak hehehehehe I'll get you soon. I'll drag him into my sea of angst. LOVINGLY! OUT OF LOVE! FULL OF LOVELY INTENTIONS!

[good-beanswrites]

Pspsps Milgram Six AU and Mahiru as Jane Seymour

Ooooh, very fun! I haven’t seen the musical myself, but from what I gather this really is a perfect comparison :0 (I rambled just enough that I'm putting it under the cut lol)

At first I was surprised that her song was titled “Heart of Stone” because of the usual connotations, but it fit Mahiu so incredibly well once I listened 👀 She would definitely join a singing competition in which the goal is “I suffered the most because of love” only to offer up an image of the most picture-perfect romance of the group – but then, looking deeper, it would become clear how one-sided the relationship was. Things were only perfect because she was the one giving all the time, she was the one providing a family and keeping house, she was the one staying by her lover’s side even when he wanted to leave. Just because there was love didn’t mean it was a healthy relationship.

It's so fun to place her in a queen’s role – all of her usual societal/gendered expectations are given way more pressure and consequences now that she has a whole kingdom looking at her and her family. I think she could take the pressure no problem, but would lose herself in the process of becoming this perfect image of a wife and a queen…

(I also really love how the song gives off a feeling of strength and selflessness, while simultaneously suiting Mahiru’s canon story of distraction/escapism perfectly. Having such a steadfast heart isn’t innately a healthy or unhealthy thing to have.)

Despite Jane Seymour also meeting an untimely death, it’s beautiful that this au would give Mahiru her moment of self-recognition before moving on ;-; She gets to imagine a life with everything she wants: kids, a close family, and without the romance that hurt her.

And, the fact that the musical involves the women helping one another find their own independence could also work well with her influence on Yuno – after listening to the pure love in her song, Yuno realizes all that she lost in life without those warm connections.

[good-beanswrites]

A funny crack idea. The prisoners trying to escape Es’s wrath after blowing up the microwave on accident

LMAO, the chaos of a common cooking area is real… So first, I thought about who would never blow up the microwave (Yuno, Muu, Shidou, Mahiru, Kazui, Kotoko) and who would blow it up on purpose to mess with Es/Milgram (Fuuta, Amane, John), which narrowed down my main culprits who would genuinely do it out of ignorance/negligence :3

Mikoto was used to Haruka’s little cries of surprise and confusion, and ignored them. After all, they pair was only preparing simple midnight snacks – how bad could it really be?

It was bad.

“M-Mikoto-san!”

Glancing over, he found the inside of the microwave engulfed by a burning light. Haruka flit around, just about ready to combust himself.

The kitchen was tiny enough that Mikoto could reach his side in a moment, and yank his wrist away from the buttons he was uselessly mashing. “Wait! You don’t want to burn yourself.”

“B-but!” Haruka pointed frantically to the spinning ball of fire, as if Mikoto somehow missed it.

“It’s fine,” he said, “just let it burn itself out.”

The lights inside flickered. Both of them released a breath.

“See?”

Then it exploded.

Haruka cried out as the microwave leapt off the surface of the counter, showering sparks in every direction. It slammed back down in several pieces. Flames licked at the loose sides. Smoke poured out from every crack. At least there was nothing else to catch fire – the paper towels were sill a few inches away, and it wasn’t like the bowl of fruit on the opposite side was very flammable.

“It’s okay. It’s okay.”

The nearby roll of paper towels caught fire. The citrus hissed, then lit.

Haruka shook his arm. “What do we do?”

He rushed to the opposite side of the kitchen, grabbing some dish towels. “We can smother it. Yeah. That’s a thing. Use these.” He shoved them into Haruka’s arms before returning to the cupboards in search of a proper fire extinguisher.

“Ah – ahh!”

“It’s fine!” Mikoto shouted from deep inside a cabinet. “It’s going to be fine.”

“No! It’s n-not working!”

Mikoto untangled himself to find the fire had spread further across the countertop. The dish towels were completely consumed by flames. Haruka kept looking at him like he should have an answer, as the adult. Mikoto wished there was another adult in the room.

Both prisoners startled as freezing water rained down from above. They ran to the corner of the room to keep their heads dry, even if they were already covered in droplets and smoke. Screams from outside the kitchen made them both cringe – it seemed the sprinkler system was connected to every room…

At least it did its job. The mess that used to be their microwave was gradually reduced to a smoldering, stinking mess under the shower. While it calmed, Haruka only became more agitated.

“Warden-san…” He tore at his hair. “Warden-san is going to kill us!”

“Listen to me.” Mikoto grabbed his shoulders. He and his sister had wormed themselves out of plenty of trouble in the past. “We just need to stay calm. If anyone asks why we’re here, we’ll say we heard a bang and came to investigate, okay?”

“R-right…”

“Haruka. What are we saying when they ask us what happened?”

“We came to – um, to investigate!”

“Exactly. We have no idea what happened here.”

Haruka nodded, and just in time. Es appeared in the doorway. They were in their pajamas, only one slipper on, and entirely soaked through. Their eyes burned brighter than the microwave had. They spoke through grit teeth.

“Who. In the hell. Did this.”

Haruka saw the look on their face, and his eyes immediately lit up.

“We did!”

[good-beanswrites]

Imagine the prisoners + Es aren't technically in the "real world" anymore.

So after they were sent to milgram everyone they've ever known in their lives doesn't remember them, like a reverse Es situation if that makes sense.

So Mikoto's mom and younger sister don't remember him after he was sent to Milgram, Muu's parents don't remember her, the cult doesn't remember Amane ect

Thats how I personally imagine how the milgram world works but I wanted ur opinion on it ^_^

OOF – I actually hadn’t considered that before but I do really like the concept… It’s more painless for the families, but still very full of angst…It would make sense if Milgram is powerful enough to exist in some pocket dimension of time – they could wipe out all traces of the prisoners so there wouldn’t be a risk of their families/the police trying to track them down after the crimes. If the prisoners ever did end up getting out of Milgram early, they’d find their lives completely wiped away.

Yuno comes home with a new respect for her life, only to find her bedroom gone and none of her friends remembering her. Mikoto knocks at the door to tell his sister how much he missed her and their mom, only for the women to call the cops on the strange man outside. Amane tries to tell her father how proud he’d be of her spreading their faith, only for him to look at her with confusion and disinterest. Even if it seemed a blessing for some of the others (Kazui would have been lonely anyway; Kotoko is glad the legal system isn’t all over her), that relief wears off as they need to start their lives again from square one.

It would also hit the victim’s families just as hard. The deaths would all be ruled as suicide/accident/unsolvable without the key elements of motive or murderer present. Even if it wouldn’t have fixed anything, having that context could’ve helped the families get some kind of understanding and closure – in this case, everything is left completely mysterious…

Though, now I’m thinking of some kind of magic system in which the divide between the real world and Milgram’s dimension is what causes someone’s memories to vanish – if it really is a reversed-Es situation, then the prisoners themselves would forget their identities, too, when they return to the real world. This could imply that Es was born/created within Milgram, and lost their memories because of that. This also means that if the prisoners took them along on their jailbreak, Es would remember everything about themselves as soon as the prisoners forgot…

[good-beanswrites]

If your inbox is still open, I’d love to see wholesome headcanons stuff between Haruka and Mirai (the girl from the fireworks! :D)

I got so attached to this platonic / familiar pairing, but canon rightfully made their encounter scary and abrupt, and we didn’t even know Mirai that well </3

So, I want them to talk to each other, and help each other, and go drink something cool, maybe :'3 !!

Ooh, yes ;--; As interesting as the twist was, I was pretty sad that Haruka never even had that familial connection at all…  I kept thinking how easily they could have become close! This did start as headcanons, but then I thought I could work it into a quick drabble, and then it turned into a slightly longer piece asdfasdf oops 😅 (So it starts off just before the canon murder but I promise it gets sweet :’))

“C-come with me.” Haruka held out a hand, his wobbly smile beckoning the girl forward. “I want to show you something.”

She hesitated only a moment, but curiosity overcame her. It was a good thing she wasn’t as much of a coward as he was – he hated the festival’s dizzying array senses. The fireworks bathed everything in blinding, iridescent glows. The rockets mixed with the thumping drums to make his body cringe in pain. The people that passed in elaborately distracting garments kept his eyes constantly darting around. He’d been on his way to hide out in the wooded outskirts when he saw the girl wandering around on her own.

She placed her hand in Haruka’s. It was warm against his clammy palm.

Her eyes were glued to the exploding sky as they walked, not noticing the way Haruka’s attention frantically scanned the crowd. No one noticed what he was doing. No one saw. That was okay. They’d see him soon.

“Where are we going?”

“To… um…” he tore his eyes away from the treeline. He couldn’t read the signs on the booths, but a passing family gave him an idea.

“Cotton c-candy…”

“Ooh, my favorite!”

They walked in silence a little longer. They’d almost reached the edge of the crowd. Haruka felt a burst of energy, surging forward to close the last few feet. In his rush, the girl was tugged along too fast. She stumbled to her knees.

Haruka apologized fervently as he helped her up.

“That’s okay,” she said, finally looking him in the face. Her smile took him aback. Wasn’t she mad that he made her fall? “I trip all the time. Mama says I’m clumsier than a drone beetle with one wing! Whatever that means…”

A laugh bubbled up inside of him, taking a moment to steady his breath. “My mama says I’m clumsy too, but not as funny as that.” He couldn’t believe he found someone else who understood – maybe he wasn’t the clumsiest kid in the world, after all.

“You too? Ooh, ooh – you can try this with me! I like to practice balancing like a dancer,” she said, lifting a leg and immediately teetering. “Come on!” She looked at him expectantly.

Although none of this had been a part of his original plan, Haruka didn’t mind. All that mattered was this girl was talking to him, and smiling at him, and her eyes his left him all warm inside.

He picked his leg up.  “L-like this?”

“You’re really good at that! Ack!” She toppled to the ground, breaking into a fit of giggles. Her bout of admiration made him a little lightheaded, and he collapsed next to her in more laughter. He couldn’t remember the last time he laughed so much in one night.

