#despair disease m!a | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

malereadermaniac · 7 months ago

Text

Hope ~ Nagito Komaeda x Male Reader

Idc what anyone says I love this man sm Feeding an almost starving Nagito near the start of Chapter 2 of SDR2 - and a small bonus of the despair disease at the end! Short fic! word count: 1.2k m!reader (no genitalia mentioned) / FDNI Hope's Peak = College (aged around 20) (U/t) - Ultimate Talent

Walking out of your cottage, you run into a pissed-off looking Hajime

"Hey, Hajime! What's up? You look like, really mad" you say with a small chuckle, trying to cheer up your tall classmate

"Yeah I'm good... I just went to give Nagito food and... ugh he's just such a dickhead" Hajime mumbles, letting out a deep sigh and shaking his head slightly

"Yeah... he's quite the personality isn't he? I'm sure he means well, in some demented way" you chuckle with Hajime at your remark

"Did he end up eating then?" You ask on a whim to carry the conversation on

"Uhhh... I don't actually know" Hajime says with a guilty look on his face

"I mean, I left the food in front of him to eat! But once he started acting up, I just left" Hajime explains after you give him a weird look

"Aren't his hands tied up?? He's probably in tons of pain from hunger right now... Even worse, what if he dies, Hajime?!" You say in a small panic

"I'll go check on him, see ya later!" You wave Hajime off, slightly speed walking towards the old building

While you disliked Nagito as much as almost everyone else on this island, your morals couldn't let you leave Nagito to practically starve

After getting past Monomi, you open the door to the room Nagito was in

Your heart rate increases as you see Nagito, unconscious and tied up on the floor

Running over to him, you kneel down next to the unconscious blonde and immediately feel for a heartbeat

Luckily, you find a slightly slow one - calming you down right away

You look around for the food Hajime left, finding a sandwich with one small bite taken out of it and a bottle of milk

Moving the plate closer to you and taking out some fruit you had with you, you try to gently wake the starving man up

Nagito's fair skin looks even paler than usual, his body clearly weaker

You slowly shake the lucky student awake, his eyes weakly opening to great you

"Ahhh... (y/n), come to take advantage of my weakened state? I'd be... happy to help?"

Even when starving, Nagito can still somehow be annoying as hell, offering his life up to anyone and everyone

"Hah... nope, I've come to save your life, actually!" You say with a slight annoyance on your voice

You slowly sit Nagito up against a wall, kneeling next to him, holding the plate of food

"Aw.. are you gonna feed... me, (y/n)? A lowly nothing like me?"

"Shut up and eat..." you mumble as you feed Nagito the sandwich from earlier

As you make your way through the food you brought over, Nagito and you start to make idle conversation as his complexion starts to regain some colour

You focus on Nagito's soft lips as you feed him, his watery eyes from his body's uncontrollable joy of being able to eat

"Thank you... I do really owe you one, (y/n)" Nagito says with a small smile, closing his eyes for a second as he chuckles

"No problem... I'd do this for anyone, really" you say, blushing slightly at Nagito's sincerity

"Guess that's the kindheartedness of an ultimate... But not just for feeding me y'know" Nagito mumbles

"Oh yeah? Then for what?" You question, slightly confused by what the blonde was talking about

"I was having a pretty bad dream..." Nagito's face started to lose colour again as he remembered what he was dreaming about, his expression trying to clearly hide his true feelings

"...But you woke me up, I'm really grateful for that! 'Cause of the ultimate (u/t), I didn't have to carry on being tortured by my own subconscious" Nagito says with a wide smile, the crazed look in his eyes returning whenever he talks about hope or ultimates

After a moment of silence as you helped Nagito drink the milk, you broke the comfortable lack of sound

"What... were you dreaming about? If you don't mind me asking"

"Hmhm... my parents dying.... and my dog haha - for the ultimate lucky student, its quite ironic that all that's brought me comfort in life has died, wouldn't you say?" Nagito answers honestly, you can tell from hid tone

You were quite shocked at this sincere revelation

"Oh I'm... sorry to have asked... but I'm sure that you can find new comfort, whilst cherishing the memories of your old comforts" you try to comfort the blonde

The look on Nagito's face had changed from a facade of happiness to visibly real comfort

"Heh... thanks, (y/n). Y'know, I think you're the first on this Island to be genuinely nice to me" Nagito said with a warm smile

You'd thought to yourself if this was the real Nagito - no hope bullshit and crazy demands to be killed, just real human emotion and connection

