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mononijikayu · 2 years

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chapter xi.

chapter xi.

Rating: Semi - M

Warning: Some depictions of violence and implications of violence;

Summary: In which choice reigns over the heads of MELLARA TARGARYEN and her husband DAEMON TARGARYEN.

[there were many who had wondered if the marriage of the princess of blackhall and her rogue husband had been a marriage that was truly perfect. the mummers act on the stage with such precious courtly love and the singers sing of ballads that detail their defiance in order to be together. yet, it must be understood that while their marriage was of love, their marriage was full of contradictions, of concessions and anguish. priness mellara had married another man, which quelled the prince into anger. the prince had contracted lovers in the street of silk, which had forced the princess to question the love her husband had given her. yet in each turn, they return together in a warm embrace. even if such love burned the two of them, they endlessly yearn for each other.]

- maester aeron targaryen; adust

A D U S T m a s t e r l i s t

< you and i burn together or we shall die trying >

chapter i / chapter ii / chapter iii / chapter iv / chapter v

chapter vi / chapter vii / chapter viii / chapter ix / chapter x

chapter xi / chapter xii / chapter xiii / chapter xiv / chapter xv

chapter xvi / chapter xvii / chapter xviii

It was something to behold to Aemond Targaryen, seeing a woman in the courtyard. But the sight of his aunt Mellara Targaryen in her breeches, sparring with her eldest son was a sight to see. There was such ease with her hold on the grip of the sword, her back drawn lower by the gravity. A devilish grin echoes on her lips as she rises, swinging against her back. It was now prince Aemon Targaryen’s turn to dodge his mother’s thunderous response. Aemond could only watch in awe as his cousin swung his famed black mace against his mother’s space.

The thin Valyrian blade glistened like a lightning rod as it clashed against the blackened steel of his cousin’s Valyrian mace. There were words he could not hear, but by the laughter of his aunt and his cousin’s shaking head, it was not something the son of the rogue liked. It would seem that just as he had his mother’s honorable grace, the prince Aemon also had his father’s shorter fiery of tempers.The princess of Blackhall continued her offensive, at each turn deflected by her own son. Each clash seemed like a song to Aemond, a song of grace and anger glistening into one. Like a roar of dragons in the sky, antagonizing one another. Two fearsome dragons were battling in front of him, giving no quarter to the other. Soon enough, the courtyard began to succumb to the folly of many spectators, intrigued and awed at mother and son.

Many had considered that his aunt had no liking for the sound of clanking blades, just as much as she had hated the sound of armour. Aemond had heard in whispers that in youth, the princess would be with his uncle Daemon as he inspected the city guard. Yet, Aemond Targaryen could not find himself to believe that his aunt would ever partake in such world. The city guard were the most brutish of men, he had seen some of them at the keep himself. His aunt would never suffer such sight Aemond understood the truth far better, even as the child he was. His aunt’s father, prince Aelor Targaryen, was had been the one to teach his only child the way of the sword. People say he had no mercy on the training yard and that is what had made his aunt resent the sound of metal clashing together.

Aemond did not truly know, but that is what he would believe. All those moments with her father in Blackhall’s courtyard had paid off. Mellara Targaryen was remarkably swift as a swordswoman in her own right, mayhaps she could best ser Criston Cole if she tried. The bards do sing of swift and beautiful Mellara Targaryen quite too often at court. Much of it fawned over her, even at some points adding boddy movements that offended his mother. Queen Alicent would often tell the bards to play something else as she glared at them. His aunt merely laughed at them, telling them it gave her a good laugh. His father would agree with his cousin, at times laughing himself. But his mother had found distaste with the way the bards had corrupted the court’s morals.

His half-sister had argued against that, arguing that if their aunt and father could humour in it, then why does not the queen do so. His mother had frowned and argued, but the king refuted her displeasure. And yet, Aemond Targaryen found himself liking it when he heard these songs. They were well told stories with harmonious tunes.The young princeling could not help but feel reminded by his own childhood for a brief moment His father had used to tell him tales of women from old Valyria and Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys. Their grace and strength had led the blood of the dragon on the Iron Throne. Though, Aemond could not help but think that his aunt Mellara had been more of a beauty than any of them. Much more when she smiles ever so happily, or when she was full of mischief in the corner of her eyes. Her cheeks turn color through like a rosebud, her eyes would shine like the starry night sky.

The princess coaxed her son harshly with taunting words in their native tongue, beckoning him forward. The heavy mace seemed almost but a wooden stick with the way his cousin Aemon Blackmace lifted it and spun it around. He stared at his mother determinedly, before he slammed it against his mother’s space with all the might of the warrior. Princess Mellara found herself laughing as she jumped backwards, eagerly languishing in a teasing tone that her son missed. The young prince curses at missing, lifting it up the heavy metal rod with ease and clashing it against the princess’s Valyrian steel once more. The princess of Blackhall cheered her heir’s determination, holding the grip with one hand and the blade with another. She pushes her son and he does the same. The gasps and cheers started to rouse excitement and anticipation.

The sound once again resounding across the courtyard, people’s gasps grew louder as the princess of Blackhall pushes her son backward slightly with all the weight of her small body. There was struggle clouding her eyes, her son’s broadened figure overshadowing her. Mellara turned to look at the muddy ground and swiftly pushed her son’s boot with her own downward with as much force as she could release onto it. Prince Aemon Blackmace did not react but he noticed how his heel had lost its footing. There the feet stayed stranded into the heavy mush which caused him to look. Mellara then pushed her son with a kick and soon saw himself down on the muddy ground, groaning as Mellara let herself take a small breath, before shoving her sword near her son’s face.

Aemond was awestruck as the princess laughed and retreated her sword from her elder son’s face. His cousin Aemon huffs the dense air, catching his breath as he nodded, accepting his defeat. The crowd of nobles and servants had cheered at her victory, her son soon laughing with his mother. Mellara Targaryen turned to her son’s squire, a Karstark lad, at once calling him. The older boy rushed and shifted herself to surrender the used Valyrian steel blade to him. The boy became squimish with the weight, red faced as he straightened himself. Valyrian steel was heavy, that he knew too well. The poor boy was approached by his cousin’s knight, who took it from the scarlet faced child. The princess gazed at her elder son, who had already sat up. Aemond watched as his cousin felt the sun against his face, closing his eyes. Soon enough, he opened them once more, he too asking for his mace to be taken by the knight.

Standing up, the young heir of Blackhall was taller than his mother. Aemond knew that his elder cousin and he were only a few years apart. But he had heard that his cousin was near his age when he had retained his knighthood by force in the Stepstones. His imposing figure occupied all the space as he towered over his mother’s body. Aemond wondered if he would ever grow as mighty and tall as his own cousin, but he prayed to the gods that he would also be as swift and cunning as his aunt. After all, together they would seem to be a deadly combination. Aemond watched the two converse for a brief moment, the mother gleefully gazing at her son. The princess was very close to her eldest, perhaps because he was her only child with his uncle. But Aemond was certain that that she was just as affectionate to her younger Tully sons and her grandchildren. How could she not. when her heart is warm as the hearth’s flames?

In a few moments, the two of them embraced. His cousin smiled at those that greeted him and headed away with his entourage. Aemond thinks that he would see Rhaenyra and her children, he was certain. It was only a matter of time when his aunt Mellara too carved her way through the crowd of courtiers that surrounded her. Aemond observed that many of them were the lords and ladies that crowded his elder half-sister at court functions. The Blacks, his mother and her retinue called them. Mellara greeted others briefly, shaking their hands and showing pleasantries. She did not miss a single one. Aemond watched as she made his way to his side, where the ser Criston Cole stood behind him with silence on his lips. Mellara stopped when she saw her nephew and smiled curtly, bowing his head to young Aemond.

“My prince.” Mellara says, turning to Criston Cole nodding at him. “Ser.”

“Good day, princess.”

“I did not expect to see you here, nephew.” The princess quipped to them.

“I did not either, aunt.” Aemond admitted to her. “I was on my way to my lessons, with the grand maester.”

“Ah, I see.” Mellara nodded swiftly. “I hope you did not mind, nephew. It was a rare occasion. My son had asked me for a spar.”

“It was a good spar, aunt.” Aemond replied to his aunt, still awestruck. “I had never thought to see you do such a thing before.”

Mellara laughed. “Tis but a one time thing, dear boy. I was but a replacement. Your cousin dearly missed his father, and of course his brothers. Unfortunately, they had all but returned to the Riverlands with their father.”

“You still did well, aunt.”

“Oh, dearest nephew, if you see your cousin against ser Laenor or ser Qarl, it would be quite a different story.”

Ser Criston raised a brow at the princess, but quickly rescinded it as he stiffened from attention. His aunt Mellara still noticed, causing her to laugh bodily. “Oh, do not feel so terribly, ser. You have duties to the court, do you not? I am certain my son did not wish to disturb others from their routines.”

The whitecloak turned red in embarrassment. “I didn't mean to react in such a way, princess. My apologies.”

“That is alright, ser.” Mellara shook her head. “I was not offended. This a queer thing to see a woman fight in these walls, after all.”

“I wish to know more, aunt. How you fight!”

Mellara chuckled at her excited nephew. “My prince, I do not think I will be an effective teacher. I am sure others could teach you much better than I ever could. Perhaps we can ask the kingsguard when you return from your lessons, hm?”

“But, aunt-”

“How about this, little prince?” Mellara says, taking his hands onto hers. His aunt’s hands were warm, but firm with the texture of silk. “I know more about dragon riding than swords. If you wish, after your lessons, I shall come and teach you about them. So that you will be wiser once you get your dragon.”

Aemond’s eyes shined with anticipation. “Do you mean it, aunt?”

“Yes, but only if you finish your lessons swiftly.” She brushed his hair with her fingers kindly. “Now, I shall have to go. I will have to meet with my good-daughter.”

“Of course.” Aemond nodded, watching his aunt straighten herself. “I shall seek you out later, aunt.”

Mellara gave him a parting smile, waving. “I cannot wait, nephew.”

In that moment, he watched her depart with her lone figure.

Aemond Targaryen could not help but admit he felt such warmth.

His heart fluttered alive for the first time in his life.

There was much to be done, such work she detested. Mellara Targaryen had not been one to like politics, but it was something she could not avoid. Much so in the capital. This was the center of power, of intrigue, of debauch hunger and greed. Her father had told her much about the ‘life sucking vultures’ in his rare visits at court. Mellara had been uncertain if he was talking about Otto Hightower. She was certain, though, that they were many sycophants at court. Now more so from the queen’s faction of Greens, who were determined to challenge their influence at court. There were fun games here and there, Mellara can admit. But soon enough, she became exhausted of their repetitive arguments, full of dulling sounds.

It was obvious there was no righteous cause on their hearts, they were here to be blinded leeches, playing the game of politics to finally find satisfaction in their greedy hunger. Mellara was sickened, how corrupt the games had become. It was as though weeds had infested her home, rotting the red walls until nothing is left of it. For a moment, she wished she was not here to deal with these problems. In her dreams, she dreamed of Blackhall and the laughter of her father and mother as they danced in the solar. At times, it was Driftmark she longs for, with sweet Laena leaning against her skin as she carressed her growing belly. Daemon and Aemon playing with the dragon twins in the shallow sea. Mellara yearned for the peace she had happily indulged in these past few years.

Yet as she sat there dressed in fine red and black silks, filled with ermine fur across the sleeves, Mellara Targaryen feels like her skin was itching with irritation. It was as though the weeds were everywhere, even against her flesh and bones as it eagerly takes advantage of this moment to strike against them once more until nothing was left. Mellara had a duty to her niece, she knew that too well. Her pledge was always to never abandon her. it was what she had sworn to Aemma at her deathbed. Still, Mellara resents that she was far from idle. Her own aged body has started to enjoy the dwelling of peace, one that she had not enjoyed in so very long.

Mellara could not help but envy her husband, who sits across the sharp strip of sea separating them. He now languishes his part in self-exile in High Tide, happily sitting in the sun without the concerns of the politiking of the capital’s vipers. Mellara thinks this would be an easier voyage, had her husband and sister-wife been here. Daemon himself was a shrewd mind, filled with his own routes to escape the political turmoils that would cause the headaches.

But over the years, her husband had grown to detested the life that he lived endlessly placed at the center of greed itself. Blissfully, he had embraced the seasoned laughter of their children and their grandchildren, when he gets to see them. Mellara could not blame her husband for relishing in the peace. They were not getting any younger, and for so many years, the quiet had been robbed from them by too many storms that had been thrown in their way. Peace is what they deserve after all the sufferings they had endured, Mellara agrees too well.

Elmo likewise agrees that their sons should remain in Riverrun. Living a peaceful existence, playing in the warm waters of the Trident. Daemon too had heeded his wife to refuse any summons for their grandchildren to be at court. He has been refusing Baela and Rhaena being brought to ward at court for a while now. Viserys had been urging Mellara to help change his brother’s mind, but Mellara Targaryen shut her mouth. She agrees too well with her husband. The Velaryon boys were already at the center of the game, as much was the younger children of her kingly cousin. There was no need to bring more of the children to the stirred poison of the dangerous intrigue children have no need to know about.

It is difficult to argue with herself that she was frightened that there could be more troubles to come. She was a mother, a grandmother. Of course, she was was afraid of things going out of hand, of seeing agony in suffering, or even of intense brutal clashes that swiftly erupted into the worst of conflicts. After all, she had witnessed first hand what the pull of first blood entailed. She too understood the smell of blood, the taste of it, as very few do. All of it would be awful.That meant death, a brutal one. For too many innocents. And many of it would be unaccounted for, that she knew too well.

Yet, Mellara knew there would come a day when this would happen, and she realized it would have been soon. Far too soon than one would ever hope. If her family would suffer, then.... Mellara Targaryen has had too much knowledge of what fear looks like and she could feel it in her veins. Mellara couldn't help but feel sorrow burrow deep in her when she closed her eyes for a while. She could not help but remember people who lived beyond these confines. People who live only for the pleasure of life, in abundance of peace and quiet. Summers that never seemed to finish. She was aware that many of them will be gone in the future years. Mellara breathed in deeply and pondered what may have been beyond this. Beyond the existence constrained by the squabbles of those who occupy power. Above and beyond this insanity that humans had made of themselves, almost like gods that dwell with wanting more power, of endless shamelessness pondering for greed.

She was tired of all this. However, Mellara knew that abandoning her family had a deeper repercussion. Rhaenyra was the king’s heir, anointed by holy oil and the grace of the family’s proud name. Mellara held the train of red velvet cloak herself, acknowledging her niece above all, to be the queen to be She felt no shame for her devotion to her niece and she should not now. Mellara frowned as she squeezed her flesh brutishly, as though telling herself to wake from her fear. Mellara knew that there was no other way.

No other way but to put herself in the front, a servant and warrior. She would not be the cause of Rhaenyra’s weakness, she would not weaken the resolve of her niece’s cause for her fear. She pursed her lips hard, feeling the weight of obligation flood over her. The weight of the mantle she had to carry. Her father wouldn't have wanted this to happen; He would have never let the fear fester in him. Not if it was for the sake of his family. Mellara needed to be tough, strong. Like the dragon she was. She had to be the person her family required of her. The blazing candle light is a guiding beacon in this darkness. If not her, who else?

"It was very sweet of his grace to allow you to utilize the gardens for your leisure, princess." Alys Stark said warmly, she gaze fixed on the little royal children as they pranced around the gardens. "It is a good day to stroll outside these days.”

"Indeed, it was my suggestion, cousin." Rhaenyra retorted with a whole smile. "It's a good change of scenery for the children; after being cooped up inside the chambers. I'm delighted they're finally out and about to enjoy the beautiful weather."

“Much too many green roses, I must say.” Alys touts as she looks with disapproving, sitting beside her amused husband. “It does no justice to the keep. A horrid mismatch, indeed.”

Aemon Blackmace raised a mischievous brow. “Then shall we paint them with the maester’s ink, to blacken them?”

Alys smirked at her husband’s response. “Be my guest, husband. Command a maester inside now and we shall begin.”

“Save yourselves the trouble and bring the black roses from Blackhall.” Mellara suggested, a goblet in her hand. “Do you not think so, Rhaenyra? They would suit the garden better. You have seen them in person, after all.”

“I am sure they will do well agains the reds.” Rhaenyra quipped, causing the princess of Blackhall to laugh. “Just as Aegon the Conqueror would have wished.”

Mellara smiled. “My dear, all of Blackhall is yours to command.”

"I've made sure the queen’s servants are gone, your grace." Ser Harold Westerling whispers to Rhaenyra, bowing his head.“As you had commanded, Prince Aemon’s own personal guards had been placed across the dwelling, princess.”

Mellara turned her attention to the swinging of red cloaks stiched with black maces. Her son nodded, pleased as he watched their heavy armor of molten black shone against the sun like a blackening night. They stood firm, holding long silver pikes with edges spiked with heavy nails. Swords sheathed under their tunics, they stood with endless pride. She turned to her son, who was focused on one of the men. Her son’s eyes pierced through the young man, the way her own husband’s would. He was not standing firmly, she saw. The man gulped, shifting his posture sterner than before. Finally, her son turned to his mother, smiling gently.

"Thank you, ser Harrold.” Rhaenyra nodded to the whitecloak. “You may guard the children now.”

The knight of the kingsguard bowed his head with reverance, walking towards the Velaryon boys. Alys could not help but smile against the rim of her goblet.

“It’s quite sufficient to have soldiers on hand, truly.”

“We have my son to thank for it.”

Aemon snorted. “You should thank yourself, mother. I have the delight of your treasury and your confidence, of course.”

Mellara shakes her head. “You were the one who found the men and trained them. We are most grateful for your hard work.”

“You do deserve it, cousin.” Rhaenyra says, smiling at him with the most genuine of smiles. “Your presence is much to be thankful for.”

Aemon shook his head, bashfully drinking his wine. “Not at all, cousin. It is much needed.”

Alys took his goblet and drank from it. Her grey eyes swiftly pondered across the garden. “We have no time to lose though, good-cousin. There is only so much we can say without the queen having one of her spiders crawling in.”

"They could be anyone. Like bothersome moths to flame." Aemon’s eyes darkened for a moment. "I have yet to find the culprit behind the queen’s farce.”

"It's quite alright." Mellara spoke clearly, handing her goblet to her good-daughter, who filled it. "I will fly to High Tide today, to seek out your father’s expertise.”

"Uncle Daemon?" Rhaenyra raised a quizzing gaze. "Are you certain that his exile would not be enough reason for you to refuse you?”

Mellara laughs, thanking her good-daughter. "He will not refuse me. Not that he can."

“One must forget the strength of my father’s devotion.” Aemon says with confidence. “He will heed her request. Even if it is finding his old friends for help.”

"Very well.” Rhaenyra nodded back at them. “i shall trust he will find a bird to rid us of the troublesome spider.”

“Cousin Laenor should return later,” Aemon straighten in his seat, looking at Rhaenyra. “We must speak to him about sending the boys to ward for your good-father.”

Alys looks at her husband in thought, “Perhaps. I think that would get them out of harms way for a while. Lucerys is needed at Driftmark.”