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“Oh! Um! S-Sakurai Haruka.” He straightened his back, trying to remember everything his mother scolded him to do correctly when introducing himself.

The girl was far more relaxed. A knot in his chest untangled when she simply replied, “it’s nice to meet you! I’m Mirai.”

She sat up, twigs now tangled into her neat braids. “So, are you ready to get that candy?”

They had been so close to breaking away from the festival, but now, Haruka didn’t want to leave. It was nice just sitting with someone like Mirai.

“Y-you know, cotton candy is one of my favorites, too,” he said, avoiding her question as well as her eyes. “I don’t like all the noise of festivals, so that’s my-my favorite part, when I come.”

“You don’t like the music?”

“Um, well…”

She leapt to her feet, doing a wild dance. “I love the music! One day I’m going to get really strong and be one of the dancers up on the stage.”

“Yeah? I’ve never been so good at dancing, but, um, I’m super strong already. My mama said so.” He felt a little thrill, remembering the passion she’d shouted it with, only a few days prior. He puffed out his chest. “She said I’m – I’m freakishly strong!”

“Woah…” Mirai’s gaze was much rounder than his mother’s had been. “That’s so cool… The boys at school always tease me for being too weak… Hey, can you like, pick up cars and stuff?”

“I don’t think so? Um. I never really tried, I guess.”

“You should pick me up!”

“Wh-what?”

She immediately began scrambling up his back, not allowing much time to protest. He swayed with the sudden weight, and their previous conversation about his poor balance made his heart race. But the way she giggled and wrapped herself around him with complete trust coaxed him into helping her efforts. The pair struggled until she was seated on his shoulders.

“You are so cool!” She cried, encircling his head with her arms. Heat rose to his cheeks such overwhelming praise. He needed no further encouragement when she pointed back towards the festival crowd and announced, “let’s go!”

They lost themselves in the colors and scents and sounds. Haruka wasn’t so afraid of everything with Mirai making observations and jokes about everything they passed. She even covered his ears for some of the fireworks. Despite the extra weight on him, he’d never felt so light.

“Mama, Papa!” Mirai suddenly called.

She waved from her high seat, catching the attention of a couple a few feet ahead. Haruka paused in uncertainty, but the pair rushed over to them.

Mirai scrambled down, nearly causing them both to fall. She closed the distance to grab her mother’s hand, pointing back enthusiastically. “I made a new friend! His name is Haruka-chan and he’s really nice!”

“I can see that,” the woman laughed. She turned to Haruka, her expression just as heart-skippingly kind as her daughter’s had been. “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

“Y-you too! Um! Thank you!” Everything he’d just experienced melted away; he felt stiff and awkward again as he bowed. “Mirai-chan is-is really nice, too.” He wrung his hands together, now feeling empty that they weren’t holding the girl steady.

Her father looked him up and down the way his own father did, sometimes. He spoke in the way his father talked to other adults, though. “So, Haruka-chan! Where are you from? Was it a long trip to get here?”

“Um. Actually, I’m from around here…”

“Oh? My apologies, I haven’t seen you around when we take Mirai to school. It’s a pretty small place, haha!”

“I don’t, uh, I don’t go to school.”

“Ah, homeschooled!”

“Er, I don’t… I don’t think so? I’m just kind of… home, I guess? I-I’m sorry.”

Mirai ran back to take his hands and mercifully stop their agitation. “You’re lucky! I hate school.” She tugged on him. “Let’s keep going! We wanted to get some sweets.”

“Oh, no you don’t.” Her father waved a scolding finger at her. “You already wandered off once tonight, after your mother and I told you not to g–”

“But! Haruka-chan—! ”

“His parents probably gave him permission.”

Haruka shook his head, his mouth rambling before he could stop himself. “No, they d-don’t really know. I figured they wouldn’t, um, wouldn’t realize, so…”

Mirai’s mother looked upset. “They wouldn’t realize…?”

The parents glanced at one another, then back to him. His stomach twisted up. Adults were always making faces and looking at him as if he wasn’t there. He wished they could just look at him the way Mirai did, without anything secretive behind it. He wasn’t sure if it was something he said, or if he’d spoken out of turn – either way, they were probably thinking that they wanted to get rid of him. He bowed his head.

“I…. um. I’m sorry… I’ll go back to them, now.”

“Oh, no. It’s not your fault, sweetie. Come, let’s find them together. Festivals like this can be a dangerous place for children left on their own.”

Haruka chewed at his thumbnail. “…Mhm.”

“They can even join us getting some sweets.”

“I don’t really think they’d… I mean… they said not to bother them, s-so…” He was used to recognizing the face of an angry mother. He dropped his head down, hoping no one could see the tears forming in his eyes. What was he doing wrong?

Mirai wormed her way into his vision, resting her chin against his leg as she stared straight up.

“That’s okay, there’s no need to be sad.” Lowering her voice to a not-so-quiet whisper, she suggested, “we can still go, just us!”

“Mirai, I told you, we’re going together. I swear, sometimes this girl thinks she’s already all grown-up…”

Mirai ignored them, keeping her attention on Haruka. He, too, was transfixed within her gaze. “Fiiiiine. But it’ll be okay! I really like having a friend here.”

He blinked. The fireworks above splashed them in vibrant blues and greens. He didn’t even shy away from the sound.

“I’m your… your friend?”

“Of course!” She squeezed him tighter. “Is that okay?”

He smudged a tear away from his eye. “I… I would love that.”

[good-beanswrites]

Fuuta meets Killcheroy

Man…. This was one of the most fun and most difficult requests because I couldn’t decide how I wanted her to react 👀 I played around with her being sweet and calm, but it felt unfair to make her too forgiving after everything. The story became too action-focused if she was vengeful, but also too slow if her anger was taken out in the form of an argument. I ended up picking one detail that sticks with me about their case and running with it. (Set at the beginning of the T1 hiatus, before Fuuta has fully given himself over to religion)

Fuuta didn’t believe in ghosts. However, he also didn’t believe in Jackalopes and pocket-dimension prisons, so he should have been more prepared for the spirit that walked into his cell-straight through the concrete wall, to stare down at his futon.

Recognition was instantaneous – everything about this girl had been burned into his mind’s eye. She had haunted him in memories, dreams, and now, right in his own bed. He felt nauseous. Blood rushed in his ears. His chest squeezed, more from panic than his injuries.

“Y-you!”

Her expression was collected, but not blank. Her features held an eerie, faint glow in the prison’s darkness, allowing Fuuta to pick out the notes of anger and melancholy in them. His mind flashed with all the ghost stories he’d heard in his life – of cold fingers squeezing throats, or a fiery grip dragging someone down to hell.

He scrambled backwards into the wall. He wheezed out a breath, and the pain in his body convinced him he wasn’t having one of his usual nightmares about the girl.

The seconds dragged out. Her cold eyes bore into him. She said nothing. She didn’t need to. He’d already imagined her words a thousand times. The voices in his head had suggested everything insult she could have slung his way. He’d replayed every possible conversation they could have, and all ended in the same way.

He couldn’t handle that stare any more. Fuuta could feel his heart crawling up his throat.

He squeezed his eyes shut and threw himself into a messy bow at her feet.

“Go ahead.” he demanded, voice trembling. “If you’re going to kill me, just do it already!”

It didn’t matter how hard he tried to steel himself – he continued shaking on the cold concrete, sniffling as tears began to drip below. He braced himself for her wrath.

“Is that why you think I came?”

His breath hitched. He’d never heard her voice before. He could tell it would have been melodic if she wasn’t speaking with such an icy edge.

She let out a low, harsh laugh. “It’s tempting, but no. I just wanted to ask you something.”

He curled himself tighter before her. He knew what would follow. Why? Why me? What did I do to you? How could you? And he wouldn’t have an answer. He’d been seeking one himself, to no avail.  

“Look at me.”

He swallowed hard. He lifted his gaze to meet hers. It was worse than the bodily pain he’d expected. Her eyes – the same eyes he’d studied with a cruel flippancy – were brimming with disgust. It was clear that she knew every inch of his rotten soul already. She knew this was all for his own pleasure, his own attention. She knew she was targeted only for her innocence and weakness.

Fuuta’s stomach churned. Maybe she would ask if he felt sorry. Even if he said yes, her eyes told him it wouldn’t change anything. What, then?

She crouched down, bringing that stare inches away from him. “What’s your name?”

He twitched. “…What?”

“You got to know my name. My face. My friends, my home, everything about me. I deserve to know your name. I was so sick of seeing that damn username. I had nightmares about it, you know.”

“I… I…” He inhaled a hiccupping breath. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s your name?”

“K- Kajiyama.” It was common information, one she could have gotten from asking anyone else in his life, or this prison. But it churned his stomach to admit it, all the same. “Kajiyama Fuuta.” He bowed his head.

“Hmph.”

He didn’t dare speak another word. He wasn’t sure what he would even say, if he did end up getting control of his voice.

She was silent too.

He assumed she changed her mind, and decided she was ready to kill him, after all. He braced himself for whatever was to come.

Then, the light dulled in front of him. He glanced up to find her drifting away, back towards the wall she’d entered through.

“W-wait!” He scrambled to his feet. “Just… wait.”

“I don’t need to listen to a single word from you. I’ve heard enough.”

“I know. I know.” He grabbed at his chest. “But I… I meant it. I’m sorry. It doesn’t change anything… but I am.”

She glanced over her shoulder, looking him up and down. There was something different in her gaze, this time. An emotion he couldn’t discern.

“I know.”

Then she disappeared, leaving him alone in the dark and the cold.