"You've given me a new sense of hope, in away, you're my hope, (y/n)"

You blushed at Nagito's words, profusely

"Don't.. say stuff like that! People can get the wrong idea, y'know" you look anywhere but into Nagito's eyes as you blush

But if you had looked into his eyes, you would of seen a similar look to when he's crazy about hope and talent, however the way he looked at you was full of warmth and comfort

Bonus-short: Despair Disease

The hospital was creepy at night, but you had to stay there - Mikan had been whisked away to take care of a worsening Akane, leaving you to take care of Nagito

After putting a cold towel on Nagito's head, you sit by his side and watch over him

After a few hours, the feverish blonde regains consciousness and notices you by his side

"(Y/n)?" He asks, not trusting his blurry vision

"Yeah? You okay, Nagito?" You ask, a tired look on your face but you make the effort to smile

Somehow, Nagito musters his strength to stand up

"H-Hey! You shouldn't be up, you should rest up in bed" your words fall on deaf ears

"I don't.... want you here, (y/n)... L-Leave... Now" Nagito mumbles, his face looking distraught

"Hey... what's up, Nagito? I'm just here to make sure you stay stable" you assure the blonde

"I Hate... you, (y/n)" Nagito's eyes start to well up in tears, his face actually distraught

"Okay, okay... I'll leave if you get back in bed, okay?" You bargain with the ill blonde

"Y-Yes!" Nagito shouts, however his words don't match his actions

Nagito for some reason dashes to the door and blocks it

"Leave now... I don't want you, I don't need you, I hate you" Nagito mumbles

"What...? Oh!" You were confused by Nagito's actions, that is until you remembered what kind of despair disease Nagito has

The liar disease makes Nagito say the opposite of what he means

"I'll stay, Nagito, for you I'll stay, come back to your bed"

"That's not good..." Nagito mumbles as he makes his way back to his bed, his warm had in yours

By the end of the night, Nagito had persuaded you to share the bed with him, so what if you catch the disease too...

Wait a minuet... Nagito says the complete opposite of what he means...

Why did he say "I hate you, (y/n)"???

245 notes · View notes

mrsokkotsu · 21 days ago

Text

ಣ ˖ ࣪࿐ྂ 𝓰𝓾𝓪𝓻𝓭𝓲𝓪𝓷 𝓪𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓵 𓈒 ˖ ࣪

yūta okkotsu x f!reader . sfw — hurt comfort. established relationship ﾉ heavy, heavy tw ; for self harm slash self destruction slash self mutilation :c ﾉ flower imagery is used tew portray da inflicted wounds ﾉ reader has a meltdown ﾉ slight religious imagery in da way yūta is compared tew dat of an angel here 'n there ﾉ non — sexual nudity i.e. yūta gives reader a warm bath tew soothe her ﾉ yuta tends tew reader's wounds ﾉ da ending is a happi one, not tew fret ! ! ﾉ note : dis piece is extremely self — indulgent . . pwease do b kind tew mi, i wrote dis for m' own comfort . . (⸝⸝o̴̶̷᷄ ·̭ o̴̶̷̥᷅⸝⸝) ❤︎ - reupload frm an old blog of mine . .

you pick at your skin, gnaw at the flesh and peel it back in thin strips. blots of crimson well and burst forth from the wounds, drip down your arm in fat globs, splatter messily onto the pristine sheets of your bed and bloom across the fabric like wild flowers. a garden is sewn onto your arm, and your hands are the bloodied thorns that prick at the skin, that dig deep and pull at the fibres to make way for more pretty buds of red to spring forth. the sight is grotesque, and yet— you're enthralled. it's a morbid form of self expression, you think. the pain is a sweet burn and the sight is a masterpiece.

bared before the world like a raw nerve, your is soul stripped to the bone, the hideous parts of you spilling out and splashing the earth, staining the soil a muddy marron. the petals of the flower that is you are pulled apart one by one by a cruel hand, the stamen ripped free and left to rot, until there's nothing left but the naked bulb. the core of you, a hollow chamber with a heartbeat, pulsating, beating. it's a heart that's been crushed and mangled and beaten, and yet, somehow, it still thumps.

you can't stand the sight of the ugliness of your insides, the revulsion that curdles deep in the pit of your stomach, the sickening feeling of your heart's remains leaking and smearing all over your organs, and so you decide to take matters into your own hands.