“No,” Rhaenyra’s eyes widened slightly, “They are too young.”

“They are old enough, cousin.” Aemon replies to his cousin, smiling at her. “Lucerys was around Alys’ age when she was fostered to us.”

“And it ended up for the better.” Alys nods, grinning against her goblet.

Rhaenyra eyes her aunt, who sighed and nodded. Mellara could see it in her eyes, her niece is not yet ready for separation.“It should be well, if you talk to Laenor about it. Mayhaps speak of a trip first, to see if the boys shall enjoy Driftmark for an long stay.”

“Very well.” Rhaenyra pursed her lips, before slowly nodding. “When he returns, we shall talk.”

“I must bring up what happened at the small council.” Mellara gazes at her niece.

Rhaenyra pursed her lips, her eyes shining with fright at the thought of today’s happenings. “We shan't speak about the delicate nature of it.”

“Of course.” The princess of Blackhall nodded. “However, I shall speak of the delicate matter of the Brackens and the Blackwoods.”

Aemon shrugged into his cup. “My stepfather has heard their petition in Riverrun. I heard he tried marriage matches too, but it seems the Bracken girl kicked the Blackwood heir in the shins and it started a brawl in the woods.”

Alys Stark snickered. “It is not of the nature of either house to make peace, husband. It was destined in the stars.”

“Yes, but one would have thought only for the loyal Blackwoods.” Aemon says, nonchalantly.

“You say that with utmost confidence, my son.”

“Well, one would if we have to be bored by Amos Bracken’s nonsense.”

“Regardless of our bias, a good united Riverlands is needed.” Rhaenyra reiterates, looking at her aunt. “You must make sure of it. Use your influence on the Tullys, aunt. It is the only way. If the worst comes to wear.”

Mellara pauses to look at her niece for a moment, pursing her lips as she nods. “I shall see what I can do. I will send a missive to him when I return to my chambers.”

Rhaenyra took her hand, squeezing it with appreciation. “Thank you.”

"There is no need for any thanks, niece.”

“We ought to speak about the Reach next,” Her son continues, emptying his goblet swiftly. “I am certain of the Caswells and the Beesburys willingly support you.”

Rhaenyra stands to fill a goblet. “As they are. Beesbury remains to be our faithful friend in the council.”

“Isn’t your former lady a Rowan, good-mother?” Alys asks, raising a brow. “Surely, they will follow suit.”

“They shall,” Mellara nods with certainty. “As will house Tarly. Lady Jeyne has been wed to lord Tarly for a long while now. They shall not forget a promise.”

“My trouble circles around Highgarden,”

Mellara raises a brow at her son. “Whatever do you mean?”

“Lord Tyrell supports your claim,”

“But he swore a vow to uphold Rhaenyra’s claim.”

“As a promise to you,” Aemon reiterates to his mother, “But not to Rhaenyra.”

Rhaenyra’s fingers drifted to her rings. “I....Aemon is right, aunt.”

Mellara shakes her head at Rhaenyra. “None of that. Should the day come, I shall go to Highgarden myself and treat with lord Tyrell. You will have his loyalty in the end. You have nothing to be concerned about.”

“I truly am thankful for your support, aunt.” Rhaenyra slowly calms.

“What is family for, my darling girl?”

For a moment, the sound disappeared from space.

Mellara Targaryen dreaded outcome of the future.

More than anyone, she knew she was the one afraid.

It was in Daemon’s arms that she found herself finally able to rest. The way his touch calmed her, as his hands scaled the bareness of her back soothed her. The way his fingers made constellations through the smooth surface of her shoulders. The way his kisses upon her neck beckoned her warmer, almost as though he was taking away the storm of winter snows.

The fire crackling in the distance, the loudness of the silence was profound. But the two of them never needed words. The way their warmth yielded for each other was all that mattered, the way their hearts beat spoke for the both of them. For their love that has lasted the storms of life. High Tide was a respite to the duty that burdened her being.

When she had arrived in High Tide, it was nothing but relief that had come to her. Laena had been the one to see her, owing to her decision to enjoy the cool sandy dunes with the twins. To embrace Laena again had been such a delight, the smell of seafoam against her skin had made Mellara feel a sense of relief. The babe in Laena’s belly had grown larger than ever before. She was nearing her time, she had told her sister-wife. Any day now, the babe would come. Her sister-wife was happy to know that she would be there by her side at the birth.

Baela and Rhaena were happy to see her, just as much, jumping on her as they saw her come through the mouth of the cavern, where Blacknight decided to lay for their stay. By her estimates, Baela had grown out of her dresses and Rhaena had longer hair than ever before. Mellara was delighted to know they could be together once more, but to see that they had grown so much in her absence had made her feel mournful at the thought that they would not be children forever.

‘Oh, how I wish they could be.’ She thinks to herself. ‘But to see them grow is the best joy. Father had said so.’

Laena and the twins had led her back into the keep, conversing about anything and everything under the sun. There was much catching up to do, she knew too well. The girls had been asking questions about the capital, about how their cousins were. Most of all, they asked about their brother. Mellara had answered all of them smiling, although her body was now weary. It was tiring for her to be on dragon back this time around, owing to heavy winds that had caused her trouble on the ay. But it had not deterred her from making use of the time to enjoy the beautiful sight of the sea. Throughout, Mellara had thought of Daemon. She thought of Laena’s soft touch. How she had wanted to feel his body against hers, to hear life pass through Laena at every laugh. She longed for the life she had left behind and now she had returned to it, all of it had felt like paradise. If only the rest of the family were here.

Mellara had known that they would follow suit as soon as they dealt with business at court. Rhaenyra and Laenor had agreed to visit Driftmark with the children. Rhaenys was delighted to hear of these tidings from her when she saw her at the Hall of Nine. Corlys was away in a voyage, but Rhaenys had reassured them that he would return soon. He would be so delighted to see his grandsons, most especially Lucerys. The boy was after all his heir. To hear that the boy has developed an affinity for the sea would make the old lord of Driftmark happier than he could ever hope.

When Laena had led her up to their bedchambers, Daemon had halted from cleaning Dark Sister and greeted Mellara happily. The letters were not enough for him, it never was. Laena had all but laughed, having seen the gloom drift away from their husband as he kissed Mellara breathlessly. The dragon twins had cried at their parents being so dreadfully intimate, but Daemon had not cared. He had genuinely missed her and he would not care for anyone’s judgement as he embraces her body into his own. The days seem to pass as fast as ever before, joyfully together. Mellara awoke by Laena’s side and on the other, Daemon who would wake earliest in order to train and be with the girls.

Most days, Laena and Mellara accompanied each other, striking a conversation that had lasted hours on end. These days, the confinement had become a little loose. Laena had voiced her distaste for being locked up for so long. Daemon had tried to settle her, but Mellara had understood Laena best. She argued with Daemon until he gave in. They walked together at the beach head, or sat together in the solar. They spoke about their lives away from one another throughout the years. They spoke about the children, about the grandchildren. As Daemon busied himself with tasks in some days, most of these small adventures were between the wives and the dragon twins.

The peace she had been longing for had been so beautifully calming. All she had ever wanted was this, genuinely so. And yet, the itch of the work had dragged within her skin once more. Mellara had started to drift away to a desk to write back to the capital, to her son and Rhaenyra. At times to the lords and ladies she trusted. The most hefty of the letters scrawled was for Elmo, whom she missed dearly, but also relied upon in the Riverlands too deeply. Even in her personal grievance in missing him and their trouts, she knew she could not call on him to return just yet. There was much too many disputes left unattended by Elmo’s ailing grandfather. Yet even then, she demanded of him his aid in each and every letter. Elmo did not mind, he understood his duties too well.

"How long have you been awake?" Daemon questioned her, their native tongue echoing through as they made their way through the steps, Laena following behind her husband in a brisk pace. Mellara gazes at him briefly before returning to the parchment she wrote upon. “What is this, wife?”

“There has been trouble at court, it would seem.” Laena chimes in, raising a parchment. Daemon took it, absorbing the words. “Rhaenyra plans to move to Dragonstone.”

The rogue raised a brow, intrigued. "It would seem she has lost patience with that Hightoer wench. As she did with my brother, I presume."

“Indeed.” Mellara nodded, yawning. “It would seem to be the case.”

Laena looked to the side. “Well, at the very least they will be nearer. A shorter flight to meet, yes?”

“Yes, but a horrible blunder.” Mellara pursed her lips, her fingers startning to hurt from her tight grip on the quill. “I should have been there to remedy it.”

“Nothing you can do with a court of sycophants, dearest.” Laena comforts her, kissing the top of her head. “You should not waste your strength on these fools.”

"You say that to her and yet she still writes,” Daemon narrows his gaze. “What do you intend to do, wife?”

“I am writing to Elmo, to tell him to stay in Riverrun. There is no need to return to the capital.”

“Our son?” The male questioned, a raised brow evident on his face. “What of him?”

“I am sending word that he comes with Dragonstone. Take the entire family there.” Mellara retorts back to him. “Blackhall will be handled by a trusted castellan in our absence.”

“And your mother?”

“She’ll come, from White Isle.”

“Mellara, little dragon. You could do this in the morrow.”

"I can do it. I can, I just feel tired, that's all." She forced herself to try and hide her worries, putting them aside. Lifting her head, smiling. "I haven't been sleeping well. It would be better to make use of my time.”

"Get the maester to make some nightshade." Daemon tells his younger wife, looking at her with a gentle look. Laena nodded at her husband’s direction and bid her return for later. Daemon placed the small of his hand upon her head, leaning forward, which forced her to look back at him. The prince placed a small kiss upon her forehead. "You will not continue this tonight. Do it once you’ve rested. I will not hear another word from you, little dragon.”

"I will rest soon, my dear Daemon." The elder wife retorts to him, looking upwards meeting his glistening purple eyes. "Surely I can take myself down on my bed and gain my strength as soon as I finish these missives?”

"No, I would not take risks when it comes to your health, my little dragon." He contradicts her, leaning beside the desk. "Laena will come with the nightshade and you will get some sleep.”

"I am fine." She insisted defiantly once again. Daemon paused, which caused her to pause as well. The two gazing at one another once again. But there was something different. Especially with the way Daemon gazed at her with a straight face. One where she could not decipher his thoughts. Mellara had hated such a time, where his own thoughts were imprisoned by himself. ”Daemon, I have told you. You must not worry-"

"I had waited years to be with you again. Years." Her husband says sternly, causing her to grimace at the burning passion under his purple haze. "And you would so desire to hurt yourself, to ruin the limits of your body to ensure the will of others? Mellara, you are a fool.”

"Daemon…." She whispered to him, her eyes filled with sorrow. He finally saw it. Her heart softened as she then moved to look away, ashamed of her fear. Her rogue husband had been a vicious person, he could be cruel. But he speaks the truth. As he always does, when no one wishes to say it. “I…”

"You are frightened of what might happen." Daemon whispers plainly as he watches her emotions pave through her features. "I understand it. But there must not be any dulling of yourself into a sickbed. It is not only foolish, it is selfish. Too eager to put yourself down for others and yet not for yourself. For the sake of this family.”

"Daemon, saying such a thing to me will not stop situations from occurring," Mellara says, her quivering hands revealing her dread. "It doesn't stop anybody else, least of all the Hightowers who attempt to exploit our weakness."

"The Hightowers will not come here, nor to Dragonstone." Daemon reassures her, taking her hands into his. "Whatever may come, it is nothing against us. Our family. Our house. It cannot lay a finger on us. Nothing will tear us down.”

"I know that," Mellara said, shaking her head, her eyes focused as she placed a hand on top of his, disregarding her surroundings and focusing just on him. "But I can't help but be concerned. To act on those impulses.”

Daemon came to a halt, as did Mellara, yet he did not loosen his hold on her body. He just turned to face her, his towering stature causing him to stop his head to stare into her lovely young face. Daemon had never gotten tired of her. Mellara Targaryen had always been a marvel, a stunning blossom of starlight he could never hope to reach. A star that always slips away from his grasp at day break. He always considered her to be excruciatingly dashing, no matter how she appeared. After all this time, there was nothing to mar her awe. Her attractiveness. The life he had discovered in her. Daemon Targaryen set fire to his wife. Burned a thousand times in want, in longing. They thoroughly burn each other, to ashes that build each other.

He admired the way her lips quivered whenever she was upset, lamented the way she smiled too much like the Maiden had appeared among them, and yet the disgruntled face was one he adored. He liked the way she worried, but he didn't like seeing that expression on her face. He didn't like her drowning in many concerns. He had promised to take on such heavy pains for her, when he declared his love for her all those years ago.

Daemon admits that he had never been in love before. He had no idea how to feel it. Sure, he cared about his family, but it was a different type of love. That was not his feeling for Mellara. He felt more than he had anticipated. When the storms struck, it resembled being hit by a tidal wave. The renegade prince couldn't articulate how he felt, but his mother had always told that love was difficult to comprehend. You can sense it but never articulate it. When he glanced at his small dragon, his heart skipped a beat, slow then rapid. His chest felt warmer, and his stomach was filled with churning movements that seemed like butterflies in flight.

He felt compelled to remain at her side at all times. It wasn't simply desire. It was more than that. It was as though he had experienced the essence of a life well-lived. A life of satisfaction. A life of never ending happiness. Daemon yearned to feel it, every moment. To remind himself of his purpose. To live.

"Do you know how much I love you? How much I burn for you, in each passing day?" Daemon inhaled as if there was no oxygen in his lungs, yearning for her relief given to him. Mellara's purple orbs sparkled like a new day on a grassy hill. The way they sparkled made him feel out of breath. He couldn't get enough of her. "Do you, my sweet dragon?"

"How strange. How I cannot explain how we feel this burn." Mellara whispers, standing from her place as she walks towards her husband. Her lips quivered in a small bow, unable to say anything at the intensity of the feeling of his tightening hold. "But I suppose there is no words to be spoken. I am lucky with you. How well I had used my choice, of loving you.”

"When we performed our pact of choice, I made my decision." Daemon professes to her, his hands eagerly tightening its grip on her back as his cheek rested hot against her own. "If there must be a battle, I will slay those who prevent me from you. I will give hand and limb to protect you and your honor. I will wage war upon those who seek to hurt us. All upon your word, I will spill blood on thousands upon thousands and have no regrets. Need only say the word, my little dragon. But I want you strong, I want you able. I want you as the Mellara I had always loved. One that can rest to be the strength of her family.”

"Oh, my beloved.” She whispers to him, hot under her breath. “My husband.”

“My wife.” He breathes her in, yearning for her deeper. “My little dragon."

"Oh, the gods blessed me with such a husband," she murmured against his lips. "And I loved him deeply, and I will love him well, I love him till our flame turns us both adust."

"Then I am highly blessed," he panted to her as she raised her head and met his gaze. "Because I was greatly loved by the wife I had chosen. My darling. My only heart. My Mellara."

The embrace of dragons were a marvelous sight.

Yet the fire and blood that such love builds together.

The flames of love can destroy the realm apart.

Time was running out.

#house of the dragon #hotd #house targaryen #house velaryon #house hightower #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x oc #rhaenyra targaryen #jace velaryon #aemond targaryen #laena valeryon #criston cole #harrold westerling

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bronzewool · 2 years

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Gideon the Ninth by Tamsyn Muir is the first book of The Locked Tomb series about, “Lesbian necromancers explore a haunted gothic palace in space! Decadent nobles vie to serve the deathless emperor! Skeletons!”

Set in a world where a 10.000-year-old immortal Necromancer rules over nine planets, lead by nine houses who practise a different branch of necromancy, Gideon Nav belongs to the Ninth house, a death cult forever sentenced to guard the locked tomb of the immortal Emperor’s greatest enemy. Gideon is not a member of the Ninth House, but an indentured servant who has made 86 escape attempts over the years to no avail.

One day the Emperor invites each of the Great House heirs to compete in a series of trials to become Lyctors, immortal necromancers and the Emperor’s right hand. Each Necromancer can only bring a sword-wielding bodyguard with them, and unfortunately for the reverend daughter of Drearburhr, Harrowhark Nonagesimus, after her chosen cavalier abandons his post, Gideon is the best swordswoman they have left.

The story takes place in the Canaan Mansion of the First House, where our two main leads meet the other House Heirs and their cavaliers, given little to no instructions by the elderly priests who reside within the mansion about how they are supposed to gain immortality and are given free rein to go into any room that is not locked. Harrowhark is more than happy to face the trials by herself but quickly learns that each room requires the necromancer and cavalier to work together to obtain a key that will unlock the next room.

Things go south very quickly though when one of the Houses is found dead and the book becomes a murder mystery where the Heirs cannot contact anyone outside the decaying mansion until the trials are complete, and uncertain if there is a monster hiding somewhere in the manor or if one of the other Houses is trying to get rid of the competition...

Gideon the Ninth is a charming gothic horror story with a lot of sarcasm and pop culture references. Gideon is a good-hearted, but crass, sunglasses-wearing swordswoman, who loves flexing her biceps and reading porn mags. Harrow the Ninth is a skull-face-painted nun and necromancer prodigy, the last of her bloodline, hoping to achieve Lyctorhood to rebuild the Ninth House to its once former glory, and has hated Gideon’s guts ever since they were kids.

Classic enemies to lovers.

Confined to the First House for the majority of the first book, we learn very little about the larger universe but get a feel for this culture and its relationship with death through the Nine Houses' interactions with each other. The only downside to this setting is that it’s very easy to forget this is a sci-fi series since all the characters are isolated from the comforts of home and no one has any sort of electronic device that could help them get in contact with the outside world. No one carries a gun, everything is done with magic, the mansion is ancient in design, and all the servants are animated skeletons. Hopefully, we visit other planets in the next book.

There was a point in the story where I was wondering why any of the heirs needed a bodyguard when it's made very clear their magic can easily overpower the average person. Other than the heirs not wanting to get their hands dirty and Harrow desperately needing someone to talk to, I couldn’t figure out their purpose in the trials or why one of the conditions for becoming a cavalier was that they are only allowed to carry rapiers when many of the bodyguards are not suited what that kind of blade, especially Gideon who was trained to wield a two-handed sword. There is a payoff for this later and it's genius when you figure out why.

Limiting the story to one type of magic system also expands on what you can do with the subject. Harrow is the most traditional type of necromancer we’re familiar with; able to summons hordes of skeleton armies to do her bidding, but other branches get very creative with the concept. There is a house that can manipulate dead flesh and body tissue, another house that can commune with dead spirits, and a house that can read the energy signatures of objects and draw in that spirit energy to power themselves. Each house tackles the trial in different ways and there is political drama over what they see as disrespectful or acceptable.

Great series. Great first book. Great twist ending. Did not see it coming. Can’t wait to read book 2.

#charl's book journey #I'm continuing my last year's new years resolution of reading one book a month #and I'm learning very quickly book fandoms do not exist #so you can imagine my excitement that this series has such a loving community

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emberr-art · 3 years

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finally got to read gideon the ninth/harrow the ninth and i love one gideon nav and her very opinionated narration

#best space swordswoman i love her #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #gideon nav

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youllallriseintheink · 2 years

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What 5 characters taught you something and what was it?