[good-beanswrites]

would you consider writing something focused on es and muu? I think their interactions and dynamic is funny and I don’t see much content of them both ^^ (not necessarily in a shippy way. I do ship them but I generally just think it be nice to see more content of the two of them in general, shipping or not akdjwksjsk)

Yeahhhh they really do have such a cute dynamic ;--; I know I already wrote a sickfic featuring the two of them, but I’m just so hung up on both of them having sick minigrams (and that this finally forces Es to give in and get taken care of a bit 😅) I think Muu “you need to stand up for yourself” Kusunoki and Es “I would die for my prisoners” Milgram would help each other out a lot asdfsdf

Es didn’t hear the first gentle knock on their door, or even the second, as they stirred from their feverish sleep. However, there was no way they could miss the third attempt of full-palm banging, paired with an exasperated call, “Muu wants to come in!”

“A-ah, it’s open…” Their voice came out embarrassingly hoarse. It was bad enough the prisoners had to see them in such a sorry state, but they couldn’t even speak with their usual authority without eliciting looks of pity.

Muu entered with a tray of food. Although she’d never been one to swallow them up in eyes of pity, she was the one coddling them the most out of everyone. Es slumped deeper in their covers.

“I told you yesterday, I don’t need your babying.”

“Yes, you do,” she stated, always with her giddy denial that she could ever be wrong. “Everyone needs babying when they’re sick. That’s the one time you can complain and complain and no one will fault you for it!”

They scoffed. Muu had certainly taken up that privilege when she had her cold last week.

She went on, “you know, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you complain. You should try it sometime.”

“Tch. There’s no need to make things more difficult around here just for my own silly opinions.”

Were those even their opinions to begin with? There were always too many of them – too many wills and preferences and opinions. Even if they did speak up, maybe they’d change their mind and hate their choice a moment later. If they were going to be disappointed regardless, they may as well keep it to themself.

“Muu doesn’t think they’re silly…” Her eyes flashed with an earnestness that brought heat up to their cheeks. They cursed the extra warmth; they were already overheating with the fever. “And that’s why there’s three different flavors of tea, and two options for breakfast, and three different sides.”

“Oh…” Es eyed the options hungrily. “You didn’t have to make those for me.”

“I didn’t! I made Shidou-san. He’s a better cook anyway.” She tried to place the tray on the table beside them, but it wouldn’t fit around the books and papers they kept there for late-night working. She used the back of her hand to sweep them onto the floor with a thump.

“Hey!”

She grabbed one of the teacups, ignoring their protests. “I… I wanted this to be perfect for you. To apologize for getting you sick in the first place.”

As careful as Es acted, it had been impossible to stay completely sanitary while stopping by Muu’s cell every day to help her with food, cleaning, and company. They’d even sat on her bed a few times, at her desperate request. There was no doubt where they’d caught their cold. Still, after digging through Milgram’s constant debates in all their free time, a rebuttal came easily.

“No, no. It was my choice to be there. I’m to blame.”

“I felt like everyone forgot about me, or they didn’t care about me in here. But… you did. So I got to thinking, it’s probably even worse when you don’t remember your family ever taking care of you.”

So is that why she’d been coming in so often? It was out of pity after all? Melodramatic thoughts about their nonexistent family? Was it all her own guilt?

“I just felt like… you know… you deserved to feel special like that, too.”

She held out the cup. In their surprise, Es took it readily.

“See?” She beamed, her demeanor instantly flipping. “I knew you wanted some after all. You don’t always have to act like some know-it-all in charge of everybody.”

“That’s rich, coming from Miss Queen bee.”

“At least Muu didn’t feel the need to wear a stupid hat about it…”

They sputtered on the tea. “There’s nothing wrong with my hat!”

“Whatever makes you happy, Warden-san...”

“Oi!”

She giggled, and moved to the doorway. “Um…”

“Yes?”

“Muu thinks you look cute without the hat.”

They blinked. “O-oh? Thank you?”

Es blamed their sickness for the completely speechlessness that washed over them. They wanted to return the compliment, but only sputtering half-thoughts came to mind. “And, er, you too. I-I mean – thank you for breakfast, too. I really appreciate it. Well, uh, I know what I said before, but...” They cursed themself for sounding like a fool. “All I’m trying to say is, I’m grateful. It was very kind of you.”

“Hehe~ Wasn’t it?” She gave a last cheery wave before skipping through the door.

Es could only shake their head and flop back onto their pillow.

[good-beanswrites]

Fuuta gets the "loser-shaped" nickname somehow. Up to you. How does he react?

HA, even though it started with his mv plushie, the nickname has definitely gotten its mileage… I went with a LCSyS scene so that it could still stem from the prisoners seeing that outfit, but honestly I can see this exchange happening exactly the same in canon if given the opportunity. (Also, I know nothing about fashion but I have heard the baggy look is fine – the “fashion expert” remarks here are all in fun lmao)

“There’s nothing wrong with the tracksuit,” Fuuta muttered. It had been a mistake to ask Mikoto and Muu what they were up to. Though the pile of photos spread across the table had intrigued him, he should have guessed they were talking about outfit preparations and avoided broaching the topic with Milgram’s most fashion-forward prisoners.

“The lines are all over the place,” Muu said, wiggling her finger around a shot from Bring It On. “Maybe you should get something tailored to you this time.”

“Maybe you should mind your own business.”

She pretended not to hear, gathering some of his other promo pictured in a grid. “You need something that will draw the eye nicely.”

Mikoto put a knuckle to his lips, deep in thought at the sight of the collection. “Muu-chan is right.”

“Muu is always right~”

“It doesn’t have to be form-fitting, either. It just needs a better shape.”

Fuuta was beginning to understand why Es got so frustrated. These prisoners really did speak in riddles. “A shape? It’s clothes-shaped. That’s all it needs to be.”

“The fit is important,” Mikoto insisted. “It adds a lot of personality. What are you hoping to say about yourself next trial?”

“I’m already singing a whole ass song about myself…”

“I mean it! The way clothes shape to one’s body or fit around it can imply everything from career, to attitude, to aspirations.”

This was getting ridiculous. He chose the clothes he liked, and that was that. “Well, if that’s true, then the tracksuit is already doing that. So you tell me,” he lilted his voice to mock his idea of a pretentious fashion critic. “What shape am I?”

Muu leaned down to study the picture intently. She thought for a long moment. “You’re kind of loser-shaped.”

“Oi!”

She shrugged, unfazed by Mikoto’s outburst of laughter. “You are.”

“Come on, be honest!”

“Muu is always honest.”

---

Fuuta slapped a photograph down on the table between Muu and Mikoto. They put their breakfast utensils down.

It had been a long time since their nickname stuck – Yuno had even traded some of hers for the new mortifying one. But now, with a handful of freshly-printed pictures and permission from Jackalope to reveal some details, it was time to put them in their place.

He leaned his smug grin down to them. “Heh, who’s the loser-shaped one now?”

“Well, this is a picture of you, so…”

“Shut up! Just look!”

After leveling an exasperated gaze at him, they did.

Mikoto pinched the sheet between his fingers, peering at the vibrant lighting and effects they were trying out along with the new outfit. Fuuta couldn’t help breaking into a toothy grin. “Pretty badass, huh?”

Only a patronizing smile was returned. “It’s… great!”

“Oh come on, what’s your problem now?”

He shrugged, still trying to maintain that people-pleasing pleasantness that made Fuuta want to fake gag. “The tailoring is really nice! And I like the theme you’re going with. You look like–”

“I look like I stepped right out of a comic book – it’s freaking awesome!”

“Yeah, but any comic book,” Muu interrupted.

Realizing they both remained unimpressed, Fuuta’s face grew as red as the photo. “What’s that supposed to mean? If you don’t like it, just spit it out already.”

“You like every generic hero ever. There’s no personality to it.”

“It’s full of personality! It’s got the epic scarf, and look at all the paneling on the uwagi – it looks old and modern and all my color! Not to mention the whole crow thing…”

Mikoto winced. “You like an ad for the latest mass-produced shonen-guy.”

“Like you’re one to talk!”

A pair of hands reached around him to snatch up the picture. Amane’s eyes grew wide in admiration. “Fuuta-san, is this for your new video?”

“Yeah, I…”

“You look so cool!”

He blinked, moving over to give her a spot at the table. “Thank you. At least someone around here has good taste.”

“This is a great improvement, my Loser-shaped protégée…”

“Wh—! You little –!”

[good-beanswrites]

Pasty toxic 0507. Toxic old man yaoi

Yessss hehehe >:3 I love the idea that they’re both leading the other on without actually admitting to the hard stuff – they’re both keeping secrets but still keeping the ‘relationship’ intact because it offers short term comfort… Two fucked up guys… (This takes place right when the T2 hiatus began)

Shidou had given out plenty of bad news in his lifetime. Unexpected conditions, frightening treatments, permanent damage, and, even worse than news of death, the announcement of something terminal. Families always looked at their walking, talking loved ones and demanded to know why they were still doomed to die. Shidou was skilled at explaining it, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it.

Thus, when Kazui asked him how the conversation with Amane had gone, he answered with a smile. “Just fine.”

Telling Kazui of her threats wouldn’t have changed the outcome – the girl was smart, and determined. All it would have done is cause him more worry. Hadn’t he been through enough?

It was the same reason Shidou agreed to another smoking break, even though he was trying to quit, even though he knew their time was limited, even though he could never give Kazui the future he was expecting. For now, it was enough just to stand with their shoulder’s slightly touching, and watch him smile as he spoke.

“Shiina-chan said the treatments have been going better, is that right?”

“Indeed. It seems her body is finally responding to outside forces.” Only a few more weeks, and she’d be completely stable. In a few more weeks, he wouldn’t be needed anymore. “You said you had something to tell me, though?”

Kazui shrugged. “It’s nothing. Just a little cut on my arm I wanted you to look at. I’d usually deal with it myself, but with everything going on...”

“I appreciate that,” Shidou took another drag on the cigarette, holding his gaze longer than necessary. “It’s certainly better to be safe.”

“Well, don’t laugh at me if it’s an overreaction. I’ve definitely had worse. Heh.” His eyes grew distant. Shidou enjoyed the way his memories always took over his entire expression. “I remember when I was a kid, messing around with some school buddies – we were daring each other to climb the tallest tree on campus. I said I could. I was the strongest kid there. It turns out being big doesn’t give you good balance…”

“Oh dear…”

“That’s right. I tumbled off the branch, scraping just about every inch of skin on the way down.” He laughed, smoke puffing out with the sound. “And the best part is, I just walked it off! I probably put on a bandage or two, but I didn’t even care…”

“Ah, to be young and stupid again,” Shidou mused. He could never say such a thing to the others, in the prime of their young and stupid years, but Kazui simply nodded in that thoughtful way of his.

