#⭒ ˙ ˖ ✧ — ˗ˏˋ ❝ ᴛᴏʟᴅ ꜱᴏ ᴍᴀɴʏ ʟɪᴇꜱ; ɪ ᴅᴜɴɴᴏ ɪꜰ ᴛʜᴇʏ ᴄᴀɴ ꜰɪɴᴅ ᴍᴇ ❞ ◌ ꜱᴇʀᴠᴀɴᴛ ¦ 「 Nagito 」

[not-bcring]

" Servant? Is that your name? " Hiroko asked as she scowled at Nagito. " We should talk, "

- ✩   「   @crushedmystars ​ ​​ 」   ✩

「 ☆ 」   Oh… It’s one of the ‘demons’ from the game the Warriors of Hope had created. Nagito recognizes her immediately from her picture, even if her features are twisted into a scowl instead of the stone-faced image on her card. Hiroko Hagakure a.k.a Hironosaurus. An amusing nickname for sure, even if he’s not quite certain where it came from. Maybe it has to do with her rough exterior? Like the tough, scaly hide of a dinosaur… Or it could have spawned from the Warrior’s charming little tales of her devouring patients like a carnivorous lizard. Either way, lips upturn ever-so-slightly at the realization that when seeing her- that nickname had came to mind first.

Well, it’s only fair. She sees fit to know him by his newfound alias… Although Nagito suspects that their feelings towards their respective nicknames wouldn’t be exactly the same. Whereas she’s a people-eating she-dinosaur in the eyes of those children— claims that are partially-exaggerated —he’s a servant in name and in truth. Perhaps not to the extent the Warrior’s had assumed, but a humble servant nonetheless.

Such a shame his true master has yet to emerge undoubtably victorious from the devastating fray. All this pain, all this suffering… going to WASTE. Here he is, surrounded by glorious and gruesome aftermath, yet he still can’t decipher what has a firmer grip upon his soul. He knows what he wants the answer to be. What side he’s been stubbornly working for, working towards... but until the stalemate is ended, he’ll never know for certain if he’s simply working against his true desires because he’s too weak to admit that his loyalty has been corrupted.

Hope or Despair... what IS his true hope now? If the latter can be considered that.

No matter, the she-dinosaur wishes to speak with him... and his curiosity is stronger than his disdain for the troublesome expression she wears. Maybe she’ll hit him. Or attempt to kill him... THAT would be a true problem; his purpose has not yet been completed. Still, Nagito approaches the rude woman, gaze heavily-lidded like that of a bored feline and swirled hues flitting up and down her form. Worn and weathered from the Hell she’s been submitted to, but still clinging to the shreds that has become her life. Admirable- or perhaps stupid... 

Maybe both.

❝  Should we?  ❞  Nagito hums in response, monotone voice making his limited interest in conversation clear.  ❝  I can’t imagine either of us have anything useful to say to one another.  ❞  Him, a mere servant, and her— someone who spawned an Ultimate, but isn’t worthy of the title herself. And one could argue that while her son IS a member of the Future Foundation, he’s not an integral cog in the machine. More like a bit of lint that had clung to the Ultimate Hope’s shirt and been carried to the finish line. Of course, that’s all hearsay... and if Yasuhiro is a piece of lint, then that makes Nagito the dirt that crumbled from Makoto’s shoe before he even entered Hope’s Peak. 

So, it’s not like he has any room to judge.... her son.   「 ☆ 」 

[canon-fcdder]

(( Tag Dump - Nagito Komaeda ))

[not-bcring]

from-across-the-stars:

Open RP - Kazuichi Soda

Watching with great interest at the latest poor soul to wander into his ‘home’, the mechanic’s eyes seemed to shine with predatory delight, all the while a sadistic grin filled with pure despair slowly crawled along his lips. Waiting until they were right where he wanted them to be, Kazuichi pulled a remote from his pocket as he gleefully kicked his feet against his seat, hitting a button on the small box that sent a weighted chain flying through the air from seemingly nowhere to trap the intruder like a fly in a web. 

Hoping down from his perch of warped steel girders and old tires, everything about the mechanic was wrong, from the way he walked, to the deranged smile, all the way down to the blood mixed in with the typical oil and grease stained into his clothes. He was a shadow of the man he had once been, the only things that stayed the same being his slowly fading hair, and sharp teeth. Otherwise, he would have been completely unrecognizable from what anyone had once known.