Great question!

1. Rarity (My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic)

Rarity taught me that femininity can be powerful.

I discovered My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic when I was 13 years old and babysitting. I was still in my internalized misogyny “not like other girls” phase, and I was not real happy with myself for falling in love with a world of cutesy pastel ponies. I tried to turn myself off of it by watching episodes with the girliest character in the cast, but here’s the thing: Rarity is awesome. She’s a mature, professional woman who’s brimming with confidence and assertiveness, she’s talented and passionate about her art, and she can kick ass, too. Yes, they make jokes at her expense, but overall, her femininity is not presented as demeaning. So, she kind of helped me to embrace my feminine side without shame.

I’m really glad that there are several characters like Rarity in modern media. Another example would be Pearl from Steven Universe. She’s a tidy, quiet, nurturing person, and she’s also a great technician and swordswoman and a war veteran, and those aren’t presented as contradictory. I like that.

2. Adora (She-Ra: Princesses of Power)

Adora taught me that in writing, sometimes the best way to do something that goes against the grain is to not acknowledge that you’re doing it at all. She also taught me that you can go against the grain a lot more than I thought and look good doing it.

I love how Adora is handled. Love it. She’s a heroine that gets all the trappings of a male superhero. She never experiences any sexism or anyone questioning her leadership or strength due to her gender, and she’s adored by the people she protects for her strength and heroism. She has her struggles and flaws to be sure, but they aren’t related to gender. The idea of a woman being heroic is not the least bit subversive or unfeminine in-universe.

Similarly, Adora being a lesbian is treated as the most normal thing in the world. They aren’t making a point about same-gender love being okay (they’re not afraid to show that Adora’s relationship with Catra is extremely fraught and dramatic because they’re on opposite sides of a war), it just is. They let Adora have a silly schoolgirl crush on a muscled hunk of a woman and make jokes at her expense just as one would a straight girl with a hopeless crush. It’s treated as though it couldn’t be anything but normal. I just like that.

I've always wanted to write a female hero who is like Isaac Clarke, who is not sexualized, is respected as a leader without their gender ever coming up, who is overpowered and fears their own power, and who feels a responsibility to protect those close to them and is devastated when they can’t. I used to think it would bend too many gender-related standards at once. Now, I’m about to write that heroine in my next story. I’m glad that she taught me that the “rules” are much more flexible than I thought, if they even have to be followed at all.

3. Henry Stein and Isaac Clarke (Bendy and the Ink Machine, the Dead Space trilogy)

Henry Stein and Isaac Clarke taught me what I idolize. Isaac in particular taught me that being damaged or complicated doesn’t devalue you as a person.

Let me get this clear right off the bat: I never devalued anyone else for being complicated- I was just struggling with finding out some stuff about myself.

These two are kind of the horror game protagonists of the most unstable period in my life. Dead Space became my comfort game after I moved away for university. To keep things short, I had a lot of difficulties adjusting and found out a lot about myself in a short time-span that were hard to come to terms with. Dead Space allowed me to go back to a familiar place, do something I knew how to do, and be someone I saw as stable and uncomplicated. After I finished Dead Space, I moved on to Bendy and the Ink Machine, and another older man who seemed brave, stable and uncomplicated. If Isaac was this action hero paragon of bravery, toughness, and resilience, Henry was the more realistic counterpart who probably had four kids and would make a good Scout Leader and whatnot- someone you could actually meet or be.

Here’s the thing, though: I realized eventually that Isaac isn’t uncomplicated in the slightest. He’s the polar opposite of uncomplicated. He has PTSD. He’s been mind-controlled by an alien artifact, and it left him with permanent neurological differences. He’s gone through and even done terrible things because he had to. Henry, similarly, will be forced to deal with all kinds of demons if he makes it out of the sketch dimension. And that doesn’t change anything about them. I have plenty of issues with Isaac’s characterization in Dead Space 3, but none of his complicatedness keeps him from being a leader and showing the power and resilience I idolize him for. I’d like to think that Henry could get back to being himself, too.

I’ll say it outright: I want to be Henry one day. I want to be serene, stable, resilient, and at peace with myself. I want to have a family and be reliable to them, and have a worthwhile career. I want to be respectable and good with people. Almost all Henries in this fandom are like that- including ones that aren’t cishetallo, neurotypical, etc. I just like that.

4. Jack Fain and Sammy Lawrence (Bendy and the Ink Machine)

Can my own versions of characters count? Well, I hope they can. These two taught me that even if you don’t see your worth, there’s someone who does.

This is something I’ve thought of a lot. Jack is pretty insecure and feels somewhat inferior to Sammy because of Sammy’s beauty, prodigal talent, confidence, and ability to garner attention. I wonder if he knows that Sammy also wishes he were like Jack- that he could connect with people so easily and handle stresses without freaking out. I wonder how Jack would react to that if he found out. I just like these two a lot- they fit together like two puzzle pieces.

5. Entrapta (She-ra and the Princesses of Power)

Entrapta taught me the power of good representation.

I’ll be honest, when I first saw Entrapta, I didn’t think I’d be able to stand her. I actually came to love her, though. I love her quirkiness and childlike enthusiasm. I love how she actually does care about people even though she isn’t always good at it. I like that she’s prone to feeling rejected because she knows she’s bad with people. I love her loyalty to those who accept her, and of course, I love her little arc with Hordak.

I feel like I’m a bit like Entrapta. She also made me realize that I had never in my life seen a female autistic character before, or, honestly, just any positive representation of autism. Granted, I wasn’t looking for one and probably would have actively avoided it if anything (until about two years ago, I pretty much just associated my autism with painful things and didn’t want to be reminded of it), so it’s partly my fault, but still, I’m really glad that Entrapta exists.

#creepyalienghost #thanks for the ask #my little pony #she ra spop #bendy and the ink machine #dead space #rarity #henry stein #isaac clarke #jack fain #sammy lawrence #entrapta

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magicman111 · 3 years

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A Moth to a Flame - Chapter Two

One month later

Sasha joylessly toyed with the Music Box, opening its lid like a yawning mouth.

Who’d have thunk it? She wondered to herself. This tacky little thing could cause so much calamity?

How ludicrously out of place she looked curled up on King Andrias’ enormous throne, almost like the little girl playing pretend in the driver’s seat of her parents’ car. You’d be forgiven for not knowing she’d just led the swiftest, easiest toppling of a government in this world’s history.

Big blue dummy locked up? Check. The city’s army surrendered? Check. Their toad army less than an hour away? Check. Dimension-skipping Macguffin firmly in their position? Double Check.

Not a bad day’s work for a 13-year-old.

Marcy’s oversized sparrow was tethered to the armrest by his leg. A prize she’d taken for herself so she could cruise around her new kingdom in style. She saw to it he wasn’t under any duress, and the fact he was neck deep in an industrial sized bag of bird feed told her he was plenty comfortable.

Sasha managed a tiny smile as she reached out to run her fingers through the thickness of his coat. She dunked her hand in the bag and offered him an open palm of seeds; he eyed for a moment or two before gingerly pecking at the mound.

Thank Frog no one was around to hear the ‘d’aww’ escape her lips.

Her grandmother was the one she had to thank for her secret admiration of birds. Old lady had been a birdwatcher who ‘treated’ her to regular weekend trips into the forest when she was younger. This was long before her discovery of malls and arcades. Sasha wouldn’t dare admit it to even herself back then, but the ones they spotted together on those dewy spring mornings were beautiful to behold in their natural habitat.

Herons may now be forever ruined for her, but Joe—she thought that was his name—was a mighty impressive specimen. Poor guy somehow found the strength to carry all seven of them to Newtopia, only to nosedive into the moat at the end of the flight.

Definitely had nothing to do with her asking Marcy if she could take the reins in the last stretch. She and Anne were kind enough not to draw attention to it, same as they did the day at summer camp when they discovered her crying into her pillow. They were awesome enough to go along with her story that it was only allergies. She knew she had a true pair of girlfriends that morning.

Thinking about them only soured her mood afresh. She sprinkled the rest of the feed back into the bag and slumped against the backrest, arms petulantly crossed.

Here she was in the crowning moment of her young life and she couldn’t have been more miserable.

Maybe because her friends should have been here to share in this, but no, they had to go and act all noble. What else should she have expected? She always was the only one in the group with the guts. Anne had to be dragged kicking and screaming to ditch school and join her and Marcy in celebrating her birthday. Was it any wonder she had to keep taking control of the situation?

More likely... it was because deep down she knew she didn’t really want this. She certainly believed she did after they dropped that gloryhound newt general down a waterfall and when they successfully rallied the Toad Lords after retrieving Barrel’s Warhammer. Things only started getting complicated when they needed free tickets into Newtopia in the form of her friends.

She hadn’t counted on realising just how much she missed her clumsy, klutzy Marcy. Neither how effectively she and Anne were still able to work together as a team in spite of all the unpleasantness that had transpired between them during their time here, of which there was plenty. The fact that Anne actively encouraged her in taking down that molten toad monster was the rancid cherry atop the sludge sundae. For a while back there, it looked like they might really turn a corner and start afresh. All three of them could have gone home like none of this ever happened. Except by then it was already too late.

What recourse did she have when the Plantars invited them for the world’s most awkward dinner party or when they brought the house down at the Battle of the Bands? Tell Grime and all the toads who’d invested their manpower and futures in her that sorry, she was getting cold feet? There was only one grizzly way that would end both for her and Grime and the best scenario she could imagine involved heads on pikes.

... It didn’t matter anymore. Her friends had picked their path, she’d picked hers. As her mom always said, ‘You make your bed, you lie in it’. Funny how in her short life, she’d heard that line far too many times already.

Once she figured out how the Box worked, she’d send both Anne and Marcy on their merry way and they’d never have to see each other ever again.

Everyone would get what they want.

Good thing then she’d sent her soldiers to ransack Marcy’s room for all her research about Anne’s fateful birthday gift. Girl was a pack rat. She kept notes for every exam and project they were assigned back home. The less said about her laptop jammed with files of anime fanfiction and theories the better.

Plus, it was a good way to try and distract herself.

They came back into the throne room hauling burlap sacks full of parchments and emptied their contents at Sasha’s feet.

Daaang, girl, you've been in the zone.

She scattered them over her lap and the ample free space on the seat. They actually weren’t that hard to follow; colour coordinated with plenty of cutesy kawaii diagrams. Trademark Marbles.

Apparently, it worked a lot like those puzzle boxes Marcy got as gifts from relatives in Hong Kong. All it took was knowing the right sequence of buttons and zip! You can go wherever you want in the cosmos. Just a matter of finding the code for Earth.

‘I’m done listening to you!

I’m done trusting you!’

Sasha scowled, trying to push the thoughts to the back of her mind where they belonged. She shuffled through a couple more pages until she found the one titled in glittery green and blue lettering, ‘HOME’.

Bingo.

‘You’re a horrible person!’

Ignore. Ignore.

Now all she had to do was jot it down on her palm and—

‘AND I AM DONE. BEING. FRIENDS WITH YOU!!’

She stopped. Her shoulders drooped. Then she just threw the page down on the floor and sunk into her seat further than she thought physically possible.

She normally didn’t consider herself that thin skinned a person, but man, that one hurt.

Traces of bitter tears creeped into her eyes.

What am I even doing anymore?

The sound of footsteps on crumpling paper and someone clearing their throat snapped her out of her self-pitying torpor. She fluttered her eyes dry to see Grime standing there awkwardly among the discarded parchments.

The diminutive, one-eyed former Toad Lord was hiding something behind his back. He actually looked pretty embarrassed about it too, which for a battle hardened war vet like Grime was actually kinda adorable in Sasha’s eyes.

“I, uhh, got you something,” he said, whipping out a long rectangular present wrapped in green paper and topped with a luscious red bow. “Had it made especially for this day.”

Now if there was one thing Sasha Waybright couldn’t say no to, it was a gift, especially from a trusted friend. They were the ultimate distraction from the blues and she couldn’t have been sitting upright and tearing into this one any quicker.

“Whaaat? Grimesy, you didn’t!” What she had pulled from the ravaged packaging wielded aloft her head made her gasp. “How’d you know I wanted to duel wield?!”

It was a brand new heron sword. An exquisite green second shortsword that would compliment Ol’ Pink perfectly.

She stared proudly into the smooth steel surface, admiring the craftsmanship. When she noticed the girl staring right back at her, however, her smirk vanished in an instant. The captain of the cheerleaders, the scarred swordswoman, the conqueror of Newtopia, whatever angle she looked at it, she didn’t like what she saw. Unbelievable as it may sound, even the joy of an awesome gift like this was not enough to make everything better.

“What’s the matter? You don’t like it? Oh dang it!” Grime slammed his forehead. “I didn’t get a gift receipt!”

“No no, it’s just...” Sasha weighed the blade against her ungloved palm. Talking about these kinds of things was never easy for her. “What if Anne’s right? What if I am a horrible person?”

Grime popped up like a whack-a-mole behind the armrest. “Who cares what she thinks?” he scoffed. “You and I are in charge now, and we get to do whatever we want!”

“That’s the thing... I’m not sure what I want anymore,” she admitted wearily.

For all his years of training at the finest academies, his brutal combat in the colosseum and tactical expertise earned through a lifetime of military service as his forebears before him, this one had Grime stumped. Needless to say, talking about one’s emotions wasn't exactly encouraged during their upbringing in toad culture, so naturally it wasn’t one of his strong suits. Just one of the many things he and Sasha had in common.

“Huh.”

Still, he was a pretty fast thinker and came up with a fairly good idea on the spot.

“Why don’t you help me redecorate this place?” he suggested, resting his hand on her shoulder. “Take your mind off it. Cuz this right here...” He gestured to the cluttered mess in which she’d surrounded herself. “This is definitely not—I’m sorry, can I help you?!”

Both of them turned their heads when it became impossible to ignore Joe’s cone-shaped beak lightly nipping at Grime’s cheek.

“He probably thinks your warts are seeds.”

“For the love of—I knew he was eyeing me up on the ride here! There! Get lost!” Grime scooped up a fistful of feed and flung it over the marble floor, but the winged beast persisted with pecking his face. “Stop it! MY HEAD IS NOT A FEEDER!!”

It took an exceptional effort of willpower for Sasha not to laugh at the sight of her old man being preyed upon by the family pet.

Wow, she thought. Her old man? Was that how she saw Grimesy now? Seriously?

Perhaps up to a point. Okay, considering the options she had for parental figures back home, it wasn’t exactly the highest bar to pass, but it still meant something. Anything.

Who would have guessed this would be how they’d end up, especially given how they started off with her as his prisoner? Sure, it may have taken her helping him and the whole tower not getting turned into heron feed for her to be upgraded to his lieutenant, but they really had come a long way since then. There was a lot more honor and heart to the cranky old toad than she first thought, back when she wrote him off just as another blowhard with power. Now he genuinely considered her his equal both as a friend and comrade in arms. For Sasha, the feeling was mutual. A first for her.

When all was said and done, who else did she have left besides him and vice versa?

What the heck? Let’s tear this place up.

Untethering Joe, she whistled a tweet-tweet and gave the rope a gentle tug to encourage him to follow on their ‘indoor walkies’.

A cursory surveillance of the throne room told her there was a lot of work to be done. If this toad regime was to last a thousand years, the correct decor was an important first step. Thankfully for them, she knew a thing or two about fashion. For starters, there were way too many soft blues and purples. Rust red from top to bottom! She preferred keeping the stained glass windows, but they’d need entirely new designs. Hers truly would naturally feature in most of them, one showcasing her and Grime caving that narwhal worm’s head in with the Warhammer being an absolute must. The snakes coiling the stone pillars weren’t a bad touch, if just a bit too elegant for the whole ‘proud warrior race’ vibe they were going for, but she could still work with them. Now as for the throne, they were gonna have to replace it with something much more imposing. There was that super violent dragon show she and her parents used to watch that had the huge throne made out of swords. She was sure she had a picture somewhere on her phone to use as a reference.

“I’m sorry, what the heck is this?!”

Sasha could only denounce what they were gawking at as the single biggest affrontement to tasteful decorating known to man or amphibian. Yes, worse than inflatable furniture, carpeted bathrooms, beaded curtains, glass block bathroom windows, ‘live, laugh, love’ quotes on walls, rustic hearts, mason jars and nautical accessories all combined under the same inland roof.

Tapestries had their rightful place in a palace’s interior design, but the one sweeping across a section of wall depicting a gentle hearted Andrias sitting down by a lake, surrounded by flowers and lilypads was nothing short of vomit-inducing. Gathered at his feet and scooped up in his protective arms were his wide-eyed, childlike subjects. Even the fish and a lobster were surfacing to bask in their king’s magnanimity. Here the oversized salamander was truly the loving patriarch of everything the light touched. The mawkish display could only be topped off with a rainbow streaking across the sky.

Grime felt his stomach roile. If he ever needed an example to demonstrate the difference between kitschy and downright tacky, this was it.

“Y-y-y-yikes!” he gagged. “This thing’s gotta go!”

Sasha didn’t need a second invite. Besides, what else was Joe going to use to line his nest?

A joint effort tore the offensive piece from its place and it tumbled to the floor in a heap.

Dead silence fell over the room.

Hidden beneath the tapestry was... a mural. Including such a decoration in a throne room was hardly surprising, yet it was what it contained that shocked both the human and toad, so much so that they had to take a moment to recover.

“Woah,” they gasped at once, before starting to analyse what they saw.

The mural was a chaotic collection of nightmarish images painted on a night blue wall. Wild red flames spewing out hordes of beasts and the wreckage of buildings. Mountains of skulls and bones belonging to frogs, toads and newts alike. A flying... spaceship? A castle? Whatever it was meant to be, it firied a white beam up at what was unmistakably the Music Box. Pink, green and blue lightning bolts crackled out of the Box. Mesmerising orange gemstones or, more terrifyingly, eyes leaped off the wall and burned themselves into their minds. The frightening focal point of this one-way ticket to the school therapist’s office? Rising out of the middle of the inferno was the silhouette of a red-eyed, goliath-sized beast, its claws reaching up covetously towards the Box that hung right above its crowned head.

It may as well have been lifted straight from the tattered dream journal of a madfrog.

Any ideas of redecorating the throne room were long gone. Even the revolution they were spearheading suddenly seemed millions of miles away in the face of what they’d just stumbled upon.

Peering her eyes slightly, Sasha was the first to put a face to the shadowy leviathan, and when she did, she had to swallow her heart back down into her chest.

“Is that the king?” she asked, mystified. “With the music box?”

Sweat ran down the side of Grime’s nonplussed face. “If it is… it’s a really good thing we stopped him.”

Neither of them said it aloud, but both understood the situation at once. All this time they thought they’d been playing flipwart while the king played bog jump. Oh, how wrong they’d been. It was beyond anything that even the Toad Lords discussed. They knew that they had to reconvene with them as soon as the armies had reached the gate.