“Now, I cut my arm on some stupid screw beside my door, and I can’t even think of leaving it out in the open.” He rolled up his sleeve and offered his forearm carefully. “So, doc? Do you have something for it?”

He was correct; the cut was minor. Shidou knew he should just tell Kazui that he was going to need take care of his own injuries from here on out. He should admit that none of them were making it out of Milgram to live the futures they deserved. He should remind Kazui that maybe, it was for the best.

Instead, he leaned forward. Keeping the cigarette balanced between his lips, he eased Kazui’s arm closer with gloved fingertips. There was something beautiful about being wanted, about being needed.

He ran his thumb parallel to the cut, pretending to size it up. The gesture was wholly unnecessary, and wholly successful by the way Kazui relaxed under the touch.

“Yes. I can fix you up nicely.”

[good-beanswrites]

So... about that guilty Yuno and Fuuta twitter art that I showed you...

Omg YES This is the art (and it turns out it was just a wip, and the full piece includes some others!)

Now, this was supposed to be a quick angst study of these two indirect-murderers in intense restraints, but I got a little carried away thinking about their opposite capabilities – Fuuta can communicate but can’t understand the situation, and Yuno can understand the situation without communicating. It ended up turning into straight up drama with pretty specifically detailed major character death(s)… I’m sorry…

Fuuta thought he’d already done his time waking up to horrible restraints and the loss of vision, but here he was again.

“Have you motherfuckers not tortured us enough?”

At least he hadn’t lost an eye, this time, but he may as well have since both were covered with a solid blindfold. He leapt up from the concrete ground with his arms secured behind his back. He yanked at the belts around his torso, which only succeeded in pulling his collar at a choking angle.

“This is ridiculous!” He stomped around, careful not to trip on the belts harnessed and hanging around his legs. “You already know my crime, it’s not like I even attacked anyone – this is just a sick show of power. We’re human beings with rights, you can’t tie us down like animals!”

He inhaled to let out another stream of outrage, only to let out a cry of alarm as someone touched his shoulder.

“Stay away from me, you bastards!”

He didn’t care how his voice trembled as scrambled away. The restraints would make it difficult, but they wouldn’t stop him from putting up a fight. His back slammed into the metal bars of his cell. He could do this.

Then, a muffled hum in front of him – someone familiar trying to speak through her own restraints.

“Yuno…?” His entire body relaxed. “Oh, thank god.”

He had no idea what she was doing in his cell – or was he in hers? – and what Milgram was planning. They’d ended with all the song extractions, and Es had been notably silent on the topic of what happened next. “Is it just us?”

She hummed again.

“Er… touch me once for yes, twice for no.” The single tap on his foot brought him even more relief. At least they weren’t in any immediate danger. He stepped away from the wall, allowing her to lead him a few steps back.

“Heh, I guess I should have guessed they’d try something crazy for final verdicts, huh? I mean – augh!”

Yuno’s body jerked to the side, taking him along with her.

“Woah, what happened?”

Though she still couldn’t speak, he could hear emotion in her quickening breath. She sniffled.

“Hey, hey, no need to cry!” His stomach twisted. How could he not have seen it? Her situation was even more cruel that his own. Her only violence had been self-inflicted, and she was still restrained and gagged like some bloodthirsty killer. Fuuta at least had practice staying balanced in his cumbersome uniform, but this was her first time navigating such a clumsy outfit. It was humiliating as much as it was frustrating. Plus, as the first prisoner after Haruka’s death, it made sense she’d be even jumpier as she awaited her judgement.

They steadied themselves. He leaned into her with as much of a hug as he could manage. He rested his chin on the top of her head. Fuuta took a deep inhale. He’d failed the first time, but this was his chance to redeem himself.

Yuno needed a hero, and he could be just that.

“Listen to me, okay? I may be at a… slight disadvantage, but I’ve gotten a lot stronger this past trial! My injuries healed up alright, and the whole thing toughened me up. I won’t let them take you, okay?”

She buried her face in his chest. He let out a little breath of relief. It was working. She felt safe with him. He wished he could wrap his arms around her, but this would do just fine. His voice strengthened with confidence.

“It’s gonna be okay. It’s fucking cruel they’re making us wait like this – they know the waiting is the hardest part. But that just means they’re all bark and no bite, right?” He grinned. “Tch, they always have all their grand theatrics and then nothing to follow through with. That’s why they’re wasting all this time with this isolation and stupid uniforms – they have nothing else up their sleeve. Everything’s going to be just fine!”

She cried softly into him.

“I know… I know it’s still terrifying. I’ve got you.” He’d been praying for long to the chance to atone, and he was finally blessed with one. He would keep her safe.

The minutes ticked by, an eternity of darkness to him. Fuuta had to remind himself it was only Milgram’s accursed mind games that kept them waiting. Yuno wouldn’t appreciate his impatience, especially as she broke into nervous sniffles every now and then. He kept his mouth shut.

Another eternity later, a moment away from suggesting they sit down and rest, Yuno nudged him with her shoulder. It was harsh and repeated, much rougher than her initial greeting. His heart skipped.

“Do you see something?” He was ready. “Is it your time?”

She fought against her restraints, intelligible words coming out strained and teary as she pushed them both deeper into the cell. She was stepping on his toes and shoving him back.

Fuuta wondered if this is how desperate his own victim felt. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

“Oi, it’s okay! Calm down, hey, calm down. I told you – I’ll handle this.”

Even with his arms immobilized, he had Yuno beat with height and muscle. He sidestepped and shoved, getting between her and the entryway. She was easily knocked away, only reassuring him that he could put up a fight against their tiny warden, or that stupid rabbit.

The cell door creaked open.

This was it. His second chance. His salvation. He would rescue this girl, atone for the one he hurt, and they’d both get the hell out of this horrible place.

“I’ll protect you!” He turned his face over his shoulder, away from whatever pathetic excuse for justice Milgram had planned, and flashed her a confident, crooked grin. “You have nothing to worry about.”

 ---

Jackalope said the prison would change depending on Es’ decisions, but Yuno realized he hadn’t been speaking figuratively this time.

She woke in an unfamiliar cage, and quickly took stock of her surroundings. Four cells stood in a line at the base of the courtroom’s grand platform. The huge room was darker than usual, with a spotlight illuminating Es and a horrible metal-plated chair.

Already dwarfed by the backdrop, Es was flanked by two towering guards. Uniforms that matched Milgram’s aesthetics obscured their faces. Jackalope was there, too, and Yuno could’ve sworn the two were talking. Despite standing close to the cell, Es’ mouth move without a sound.

That was when Yuno noticed the others’ open mouths and banging fists, all plunged into silence. She would have worried something was wrong with her ears if her own cellmate wasn’t being so loud.

“We’re human beings with rights, you can’t tie us down like animals!”

Fuuta’s complaints were valid, given both of their extreme restraints. Her arms were secured in front of her, and some sort of contraption wound around her head to keep her from opening her mouth. When Yuno pressed herself against his shoulder – the only communication she could offer in her state – he leapt back in fear.

“Stay away from me, you bastards!”

She felt a pang of guilt at the way his voice shook in panic. Even doling out threats, she knew the real Fuuta. He was weak, and frightened, and all he could do was act tough. Rather than worry him more, she hummed in reassuring tones through her restraints.

“Yuno? Oh, thank god. Is it just us?”

She peered outside. The prisoners occupied the cells in pairs, with Kotoko stalking hers alone like a caged animal. Yuno felt a pang of relief, immediately followed by shame at her gratefulness for another’s misfortune. Given Milgram’s numbering system, it should have been her pacing a cell all alone, with only ghosts to keep her company while she awaited the end. Instead, she somehow found herself with one of her closest friends.

She hummed again in the affirmative, though Fuuta’s expression remained twisted.

“Er… touch me once for yes, twice for no.”

She tapped his foot with hers. Personally, she would have felt safer with the group, but she was glad that the news relieved him, at least.

“Heh, I guess I should have guessed they’d try something crazy for final verdicts, huh?”

Though it had been difficult to get used to Haruka’s absence during the third trial, Yuno was painfully aware that she was the new first prisoner. So, when the guards descended the platform towards the cells, her panic sent her leaping backwards.

“I mean – augh!”

Fuuta was yanked along with her, her shoulder clipping his and their belts getting tangled. He shook her off, but she was too focused on the guards changing course away from them.

“Woah, what happened? Hey, hey, no need to cry!” Fuuta steadied both of them. Yuno watched where the guards were headed.

They marched down the line, swinging open Kotoko’s door. As wildly as she fought – with only eerie silence meeting Yuno’s ears – her own heavy restraints were no match against the guards. Milgram had always done everything in such a particular order, why would they reverse their prisoners now?

She had no time to contemplate the sudden change. The guards dragged Kotoko up the platform, securing her to the chair. Es began to speak, but it was only Fuuta’s words that met her ears. His growing arrogance clashed with the haunted look on Es’ face.

“Listen to me, okay? I may be at a… slight disadvantage, but I’ve gotten a lot stronger this past trial! My injuries healed up alright, and the whole thing toughened me up. I won’t let them take you, okay?”

Yuno hadn’t even noticed the mechanical lever at the side of the platform until Es stalked over to it. They bent their head along with it.

Electricity blinded them. Stark lights and shadows flashed across the courtroom. Yuno cowered into Fuuta’s chest.

“H-hey, it’s gonna be okay. I won’t let them take you, alright? It’s fucking cruel they’re making us wait like this – they know the waiting is the hardest part.”

Kotoko thrashed against the chair, her mouth working in an unheard scream. Her eyes, usually fierce and strong, were now bulged in nothing but pain.