“Wow, you walked right into that one!” The voice was chilling, slightly gravely from disuse as it echoed about the stacks of cars and debris that once made up an old junkyard, the only place Kazuichi had ever felt truly at home before the world had spiraled into travesty. “Almost like you wanted to get caught! But that would be stupid, right?”

「 ☆ 」   Air is stifling tonight, filled with moisture and heat that causes the ratted jacket covering Nagito to cling to his skin. Suffocating fabric weighs down his frail form, but he doesn’t discard it. Doesn’t even pull off the hood obscuring his face, matted hair sticking out from beneath it in a ghostly curtain. Shielding his eyes, grey hues glint from behind pale wisps, taking in the dismal sight before him. Decrepit, discarded, dangerous sculptures of steel and rust. Warped by time, by abuse, by the wretched state of the world both now and in the past. Abandoned before the despair hit, the added strain only further broke what had already been broken to begin with.

A small smile crawls across Nagito’s bruised face, laughter lightly shaking his shoulders. How amusing… Of course he’d find a sense of common ground with the wreckage here. Where else would trash like him belong? Where else could he wander into such an odd sense of familiarity… of comfort, surrounded by mountains of rotting, rusting, ruin? Nagito isn’t certain why he chose to come here. Why his legs had carried him, slowly but stubbornly, past the bodies that grew more plentiful the closer he came. As if he was willingly wandering into a predator’s den.

But… is he truly the prey, if the predator is acting according to HIS plan? Snickers don’t falter, stumbling past a throat raw from screaming. Sounds of pain and elation having escaped him when he was bombarded earlier. Crying out for salvation, for death, for whatever it was the fates deigned worthy for him now— he had been so close to it. Had felt the cool hand of death brushing against his cheek… it was so beautiful. So revolting.

It was everything.

And then… nothing. Nothing at all.

Coughing wretchedly, Nagito wipes the blood trail from his mouth, giddiness dropped as if it were a garment. Gaze hollow, exhausted, he continues on in silence. Those pathetic idiots. They had stood no chance against the temptress that is luck. He can’t remember what happened, the world thrust into chaos as a building toppled to the ground beside them, felled like a mighty giant. Nagito had stumbled away with minor injuries, continuing on his way until he came to this utopia… Body stilling at the sound of something crashing down from above, gaze raises—

His hood falls, revealing a gaunt dirt-stained face.

Wide eyes, a sharp intake of breath, a grunt of pain as Nagito is abruptly pinned to the ground, discarded debris digging into his stomach, heavy chains bruising his back and limbs… and laughter. Unrestrained, unsettling, unashamed laughter shaking his body. Softly at first. Barely audible… He’s trapped. It grows. He’s trapped. Shoulders shake, aching beneath the heavy metal. Chest scrapes against the ground, Nagito coughing between bouts of mirth. He’s trapped. Head raises as best it can, Nagito wheezing as he meets the sight of HIM.

He’s glorious. He’s disgusting.

He’s the reason this place had called to Nagito… Grey hues swirl with anguish, Nagito beaming with excitement. Could this be it? Could this be the retribution he desperately craved? The despair to bring him to his knees… or the HOPE to surrender his life to. What joy might it bring Kazuichi, amongst the soul-wrenching turmoil, to bring about Nagito’s end? Would it matter to the mechanic? Does he even recognize Nagito? Caked in blood and filth, coat and clothes shredded, a collar and chain around his bruised neck… Oh how he longs for Kazuichi to yank it.

To bring him closer. To free him from this prison of his own making. To call him trash. To call him his.

❝  Yes, it would be stupid.  ❞  Nagito admits through a broken laugh, barely able to speak through his wheezing. It’s hard to breathe, pinned down by heavy chains. Hard to think, looking upon the mechanic once again.  ❝  Which would be a suitable end for such miserable filth as myself…  ❞  It finally stops. The laughter… Nothing but an inquisitive, pleading smile upon that tired face. Words broken, but Nagito feeling more alive than he has in a long time—

❝  Don’t you agree?   ❞     「 ☆ 」

[not-bcring]

(( Tag Dump - Nagito Komaeda ))