She took a couple steps closer to reexamine the mural more thoroughly, missed details emerging now that the initial shock began to wear off. Circuit board markings—the same inside her dad’s outdated computer when she foolishly dared Marcy if she could take it apart—worked their way around the images, serving as some type of frame. Odd choice for a world that didn’t even have steam engines yet. She also picked up the three small geometric figures standing atop the Box’s lid. An artist she was not, but they looked pretty human-like in design.

But humans did not exist in Amphibia. The three of them were the first of their kind to ever set foot in this dimension.

Weren’t they?

Alarm bells were ringing louder than ever before. This Andrias guy had been playing Anne and Marcy for his own ends this whole time, all to get his mitts on the Music Box! What did he plan to do with it? Right now, she still couldn’t say, but it was all bad. Outside of a kickin’ rock band, fire and skulls together were never a good thing!

Even Joe’s feathers were puffing up anxiously against her back. Not turning away from the mural, she raised her hand and patted his risen crest.

“I know, big guy. I don’t like it either.”

Grime’s voice rang urgently in her ears, “Lieutenant! Get over here, quick!!”

Sasha had spun on her heels and sprinted down the room to find Grime standing the wreckage of what used to be a display of armour. He’d evidently acted on a hunch while she’d been preoccupied. Judging by his thunderstruck expression, he’d just discovered something far worse.

“What is iooooh boy!”

This new second mural reminded Sasha a lot of Egyptian hieroglyphs. If there was any room for doubt about the technicolor stick guys, there was none here. Standing tall against an indigo backdrop in a neat row were the outlines of human beings; long gangly appendages, stumpy noses and everything. Some were wearing hooded capes, others were decked out in suits of armour. The couple in the middle looked particularly regal. No prizes for guessing the little wooden box they were holding in their hands, cementing their authority as if it were the globus cruciger.

Faded inscriptions were engraved along the bottom. They were written in a more archaic amphibian dialect, but being a toad of higher education, Grime was able to give translating them a decent shot.

These great beings of magic and might

Travelled from beyond to serve the night

Bow before these children of man

Or know the wrath of the—

“... Wu Clan?” He cocked his one good eye up at her. “Iiiii’m not getting it.”

There it was. Floodlights flashed in Sasha’s head. All colour drained from her face. A million and one thoughts were now firing across her brain at once, threatening to send her into cerebral shutdown.

It was at that moment she knew she’d been played. They all had. She didn’t know whether to be absolutely furious, betrayed or impressed.

Why that conniving, devious little—

That's when they heard the BOOM outside the window.

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

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Win a Heart

Summary: Icy can fight Bloom. Fighting the strongest person in the universe is not something she is afraid of. What she can’t do is voice her true feelings for Bloom and earn the right to owning her own heart.

This is an AU but I’d like to keep the suspense so more information is at the end. You can go there if you feel confused about anything.

The flames rained on her ice shield – each like a rock melting away her magic instead of breaking through it. No matter how much power she put into fortifying her frost, Bloom's fire was eating it away one molecule at a time in pursuit of licking at her skin. Even if she did tap into her endless well of rage, she couldn't make ice at the rate Bloom was making her way through it. Her tactic would fail and she couldn't clear an opening for an attack.

She tilted her head back, gazing straight into the lake of fire spilling over the ice crust springing from her hands, and sent her magic down her hair. It was long enough to brush the floor and lead the ice where she intended it – freeing a path of escape for her. Bloom had no time to react when she glided backwards on the ice rink she'd made and away from the fiery downpour.

Frost encased Bloom into a cocoon she'd die in if she couldn't catch up. Bursting flames were not enough against the strategy Icy had devised just for her. The Dragon Fire gave Bloom an advantage but even it couldn't break through the layers of ice Icy had constructed to let her magic through to the inside. Every patch Bloom melted was freezing back against her body instantly to wrap her even tighter in her prison. The princess had challenged her and now the tables had turned.

Bloom writhed in her cage struggling to free herself with brute force but the ice was too thick even for her relentless stubbornness. There was no force or weapon she could use to crack Icy's victory.

Bloom locked eyes with her, having arrived at the same conclusion. The blue of her irises was still vibrant, though, like a boiling sea and her gaze reached into Icy's core melting through all her defenses. Ice shards dropped in her stomach as her heart shuddered to shake off the remnants of the cage she'd stuffed it in.

Bloom's eyes widened as if she'd seen the cracking walls inside her before she closed them in intense focus. Heat filled the atmosphere chasing away any shivers that could rock her concentration or Icy. The air trembled as Bloom's hair burst in flames dripping all over her body and Icy's cocoon.

The butterflies were in her stomach fluttering aggressively in their search of a way out. The warmth flooding her was inviting as she watched Bloom flaming her way out of her ice. The flaring fire wasn't threatening as it crawled through her handiwork to free the princess without a malicious intent. Bloom wasn't fighting to best her. She was overcoming herself and her own limits and she'd taken a page out of Icy's book to improve.

A block of ice shattered and crumbled to the floor where Bloom's chest expanded like she would swallow the whole world, and Icy, too. There was still something to do but it wasn't her turn. She would've skipped it anyway to see what else Bloom was up to.

Bloom answered her thoughts with the air she breathed out as it caught fire, too. She was a fire-breathing princess and Icy was captivated by the twirling flames as they wound around her cocoon and left it in a puddle on the floor. Everything was always so symbolic with Bloom, so... ethereal. Almost like they knew each other on an entirely different plane of existence.

"Don't count me out yet," Bloom held the fire retreating from her hair in her palms. A courtesy on her part to Icy who had drifted away like she never did in her own bed.

"I can say the same to you," Icy brushed away the smugness wafting from Bloom. It was deserved but it wouldn't last forever. Even if she didn't mind. All good things had an end. She just had to be grateful there'd been a beginning at all for her.

It was her turn to borrow and she crafted a blade of ice. Maybe brute force would work better combined with elegance. Maybe then she wouldn't break her neck.

She swallowed the thought like a lump of ice that would charge her magic and charged at Bloom with the weapon. Fire could take no solid form like that even if the streaks still flaming in Bloom's hair suggested otherwise. She had to try her hand at beating the most powerful person in the universe. Maybe then she would be able to outdo herself, too.

Swinging the blade was natural, the ice one with her as always despite her poor preparation with a sword. Bloom was an expert swordswoman but she had no way of conjuring a weapon from her magic. Icy had found the way to-

Bloom caught her ice blade with her bare hand unmoved by the sharp edges. She used her fire to leave the shape of her fingers in the wholeness of Icy's weapon. An imprint on her mind to join the one Bloom had been carving in her heart from the day they'd met.

Icy's breath caught but she let the ice take over. Gliding over it had been second nature her whole life. It was easy the same way dueling Bloom was effortless. Like a dance. Each move reciprocated with the due respect and desire to match it, raise the stakes until they were both engulfed in the flames of the intensity between them and the rest of the world couldn't reach them in their cocoon.

Bloom followed her movements intently, eyes on her frame like her gaze belonged there, like it was home. And there was the familiar pull. The invitation for Icy to spill into her but her spine couldn't bend that way without breaking. Her ice couldn't melt without drowning her. Perhaps it would kill Bloom, too. The risk was too great.

Stuck in her vicious circle, Icy faltered when her blade was stuck in Bloom's grip once again. Pulling did nothing with Bloom holding it as if her life depended on it and thrusting was impossible through the princess's strength. All she could do was supply more ice to restore the parts the flames coming out of Bloom's palms reshaped. They were caught in Bloom's will–like the rest of the universe except Icy's fate–and the moment stretched around them unbreakable. Whatever it was made of was stronger than Icy and she'd accept it if she didn't have to find her way to victory.

She willed the ice to grow, icicles with pointy edges reaching down from her blade through the fire eating it to pierce Bloom's chest. It had to free them from the spell she'd bound them in.

Air pushed Bloom's chest closer to the sharp tips aimed to stab through her heart but the heated burn of the flames inside her neutralized even that threat. Now it was water dripping from the icicles to soak Bloom's outfit and her heart. Icy had touched it – far more gently than she'd believed she could... with Bloom's help. The complimentary existence they led almost had her believing they were soulmates meant to be. Almost.

"You can't win this," Bloom let herself inside her head again, unafraid to roam even that space – the only one that did not belong to her. But Icy had given it. She'd given it away even if she had nothing left for herself. Just to see that smirk on Bloom's face. Was it worth it, though, if Bloom didn't know?

She couldn't win against the princess of Domino. She couldn't even win against the prince of Eraklyon who was younger than her but from a much more powerful kingdom than the measly royal of Dyamond that she was. She had to turn in and be his wife because she couldn't win. All her battles were meaningless, except the ones with Bloom. She always came out stronger, even in defeat. Maybe she was aiming for the wrong victory. Maybe it was Bloom's heart she was capable of winning.

"I've been in love with you for years." The crown meant for her head shattered from worlds away to let her draw in a warm breath. A free breath that her magic didn't attack to turn into a weapon of self-defense.

Shock slapped Bloom in the face like a wave she swallowed to a fail in her breathing. She had to shift to steady herself and slipped on the puddle they'd made on the floor. She tumbled down with the weapon Icy had to let go of so that she wouldn't fall on top of her with it and stab her.

A groan broke against Icy's ears to free her from her stupor. Bloom was alive and fine – more or less. Now it was her turn to get a verdict.

Bloom propped herself up on her elbows. "Good one," she muttered to make Icy's stomach flip. She was never that sparse with the due congratulations when Icy defeated her during sparring. It was the confession she hadn't bought and Icy couldn't blame her for looking everywhere but at her when she took the hand offered to her.

"I meant it." Icy held on to the warmth Bloom didn't pull away from her to compel her to catch her gaze. "I've been in love with you... ever since I learned how to love."

Bloom didn't let go after Icy helped her on her feet. "Why didn't you say something?" It was her turn to wait for Icy to return her gaze.

Because you would have saved me.

They'd become fast friends despite Icy's hatred for Domino and Eraklyon and anyone else who imposed their power over her. Bloom would've jumped in to the rescue. She would've pulled her from the arranged marriage with Sky and bound her to herself. She wouldn't have let her drown in feelings she couldn't freeze her way through. Even if it would've scalded both their skin off and razed their kingdoms to the ground. It wasn't Bloom's job to protect her. It should have been Icy's right to protect herself but Bloom was the only one who had given it to her, the only one who had believed in her enough to never hold back despite possessing the strongest magic in the universe. She'd let her be an equal. Maybe they were also equals in the way they felt.

Icy blew a touch of frost on her breath Bloom's way. It instantly turned into water in the heat of Bloom's lips. The ice couldn't even reach her. Bloom had never been hers to touch.

Bloom licked the water drops from her lip, her tongue frantic as if she was parched, before lunging herself at Icy and wrapping her in a kiss. Her breath was scorching and tickled through the cold Icy carried around with her. Bloom's fingers tangled in her hair like she wasn't afraid they would fall off if Icy sent the frost through her strands again. Bloom made it so easy to be strong, to be light and warm, so effortless to run her fingers through the red strands without fearing for her skin, nor for her magic within. She'd finally won the freedom to win the princess' heart.

This is an AU in which Bloom was raised by her parents on Domino after the Ancestral Witches were defeated. She became really close friends with Icy when they were little. Icy is arranged to be married to Sky in this. Bloom does not like Sky (and Sky doesn’t like Bloom) for a variety of reasons which I will not list because I will have to write a whole essay but not the least of which is his engagement to Icy. Icy is not a descendant of the Ancestral Witches and it has everything to do with Bloom but I will not explain it all because, again - a whole essay.

#winx club #winx icy #winx bloom #bloom x icy #blicy #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #200fc

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dr-dendritic-trees · 3 years

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The Locked Tomb Warnings List

I've been rereading The Locked Tomb and it gets better every reread and I love it with all my heart. Nothing I'm about to write is a criticism of the book.

But I've seen at least half a dozen people in the tags who were genuinely very shocked by what the books were like, because they heard the vaunted "Lesbian necromancers in space" tagline, saw the shippy fanart, and picked up the book expecting something fundamentally fun.

The series is a lot of things... its not that.

So here's my best attempt at an introduction/warning set for the books. I'll do my best to be comprehensive and as spoiler-free as possible. If anyone sees a warning I've missed, please add it!

General Notes:

The well-known "Lesbian necromancers explore a haunted gothic palace in space!" tagline that seems to get people into the series is basically accurate, but an actual summary would be more like:

When the emperor summons the 8 scions of the imperial death-cult to attempt to ascend to necromantic sainthood the heir to the Ninth House, Harrowhark Nonagesimus, leader of a dying house, finds herself without a cavalier (a sworn swordswoman). In an act of desperation she coerces her childhood nemesis, indentured servant Gideon Nav to accompany her to the first house to protect her house's secrets. But her house isn't the only one covering things up, and the promised lyctoral trial soon descends into a gore-spattered locked room murder mystery.

In Harrow the Ninth newly made necromantic saint Harrowhark Nonagesimus has been recruited to battle the secret enemies of the Emperor-God. But her lyctorhood is incomplete, her allies seem to be out to get her, and she seems to be at risk of losing her sanity, her life or both.

Gideon the Ninth is a very fast paced book, there's a lot of characters, a lot of world-building, and a lot of twists. There are not only things that won't make sense until a second reading, there are things that didn't make sense until I reread it after reading Harrow the Ninth, and there are probably things in it which will look totally different after I've read Alecto the Ninth. Its a dark book and its predominant emotional note is grief. Harrow the Ninth is the same, and, additionally, nearly half of it is written in second person. And basically, until Alecto the Ninth comes out, whether we actually know what happened is a totally open question.

That said, while its a dark book and a whole range of terrible things happens to these characters, while they are not treated at all gently, their experiences, and their many failings, are approached with nuance and mercy. They're not happy books but they're very cathartic. I do genuinely recommend them to all comers, I just don't want them to horrify and upset anyone.

Warnings List:

Gideon the Ninth Contains:

- Depictions of abuse (physical, emotional and spiritual) towards children and in intimate relationships.

- Violence, gore, murder, mass murder (including the deaths of children) and ritual cannibalism.

- Imperialism, indentured servitude and child soldiers, which go largely unremarked.

- Lies, manipulation and gaslighting

- Haunting, possession, body horror, magical violence, creepy skeleton monsters, etc.

- Self-hatred, self-destructive behaviour references to suicide

- Depictions of chronic and terminal illness which are both weird and graphic

- There's also also a lot of interpersonal relationships and interactions that aren't abusive, but are deeply unhealthy to the tune of very traumatized characters trying to deal with their mutually incompatible trauma.

- Death cults (various)

Harrow the Ninth contains:

- Literally all of the above again

- There is a LOT more gaslighting. There's some in GtN, but its a major theme of HtN.

- Depictions of psychosis and unreality. Most people who read this will spend at least some time not knowing what is real or not, its a very deliberate and large part of the narrative.

- Genocide and also a very particular form of mass death

- Reproductive coercion and also some uses of pregnancy and reproductive technology which aren't technically abusive in the real world sense... but will definitely make you feel very bad.

- There's also a blink and you miss it passing reference to child abuse that implies sexual abuse. Its a single short paragraph in chapter 47 but I'd hate for it to catch anyone out.

And lastly:

If you lurk in the tags or on twitter long enough, you will inevitably come across a discussion of whether these books invoke the Bury Your Gays trope. Frankly, I think this is a lot of nonsense. I think that when you're dealing with a majority queer cast in a horror/mystery setting, even discussing that trope doesn't make sense. It doubly doesn't make sense because until we get the end of Alecto the Ninth, I don't think we actually know who is dead or not. But it does have both a majority queer cast and a body count and its fair and understandable that not everyone is up for that.

But its true that there is a canonical coffee shop AU.

#harrow the ninth #gideon the ninth #the locked tomb #tag list

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m-y-fandoms · 4 years

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Fuyuhiko x reader - Fuyuhiko’s S/O saves his sister from being killed by Sato

Request: congrats on the blog!! i really like your writing!! could i request fuyuhiko's s/o protecting natsumi from being killed by sato?

Of course! I love Fuyuhiko actually, he just barely missed my top five favorite DR characters list, definitely top 10. Warnings: blood, violence, spoilers for the Danganronpa 3 anime and Super Danganronpa 2, reader’s gender not specified - Mod Kokichi

“See ya, babe. Don’t be late after last period today, I got some shit to handle for my dad as soon as I drop you off at work,” Fuyuhiko spoke lazily, a nudge on your shoulder to get your attention again.

“Yeah, ‘course!” You smiled as he leaned in and pecked you on the cheek, routinely, like he had every morning for the past few years. “See ya, ‘Hiko!” He nodded, sauntering off with books under his arm and his free hand in the pocket of his slacks. “Bye, Peko!” You bowed your head to the swordswoman who followed diligently behind your boyfriend, nodding her acknowledgment to you. You sighed, watching him disappear into the entrance of the main wing of Hope’s Peak Academy. Your eyes glossed over dreamily, lingering on him. Was that a new cologne on him today? Maybe he was wearing his uniform a little neater than usual this morning…

“Let’s go, fuckin’ space cadet!” A shove from behind knocked you forward toward the entrance of the Reserve Course wing, You sighed deeply. “My brother ain’t that cute, damn!”

“Natsumi, you could’ve just said something.” You pushed back the frustration in your voice in favor of a small smile in her direction.

“Whatever, we’re gonna be late, and I’m not dealing with another one of Mr. Nakamura’s lectures on the value of punctuality!” She stuck her tongue out as if gagging, her blonde hair floating through the air as she rushed past you, her shoulder roughly knocking into yours.

“Geez...that girl…” You shook your head, following behind.

You couldn’t really complain about anything or anyone at Hope’s Peak, seeing as you were just lucky to be there in the first place. After dating Fuyuhiko for a little over two years, he got scouted and asked to attend Hope’s Peak’s main course as the Ultimate Yakuza. You were so happy for him, and proud, but he wasn’t as thrilled. He was really attached to you, with your father and his father being childhood friends and clan members, and your own childhood friendship with him had blossomed into this loving and loyal relationship. It was the best kind. After all, people always say the healthiest and longest-lasting marriages came when your spouse was your best friend, and you definitely intended to marry that boy one day. With how close you two were, he’d be damned if he was splitting up with you for some stupid school, but both you and his father weren’t having it. Mr. Kuzuryu only gained more influence and pride once his son started going to the best school in the country, and you just wouldn’t let your boyfriend pass up on the opportunity of a lifetime, and so…

Fuyuhiko had gotten his father to personally pay for your tuition in order to enter the Reserve Course. It wasn’t like your family was poor, but you weren’t Hope’s-Peak-level rich. You protested at first, of course, feeling like a burden, but you could see that Fuyuhiko was quickly getting angry at your refusals and excuses, so you accepted. Plus, he told you that he wanted someone he trusted to look after his little sister, Natsumi, and you let him give you this excuse as a justification to accept his father’s financial support.