“But that just means they’re all bark and no bite, right? Tch, they always have all their grand theatrics and then nothing to follow through with.”

The flashing lights settled. With them, Kotoko. She slumped entirely still.

“That’s why they’re wasting all this time with this isolation and stupid uniforms – they have nothing else up their sleeve.”

The guards unlatched the chair. Kotoko’s body was dragged away, into the darkness of the courtyard. Es turned away, covering their mouth. Yuno felt just as sick.

Fuuta leaned into her, a bright smile in his voice. “Everything’s going to be just fine!”

She rested her head on his chest. Unable to get out a single word of what she wanted to say, she simply wept.

“I know… I know it’s still terrifying. I’ve got you.”

Mikoto, Amane, Kazui, and Muu were led up to the platform with painful efficiency. Some were thrown at Es’ feet in the very center, just in front of the chair. They scurried away with teary gratitude and a look of pity over their shoulder before disappearing into the dark themselves. Others were led the extra steps to the back in order to meet the same fate as Kotoko.

Yuno got better at turning her face away and swallowing the whimpers as she watched the other lives meet their end in front of her. Es was finding ways to cope, as well. By the time they reached Muu, they had already placed themselves in front of the menacing lever to save themself the painful walk across the platform. Their face dropped into an absence of all emotion, staring coldly forward as she was taken up to them.

As the guards removed her, and Es turned their gaze to the final occupied cell, Yuno nudged Fuuta frantically.

“Do you see something?”

Yuno waited for Es to step away from the lever, and for their lips to part in relief.

Their boots remained rooted.

“Is it your time?” She tried tapping his foot, but with all the repeated nudging and tapping, he wasn’t understanding. The guards marched closer.

Yuno could only stare at Es. Her eyes spilled with tears, pleading for them to move back to the center of the platform. To smile, and assure her this would be a pleasant, innocent verdict.

Es turned their gaze away.

With even more frantic sounds, Yuno tried to push Fuuta back with her body.

“Oi, it’s okay! Calm down, hey, calm down. I told you – I’ll handle this.”

With a sudden, harsh movement, Fuuta shoved her with his shoulder. She landed on the cold concrete, the wind knocked out of her. He planted himself between her and the cell door. It swung open with a metallic squeal. The guards stepped inside, twice Fuuta’s height and strong enough to have overpowered all who came before.

“I’ll protect you!” He turned his face over his shoulder, away from the Es and the platform and the awaiting electric chair, and flashed her a confident, crooked grin. “You have nothing to worry about.”

[good-beanswrites]

After posting this jailbreak piece, I mentioned that I really don’t think Jackalope would be such a black-and-white villain. I like playing around with his more ambiguous side, and have enjoyed many of @jackalopedaily ‘s human!Jackalope posts, so here’s another jailbreak path with some of my more enemy-turned-protector takes on him :3 (this original took place in the T2 hiatus but I decided this would be in the very beginning of the T3 one.)

Jackalope really should have warned Es not to leave him alone with the prisoners – one of them was bound to kill the other.

The group had barely processed that he was appearing to them as human, much less that he would be the one leading them out of this sprawling facility. He received a solid poke from one of the prisoner’s makeshift weapons the very moment Es disappeared around the corner to scout ahead.

“Tch, and why should we trust this asshole?”

Jackalope had never felt much fondness towards Number 3, no matter what Es saw in him. He looked even more pathetic now, his eye covered with a silly little cloth and brandishing a loose pipe pulled from their escape route.

“Listen up, brat,” he said, maintaining his outward calm. With flourish of his glove, Number 3 dropped the pipe and stepped backwards. His face flashed with the panic of his body moving on its own accord – on Jackalope’s accord. The prisoners should have been grateful that their violence ban was enforced with minimal barriers, and he hadn’t resorted to the usual methods of control.

“You don’t have to trust me, but as your only chance of survival, you do need to follow my lead.” His eyes flicked to Number 8 with a smirk. “I assume you have no problem doing that…”

“The hell is that supposed to mean–!?”

Jackalope only chuckled as the others tried to calm him.

Number 10 crossed her arms. “Fuuta has a point, though. It’s tough to follow someone if you don’t think they have your best interests in mind.”

“Oh, I don’t!” He grinned. “I’m not doing this for you at all. If I had it my way, this beautiful experiment would play out until it reaches its proper ending.” He made sure to lilt his voice with strong intonations – that’s how humans keep one another’s attention. “But, unfortunately, I’m forced to ensure you make it out in one piece.”

“And why is that?”

“Because Es has their heart set on this whole ridiculous jailbreak plan. I can’t talk them out of it, and they’ll get themself killed if they go at it alone. I’m here to make sure they succeed.”

“Aw~” Number 6 looked up at him with sweetened, round eyes. “You really are their caretaker, just like you said in the beginning!”

“What, do you think I go around lying all the time?” He straightened his uniform and raised his chin. “My prison may not have ethics, but it has standards.”

“It’s not your prison, though.” Es returned, their expression sullen. Jackalope liked seeing them take on the stress of the verdicts – there was something so admirable about the weight they placed on their contemplation and reflection – but seeing this type of distress on their face only made him antsy. He wanted them to take a breath, to relax. There was a reason he’d fought for such a long rest between trials.

“Eh, you’ve got me there,” he said. He hoped the lightness of his own voice could put them at ease. “An operation like this is far too complex for lil’ old me to run by myself. I do have colleagues. Dangerous colleagues. Rendered harmless, as long as you have my help.” Alarms blared from overhead. All but Jackalope flinched. “Let’s get moving, shall we?”

The group wasn’t thrilled with the situation, but they didn’t have the luxury of a lengthy debate. They hurried through corridors and vents, skirting around troops of guards that went stomping past. Jackalope was glad they were the ones hired for the job – it would have been a pain to sneak around his own kind.

The group was huddled around a corner, hearing the clatter of boots and shouting travel away from them, when Number 2 decided to be the first to approach him.

“I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why didn’t you transform like this during the trials?”

“That’s easy – you’d start to think of me as one of you. We were collecting data on human nature, and Es had to think they were the only human Warden there. It would have messed with the results.” Jackalope shrugged. “Plus, I receive far less pets in this form.”

She cringed, likely recalling all the times the prisoners had passed around his furry form to brush and pet and feed treats to. “Gross.”

“As if you’re one to talk. People will go to all sorts of lengths for a bit of physical affection, mm?”

She cringed deeper. What, didn’t the prisoners know who was the one who scouted them out in the first place? Jackalope had his eye on every detail of their life long before Es ever got a peek into their minds.

And his observation hadn’t ended there. He caught the sound of a door, much closer than the others, creaking open.

His leg started to bounce at the sound of danger. Old habits die hard, he supposed. “We need to move.”

“But you just said –”

“—It doesn’t matter what I said, we’re going!” The words had hardly passed his lips when a formation of guards poured into the hallway behind them.

“Freeze!”

From behind dark masks and uniforms, they leveled their weapons at the group. They were faster than Jackalope expected. Surely he wasn’t losing his edge?

No. It was this batch of prisoners. They had been his most promising group before revealing themselves as the most cursed. They’d ruined his experiment. They’d made him transform into one of them. They could try to jinx this jailbreak as well, but he refused to let it work.

He stepped between the two parties, making sure Es was securely shielded with his body. His powers would help, but he tugged a weapon from his pocket for good measure.

Es gasped from behind. “You had a gun this whole time?”

“It was only a precaution. Do forgive me.” He took another step forward. The guards tensed.

“I said freeze!”

He’d done his best to keep Es away from any danger, but in truth, he didn’t mind a fight. Human bloodshed was always so fascinating.

Jackalope couldn’t help the grin that slowly stretched across his face. “Now, stay behind me, everyone. And take some notes – this is what real killing looks like.”

[good-beanswrites]

I'm sorry I am an instant gratification creature and I'm going to post like ten things at once later tonight sadfsad

[good-beanswrites]

Posting Fuuta Whump In Honor Of Appare March Pt 1 🎉

I'm finally getting up the nerve to post three pieces I wrote over the past few months -- and this one, at least, allows me to drag in my accomplices >:3 @waivyjellyfish did some beautiful art for it, and as well as art, @oboetemasuka wrote a wonderfully heart-wrenching piece based off of this premise/setup! No pressure to share, but they all had such juicy angst 👀

The context for this one is that the prisoners initiate a jailbreak, finding themselves in an action-move-esque type of large prison complex (I started this before the different eras thing was confirmed...) The group gets separated from Fuuta along the way, finds themselves in an office -- undetected by the guards but not in the clear yet. TW for a gunshot wound

Screens covering the back wall leapt to life. Their stark light cut through the darkness, displaying one of the facility’s pale rooms. Es froze. Chilling fear raced in their blood. They’d been caught. 

Once they realized the broadcast was a general one, the twisting in their stomach did not ease. Equipment and crates had been pushed aside. It drew the eye to the lone chair in the center of the room. 

Mahiru gasped.

Fuuta sat – no, hung from – the sturdy metal seat. Cuts, scuffs, and a missing eyepatch remained from their fight out of the panopticon. Duct tape wound around his chest, replacing the uniform restraints they all thought they’d left behind. His head and shoulders slumped forward as far as the binds would allow. His legs sprawled uselessly underneath. Coils of tape secured his forearms to the armrests, and a piece covered his mouth. Red hair gave way to red streaks down his face. The dizzy fluttering of his eyes confirmed he was stirring awake from a blow to the head. 

Es was there when he’d received it. Fuuta had shoved Amane forward into the next hallway, only for several guards to lock their grip onto his upper arms. His limbs battered them as he was dragged backwards. Fists swung wildly and sneakers kicked high until a raised nightstick rendered them unresponsive. Mikoto and Kazui slammed the door standing between them, and Es instructed the pair to carry the screaming Amane along with them so she wouldn’t suffer the same fate. Now, watching Fuuta lift his head, just beginning to struggle against the tape around him, they wondered if they should have chased after him when they had the chance.