The Reserve Course wasn’t that bad, certainly much more high class than your previous school, but sharing most of your classes with Natsumi was a pain in your ass. Her father was the leader of the Kuzuryu clan. Your father was one of his subordinates, below him, and she seemed to like to remind you of that every five minutes. She talked down to you endlessly, and seemed jealous of the attention her brother gave you, but you had absolutely no room to complain to Fuyuhiko about it after what his father had done for you, so you just didn’t. As far as he knew, you and his sister were on good, neutral terms. She was mean and a smart-ass to everyone, so he didn’t expect you two to be having sleepovers and make friendship bracelets, but he figured you liked her, and she didn’t hate you.

You could sense a deep insecurity in Natsumi: a need to be recognized, a want to be in the main course, an inferiority complex that you sometimes saw in other Kuzuryu’s you knew, so you tried to always be nice to her. Everyone has their struggles, and her aggressive personality was how she pushed back hers. She was in your life for good, if you wanted to stay with Fuyuhiko, and besides, you promised him you’d look after her. And so, you kept your chin up and walked to class with a smile...until you opened the classroom door.

“I’m telling you, Kuzuryu, I don’t care who your father is, none of us do! You’re in the Reserve Course just like us because you’re no better than anyone else here!” The green haired girl, Sato, Natsumi’s current and longest-standing arch-enemy, loomed over Natsumi, her face red with anger and hands balled into trembling fists at her side. Really...they’re starting early today...school just started.

“Move your stupid face and smelly breath out of my face before I move it for you!” Natsumi spat back, leaning further into the argument. You quickly ran and stood between them. Every day was like this, with you or your classmate Hajime Hinata - a plain boy with a big heart - breaking it up before it escalated. But it was wearing on you, having been going on for over a month.

“What the fuck did you say, bitch?! Just because your dad is some thug criminal doesn’t mean no one can touch you! You’re testing my patience!” Sato’s hand raised, and your own shot out and grabbed her by the wrist.

“Woah, woah!” Your breath was shaky. “What’s it about, today, guys? What happened?” Sato was mad about you stopping her, of course, but she liked you, certainly more than she did Natsumi, and she respected you and Hajime for always looking out for your classmates, even if she didn’t want to admit it. After all, you’d stuck up for her and others just as much as Natsumi over the course of the semester - not taking Natsumi’s side so much as simply diffusing the situation - so she paused her attack, huffing. You couldn’t actually believe Sato raised her hand to Natsumi. They always bickered, every single day, but it hadn’t gotten physical, yet.

“She’s talking shit about Mahiru again! I told this bitch to stay away from Mahiru and keep her name out of her mouth, but of course her jealousy knows no limits!” Sato spat, and you looked to Natsumi as if for confirmation. Just then, Hajime Hinata, as well as your professor, waltzed into the room together, just a little late after the bell. Upon seeing the scene before them, Mr. Nakamura spoke out:

“What’s going on here? I’m a few minutes late and you guys think class should turn into a free-for-all? Get to your seats!” You looked to Natsumi, then Sato.

“Guys, this isn’t worth it, please…” Your eyes pleaded softly. Sato scowled, turning away and returning to her seat. Natsumi pushed past you, her lips close to your ear.

“I’ve told you before and I’m telling you again, I don’t need you fighting my fuckin’ battles for me…” she whispered, her tone flat and menacing, “I don’t care if you’re dating my brother, if you get in my way again, I’ll handle you and Sato.” You knew she didn’t mean it. She was hotheaded like her brother, and at this moment she felt bested by Sato, not having gotten to say her piece and have the final word in the argument. She was embarrassed and angry. So you let her go back to her seat without a response or retort.

When the class period ended, you caught Natsumi walking past Sato as everyone was leaving the room, speaking harshly. “Hey, Sato, raise a hand to me again, and I’ll fucking kill you.”

You were in the back of a sleek limousine, sitting on Fuyuhiko’s lap, your arms around his neck as he attacked your neck with rough kisses. Being alone in the back was nice and all, but it felt so...off. Usually, Natsumi rode along with you, and any friends that were riding back to the Kuzuryu east-side guesthouse after school to hang out. Friends and non-clan members weren’t allowed in the Kuzuryu main manor, it was far too dangerous, but the Kuzuryu’s owned many little extravagant homes, lounges, stores and clubhouses where you’d meet up and pass time with friends.

“ ‘Hiko, why isn’t Natsumi here, again?”

“I told you, some shit about a photography club meeting after school. You know she likes taking pictures and shit.” His brow furrowed at the interruption before going back to your neck. “Geez, just savor it. I rarely have time to be alone with you.” You pushed his shoulders back.

“Y-yeah but, Natsumi isn’t in the photography club for the Reserve Course. I know because I’m in it...we don’t have a meeting this week.” You started to worry.

“Whatever, who cares. Maybe she went off to give some kid a handy behind the school.” You rolled your eyes at his facetious tone and he smirked. “Why do you care? She’s fine.” He took his attack south to your collarbone, and you let him as you continued.

“Well...it’s just…she’s been having issues with this girl in class and I’m worried…”

“Issues?” His head popped up, face screwed up in an annoyed and anxious expression, but then melting into careful suspicion just as fast. “What kind of issues? I’m sure that if it was that bad, you’d have told me a while ago, yes?”

“W-well, of course, but...I mean nothing’s happened, really…they usually just swear and insult each other, but today, things almost got physical…” He paused, thinking.

“...what’s been going on?” Physical for a boy used to being around yakuza could mean anything from a fistfight to a bullet to the head, so he automatically assumed the worst most of the time.

“I don’t know...they just hate each other. Natsumi doesn’t like this girl...Mahiru Koi...something. She’s in your class. She’s jealous of her, I think...and so Sato, the one Natsumi is fighting with, is defending Mahiru to be a good friend, but-“

“Pfft! I thought you were gonna say something serious. This is petty high-school girl shit, s/o! If they wanna throw punches, break their nails and pull hair, let them. Natsumi and I see blood spilled every day. She can handle herself in a fight. Let her pop this Sato chick in the mouth, then. Who cares? Bet it will settle this little spat of theirs. You shouldn’t be so stressed about it.” His eyes softened, rubbing your back with one hand.

“I know, it’s just...I mean you told me to look out for her, and it’s not like I don’t care about your sister, she’s like family to me…”

“It’s not your job to babysit and bodyguard her. I just said that so you’d take the damn tuition money and I think you know that,” he snorted, shifting your position on his lap to kiss you on the forehead. “If she really needs someone like Peko, we’ll get her someone, but we both wanted to go to school without the clan’s influence. You know that…” he trailed off.

“I know, but-“ the driver stopped abruptly.

“I’ll see you after work. Don’t stress about this, seriously.” Fuyuhiko pushed your folded up work clothes into your hands, and you gave him a look of warning, as if to say ‘you aren’t taking this seriously’ before he gestured toward the limousine door, giving you a playful slap on the ass as you exited with the driver patiently holding the door open for you. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, ‘Hiko,” you smiled before pushing through the large crystal doors on the upscale, Kuzuryu-owned men’s clothing boutique for your shift.

The next day was like any other school day: dropped off at the gates, Fuyuhiko’s peck on your cheek, Natsumi walking with you to first period...but, what was that grin on her face…? She hated waking up early, she hated first period...she was always sluggish or irritable and waiting for her morning caffeine to kick in. You decided you were being paranoid, and shook it off.

When you entered the classroom, the students were all huddled in the corner, surrounding Sato, who was screaming at Hajime about something.

“-and I am not just gonna let this slide, Hinata! You better fuck of-“ Hajime saw you two enter, and Sato’s eyes followed his own, her rant cutting off. Locking eyes with Natsumi, who smirked back wickedly, she flew out of her seat, launching herself at your future sister-in-law. Natsumi fought back, her hands around Sato’s neck as Sato pulled her down to the ground.

“Oh my-stop!” You pulled at Natsumi’s arms, everything seeming to happen so fast. She threw an elbow back toward you for interfering, and it hit your side roughly. You grimaced, the pain working hard but your adrenaline working harder. You thrust yourself between the girls, pulling Natsumi back with all of your might. Hajime rushed over, pulling Sato off the ground and holding her back as she kicked and swung.

“I told you-! You-let go of me!!!” Natsumi resisted as well, and you and Hajime locked eyes, barely keeping hold of the two combatants.

“What could possibly be worth all this!” You wheezed, Natsumi quickly overpowering you.

“That cunt! Let me go, Hinata or I’ll fuck you up, too!” Sato roared, catching the attention of Mr. Nakamura, who rushed in and quickly pressed his authority, threatening both girls with suspension or worse if they spoke another word or touched each other. They were both sent to the headmaster’s office, with Hajime being asked to escort them since they ‘obviously needed to be monitored like children’.

You sat in your desk seat, uniform askew, armpits wet with perspiration. Another student filled you in after class. Apparently, Natsumi had gone over to the photo development room in the main course’s wing after school, and ripped up each and every photo Mahiru was going to present at the upcoming photography competition on campus. Twenty photos for a gallery opening up tomorrow for student work. Twenty priceless, stunning photographs by the Ultimate Photographer, all gone. Oh...so that’s why Sato was so pissed. You had to admit, it was hard to defend Natsumi at this point. You released a breath you’d been holding in, putting your head down on your desk to just calm your thoughts before texting Fuyuhiko. You filled him in about what happened, every detail, and your thoughts on it, taking Sato’s side as gently as possible. You had hoped to get his counsel, simply wanting validation and reassurance that there was nothing to worry about, but you ended up only making it worse.

Natsumi texted you about fifteen minutes later, calling you a fucking snitch and many other expletives, saying with malice that now her brother was on her case. Fuyuhiko then texted you saying he told Natsumi she better go straight to the limo after the last bell rang like a fire was lit under her ass, and that he wanted you to stand outside her last class and wait for her to make sure she did just that. You swallowed your spit down hard, throat going dry all of a sudden. You didn’t intend for this to happen. Now Natsumi was going to hate you, and Fuyuhiko is going to be in a bad mood. Why did you have to be so stupid? Why did Natsumi have to cause so much trouble? Maybe you should just let her suffer on her own, and stop stressing about it like Fuyuhiko said. This wasn’t fair, for you to feel like this because of her behavior.

You left your last class a few minutes early, rushing to Natsumi’s classroom with an exhausted and anxious air about you. You found the class, and leaned on the wall beside the door, preparing for her to march out and scream at you and who knows maybe even strangle you because that’s what she was into now apparently and-

Your ears perked up at a loud sound, like muffled yelling and a crash of glass. It sounded nearby, but far away at the same time. The yelling picked up, a bit louder now, and you felt yourself get nervous for no reason. It had to be on this floor, and close. You looked around, and held your bag close, sprinting down the hall. The sound got louder, confirming your suspicions until you were in front of the music room, with yelling and then a strangled cry coming from the other side. You panicked, fumbling with the door handle, but it wouldn’t budge. You pounded on the door, your breathing getting harder and faster. Backing up, you braced yourself, and ran at the door with the strength of fight-or-flight adrenaline in your veins, throwing your shoulder into the hard door and it flew open, slamming into the wall on the other side.

“NATSUMI!” You didn’t have time to baby your injured shoulder, as the scene before you needed immediate action, obviously. A broken glass fish tank was scattered on the ground, gravel and quickly dying freshwater fish littering the floor. The room was a mess, with sheet music and desks knocked over and spilled out everywhere. Sato stood near the window, her hands around Natsumi’s neck in a vice-like grip, and Natsumi gasping and flailing, her eyes slowly rolling to the back of her head. “Sato, what the fuck are you thinking?!!!” You ran at her, and Sato didn’t even look in your direction, her mind clouded with hatred and blood lust. Knocking into Sato with all you had, she fell forward into the window, releasing Natsumi as the window splintered and cracked around her.

Natsumi hit the the wall beside the window and fell to the floor, gasping and choking, her lungs clawing desperately for air. Sato leapt at her again, and you tackled her to the ground, looking up at Natsumi.

“Go! GO! Fuyuhiko will be at the gates! Get him!” Natsumi looked shocked, traumatized, and simply stared at you, while Sato spat and growled and tried to buck you off, reaching for Natsumi’s skirt. “Get someone! Please!”

“I-I told you I don’t need y-your help, s/o!” She tried to keep up her gangster’s-daughter persona even in her shaken-up state, but her voice betrayed her and tears sprung from her eyes. Sato threw you off and started to stand.

“Run! Natsumi, RUN!!” She heard the seriousness in your voice, the fear, and she had never heard you sound like that before. You were her brother’s sensitive, pacifist, kind-hearted s/o, and here you were, in danger because of her. She shook off her pride, and ran toward the door as you grabbed Sato’s ankle and she tripped to the ground again. Natsumi disappeared down the hall, screaming for help the entire way.

“Fuck you! Fuck you!! She deserved this! You ruined everything!” Sato sounded like an animal more than a high-school girl. She reached to her right, twisting her body around violently until she could reach a long shard of glass from the fish tank, and she brought it down hard on your thigh, the glass tearing into your flesh.

You screamed out in pain, your vision blurring quickly at the shock of it, sobs coming immediately from your mouth. Blood gushed out of the inches-deep wound, and your heads involuntarily released Sato. When you steadied yourself, steeling your nerves, and reached out to try and neutralize her again, she pulled the glass out of your leg, slamming it down again, hitting a vein deeply before pulling it out. You yelped and forced yourself to stand as she did, blood spurting freely from your leg. You fell more than threw yourself onto her, your head beginning to spin and feeling consciousness leaving you slowly. Leaning on her, you wrapped your arms around her waist with all of your remaining energy, and gripped tightly, hoping you could at least burden her enough to make leaving to room slower and making it impossible for her to catch up to Natsumi or flee the scene before help came.

Now with a great strength advantage over you, she arched her back, threw her head back, and slammed you behind her into the wall. Your head hit the wall with a crack, and immediately you slumped to the ground, your world going dark.

“...hear me? S-.....” fuzziness. Emptiness. Darkness. “-lose you, please! You h-“ A voice faded in and out, then finally out for good. Hours later, you felt yourself stir.

When your eyelids flew open, the ceiling above you was white, clean, calming.

“S/o?!” Fuyuhiko? You sat up quickly, a pounding in your head making you gasp and whimper. “No, no! You need to stay down.” A hand on your chest softly guided you back onto the pillow below you. You turned your head to the side. You took in your surroundings slowly. A hospital. You were in a hospital bed, and Fuyuhiko had been in a chair beside you, now standing at your side. His hands flew to your face, cradling your cheeks. “You’re an idiot, you know that? Are you fucking crazy?” His words were harsh, but there was no anger behind them, only worry and pain. You felt the wrap of linen around your head wound, and adjusting your leg at all resulted in a sharp spike of pain shooting up your body.

“Where’s Natsumi? Is she okay? Did Sato-“

“I don’t wanna hear that bitch’s name. And why are you worried about Natsumi right now?!” Now there was anger. “You almost fucking died, s/o! I almost lost you!” His voice cracked on that last word, and your eyes widened at the tears that threatened to fall from his eyes before he angrily rubbed them away with his sleeve. “Natsumi’s fucking fine. She didn’t have anything more than a few bruises on her neck. Nothing’s broken or injured except her pride. And she will be coming to thank and apologize to you at length later.” You didn’t comment on that last bit, deciding instead to ask about what happened after you passed out.

Natsumi found a security guard at the entrance, he explained, and he saw her screaming from his position at the school gates. He rushed over to yell at her and figure out what the hell was going on, before having her grab him by the wrist and force him into the school with stuttering gibberish about you and that you were in trouble or something like that with the security guard running close behind. When they got to the music room, the door was open and Sato was nowhere to be found.

Fuyuhiko had screamed your name, his throat ripping apart as he swore and cried and snot ran down his face like a fool. He ran to what he thought was your corpse, blood splattered everywhere, pooling under you, a little patch of blood on the wall behind you head. He took in your closed eyes and thigh oozing slowly-drying blood, and picked you up into his arms, his clothes getting covered in the liquid. He screamed at Natsumi to call for the police, an ambulance, anything, while the security guard called for backup and went off to find Sato. You were brought immediately to the hospital along with Natsumi, and he’d been waiting by your bed ever since, just pleading, begging you to wake up. Sato was apprehended by police a few blocks from the school, obviously off her rocker and in a manic state.

“You...you were almost gone. You lost...just so much blood,” he sniffled.

“But, I’m here,” you reached up and grabbed his hand, a comforting smile on your lips, “aren’t I?” He scoffed at you.

“You fucking idiot,” he shook his head, leaning down and kissing you roughly on the lips, tears from his eyes falling onto your cheeks. “I fucking love you. Don’t make me worry like this.” He pulled back, face inches from yours.

“I love you, too, so much.” You looked back at him with some indeterminable emotion washing over you. You were just overwhelmed.

“I will always love you. Please, don’t leave me.”

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favcharacterpoll · 1 year

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ROUND 6 MATCH 8: GIDEON VS. LINK

Gideon Nav faces BotW/TotK's Link.

Gideon Propaganda:

"Lesbian swordswoman in space"

"gideon is too stubborn to die she was supposed to never be born. she was supposed to die as a baby. she was supposed to die at canaan house somehow she's still alive and kicking ass and making the worst puns"

"gideon nav is one of the most infuriatingly likable characters to ever exist butch himbo jock with a love for all things tacky and/or horny her sense of humor is puns and dick jokes she is the light of my life"

"VOTE FOR GIDEON NAV. she’s a LESBIAN she’s JESUS she has MOMMY AND DADDY ISSUES. and she has a COMPLICATED RELATIONSHIP with a GOTH NUN."

Link Propaganda:

"i love this guy"

"I love him so much, okay? He's the only person capable of wielding the Master Sword, bears the Triforce of Courage, and was chosen by the goddess Hylia to protect Hyrule"

"Pretty boy"

"ok so link is like the best character ever imo cause have you seen what he looks like in totk he's so gender and ahhh and he's really cool and I love him so so much <333 and oot link is really cool and he's my whole childhood, and I love skyward sword and wind waker link cause they're so expressive, and I love twilight princess wolf link I just love all versions of link so much<3 only exception is the version from the philips cdi games he's so goofy" (focus on the totk part of this one)

"link is THE Gender Envy icon pretty boy pretty boy with sword!!"

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badass-queer-couples-battle · 6 months

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Sword gays showdown, final round of bracket three

Propaganda:

For Gideon:

she's incredibly good w/ her two hander and less good with her rapier but she's still pretty good!! she is a horny lesbian who's taste in women seems to exclusively be "girls who have tried or are going to try to kill her". she's a redhead. i love her

Gideon’s a HUGE Butch lesbian and literally always wanted to use a broad sword. Specifically a broad sword. She said fuck rapiers. Uhhh literally dies to save the girl she cares for and the sword she uses then becomes like an altar for said girl. Gideon Nav Supremacy <3

oh she is the most badass swordswoman lesbian in media. she’s her gf’s cavalier, defends her in battle, she’s incredibly butch and buff

C'mon shes THE sword lesbian like... canonically

Loves her broadsword more than anything on her home planet and practices whenever she can. Spoiler it’s possessed by her mom. Gave everything so her best enemy could eat her soul and become the new saint. The character of all time child of two separate threesomes, child of the god emperor, she’s dead, she’s butch, she’s a dork, she’s doomed by the narrative. She’s my favorite.

girlie is literally the swordswoman supreme. she’s the cavalier primary to her necromancer. she has a fuckoff huge longsword. she gets absorbed into another person SPECIFICALLY to swordfight for them. in a gay way too.