Their attention shifted to the only other occupant of the room – a strange man pacing around the chair, his hands resting leisurely in his pockets. His greying-brown hair gathered in a round ponytail at his neck. He wore perfectly pressed formalwear made up of similar blues and golds as the uniform Es currently wore. When he spoke, it was with the kind of flashy inflection one would expect from a radio host.

“Why hello, my lovely prisoners! It seems you’ve made quite the mess of my experiment, haven’t you?”

Es squinted at the screen. “His voice… doesn’t he sound like…?”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance in this form.” The man angled his head, seeming to read their mind. “You didn’t think I was an honest to god rodent, did you?”

They had indeed. Though, they should have been prepared for the shock after the day’s many surprises – everything from the prisoners’ willingness to work together after the second trial, to Milgram’s sprawling makeup consisting of full prison yards and infirmary wings and other cells, to the sheer number of guards patrolling these outer hallways. Es had been developing doubts about their role as Warden, but it stung to have proof that their title was just that. By the time they’d gained any real protection over their prisoners, they were already failing miserably. 

Jackalope continued his circle around Fuuta. “I knew the lot of you were troublemakers, but this is taking it to a new level. Please, let us continue the way it was! No need to cause any more of this childish damage.”

There was very little childishness about the destruction the prisoners left in their wake. Even trying to avoid casualties, Es could only imagine the injuries resulting from collapsing ceilings and spreading flames they’d caused during the jailbreak.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I mean, it’s not like we hurt anyone! That was all between you guys, remember? The only reason I’m intervening now is because the experiment requires that we continue. Come on, the third trial awaits~”

Both rooms fell into silence at his beaming smile. 

It dropped unceremoniously. “Or, if you need a little more incentive…” He pulled a hand from his pocket, revealing a shining firearm. 

Fuuta’s expression twisted. He recoiled as far as he could.

“Each of you has worked hard to stick by your morals and codes. And Es – oh, my Es… You tried so hard to keep everyone alive. You’re a good kid, you know that?” The sympathy in his voice churned Es’ stomach more than it offered any sort of connection. “Well, then, I’ll make this very easy for all of you.”

He grabbed Fuuta's face by the cheeks, earning an uproar of muffled shouting. It wasn’t clear if he was yelling to the camera or to Jackalope as the man leaned down to pose beside him. 

“I’d hate to continue on without one of our participants, but you have to understand that this is bigger than any one person. It’s absolutely essential that we continue with our trials. So, meet me here, we’ll have a nice chat, figure some things out, and your loudmouthed brat can leave happy! If not…” 

Jackalope moved back, cocked the gun, and pressed the cold barrel against Fuuta’s temple. 

Terrified eyes widened. Though indistinct through the tape, it was clear that Fuuta’s yelling shifted from berating to begging. 

Jackalope’s voice lilted as if it were still small talk between friends. “Oi, and none of this typical Milgram debate, alright? That earlier finger pointing was fun and all, but I can save you the trouble this time. His blood will be on your hands when he gets his brains blown out.”

The prisoners erupted. Amane demanded they go back for him this instant. Kazui countered that it was too obviously a trap. Shidou mused about one life being worth another ten while Mikoto was counting bodies for a potential fight. Mahiru curled deeper into her wheelchair, hands clasped in fear. Kotoko was reprimanding Muu for wailing loudly while they tried to speak. Es attempted to get everyone’s attention, but their voice cracked with an unfamiliar uncertainty. Their emotions, usually perfectly controlled, overtook their mind with panic.

The chaos of their conversations ticked by without any conclusions reached. 

At length, Jackalope sighed. “We don’t have all day, you know.” 

The room finally plunged into silence. 

He flicked his wrist to check a fancy watch. “We may have company soon, because of the stir you caused. I’ll need you to make up your minds about whether you want this guy executed or not. How about, let’s say, fifteen minutes? Unless the good doctor thinks it’ll take less time?”

Es glanced at Shidou, who seemed just as unsure about the statement. 

“The third trial will be running as planned. You have no other choice.”

He moved his hand and shot.

Screams rang out in the little space as Fuuta’s body lurched.

His fingers spasmed while his arms were trapped in place. He strained as far as he could against the duct tape. After distorting from the sudden blast, the microphone picked up on his stifled cries. A splotch of red bloomed from his shoulder with concerning speed.

The gun was tucked back into Jackalope’s pocket. He straightened his collar. His smile had lost its bravado, leaving only a crazed giddiness. He grabbed a handful of Fuuta’s hair, wrenching his head up to face the camera, too twisted in pain to focus on it.

“You must go on.” 

—

Fuuta was the kind of person that Es could count on for a sweeping gesture, a fiery glare, and entrances and exits larger than life. He confronted anyone and everyone with a sizable attitude. His songs were backed with power, and even his everyday conversations felt like booming speeches.

He had never looked so small before.

When Es reached the chair, the only trace of movement came from the blood that was still trickling to the floor, drip by drip. Gentle shakes and calling his name proved useless – Fuuta remained hanging limply from the restraints. His skin was clammy and cool to the touch. He was frighteningly pale.

The sound of gunfire just outside the room spurred them on. The others were buying them time; there was only so much to be bought. 

Es pulled the strip away from Fuuta’s lips, freeing him to inhale his rapid, trembly breaths. They retrieved the knife from Kotoko and got to work sawing at the restraints around his arms.

“You’re going to be okay,” they said, just as much to themself. “The others know what they’re doing. Everything’s going to be fine.” 

They never thought they’d miss the days he curled those hands into fists and charged at them. Now, both arms hung motionless as soon as they were freed. 

“Stay with me. Come on, stay with me. I brought supplies from Shidou. He told me how to use them, and I…” They swallowed. “I wasn’t there for you and Mahiru last time. But I’m here now, right? I’m here when you need, and–”

The words caught in their throat. It was a lie, wasn’t it? They hadn’t been here when Fuuta needed. Just like last time, they arrived too late. 

They were the Warden; they should have come up with a better plan before breaking out. They should have gotten the prisoners organized the moment Fuuta was in danger. They should have been stronger in every way. 

Pulling the remaining tape away, Es allowed Fuuta to slump forward into them. They eased him onto the ground. Keeping his head on their legs, they were struck once again with how small he felt collapsed on their lap. They felt as though they could break him just from holding on too tightly. 

“I’m here. You’re going to be alright. Y-you told me that everything that happens to you guys is my fault, but – but I’m fixing it, see? I’m fixing everything…”

All this time, they’d been praying for more control within Milgram. Now that they could feel Fuuta’s life directly in their hands, it made them shake violently. They tore off the warden’s gloves. It did little to help their coordination. 

The blood caked onto their fingertips, warm and slick. As they cleaned and packed the wound, it seemed to get everywhere – it had already soaked through his shirt, it clung to Es’s palms, forearms, and it began trickling onto their legs from underneath. Did that mean there was an exit wound? Was that good? Their head spun; all their crime and law knowledge muddled together. 

Fuuta’s breathing became even more shallow. They could hardly hear it.

“Oi, stay with me. Are you listening?” Es’ throat squeezed. “Prisoner number three, you stay with me. That is an order from your Warden! An order!”

He didn’t move. 

They craned their neck behind, but the sounds of the fighting had ceased. Everyone was gone. No one was returning to help Fuuta, or them. Es was utterly alone.

They could only hope the prisoners had chosen to abandon them here – the only alternative was that Es had lead them right back to their capture.

With nothing more they could do to treat the wound, they tried again to rouse Fuuta. He only rattled out weaker breaths through those crooked teeth.

“Are you listening? Don’t leave me!” Their voice cracked. “Fuuta!!”

They were no longer ashamed to be heard crying in their uniform. They’d already failed at everything else. 

Es leaned over him, resting their head against his chest. When they’d been instructed to listen to their prisoners’ hearts, they never expected to be pressing their ear against someone, hearing that beating grow fainter and fainter.

“I understand… I finally understand what it’s like… If someone else pulls the trigger but… but it’s still my fault, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

They felt their tears soak into his shirt, with its faint rising and falling.

As the minutes ticked by, they realized it was rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Then, deeper inhales. There came the tiniest shift in his muscles.

Es lifted their head just in time to see Fuuta’s eyelashes quiver. His green eyes drifted around – glossy, but moving. 

Even before the others returned with the “company” Jackalope had mentioned, even before they rushed Fuuta to the infirmary wing for proper treatment, even before everyone was extracted from the illegal facility, Es managed a shuddering sigh of relief.

“You’re going to be okay,” they whispered, leaning back down to listen to his steadying heart.

[good-beanswrites]

Posting Fuuta Whump In Honor Of Appare March Pt 1 🎉

I'm finally getting up the nerve to post three pieces I wrote over the past few months -- and this one, at least, allows me to drag in my accomplices >:3 @waivyjellyfish did some beautiful art for it, and as well as art, @oboetemasuka wrote a wonderfully heart-wrenching piece based off of this premise/setup! No pressure to share, but they all had such juicy angst 👀

The context for this one is that the prisoners initiate a jailbreak, finding themselves in an action-move-esque type of large prison complex (I started this before the different eras thing was confirmed...) The group gets separated from Fuuta along the way, finds themselves in an office -- undetected by the guards but not in the clear yet. TW for a gunshot wound

Screens covering the back wall leapt to life. Their stark light cut through the darkness, displaying one of the facility’s pale rooms. Es froze. Chilling fear raced in their blood. They’d been caught. 

Once they realized the broadcast was a general one, the twisting in their stomach did not ease. Equipment and crates had been pushed aside. It drew the eye to the lone chair in the center of the room. 

Mahiru gasped.

Fuuta sat – no, hung from – the sturdy metal seat. Cuts, scuffs, and a missing eyepatch remained from their fight out of the panopticon. Duct tape wound around his chest, replacing the uniform restraints they all thought they’d left behind. His head and shoulders slumped forward as far as the binds would allow. His legs sprawled uselessly underneath. Coils of tape secured his forearms to the armrests, and a piece covered his mouth. Red hair gave way to red streaks down his face. The dizzy fluttering of his eyes confirmed he was stirring awake from a blow to the head. 