While everyone else was developing common sense, she studied the blade. This dyke's main weapon and true love is the long sword, but she's also passable with a rapier. The sword is, in her own estimation, pretty much all she's good for. That and her smoking hot bod and terribly charming sense of humor.

"While we were developing common sense, she studied the blade." (Direct quote from the book). She's the most useless lesbian to ever exist, and she's obsessed with an absolute wet cat of a woman. Learned longsword mostly on her own and is such a genius with the sword she learned rapier in a few months (by personal experience, it's really really hard)

Most badass broadsword wielding lesbian easily slaying bone monsters and evil space wasps

The cavalier to her necromancer. very gay. in a complicated codependant lovehate relationship with the only other person her age she knew growing up.

For Adora:

Finding the sword kicks off the whole show. She transforms into a giant magic lady and is now in charge of saving everyone from the big bag guys (which she used to be a part of). A bunch of stuff happens, but eventually her identity is now tied to having the sword. She is fully convinced that w/o the sword (and therefore She-Ra) she’s worthless. This culminates in having to destroy the sword or the world ends. She’s super depressed bc her whole self worth was tied to the sword and being she-ra. On the way to save her gf, she turns into way cooler she-ra (her own version of it that is not controlled by the sword which was made by her colonialist ancestors). Her sword is now part of her identity instead of her identity revolving around the sword.

lesbian chosen one who was given a sword that activated her powers and made her into a living weapon, but she destroyed the sword to save her planet - and then made her own sword with her magic and saved the entire universe

#sword gays showdown #gideon nav #adora #she ra #spop #gideon the ninth #the locked tomb #she ra and the princesses of power #tlt

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shirophic · 3 years

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birthdays, what intricate things, no? | fuyuhiko kuzuryu x peko pekoyama

here’s another drabble/fic i’ve worked on, lmao here. tw: mentions of blood, sword, mentions of death, angst

“Happy Birthday!”

It was Kuzuryu’s birthday, a special day for sure. After all, the young looking but bold yakuza was turning 23.

Everyone had celebrated with him, throwing a huge party at a nightclub. Party decorations were hung up everywhere, laser lights were dancing across the room, and the past contestants of the second (and hopefully last) killing game had fun, letting go of all of their worries.

Owari and Nidai were dancing together and bumping into everyone laughing loudly. Mioda was performing “I Squeezed Out The Baby And I Don’t Know Who The Father Is.” Saionji and Koizumi were hyping Mioda up while Tsumiki looked uncomfortable but tried to smile with the loud music. Tanaka and Soda were glaring at each other across the room while Nevermind was dancing to Mioda’s singing. Togami was at the corner of the room watching everyone while Hanamura was serving food out to the crowd of adults. Hinata, Komaeda and Nanami were talking with each other.

While Kuzuryu pretended on the outside as if he didn’t care, he really did. After the killing game, he has softened up to his classmates, occasionally letting his guard down.

He had nightmares about the game, although he looked like he didn’t care about the killings - he actually did. Yakuza dealt with gangs and mobs all the time, he was taught this very early on in his life. Whereas it was a yakuza’s duty to be on guard and kill when needed, he was in shock about the game.

Forcing literal children in a killing game? Kuzuryu had killed before, he had a lot of blood on his hands. But he never remorsed about it, afterall it was his duty as a yakuza.

Shaking away his depressing and remorseful thoughts, he looked over to the love of his life, Peko Pekoyama.

Peko was always there for him, always. She refers to herself as a “tool”, but Kuzuryu thought her more than that. Sure, he had grown up with Peko and she was always there like a knight in shining armour in case he got hurt but, in reality - he never wanted that.

He had only wanted her.

Looking at the ground, he slyly took Pekoyama’s hand, a blush forming on his cheeks. Pekoyama turned around from watching Mioda sing and smiled at his antics. She took her other hand and put it on top of his, giving it a firm grip.

Kuzuryu slowly looked up at Pekoyama, locking eyes with her. She was stunning, as always. Her silver hair flowing on her shoulders (for once), her black and white checkered patterned kimono clashing with her light grey coat with her bamboo sword. And most of all - her bright, red eyes.

People were intimidated by Pekoyama at first glance, despite her cute name. But when you’ve known her for literally your whole life - you’d know better than that.

She’s sad that because of her fierce appearance and sword, she can’t pet fluffy animals. She doesn’t like senseless killing, even if she is the ultimate swordswoman. And lastly, she doesn’t know how to smile, after years of not smiling.

Kuzuryu and Hinata had tried to help her smile, it lasted a week. Pekoyama struggled while Hinata and Kuzuryu were her cheerleaders, hyping her up every step of the way. And when Pekoyama finally got her smile right, Kuzuryu’s heart stopped. It was the cutest smile he’d seen, especially coming from the woman you’d sell your soul to.

Coming out of his haze, Kuzuryu had tears forming in his eyes.

“I love you, Peko.”

Pekoyama smiled, tears forming at the ends of her eyes,

“I love you too, Fuyu.”

- - -

After a while, it was time to cut the cake. Everyone gathered at a circle table in the middle of the bar, excited.

“Woohoo! Baby gangsta turning 23 today! Can you believe it?” Owari yelled.

“Hey! I told you not to call me that anymore..” scowled Kuzuryu.

“I’m sure she means only good, Fuyu.” Pekoyama reassured.

Kuzuryu sighed, smiling up at Peko. He always melted when she used that nickname.

“Can we cut the cake yet? I’m starving.” Owari complained, getting nods of agreement from the other ex-students.

Kuzuryu stopped and then chuckled a bit, enough so that only Pekoyama could hear. He loves the fact that no one had changed, due to all of them going through so much together.

“Alright! Time to cut cake everyone!” Nanami smiled.

“Hey, why don’t you and Peko cut it together? Koizumi suggested.

Pekoyama looked over at Kuzuryu, smiling. “Shall we?”

Pekoyama unsheathed her sword, holding it and offering Kuzuryu to hold it as well.

“It’s your 23rd birthday, we must make it memorable.”

Kuzuryu silently agreed and took the sword with Pekoyama, getting closer to the cake.

Together, they slice the cake with Pekoyama’s sword.

But Kuzuryu paused. The cake was hard to slice, why? A cake should be made with flour, sugar, milk and eggs right? Why should it be hard?

“Hey why the pause? I’ve been waiting for this moment!” Souda said, clearly impatient.

Kuzuryu shook it off and continued to slice it, until it made a certain sound.

Squish

A cake shouldn’t make that sound either, what was happening?

Komaeda appeared beside his side, which Kuzuryu was confused about since he was sure he saw Komaeda across the table.

“Fuyuhiko, look at Peko.”

Chills running through his spine, he turned around to see Peko.

Pekoyama was there, hunched back, as the very bamboo sword she held cut through her stomach, blood flowing everywhere.

“Fuyu..? What did you… do?”

Kuzuryu stood in shock, not knowing what to do, he did the very best thing that came at the top of his mind.

He screamed.

- - -

Kuzuryu woke up, startled from his dream.

It was 4 a.m, August 17th, a day after his birthday.

Kuzuryu sweatdropped, then getting up from his bed and going to his kitchen, hoping to make a coffee in peace.

And there his roommates were, Tanaka, Soda and Hinata, drinking coffee while talking together.

Kuzuryu sighed, and went further into the kitchen to make his own coffee.

“Hey Fuyuhiko, what’s wrong?” Hinata questioned.

“Agreed, what is pestering your mind?” Tanaka said shortly after.

“It’s.. It’s nothing, go back to whatever you guys were doing.” Fuyukiho said, obviously tired.

“Eh, you heard the guy,” said a nonchalant Soda.

Hinata and Tanaka both glared at him and focused their attention on Kuzuryu.

“No seriously, what's wrong.” Hinata questioned again, but with more of a firm tone.

Kuzuryu ignored him and made his coffee, pretending as if he didn’t have time for them.

Tanaka appeared at his side, a hand on his shoulder, “You do know, that you can confide in us, yes?

Kuzuryu sighed annoyedly, “It’s not that big of a deal! Just leave me alone.”

The room went silent.

“You’ve had a nightmare again, haven’t you?” Hinata asked.

Kuzuryu went silent to that, glancing at Hinata, he nodded slightly.

The other three didn’t know what to do but give him space, so they let Kuzuryu finish making his coffee and watched as he headed towards his room, slamming the door.

Kuzuryu sat down on the side of his bed, sipping his coffee.

He didn’t know what to do at this point of life.

He was the Ultimate Yakuza, sure. But he had nothing to do anymore. He had graduated from Hope's Peak and now lived in an apartment with some of his ex-classmates.

The entirety of his life was dedicated to his yakuza duties. And now it’s gone. He only had memories of what his life had been of the past, all of which had Peko.

The mere thought of Peko brought tears to his eyes. He hadn’t - no couldn’t accept she was going to die, and had sobbed his heart out in front of everyone, not caring.

Peko was his life, his world. He had never wanted her to think she was just a tool for his benefit. He had never thought of her that way. She was a human being, just like him.

Kuzuryu started to sob quietly, remorsing Peko for what felt like the thousandth time.

“I-I miss you so m-much.. Peko..” Kuzuryu hiccuped. “w-why’d you have t-to leave me so e.. early..?”

Maybe it was a blessing just to have spoken to Peko.

Maybe it was a curse, he’ll never know.

Kuzuryu sobbed in what felt like an eternity, slowly falling back to sleep - and eventually, he met his lover again.

#look i did something! 🕊️ request accepted #discord asks #🙤 · mod tsumugi #kuzupeko #fuyuhiko x peko #fuyuhiko kuzuryu x peko pekoyama #kuzuryu x pekoyama #peko #peko pekoyama #fuyuhiko kuzuryuu #fuyuhiko #sdr2 #danagnronpa 2 #dr2 #danganronpa: goodbye despair #tsumugi-mikan

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mercutiotakethewheel · 3 years

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Halp! I read Crooked Kingdom and Spinning Silver in the same week. Is there any point in reading any other book ever again?!?!?!?!?!?!!!?!!! (Genuinely open to recommendations.) I am bereft at having finished them, and wondering how soon is too soon to reread Spinning Silver...

lmao god that’s a mood. I mean those are very much my two of my favorites, but of course I have recommendations.

Spinning Silver has a “mirror” novel called Uprooted that explores Naomi Novik’s polish roots and fairytale; it’s a twist on the classic girl gets sacrificed to be locked in a tower by a “dragon” but with wizards and a sick wood.

As for the grishaverse, I don’t know if you’ve already read the grisha trilogy or the Nikolai duology, but I certainly recommend King of Scars at the very least. Nina’s in it and Nikolai and Zoya are two of the best grisha trilogy characters (along with Genya, Tolya, and Tamar who are all also here). I haven’t about to read Rule of Wolves but I haven’t yet. Now the grisha trilogy is disappointing in general, but especially in comparison to Crooked Kingdom, Bardugo’s best novel, in my opinion. However, it’s also not quite as bad as everyone says. The worldbuilding established here is pretty cool, the politics in seige and storm are really fun, and there are really cool characters in it, even if the main protagonist… well. Alina’s not actually a boring or awful of a protagonist, or at least she has the opportunity not to be. She’s incredibly selfish to the point of moral ambiguity, and she’s terribly funny and combative. However, and this is my main issue with these books, she is very much punished by the narrative anytime she seeks agency or power or really does anything interesting, which leaves us with our magical girl chosen one just sort of passively shoved around the board.

Bardugo also wrote Ninth house, which I highly recommend. It’s an adult novel, so the violence -and there is a lot of it- tends to be described and gory and there’s a lot of talk about drug abuse so keep that in mind (plus the main character being abused and her best friend being killed/raped/drugged) so keep that in mind. The main protagonist is really interesting, and features Bardugo’s usual moral greyness. She’s angry, she can see ghosts, she’s traumatised, she has a terrible secret, and she does all of her fighting for abused women. The book has a lot of commentary on classism and elitism, as one should expect from a book about an impoverished women attending an ivy league with dangerous, poorly run, magical societies in it. The worldbuilding is a treat, but expect a lot of ghosts and a lot of rituals.

If you’re looking for more fantasy novels with fairytale vibes/retellings and strong female characters, that’s one of my favorite genres, so I have a few. I’m terribly fond of A Creature of Moonlight, which features a moving wood, a dragon’s daughter, royal court politics, and an uberindependent protagonist. The Cruel Prince is the only faerie book that counts along with the rest of Holly Black’s works, and if you’re looking for more enemies to lovers, you are in luck. The main reasons to read this book, though, is the political intrigue and the murder happy main character. The Once and Future Witches is a take on the suffragette period and witch fairytales. It’s not necessarily my favourite nor do I think it has the makings to be anyone’s favorite, really, but I do recommend it if only for the fairytale retellings and historical elements. Howl’s Moving Castle is an absolute delight, with lots of fun, bickering, main characters, and a very fairytale take on the magic system. I need to read Deathless so bad, but I haven’t gotten around to it yet. I hear only great things about the retelling of the Russian fairytale, though, so I’ll go ahead and recommend it.

Revenge stories are also a favourite of mine, so if you want more of those, my main recommendations are The Count of Monte Cristo and Vicious. The Count of Monte Cristo features our antihero being wrongfully imprisoned due to the machinations of three people. After escaping and getting rich beyond his wildest imagination, Edmound seeks to utterly ruin all three of them, destroying a lot of innocent lives in the process, rethinking the ethics of his revenge plan a lot, and a lot of claiming he’s sold his soul to become Providence. The main drawback is that the novel deals handedly in Orientalism( though I have a lot to say about why discussion of Orientalism is important to understanding Edmound’s character and why he is percieved the way he is by the other characters) and that it features an enslaved woman falling in love with her captor, who is also our protagonist. So yeah, grain of salt. It was written in 1844. Vicious tells us the backstory and the mainstory side by side throughout the novel, featuring two ex-best friends who experimented with killing themselves in order to gain superhero powers. When one of them lands the other one in prison and devotes his time to killing other ExtraOrdinaries, what our superheroes/more-like-supervillains-usually are called, because he likes to play god, our protagonist, the imprisoned friend, escapes for a revenge quest. Along the way he forms an incredibly clunky, adorable found family. I love this novel so much.

If you’re looking for more historical fantasy, I have some recommendations here as well. Diviners is an occult murder mystery set in the 1920s, that really really spends time putting you in the 1920s. It features a fun ensemble cast that grows with each installation, though the main main character of the first book does take a while to grow on you and there’s a boring ass love triangle. Read it for the 1920s and the ensemble cast that really takes off in the second book. The Poppy War is based on the Second Sino-Japanese War with a very enthralling magic system, and a main character who takes moral greyness to whole new heights. It has a laundry list of trigger warnings you need to read before you pick up the book, but the two most important things to understand before getting into it is that there’s a section based on the Rape of Nanjing, which does not pull its punches and the first book ends with our protagonist committing magical genocide on an entire country. In general, this book absolutely refuses to pull its punches and that’s my number one reason for recommending it. London Calling is an exploration of fatherhood with themes on family and catholicism that features time traveling to the London blitz. It’s barely fantasy, and it’s again not a favorite nor will it become yours, but it’s very moving.

Also, this is more of a general recommendation, but I highly recommend Gideon the Ninth. “Necromancer Lesbians explore a haunted gothic castle in space.” What more do you need to hear? Our main character is a snarky butch swordswoman in the first book and the second book is her goth depressed over-achiever enemy turned sort of girlfriend turned mind pal. The fun villain behavior is off the chart, the worldbuilding is immaculate (there’s an in-universe essay in the back that finishes with someone’s snarky graffiti), and it’s funny as hell. The book is about necromancers so the gory descriptions of dead bodies is very much not for the faint of heart. Keep that in mind.

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komahinasecretexchange · 4 years

Text

Title: maybe not star-crossed (but daybreak)

Author: @fieldofsunflowers8

For: @emmakoneko

Pairings: Hinata Hajime / Komaeda Nagito

Additional Characters: Kamukura Izuru, Nanami Chiaki

Rating: M

Warnings: No specific warning applies beside the ones that could be applied in Danganronpa in general

Prompt: Hajime realising he loves Nagito.

Author’s notes: hi!!! this is my exchange piece for the komahina secret exchange!!! this was super super fun to write, and i really hope my giftee likes it! special thanks to my friend for looking over this and making sure it’s coherent :D have a good day, loves!

Hinata Hajime is not a romantic, but romance fills his thoughts anyway.

It’s an identifier that isn’t exactly of importance, of course. Romance on Jabberwock Island, specifically in the aftermath of the Neo World Program, is something privately kept by each individual pairing. Occasionally, it’ll be the subject of harmless speculation on the slow days, but overall, it is just… a part of life.

A part of life that most of them never got to fully experience.

A part of life that Hinata doesn’t necessarily need to have a piece of.

A part of life that he wants, all the same.

He isn’t certain if it’s the influence of Kamukura on him that makes him hesitate in the face of it. The other is a lull in the back of his head most of the time, diminishing everything to uninteresting, and yet seamlessly taking control when Hinata gives the slightest hint of needing help, slipping into the role of the Ultimate Talent easily. It’s a difficult dynamic, and it would be a lie to consider it a linear sort of thing– lines blur when you are made to become another person, and further, residing with that person in the headspace.

Hinata wonders if, before it all happened, back at Hope’s Peak Academy in the suffocating reserve course dorms, with little to hope for… he maybe pined after romance in a desperate way, if he wanted something to break the suffocating silence, if it would all really be any different to him now.

It’s not something he needs right now, which is what he tries to convince himself matters the most. He has enough overwhelming quiet, and even more overwhelming noise. He has tasks to commit to– even though all of the Remnants have awakened, there are Future Foundation members to call, emails to send, resources to manage, buildings to reconstruct, surgeries to conduct… it keeps him busy, to say the least.

(He hardly allows himself more than the clinical, repetitive process of healing. Not his own healing– that is far from the forefront of his mind. Rather, constructing robot arms and extracting rotting body parts and starting up chemotherapy. For the others. Not him,

never him.)

Prioritizing romance is selfish, in all cases. Putting it before himself and everyone on the island, losing himself in the want of something he isn’t even sure he could recognize, if he saw it in front of him, if he had a flickering chance of love… it’s selfish. Excess. A lapse.

However, there is still a kind of yearning he keeps in the back of his mind, in the endlessly swallowing part of his throat, in the throes of his heart. A sort of fixation, solely focused on a single individual, who keeps him awake through restless nights and sends him directly to the infirmary for more work, who leads him to discover new places on the island that the person tends to frequent, who leaves him with an unfamiliar warmth that his body rejects like a disease because love is not-

One that defies all his wants and needs, all his thoughts on relationships and the others, all his thoughts on the person whom he thought he hated more than anything.

One fixated on Komaeda Nagito.

And this is where his doubt is born.

–

The first time he hears the name Komaeda Nagito is in a time before the seeds of despair were planted by his hands, before The Project became more than just a whisper of Hope’s Peak conspiracy and research. He hears it from Nanami Chiaki, before she became just a program, before an entire class gave into despair at the sight of her death.