Es was there when he’d received it. Fuuta had shoved Amane forward into the next hallway, only for several guards to lock their grip onto his upper arms. His limbs battered them as he was dragged backwards. Fists swung wildly and sneakers kicked high until a raised nightstick rendered them unresponsive. Mikoto and Kazui slammed the door standing between them, and Es instructed the pair to carry the screaming Amane along with them so she wouldn’t suffer the same fate. Now, watching Fuuta lift his head, just beginning to struggle against the tape around him, they wondered if they should have chased after him when they had the chance.

Their attention shifted to the only other occupant of the room – a strange man pacing around the chair, his hands resting leisurely in his pockets. His greying-brown hair gathered in a round ponytail at his neck. He wore perfectly pressed formalwear made up of similar blues and golds as the uniform Es currently wore. When he spoke, it was with the kind of flashy inflection one would expect from a radio host.

“Why hello, my lovely prisoners! It seems you’ve made quite the mess of my experiment, haven’t you?”

Es squinted at the screen. “His voice… doesn’t he sound like…?”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance in this form.” The man angled his head, seeming to read their mind. “You didn’t think I was an honest to god rodent, did you?”

They had indeed. Though, they should have been prepared for the shock after the day’s many surprises – everything from the prisoners’ willingness to work together after the second trial, to Milgram’s sprawling makeup consisting of full prison yards and infirmary wings and other cells, to the sheer number of guards patrolling these outer hallways. Es had been developing doubts about their role as Warden, but it stung to have proof that their title was just that. By the time they’d gained any real protection over their prisoners, they were already failing miserably. 

Jackalope continued his circle around Fuuta. “I knew the lot of you were troublemakers, but this is taking it to a new level. Please, let us continue the way it was! No need to cause any more of this childish damage.”

There was very little childishness about the destruction the prisoners left in their wake. Even trying to avoid casualties, Es could only imagine the injuries resulting from collapsing ceilings and spreading flames they’d caused during the jailbreak.

“There’s nothing to be afraid of. I mean, it’s not like we hurt anyone! That was all between you guys, remember? The only reason I’m intervening now is because the experiment requires that we continue. Come on, the third trial awaits~”

Both rooms fell into silence at his beaming smile. 

It dropped unceremoniously. “Or, if you need a little more incentive…” He pulled a hand from his pocket, revealing a shining firearm. 

Fuuta’s expression twisted. He recoiled as far as he could.

“Each of you has worked hard to stick by your morals and codes. And Es – oh, my Es… You tried so hard to keep everyone alive. You’re a good kid, you know that?” The sympathy in his voice churned Es’ stomach more than it offered any sort of connection. “Well, then, I’ll make this very easy for all of you.”

He grabbed Fuuta's face by the cheeks, earning an uproar of muffled shouting. It wasn’t clear if he was yelling to the camera or to Jackalope as the man leaned down to pose beside him. 

“I’d hate to continue on without one of our participants, but you have to understand that this is bigger than any one person. It’s absolutely essential that we continue with our trials. So, meet me here, we’ll have a nice chat, figure some things out, and your loudmouthed brat can leave happy! If not…” 

Jackalope moved back, cocked the gun, and pressed the cold barrel against Fuuta’s temple. 

Terrified eyes widened. Though indistinct through the tape, it was clear that Fuuta’s yelling shifted from berating to begging. 

Jackalope’s voice lilted as if it were still small talk between friends. “Oi, and none of this typical Milgram debate, alright? That earlier finger pointing was fun and all, but I can save you the trouble this time. His blood will be on your hands when he gets his brains blown out.”

The prisoners erupted. Amane demanded they go back for him this instant. Kazui countered that it was too obviously a trap. Shidou mused about one life being worth another ten while Mikoto was counting bodies for a potential fight. Mahiru curled deeper into her wheelchair, hands clasped in fear. Kotoko was reprimanding Muu for wailing loudly while they tried to speak. Es attempted to get everyone’s attention, but their voice cracked with an unfamiliar uncertainty. Their emotions, usually perfectly controlled, overtook their mind with panic.

The chaos of their conversations ticked by without any conclusions reached. 

At length, Jackalope sighed. “We don’t have all day, you know.” 

The room finally plunged into silence. 

He flicked his wrist to check a fancy watch. “We may have company soon, because of the stir you caused. I’ll need you to make up your minds about whether you want this guy executed or not. How about, let’s say, fifteen minutes? Unless the good doctor thinks it’ll take less time?”

Es glanced at Shidou, who seemed just as unsure about the statement. 

“The third trial will be running as planned. You have no other choice.”

He moved his hand and shot.

Screams rang out in the little space as Fuuta’s body lurched.

His fingers spasmed while his arms were trapped in place. He strained as far as he could against the duct tape. After distorting from the sudden blast, the microphone picked up on his stifled cries. A splotch of red bloomed from his shoulder with concerning speed.

The gun was tucked back into Jackalope’s pocket. He straightened his collar. His smile had lost its bravado, leaving only a crazed giddiness. He grabbed a handful of Fuuta’s hair, wrenching his head up to face the camera, too twisted in pain to focus on it.

“You must go on.” 

—

Fuuta was the kind of person that Es could count on for a sweeping gesture, a fiery glare, and entrances and exits larger than life. He confronted anyone and everyone with a sizable attitude. His songs were backed with power, and even his everyday conversations felt like booming speeches.

He had never looked so small before.

When Es reached the chair, the only trace of movement came from the blood that was still trickling to the floor, drip by drip. Gentle shakes and calling his name proved useless – Fuuta remained hanging limply from the restraints. His skin was clammy and cool to the touch. He was frighteningly pale.

The sound of gunfire just outside the room spurred them on. The others were buying them time; there was only so much to be bought. 

Es pulled the strip away from Fuuta’s lips, freeing him to inhale his rapid, trembly breaths. They retrieved the knife from Kotoko and got to work sawing at the restraints around his arms.

“You’re going to be okay,” they said, just as much to themself. “The others know what they’re doing. Everything’s going to be fine.” 

They never thought they’d miss the days he curled those hands into fists and charged at them. Now, both arms hung motionless as soon as they were freed. 

“Stay with me. Come on, stay with me. I brought supplies from Shidou. He told me how to use them, and I…” They swallowed. “I wasn’t there for you and Mahiru last time. But I’m here now, right? I’m here when you need, and–”

The words caught in their throat. It was a lie, wasn’t it? They hadn’t been here when Fuuta needed. Just like last time, they arrived too late. 

They were the Warden; they should have come up with a better plan before breaking out. They should have gotten the prisoners organized the moment Fuuta was in danger. They should have been stronger in every way. 

Pulling the remaining tape away, Es allowed Fuuta to slump forward into them. They eased him onto the ground. Keeping his head on their legs, they were struck once again with how small he felt collapsed on their lap. They felt as though they could break him just from holding on too tightly. 

“I’m here. You’re going to be alright. Y-you told me that everything that happens to you guys is my fault, but – but I’m fixing it, see? I’m fixing everything…”

All this time, they’d been praying for more control within Milgram. Now that they could feel Fuuta’s life directly in their hands, it made them shake violently. They tore off the warden’s gloves. It did little to help their coordination. 

The blood caked onto their fingertips, warm and slick. As they cleaned and packed the wound, it seemed to get everywhere – it had already soaked through his shirt, it clung to Es’s palms, forearms, and it began trickling onto their legs from underneath. Did that mean there was an exit wound? Was that good? Their head spun; all their crime and law knowledge muddled together. 

Fuuta’s breathing became even more shallow. They could hardly hear it.

“Oi, stay with me. Are you listening?” Es’ throat squeezed. “Prisoner number three, you stay with me. That is an order from your Warden! An order!”

He didn’t move. 

They craned their neck behind, but the sounds of the fighting had ceased. Everyone was gone. No one was returning to help Fuuta, or them. Es was utterly alone.

They could only hope the prisoners had chosen to abandon them here – the only alternative was that Es had lead them right back to their capture.

With nothing more they could do to treat the wound, they tried again to rouse Fuuta. He only rattled out weaker breaths through those crooked teeth.

“Are you listening? Don’t leave me!” Their voice cracked. “Fuuta!!”

They were no longer ashamed to be heard crying in their uniform. They’d already failed at everything else. 

Es leaned over him, resting their head against his chest. When they’d been instructed to listen to their prisoners’ hearts, they never expected to be pressing their ear against someone, hearing that beating grow fainter and fainter.

“I understand… I finally understand what it’s like… If someone else pulls the trigger but… but it’s still my fault, isn’t it? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry…”

They felt their tears soak into his shirt, with its faint rising and falling.

As the minutes ticked by, they realized it was rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Then, deeper inhales. There came the tiniest shift in his muscles.

Es lifted their head just in time to see Fuuta’s eyelashes quiver. His green eyes drifted around – glossy, but moving. 

Even before the others returned with the “company” Jackalope had mentioned, even before they rushed Fuuta to the infirmary wing for proper treatment, even before everyone was extracted from the illegal facility, Es managed a shuddering sigh of relief.

“You’re going to be okay,” they whispered, leaning back down to listen to his steadying heart.

[good-beanswrites]

Posting Fuuta Whump In Honor Of Appare March Pt 2

If you saw this lovely art from @oboetemasuka, here's the context :3 Sorry not sorry that I was way too entertained with this premise adfsd. A normal au in which 030610 know each other, and their murders came close to occurring but didn't. Totally stretching the girls ooc because I hate stalker Mappi theories but love to indulge in the idea of crazy Mappi when I'm playing toys 🥰 Basically the premise:

Tw for kidnapping, beating, and drugging

Out of the two of them, Kotoko hadn’t expected Mahiru to be the one suggesting something as blatantly illegal as a kidnapping.

She wasn’t about to turn down the offer, though. She’d seen the path of cruelty and cowardice Fuuta was headed down. This latest incident revealed a major turning point, and some sort of action needed to be taken. Mahiru, on the other hand, had interpreted the whole thing as a sign to save him – to shower him in care and attention until the power of love brought about its own natural change. 