He hears it from her at the fountain. Their fountain, he has taken to calling it, because while they aren’t exactly the only people to come here, they are most certainly the two students who frequent it the most. Before, it was a place to admire Hope’s Peak from a distance (one he maintained out of respect, or maybe self-hatred, or maybe an amalgamation of both), but after meeting Nanami, the cynical tones of the setting were replaced with a sort of safe haven.

It’s now comforting, for him, to hear the sound of her game starting up against the sound of rushing water, leaves and blossoms fluttering around them as the sun lights up the campus around them.

In all honesty, it’s easy to get lost in the surroundings, in his own thoughts, especially when he has the space to. Nanami rarely presses any matter, unless it is something she’s particularly passionate about, so Hinata zoning out isn’t exactly an issue for her. It’s not like she doesn’t do the same. Which leaves them with a pretty nice relationship, because either of them are free to completely lose themselves in their thoughts without having to make small talk.

However, he does jar himself back to reality to pay attention to the game she’s playing– it’s a survival game, which is sort of exciting, because that’s the kind of video game he thinks he’d be best at– and listens to the soft breath she always takes before she starts to speak.

“Do you know a lot of Ultimates, Hinata-kun?” is what she asks, her voice as dreamy as usual.

It’s sort of a harsh question unintentionally, since it sort of nags at the parts of him that wishes he could be an Ultimate, would do anything to be an Ultimate, but he shoves that down and keeps his voice casual. (It’s not a big deal, anyway. Nanami affirms him of his worth a lot, and really, he should just… accept that things are the way that they are. But it’s really, really not that easy. Not when everything seems to loom above him, dangling promises of talent and hope).

“Uh, not really?” he answers tentatively. “I mean, I know Koizumi, and I sort of know Kuzuryuu because I’m friends with his sister.” Friends is probably not the right word for it, but being her friend is pretty much impossible. “And I know you, of course. But, I dunno about the others.”

“Mm,” she hums. She focuses back on her game for a while, and Hinata focuses right alongside her, but she ends up speaking again only a few moments later. “I was just thinking… a lot of my classmates would really like you.”

“Oh?” He leans forward, just a bit. “I don’t really know much about them, but maybe?”

It’s not really relevant, in any case, or possible, because I’m a reserve. So, why do I want to entertain this impossibility?

“Well, I can tell you about some of them.” There’s some passion in her voice, underneath the languid sort of pace her words take.

He shrugs. “Sure.”

She opens her inventory as sort of a pause screen, organizing all of the items while talking. “There’s Mioda-san. She’s… sorta loud, but she’s the Ultimate Musician, so that makes sense, I think. She’s really optimistic, she likes bright colors… reminds me of a dancing game… you’d get along with her, probably.” The idea that Hinata could be friends with someone like Mioda Ibuki is unsettling in a hopeless way, but he’s interested in the descriptions regardless. “She gets along well with Pekoyama-san, who’s the Ultimate Swordswoman. She’s really pretty and quiet; she’s defensive over Kuzuryuu-kun, too. Like a Skyrim housecarl, kinda. I remember Komaeda-kun saying something, once, and she was immediately at Kuzuryuu-kun’s defense. I don’t think Komaeda-kun meant it badly, though.”

Hinata tilts his head. “Who’s Komaeda?”

Nanami bites her lip, stacking some potions before saying, “He’s the Ultimate Lucky Student. He’s… sort of an outcast, I think, but he cares about the class a lot. I wish he would talk to us more.” She puffs out her cheeks in a cute way. “You might like him… but you also might hate him. Maybe.”

“Why would I hate him?” From what Hinata’s hearing, maybe dislike would make sense, but hate sort of implies he would have done something… really off.

“Mm… Komaeda-kun has strong views on talent and hope. It might annoy you, but…” she sighs. “I dunno.”

That’s a vague description, but it gives Hinata enough information to sort of… make inferences. Of course, Hinata sort of expected some Ultimates to view talent as superiority, and he knew that some of the adults believed it, but to hear it being an actual thing from someone his age… sort of sucks. At least the rest of the class seems to not agree with it.

But… is Hinata really sure of that?

In any case, he tunes back into the way Nanami continues talking about her classmates, about a sheepish mechanic and a princess she seems to have a slight crush on. He laughs along with her, listens with intrigue and fascination at some of the things her class has done and somehow not gotten expelled for, and feels the sense of peace grow overtime (alongside his quiet bitterness).

All the while, though, part of his mind thinks about Komaeda with a… weird sort of interest.

(And for some reason, Hinata wants to both avoid him as much as possible– which might be a bit harsh, admittedly– and also… maybe meet him.)

–

Hinata doesn’t sleep well.

His sleep patterns vary. Sometimes, he falls asleep in a random place– he’s been found on the floor of the dining hall and at the beach, once, both instances embarrassing– and stays asleep for the better part of a day, barely brushing below twenty hours as he restores his energy. Then, he pushes himself, neglecting rest for three days straight until he downright collapses again.

He tends to get nightmares, too. When he’s sleeping deeply and for a long time, it’s not enough to jar him. When he first woke up from the Neo World Program, though, they were relentless, leaving him paranoid and guilty constantly for all he has done to his friends– his family, now.

His family that he needs to stay awake to care for. His family he has to keep intact– physically and mentally.

(He remembers that, for a week, all he saw in his dreams was a burning warehouse.)

He doesn’t sleep well, working on restocking and labelling all the medications they have in the infirmary, and he finds that none of the others sleep well, either. Some sleep too much, some function on caffeine and nothing else. But there’s one other person on the island that varies with Hinata, not exactly the same but similarly.

Komaeda.

Hinata’s been monitoring Komaeda’s progress closely, almost closer than the way he fusses over the others. Komaeda’s health is precarious, even with the rotting flesh of Enoshima’s arm fully removed from his body, and one of the facets of his lifestyle that directly impacts his not-ideal progress is his shitty sleep schedule.

A simple example: he falls asleep at 4:00 PM, wakes up at around 7:29 PM. He goes to the dining hall, all of the other inhabitants having finished dinner and retired to their rooms for the later parts of the afternoon, and eats a worryingly small portion of dinner. He goes to his room, stays up for hours, and falls again the following day at 10:00 PM, successfully bypassing lunch and repeating the process.

It’s horrible in every possible way– it doesn’t do wonders for his prognoses and mental health, and Hinata doesn’t like the dark circles under his eyes that grow more familiar with each progressing day.

(It doesn’t suit his face. Because, well, Hinata can acknowledge that Komaeda is very, very pretty. But the shadows are… worrying. He still looks beautiful, but he looks more fragile than he’s ever been, even in the green pods, and Hinata wonders why he’s worried in a way beyond medical observation.)

However, there is one benefit to it, a meek silver lining that could hardly be considered one at all: Komaeda and Hinata end up accidentally interacting quite a lot. Komaeda follows lights– buildings with fluorescents open, signalling that Hinata is currently occupying them– and Hinata follows the soft sounds of Komaeda hanging out at the beach, throwing rocks into the ocean or tripping on some ridges and yelping.

The latter ends up happening when he exits the infirmary and sees in the distance a white-haired man face first on the beach shore, and he sighs in a way that isn’t fully exasperated as he walks over to help him out (maybe fond, maybe fond).

Komaeda tilts his face, his cheek still buried in sand, and looks up at Hinata. He decisively accepts his help, straightening himself out and brushing the sand off his pants with a smile. His voice is cheerful– far too cheerful for 5:00 AM– as he says, “Good morning, Hinata-kun! I’m so sorry you had to see me in such a disgraceful way!”

Hinata rolls his eyes. “You weren’t disgraceful. You just tripped. Also, why are you even out here?”

Komaeda’s lips curl slyly. “Do you even have to ask, Hinata-kun?”

“Ah.” Fair enough. “Well, you should, uh, try to get some sleep.”

“Will Hinata-kun get some sleep?”

It’s equally frustrating to talk to Komaeda and get him to do anything… and interesting. There’s also a bit of heat that wants to pour into his cheeks, something he fights with a poker face, at the idea that Komaeda cares about his sleep schedule. Technically, a lot of people on the island do, but it all comes back to the inexplicable feelings he has around the other. In any case, Komaeda’s due for an answer. “I was actually heading back to my cabin to do that.” It’s sort of a lie. Sort of.

(He was probably going to lay awake, staring at the ceiling again. Maybe he’ll think about the other, maybe he’ll think about everything else.)

“Can I come with you?” Komaeda asks.

Hinata squints. “… Why? How would that help either of us sleep?”

“It could be relaxing to be near another person,” Komaeda defends, his logic slightly flawed. “But I understand that being around me is absolutely dreadful, and I shouldn’t impose even the disturbing thought upon another person. I apologize for that, Hinata-kun! I’ll get out of your sight, now!”

“Wait,” Hinata finds himself saying before Komaeda can actually leave. The other stops and looks at him, a curious but not demanding expression in his murky grey eyes. It’s sort of cute. Hinata isn’t sure why, why he looks at the other in that way.

It’s with a defeated sigh that he says, “You can come with me,”

and Komaeda’s eyes light up in a way that’s really, really endearing.

–

The first time he meets Komaeda is a month after his conversation with Nanami.

Stress has settled onto his shoulders, making a permanent residence there, as exams approach at increasingly rapid paces and life-changing emails chase him forward, forward, forward. He finds little enjoyment in his spaces between classes, isolating himself up in his room and hardly having time to reply to any of his friends (not that there’s an overwhelming number of people on that list). Occasionally he takes a break, but these times just remind him that he has so much to do, so much to consider, his entire life might change with a few signatures and-

-he needs a breather.

He ends up leaving half-finished history homework on his tiny desk, nearly tripping over his laundry bin in exhaustion as he makes his way out of the dorms. He figures a small walk might do him some good, since he’s hardly seen the sun as of recent and it might be less intimidating to think through things when he has fresh air to breathe and the soft ambience of nature surrounding him.

He hums to himself for the first part of his walk, careful to stay out of the way of others, but he eventually falls into silence as the number of people around him dwindles. He’s tired– he’s so, so fucking tired– and he should probably be adjusted to fatigue and restless nights, since he’s not exactly new to overworking himself, but he hasn’t. Not fully. And God, he’d probably kill for a nap, for someone to hear him scream everything he thinks, to go to a completely different school for a few days and relax.

But would he even want that? Would he know what to do with so much free time? Would it even be okay, going to a place that would view him as equal, not endlessly lesser than another sector of the school? Would it even make sense to be worth something, when he has spent so long not being worth anything?

It’s in this rumination that he ends up near him and Nanami’s fountain, and he almost expects to see her there…

… but instead, he sees someone else.

The Main Course uniform is the first thing he sees, the red tie loose around the Ultimate’s neck, their jacket still buttoned properly. They must have been out there for a while, since their white hair, unruly atop their head, is slightly ruffled from the wind. Their grey-green eyes that remind Hinata of mercury he had seen in chemistry class is focused on the pavement, but looks up when Hinata’s footsteps grow closer. On their face, there’s a pleasant smile, one that Hinata finds strikingly pretty…

… one that disappears when they make eye contact with Hinata.

He can’t say he expected anything other than this.

“I thought reserve course classes were still in session,” they muse, which is an interesting conversation starter in any case. Paired with the way they were almost glaring at Hinata, it left him with… an unsettling feeling.

“They, uh, aren’t,” he replies eloquently. “They ended a bit ago.”

“Ah.” They smile, slightly, but it looks… more cold than friendly. “Can I get a name? Or should I just refer to you as ‘reserve-kun’?”

Hinata quickly decides he doesn’t like this person. “Uh, Hinata Hajime.”

They nod. “Komaeda Nagito.”

That name is… kind of familiar.

Oh. Oh. That’s the name of Nanami’s classmate. The Ultimate Lucky Student, who has strong views on talent and hope, if he remembers Nanami’s words correctly. Someone that Hinata would either like or hate– and it is strongly veering towards the later– someone who is a bit of an outcast. Someone who Hinata isn’t sure if he should have a lot of pity for, or none at all.

He’s heard more stories since, ones where Komaeda is a background character. He’s gotten the vague idea that aside from his unsettling opinions, he also tends to be an overall concerning individual, with a shocking inferiority complex, calling himself trash near constantly. It seemed to worry Nanami, which in turn worried Hinata.

But from the way this guy is talking, it doesn’t really seem like this guy feels inferior at all. At least, not compared to Hinata. Which is…

… not surprising.

Hinata isn’t really sure how to progress the conversation, especially one that started this oddly, so he figures he should make do with this new information, asking, “Oh, you know Nanami, right?”

“Nanami-san is my classmate, yes.” He tilts his head to the side and sits up a bit straighter. “You must be the reserve she’s friends with, then. In retrospect, I remember she’s mentioned your name once or twice. I thought she was kidding.”

Yeah. Hinata definitely doesn’t like this guy. “Well. She wasn’t.”

“So it seems.”

This conversation is going nowhere. “Well, I’m gonna go. And, uh. Finish my walk. So-”

Before Hinata can leave, Komaeda speaks up. “Don’t you feel awe, Hinata-kun, walking around Hope’s Peak, looking at a school filled with such hope and talent?” He punctuates those words, wrapping his arms around himself and looking up at Hinata. “Doesn’t it put you in your place? Knowing that you’re a stepping stone for hope, just here to further the Ultimates’ abilities? Isn’t it beautiful, so beautiful that you know you’re unworthy of it? Do you have another purpose aside from this, or do you put your value in mindlessly pacing the perimeter of Hope’s Peak Ac-”

“What the hell are you even talking about?” Hinata interrupts. This guy looks really worked up over the random bullshit he’s saying. He’s managed to get under Hinata’s skin really fast– which, yeah, Hinata has kind of a temper, but Jesus Christ.

This must be the whole concerning thing.

Komaeda just smiles wider. “You’re rather disrespectful for a reserve. Shouldn’t you be worshipping me? I mean, I’m utterly worthless in every possible way and deserve to be destroyed like the filth I am– but at least I’m an Ultimate.”

Hinata gives up, walking away from the other and running an agitated hand through his hair. He can hear Komaeda laughing raspily, still at the fountain, and it just forces his steps to go quicker.

(The most aggravating part of all of that is that it hurt. It shouldn’t– the opinion of a slightly-unhinged, annoying, pretty Ultimate shouldn’t hurt him. But it did.

Because there was some truth in that mess of shit he was saying. Hinata is inferior. Hinata would always be inferior to the Ultimates he looks up to– not as much as Komaeda said, but still. The whole being a stepping stone thing, he didn’t get, but… he is unworthy of this place. That much is true. That much hurts.)

He decides, without much hesitation, not to mention the encounter to anyone.

–

“Uh, make yourself at home, I guess,” Hinata says when Komaeda steps into his cottage, his eyes wide as he looks around the scene. Which is fair– Hinata hasn’t exactly had time to clean the place, and he’s sort of a restless sleeper, so it’s a shitshow of a mess, as of current. Komaeda’s room, from what Hinata’s seen, is a lot neater than this, so hopefully he isn’t all that judging.

(Not that Hinata really cares about Komaeda’s thoughts on his cabin.)

“Thank you, Hinata-kun,” Komaeda replies politely, sitting on the edge of the bed. Hinata sits beside him, and they both ignore the bed sheets that are tangled at their feet. “Once again, I apologize for intruding.”

“I invited you,” Hinata points out.

Komaeda frowns a bit. “Well, yes, but-”

“I wouldn’t have invited you if I didn’t want you here. I don’t exactly do things out of pity or kindness when I’ve been awake for over a day,” he states bluntly.

The other stares at him with a weird expression in his eye, something like understanding. “Ah.”

“Yeah.” Hinata kicks the sheets. “Speaking of.”

“Are you going to sleep, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda sort of teases, but there’s a level of seriousness in it. Hinata sort of hates the way the other makes him feel like he’s fucking up by neglecting himself (which is sort of an oxymoron in thought, but). It’s something Komaeda has always done– made Hinata feel like a fuck up, that is– but it’s sort of different, now, when it’s more of a constructive criticism than a blatant attack.

He’s not sure how he feels about the change.

“I was going to talk about you sleeping, actually,” he retorts, clearing his throat.

Komaeda smiles mischievously. “Did you invite me here just to watch me sleep? How flattering, Hinata-kun, but I assure you I would not be able to do harm to others or myself whilst asleep.”

“That’s,” he takes a deep breath, “not what I meant.”

“Ah, okay. Sorry for assuming!”

“It’s fine?” It sounds too much like a question to his ears, but. Whatever. “I just meant, like. I’m sort of concerned about your health.”

“This doesn’t seem like the mood to discuss this,” Komaeda observes.

Hinata blinks. “Was there a specific mood set by any of this?”

Komaeda looks unimpressed. “Hinata-kun, we’re in your room at 5:00 AM, spending time together. I don’t think this is ideal for a medical visit– especially considering how exhausted you are. I thought you were more trying to be a person than a doctor, right now.”

… There’s some truth in that. There’s some pain in that. Hinata doesn’t try to be inhuman in any way, but he knows, deep down, that it’s a difficult task to accomplish. Months of conditioning combined with the instinctual drive for survival resulted in Kamukura’s eternal boredom and apathy to manifest as a defense mechanism, one that Hinata employs in situations that aren’t necessarily defense-requiring. Like administering medicine, or investigating his own psyche, or trying to breach any topic with Komaeda.

He hates it, but it’s part of him, neither nature nor nurture. Just… a trait, forced upon him, one he has to adapt to.

“Hinata-kun?” Komaeda’s smile is thin. “I apologize for overstepping!”

“It’s fine.” He sort of has a headache. Maybe he should sleep. “You’re right. Sorry.”

“Ah, Hinata-kun doesn’t have to apologize! He can do whatever he likes! I still appreciate him regardless!” he reassures enthusiastically, in an almost adoring way.

… And. The thing is.

Hinata has been viscerally aware of Komaeda’s attraction to him ever since he awoke from the Neo World Program. It didn’t take overwhelming amounts of self reflection and memory analysis to realize that Komaeda has had feelings for him, ever since the Despair Era, when neither of them were the person they are now or were before it all began. It’s present in Servant’s endless worship and Komaeda’s subtle (and sometimes, less subtle) affections.

It’s something that Hinata thought, initially, he could just… accept. The fact that the other likes him is simply a fact of life, like the fact that this same individual is still suffering from frontotemporal dementia and lymphoma, like the fact that the other has trauma neither of them can even begin to impact, like the fact that Hinata is privy to entirely too much about the other that he’s hardly aware of.

This is why his yearning and fondness for Komaeda, despite his conflicting thoughts of romance, takes him by surprise. The idea that Komaeda’s affections could be requited is a shocking concept to both of them, one that might be earth-shattering or simply a natural progression of their current behavior. It’s a thought that he keeps in the back of his mind, primarily, believing that not much can be done until Komaeda heals.

And yet, it surfaces in the quiet moments like this, where Komaeda has that energetically adoring expression, where the moonlight accentuates his face in a pretty way that will only get more beautiful with daybreak, where Hinata is just staring at him mindlessly. It surfaces like this, and Hinata wonders, to himself, if he loves the other.