Whether or not her optimistic theory could actually help him, the plan would certainly stop him from being a danger to others. Two birds, one stone, one clueless redhead. 

Fuuta arrived at Mahiru’s apartment after a simple dinner invitation. (Earlier, Kotoko suggested they make their lives easier by lacing the food with something. Mahiru refused to risk compromising her perfect recipe.) 

So they waited until after dinner, after some talk, when the clock struck the appointed time. Mahiru knew her neighbor’s schedules, and knew that the surrounding rooms were all empty tonight. She tried to gush about where they were each headed, but Kotoko only cared that there’d be no prying ears. It was a good thing, too, as Mahiru didn’t quite excel at her duty to keep Fuuta quiet. 

In her defense, it would have been a terrible idea to bring her hand anywhere close to those snapping, crooked teeth once he started yelling. Kotoko got hold of him from behind, ropes in hand as she tried to wrestle him down. He wasn’t strong enough to overpower her with this type of leverage, but he put up a good fight. The obnoxious yelling wasn’t helping either. She directed Mahiru to grab duct tape from the nearby room. 

As soon as she disappeared around the corner, Kotoko had a moment to execute things her own way. With a quick change in positioning followed by a solid strike to the gut, Fuuta was left on his hands and knees, his mouth working as it gasped for air.

It didn’t take long for him to regain his voice, vicious and vulgar-worded threats pouring out as if he were the one sitting on top of the pair, knees digging into the other, and arranging the ropes securely. 

When Mahiru returned, Kotoko sat back on her haunches to admire a job well done. No amount of thrashing around under the restraints would get him anywhere. His attempts to evade Mahiru’s hands, delicately holding out the piece of duct tape, were thwarted by a firm hand atop his head that kept him still enough for her. 

“This is just until you calm down, Fuuta-kun~” she assured him, stifling his protests into nothing but smothered sounds. 

Her voice came out unsettlingly cheery given the circumstances. Although Kotoko found it far more terrifying than it was reassuring, she wasn’t here to doubt Mahiru’s methods. She was here to get the dirty work done. 

“You wanted him in the bedroom?” She grabbed a stretch of rope by the back of his neck, hoisting him in that direction. 

“Ah, not yet.”

Kotoko dropped him. 

“I have to get everything all set up…” Her lips twisted into an earnest frown. “I hope he’ll be comfortable until then.” 

Kotoko doubted that would be possible, with how tightly she’d knotted the ropes. She looked down at his eyes, widened in pleading and panic.

“I’m sure he’s just fine.”

“Mmph!”

“See?”

—

Mahiru hummed to herself. Everything was going perfectly. She’d thanked Kotoko profusely the last time she was over to check on things; she was so grateful to have someone who understood that nothing is impossible if you have the determination for it.

“Good morning, Fuuta-kun,” she sang as she entered the bedroom. She held up a plate of pastries. “It’s breakfast time!”

She placed the dish beside her houseguest, took a seat beside him, and fixed some loose strands of her fair hair.

“Mahiru baked these herself.”

She removed the rag from his mouth (Feeling guilty that the tape may have hurt him, she’d replaced it with something much softer.) No sooner was he freed that he resumed his usual fuming. 

“You’re insane, you know that right? This is absolutely insane!” He squirmed against the ropes, another usual and useless endeavor. “It’s been days, Mahiru!”

“These things take time.”

“You can't just keep me here forever like some goddamn pet you have collared up in your room!”

Such a silly notion, she thought, since there wasn’t even anything around his neck to make him uncomfortable. Although…

“Ooh, a choker is a good idea!” She picked up the piece of flower-patterned stationery, where she’d been jotting down ideas for new outfits to get for him.

“I'm not your doll, either!”

“Studies have shown that the way your dress can affect your mind, and your personality. You know, I already explained this to you…” She'd actually read him the article straight out of her favorite fashion magazine. He may have missed the first half on account of his own complaining, but once she found the rag, she was able to communicate everything clearly. 

“And Mahiru’s lifestyle makeover has already been going so well.” She counted off on her manicured fingers. “You've been eating nutritious meals, getting time for off-screen hobbies, sticking to a regular sleep schedule –”

“– Because you drug me –!”

“– And now you’ll get to wear clothes that make you feel happy and confident!”

She’d always been inspired by Kotoko’s routines and schedules – she was so impressive, so strong for maintaining such unshakeable self-discipline. It was exciting to offer Fuuta that very same structure for himself with her own discipline helping him to reach it.

“I’m never going to feel happy, locked up in your room like this!”

“Oh, no need to be so pessimistic. Though, you’re always so cute when you get fired up about something, hehe.”

“You’re fucking crazy.”

“Now, for my new recipe!”

“Mahiru, come on…”

His gaze darted between her and the little pieces she was cutting up. As soon as she knew he was calmer, once he stopped letting the ropes press into his flesh with all that wild struggling, he could do this all himself. In the meantime, he was lucky she was here to help. She knew not everyone was used to receiving this type of care. Especially for Fuuta, accustomed to his tragically lonely independence before all this, it could be frightening to relinquish any control. 

He’d be grateful once he embraced it, she just knew it. It would be a weight off those currently straining shoulders.

Her warm brown eyes caught his frantic hazel ones.

She put the utensils back down with a sigh. Her hands cupped around his cheeks. “I know it's difficult to see now, but I promise, I'll have you fixed up in no time! That's the power of love.”

–

Kotoko leaned back against the bathroom door. With Mahiru at an early shift at the florist’s, she was more than capable of escorting Fuuta to the shower and back on her own.

After she heard him finish up and change into the new outfit Mahiru had left – something perfectly chosen in its comfort and classiness – there came the sound of careful footsteps approaching the door. She readied herself, but it was just his voice that greeted her from the other side.

“Kotoko, you’ve gotta help me. This is ridiculous.”

She scoffed.

“Please! I thought you hated criminals! Why are you here helping one?”

“I’m keeping one contained, is what I’m doing.”

“You’re still on that crap? I thought you were supposed to be the reasonable one! You already told me that girl was fine. Mahiru is the one holding me prisoner in her home, while I’ve done nothing at all!” His fist pounded on the door. 

Kotoko swung it open in return. She grabbed his upper arm and yanked him out of the bathroom with a yelp. 

“You think that was nothing? A girl almost died, and you think she was nothing at all?”

He managed to twist himself out of her grasp and shove her backwards. She shouldn’t have let her emotions give him the opening, but at least she blocked his route to the exit.

“That was other people! It wasn’t me!”

He sounded pathetic, denying it with such shrill excuses.

“After everything, you refuse to take responsibility… you’re just as deplorable as I thought. I don’t know why Mahiru insists on treating you so well.”

“Oh no, don’t try those little mind games with me! I’m no idiot. Comparing you two isn’t going to make me grateful for being locked up here. Just drop this good-cop bad-cop act already.” 

“This isn’t an act.” Indeed, if it were up to her, he wouldn't be in a plushy girl’s room eating home cooking – he'd be handcuffed to some cold, dark concrete with the dogs. 

She took a step closer. “Mahiru really is that good. If you’re going to go begging at anyone’s feet, it should be her.” 

“Like hell I’d grovel for her. The first chance I get, I’m tying her to that stupid chair! Let’s see how she likes it when I’m the one who – agck!”

Kotoko’s opening blows were quick and powerful. 

Her red eyes burned. No matter how he tried to plead innocence, he was here threatening innocent women with that big mouth of his. The thought of anyone raising a hand to Mahiru’s sunshining smile stirred the fire in her gut. 

The stiffness of sitting in the bedroom for the past few days didn’t do Fuuta’s reflexes any favors. Kotoko’s fists connected, drawing blood. Her knee caught him in the side. Though she wasn’t a dirty fighter, she couldn’t resist a few shots to that stupid face of “righteous” fury he was making. The expression was certainly wiped away when she pinned him against the wall with a grunt. 

He gasped as she twisted one of his arms backwards, poised to break it. “Oi, just hang on!”

“You won’t lay a finger on her.” She applied some pressure. Then some more. She pushed until he released a cry of pain through grit teeth. Then the pressure eased off, and Kotoko growled in his ear. “And if you do, I’ll show you just what a bad cop I can really be.”

She returned him to the chair, bruised and bloody. She cursed herself for getting a stain on the brand new clothes Mahiru bought. At least she’d washed enough blood out of her own clothes; she could probably have it out before Mahiru made it home. The injuries would prove more difficult to undo, but she cared less. It was only justice that he sat hunched in pain, after all that which he had (and had threatened) to inflict. 

“Ready to take responsibility yet?”

“Fuck you.” He wheezed. “You both are nothing but psychotic, delusional –” Another piece of tape shut him up. 

Kotoko started to leave. His threat echoed in her mind again, turning her back around. She kicked her boot into the side of the chair, tipping him to the ground with a muffled yell.

—

Fuuta didn’t bother to struggle against the ropes. He’d gotten some of his strength back in the past few days as his body healed, but Mahiru had popped something into his mouth before replacing the rag. He knew he only had a few minutes before the world slipped away for the night. Trying to escape now would do no good.

The two women stood beside him, conversing casually over his head. He’d lost track of their talk, his head dizzy and vision blurring. Kotoko had one hand on his shoulder, the other checking the ropes at his wrists. Mahiru’s palms rested on his other shoulder, occasionally trailing up to tuck strands of red hair away from his face. 

He thought he had the perfect escape plan after Kotoko’s beating. If Mahiru was angry enough at her needless violence, he could’ve stirred up tension between them. If she was worried that he needed proper treatment, he could’ve exploited an opening to the outside world. 

In the end, Fuuta shouldn’t have expected anything less from her – she forgave Kotoko within a day, complete with hugs and heartfelt hand clasping. In fact, he noticed Mahiru’s subtle thrill at the situation. His injuries provided her bleeding heart with yet another reason to pity him, to dote on him, to invade his personal space.

So, still no plan for getting out of here.

His head bobbed, the drug fighting to overtake him. The women’s conversation paused.

“Ah, goodnight Fuuta-kun,” Mahiru leaned down to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow~”