If this is how it comes to him.

“Hinata-kun?”

Or maybe it’s just a lapse.

“I’m tired,” he replies, which isn’t a proper response but it is the only thing he can find himself saying, right then.

Komaeda nods and starts to stand up, “Ah, okay! I apologize if I bored you, I know I can tend to do that. I hope you sleep well, Hinata-kun-”

Hinata catches his wrist.

“Maybe,” he inhales. “You can stay? And sleep beside me?”

Komaeda’s face shifts, emotions spreading across his face like auroras, but they’re quickly stifled by another smile, one that seems a bit more genuine. “Ah, of course! Whatever Hinata-kun wants.” He takes the eagerness Komaeda exhibits while taking off his shoes and scooting to the center of the bed as confirmation that Komaeda wants this as well.

It’s odd how Hinata has the courage to ask something like that, despite everything.

Hinata draws the curtains closed, hoping that the sun won’t wake them up, and he slips beside Komaeda in bed. The other adjusts well to sleeping in someone else’s bed, all things considered, but he looks fairly stiff all the same. Hinata knows there’s nothing he can do to change his slight discomfort– anything he could do would be a bit too courageous, and he’s already expressed a lot of bravery considering that he’s more contemplative than rash, at the moment.

So he lays down beside him, facing the other who faces away, and he finds himself tracing the contours of his body (innocuous and entirely unrelated to medical concerns), the way his hair curls against his nape, how his hands lay at his sides. It calms him to study the other, and he wonders if that is love, if all of this is love, even if he has a thousand other concerns.

It takes a pathetically short five minutes before he says, “Komaeda…?”

“Yes, Hinata-kun?” Komaeda still sounds awake. He wonders if he was planning on sleeping at all.

He breathes out a soft exhale. “Can we talk?”

–

He does not see Komaeda again until after despair overcomes the world.

But by then, both him and Komaeda are separate people. The memories prior to the creation of himself– Kamukura Izuru, that being– are vague and only documented in a diary that Hinata Hajime struggled to maintain. And Servant, while not suffering direct memory loss of everything regarding Hope’s Peak Academy, does not appear to want to verbally recall anything regarding the school to Kamukura. This could be from lack of trust. This could be his nature.

They meet in a bloodied street, bodies scattered across the asphalt in an unpleasing way. From an aesthetic standpoint, it is disgusting, but Kamukura does not necessarily dislike it. He does not dislike anything.

He only finds this despair base.

Servant’s hands are dirtied from crusted blood, which is to be expected. His hair is awry, his face in a considerably tormented frown, and his attire is dirtied aside from his chain that drags obnoxiously loud on the pavement.

Kamukura clears his throat.

His face shifts drastically when he sees Kamukura, which is the most interesting part of his appearance, as of current, and he immediately drops to his knees. It is certainly an interesting display, yet predictable, and Servant’s voice is raspy when he says, “Kamukura Izuru.”

“So you have heard of me.” That is understandable. The only reason Kamukura is at this location, after all, is because Enoshima requested prior to her death that Kamukura take ownership of Servant. She had considered it a present to him, but Kamukura finds nothing to be a gift, especially when it is at her hands.

One of her hands is severed and attached in place of where Servant’s would be. Expectable.

“You’re the Ultimate Hope,” he breathes. “I- I have been looking for you-”

“How convenient,” he cuts off his likely obnoxious rambling. He does not want to hear about his godhood from the lens of a worshipper. “As I was looking for you.”

Servant’s face flushes. “You were looking for me? Ahaha, I’m sure you must be mistaken.”

“Enoshima stated that in her death, you were to be my property. Transitive ownership.” His face twists at the sound of her name, which is not necessarily expected, but can be easily explained retroactively. “You are mindlessly idling, as of current. You plan to travel to Towa City, but have not done so yet. You have killed seventeen people directly in your time of being a Remnant of Despair, but you are growing bored.”

Despite his wide eyes and droll expression, Servant is clever enough to catch on. “You would like me to travel with you, Kamukura-kun? I warn you, I am useless in every possible way and unworthy of your presence.”

Kamukura glares at him. “I will determine that.”

“… Understood.” Servant hesitates before standing up, and there is shocking amounts of excitement in his expression. “I apologize for being overeager, I’ve never travelled with someone like this before. Someone like you before.”

“That is to be expected,” Kamukura says as he begins to walk, stepping over corpses with grace as the Remnant beside him trips and stumbles, babbling about despair and hope and talent all the way.

From there, an attachment forms. They continue to travel in this manner, relocating from place to place with little but each other’s companionship (and what they can find, in this cataclysmic scenario– assorted piles of canned vegetables and month-old water bottles). Along the way grows learning, basic answers to questions that benefit both of them only slightly, though prove to be boring, as Kamukura does not have a favorite color or movie or food. But the basis of small talk leads to a more expanded exploration of morality, of death and life and the liminality of such matters, philosophy and physics and their prediction for where the world will be.

Kamukura discovers, then, that Servant is not capable of matching him in intelligence. However, he nears close to having this ability, exhibiting his cleverness in a distinctly separate way than how Enoshima enforced her analytical prowess upon her victims. It is refreshing, to have this difference. It is refreshing, by extension, to have him.

That is how the evolution of their relationship begins.

Sexual ties between them have been present from the start. Servant is poor at concealing his overwhelming attraction to the other, and Kamukura has curiosities he was not interested in exploring with Enoshima. Thus begins tumultuous, albeit safe to an extent, exploratory intercourse, which Kamukura finds not particularly boring.

Then becomes an inherent domesticity in residing together, in sharing beds (although, Servant only allows himself to sleep beside Kamukura if he is particularly in pain, that day. Kamukura does not necessarily mind if Servant continues to sleep beside him, but it is a matter of principle that is tedious to undo, especially with no distinct want to commit effort to it). Along with sleeping together, there is having meals together, defending each other from robotic Monokumas when it becomes necessary, and even reading together.

It is all not particularly interesting. It is all not particularly boring. It exists in a grey area that Kamukura struggles to define.

He dislikes struggling.

There is a particular day, once, that he would consider lucky (were he to indulge in this thought towards Servant, the other would likely break down) due to the numerous realizations had. The primary one, and the most convoluted one by far, is the realization that he is perhaps infatuated with the other.

It comes whilst Servant is asleep, his body bare aside from the marring of bruises and hickeys, thin sheets layered in dust resting atop him. Kamukura observes him from where he sits at the edge of the bed, admiring the way the red sky highlights Servant’s body in an almost rosy way, porcelain skin glimmering with red contours that made the Ultimate Artist in Kamukura transfixed. Part of him desired to reach out and trace his body on impulse– and it would not be the first time he sought touch out of poorly placed impulse. However, he refrains.

A small part of him– a romantic, likely, in all but practice– finds that touching him may, perhaps, detract from the natural beauty he exudes. It is not like Kamukura is anything other than manmade.

This is a thought that crosses his mind often. Rather, the latter is. However, with Servant in his life as a catalyst, the frequency of such thoughts rapidly accelerates, and he finds a sense of permanence in the other. Something he is rather interested in exploring, given the time. There are many, many inquiries he would indulge in, given the time.

They are not given time.

He had prepared an injection in advance, one to make Servant unconscious for approximately 48 hours. It is enough time to execute a procedure that would remove Servant’s memories of Kamukura, a similar procedure that he will attempt to repeat on himself (he has done thorough research into lobotomies due to his experiences. Even without this research, it would not be a particularly difficult task. However, his emotions pose a hindrance). He is aware that he should inject Servant now, as, according to his predictions and intuition, he has confidence in the fact that the Future Foundation will locate them within that period of time.

He would like to evade them. He knows he is able to, that he has a capacity to outwit them, that Servant would heed every command necessary to guarantee their survival. After all, there is no certainty in the prospect that the Future Foundation would keep them alive.

Despite this, Kamukura is… curious. He is intrigued as to what the Future Foundation will do, once they capture him and Servant, and he knows that they cannot evade the Future Foundation forever. They will grow bored.

It is regrettable, he thinks as he injects Servant with the serum, stroking his hair for purely selfish purposes as he does so. It is regrettable that they did not have infinite time together. However, Servant is dying to his own illness, and Kamukura is dying, metaphorically, to the boredom that he can not fully stave away, even with his agreeable companionship. It is poetic, in the same sense, that they will be captured and perhaps be executed before they could fully breach the barrier of worship and love, something Kamukura is not certain he could attain.

In all senses, it is over, and Servant will not remember him by the time he awakes in the grasp of the Future Foundation.

(A part of Kamukura recalls their first meeting with feigned nostalgia, remnants of the emotion that must have existed before his creation, and he wonders– or, cynically, he hopes– that he may meet the other again, and finish the life they began.)

–

Komaeda rolls over and smiles, slightly sleepy. “What do you want to talk about, Hinata-kun?” After a pause, he asks, “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he says with a little too much force. “I’ve just had some. Things on my mind. That I want to talk about?”

It’s sort of a half-truth, because it feels wrong to say that it’s been something on his mind. Because it has been, and it has been for a while– but he hardly knows if what he’s feeling is love, if it’s worth indulging in this when he has so much to work on. If he can even be certain of his thoughts at all.

But he wants to talk to Komaeda– maybe to get perspective, and finally decide.

So, he closes his eyes and starts talking. “I was thinking about the simulation, and before. More specifically, us.”

He can hear the bitterness in Komaeda’s voice when he says, “Ah. How I betrayed and belittled you?”

“Not exactly.” But it’s part of it. “… You said in the simulation that you were in love with me, right?”

There’s a pause. One that’s long enough that Hinata almost wants to open his eyes, but he needs to isolate himself in his thoughts temporarily, dissect the words and his feelings and come to a conclusion. It’s something he’s good at (but love isn’t survival games, or class trials. If they were, he would have figured this out a long time ago, back when Nanami was still around).

When Komaeda eventually speaks, it’s brief but telling. “… Yes.”

“And. You didn’t like me much before all of that, but… as Servant, you-”

“Worshipped and admired Kamukura-kun, yes.” He sounds almost nervous. Komaeda rarely sounds like this, and it’s almost enough to stop pushing. “… Why do you ask? Don’t you already know this, Hinata-kun?”

Hinata sighs. “Yeah, technically. But I’ve been thinking about it more, and…” he opens his eyes, now. Komaeda’s face is vacant– no smile, no frown, just a straight line that wavers if he stares hard enough. His eyes are filled with emotion he can’t uncover, emotions he doesn’t want to uncover. But… he watches them carefully regardless, makes note of how they shift. “We’ve had an interesting relationship, throughout all our time knowing each other. In our one encounter back at Hope’s Peak, we didn’t get along, and things in Despair were… intimate, yet twisted.”

“That’s one way to consider it,” Komaeda says, and it isn’t quite hatred in his voice, but something close. Something Hinata knows not to take personally.

“And. I’ve been thinking about where it leaves us, now. And– I mean, it’s something in the back of my head, but not really. Filling all my thoughts? It just sort of came up while we were sitting here, before I said we should sleep, and sometimes I think about it when I’m not working around the island. So it’s sort of…” a dormant thing, has been in the back of my mind forever because I put it there, because I didn’t want to accept that I like you, because I’m too afraid and I know you are too, but there’s something about you, something about this, and I’m curious to know where it goes- “Yeah.”

Komaeda nods. “I see.”

“I think you know where I’m going with this.”

There’s a silence. Then- “I’d rather not.”

“… Rather not what?”

He already knows, but he wants to hope, wants to hope that Komaeda will allow himself this, despite everything. And yet…

… “Rather not believe what you are implying, Hinata-kun.” And the bitterness is directed at him this time, but Komaeda has always tore at him claws to hide something else, whether it be personal insecurity or infatuation or fear. Hinata thinks it might be all three, now. “You are aware of my love for you, how you could use it to your benefit, how you could disregard me and I would-” his breath catches.

“Komaeda?”

“… hardly complain,” he finishes. “I would hardly complain if you used me, because it’s you. You’re aware that you could make this so easy– and you aren’t even certain of this. I’ve been certain ever since I knew you, even when I hardly knew anything about you, even when I stayed with you to wake up on that island, I knew. But you don’t, and you could make it so easy and just give up on me, because it’s not like I would love you less or hate you more, but you’re acting on impulse. You rarely act on impulse, so why are you…”

There are tears in Komaeda’s eyes.

“… When I first met you,” Hinata starts. “I thought you were pretty. An asshole, but pretty. In despair, Kamukura was interested in you, and he was bored of everything else, even her. And he knew your worship, and that was the most boring part of you, to him, because he didn’t like being treated like a god, not by you. And… and in the simulation, I remember the betrayal I felt when I knew one of the only people I trusted turned their back on me. And- and when I saw your corpse-”

Komaeda shakes his head, but Hinata doesn’t stop. “-When I saw your corpse, I was so fucking pissed, because you’re smart and fucked up and I almost missed you that trial, despite everything. And despite everything, now when I woke you up, when I had to run into the infirmary and out of it and had to do all those fucking psychodives to get you out, I thought it was worth it.”

“Hinata-kun.”

“I thought– I knew, and I know– that you are worth it.”

And even though Komaeda’s stare is intimidating, and even though Hinata’s so uncertain of everything right now, he’s confident in that.

He’s never been more confident in anything, actually.

–

When Hinata wakes up on an unfamiliar island, with an aching head and endless questions about his surroundings, he’s greeted by a stranger, with a slight smile on their face. They had slightly tostled white hair, cloudlike and wispy, that falls just above their dim green eyes, and they have a slender yet alluring physique that Hinata almost finds pretty, in his dazed state.

After they confirm that Hinata is awake, they introduce themself. “… I’m Komaeda Nagito. Nice to meet you.”

Hinata accepts the hand he offers him and stands up, brushing sand off his pants (why are they at a beach?) and replying, “Hey, I’m Hinata Hajime.”

Komaeda leads him around the island, introducing him to all the others that had left him behind, unconscious, on the beach (he can’t really blame him. He’s still embarrassed about how he just… passed out. At least Komaeda isn’t judging him for it). He offers his own quips and commentary about the island, one Hinata finds insightful, if not slightly odd at times, and he begins to develop a trust for the other.

Sort of. Because, well, it’s not like he can really trust anyone, when they all woke up on a random fucking island with no idea of what’s going on, aside from some random shit a rabbit tells them. But, for as weird Komaeda can sometimes be and the weird situation they’re in, he establishes him as trustworthy early on. Someone to rely on, even when everything goes to hell.

(And littered in there, far enough in the back of his head that he sort of forgets about it, he is sort of infatuated with the other. In a super base way– because he’s a teenager, c’mon– but, still. Komaeda’s pretty, and he’s friendly, and he thinks there’s some significance in that.

Of course, everything changes when the first murder occurs. When the trial happens, and truths are revealed. When everything spirals downwards for the rest of their ‘island vacation’, and Hinata realizes that Komaeda should have never been trusted at all.

… But he can’t bring himself to hate him, despite everything. Even when he’s faced with his corpse.)

–

There is a long silence that fills the room, after his admission.

It’s understandable, considering that Komaeda… has never quite had anyone stay by his side as long as Hinata has. He’s probably never considered the possibility of requited love or care of anything, has never been able to reconcile with the idea that Hinata wants to stay despite the fucked-up mess of trauma and disease his brain is filled with. He probably finds himself vacant, like Hinata does, sometimes, like every quirk about him that makes him distinctive and worthy of love is completely null, and that he is cursing Hinata by being around him this long.

It’s more fucked up than Hinata can sometimes conceptualize, but. As he said, it’s worth it.

Hinata breaks the silence, knowing that he should be patient with the other, who has had his mentality partially shattered in a brief period of time, but slightly worried that the progress they’ve made would fall at a stalemate in complete silence. “… Komaeda?”

“Hinata-kun.” His voice is both empty and emotional, and it leaves an ache in Hinata’s chest. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand, still. I’m not…” he trails off.

“You are worth it,” Hinata insists, because he knows the way that Komaeda thinks, knows where his mind is going. “We don’t have to do anything, or be anything, if you don’t want to. I just… thought you should know, and I’ve been thinking about it a lot, so. Thought it was worth saying.”

“Worth,” Komaeda echoes quietly. His laugh is at the same volume, raspy and choked. “I… I really like you, Hinata-kun, but I can’t let you endanger yourself.”

Hinata shakes his head. “Your luck can’t affect me badly, remember? I’m lucky too.”

“It has in the past. Before you remember. When me and Kamukura-kun were together, and how bad luck and consequent good luck would follow us around. He thought it was interesting. I knew we weren’t safe. And we weren’t.” He sighs, and Hinata wants to reach out and brush his cheek with his fingertips, ensure that he isn’t just a ghost. “If I hurt you, Hinata-kun-”

“You won’t,” Hinata argues.

Komaeda raises his voice, slightly. “But if I do, then I wouldn’t be able to live with myself. Knowing that you chose to have something with me, despite all your responsibilities and all the risks I bring to you just by existing… it would kill me, Hinata-kun. I’m already dying and I’ve done it once, but… it would really, really kill me. I don’t think I would be able to lose you. I don’t…” He looks so tired.

Hinata reaches out, then, and intertwines their fingers. Komaeda doesn’t push him away, and he takes it as a good sign. “You aren’t going to lose me. And I know we can’t be certain of what’ll happen in the future, but… I think we deserve something good. So much bad shit has happened, and we’re healing and everything, but I think we also deserve to find something like… hope. In each other. Y’know? And, obviously, it’s only if you want. I’m not gonna, like, make you date me, or something.” He squeezes his hand. “But, I don’t want you to keep yourself from someone you want– something we want– out of fear. We’re not going to die, Komaeda. And even if we did… every second that led to it would be worth it.”

Komaeda’s eyes flutter shut. It hurt to see the pain in his eyes, but his scrunched eyebrows and shaky lip is almost worse. “I… I don’t know what to do.”

“What do you want to do?” Hinata asks gently.

“I…” he cuts himself off, thinking in silence as Hinata rubs circles into his palm. Eventually, his eyes open, and his expression is tentative and a bit scared, but Hinata can see some hope in it. It’s almost enough to make him smile, but he fights it off and waits for Komaeda to finish. “I… I want this. But, I don’t deserve it.”

“You want it,” Hinata reminds him softly, “and I want it. So, I think it’s okay for us to have, yeah?”

He hesitates, but eventually says, “… Maybe.”

“Maybe,” he repeats, and then he gives him a slight smile. “I can work with maybe.”

Komaeda responds with a fleeting smile, one that makes Hinata let go of his hand and tug him forward into a warm embrace. Komaeda’s face nestles into the other’s shoulder, and he can hear a muffled voice whisper, “I love you, Hinata-kun. I really do.”

A weight he thought would permanently be on his shoulders disappears, and he breathes out a long sigh of relief as he tightens his grip on Komaeda’s waist. And, with a voice that echoes himself through all of the years of knowing Komaeda, through the stress and irritation and curiosity and trust, in a journey that was just as much his as it was theirs, he says, “I love you too.”

Even after everything.

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

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