with a sharpened piece of glass, you begin the work of slicing away the parts of you that are rotten. you're careful not to cut too deep, just enough for the blood to bubble and dribble out, the flesh beneath thinly sliced and weeping a steady stream of red. the material is cold against your skin and the blade is a welcome caress. its serrated edge kisses your wrist and nips at the sensitive skin, a lover's touch. each incision is a cathartic release, the ache a purifying baptism.

there is something so wonderfully therapeutic about the act of self mutilation, a sense of liberation that comes from taking the knife in hand and hacking away at the pieces of you that are diseased.

but your euphoria is short lived, and soon enough the adrenaline wanes and the high melts away, leaving behind a mess of broken, bleeding skin and the crushing reality of what you've done. the shame sets in and the fear begins to fester. a pitiful sound of anguish slips past your lips, and you find yourself falling to pieces. your tears fall freely, a torrential rainfall that batters your cheeks and floods the crevices of your mouth.

salty and bitter, they taste of regret. you're disgusted with yourself, and the urge to cut, to maim, to mar is strong, the craving a beast that gnaws hungrily at your gut. the glass sings sickeningly, and the sharp glint of the edges beckon you, seductively whispering your name. you want to scream, to claw and rend the skin from your bones, to rip yourself apart until you're a mangled heap of sticky nectar, stems, and roots. but you're tired, and so, instead, you fall to your knees, a supplicant before the altar of your despair.

your body shakes with the force of your sobs, and your throat feels like it's been scraped raw, your vocal cords bruised and battered. you're a wailing mess, your sounds so loud they crescendo into a high pitched shriek that would put a banshee to shame. the noise is a discordant cacophony, and it grates harshly against your ears, the shrillness causing the hair on the back of your neck to stand on end.

the cries could split the earth apart and rain hellfire upon the world.

and, perhaps, if you had a modicum of self-awareness, you would realise the magnitude of your sorrow, the enormity of the pain that has consumed you and call out for him yourself.

but, alas, the fog in your mind is too thick, the haze clouding your judgement and rendering you blind. so, when you hear the frantic footfalls and the familiar voice calling out your name, you can only assume that it's a figment of your imagination. it's nothing but a delusion conjured up by your shattered psyche, a cruel trick played on you by the remnants of your sanity, a final farewell from the ghost of your better self— a parting gift before your descent into madness.

however, when strong arms wrap around you and the smell of sandalwood and cinnamon fills your nose, you know that it's not a mirage.

a halo of light surrounds him, and he's the picture of ethereal grace, the embodiment of celestial beauty. his skin is a radiant canvas, his hair a crown of stardust, his eyes two pools of liquid boleite. you wonder what you must look like to him, a wilted flower with crumpled petals and torn leaves— a pitiful sight, indeed.

a part of you is mortified at the thought of him seeing you in such a state, but a larger part is glad, for your saviour has arrived. and you need him, desperately.

a quiet sob escapes his lips when he sees the carnage that has been wrought upon your skin. yuuta's own eyes well up with salty brine, and he cradles your battered form in his arms, gently stroking the unmarred parts of your body in a bid to comfort you. rainfall pitter-patters against your face— his tears, warm and heavy and laden with the weight of a concern so great it could rival the ocean's depths. they slide down your cheeks and mix with the remnants of your own, a river of shared sorrow, a bridge made of mutual empathy.

you are his heart's greatest treasure, and the sight of you broken and bleeding is enough to cleave him in two. his heart aches, and his soul cries out for yours. how he longs to take away the hurt, to absorb your pain into his own body and carry the burden of your suffering for you. but he knows he cannot.

alternatively, he does the next best thing. he vows to help you mend, to piece together the fractured shards of your soul and glue them back together with his love, the adhesive a potent concoction of soft spoken words, tender caresses, and warm embraces. he promises to be there for you, to walk alongside you on your path to recovery, to hold your hand and guide you through the darkness.

and, above all else, he pledges to love you— to cherish and treasure you, to show you the depth of his devotion, the unfaltering strength of his adoration, the infinite reaches of his regard for you. this, he will do until the end of time, and beyond that. even after his mortal coil has dissolved into dust, and his spirit has faded from existence, his love for you will remain, a phantom echo of a bygone era, a memory kept safe in the annals of history.

in a low voice, the young man calls out your name, a plea for you to look at him. though it takes a herculean effort, you do. you're met with the sight of his face, pale as a sheet, his expression tinged with grief. he's shaken to the core, the sight of your mutilated flesh a knife to his heart. your lips tremble and his own curl downwards into a frown. how cruel it is, to be faced with the grim reminder of the fragility of life, the vulnerability of the human condition, the impermanence of all things.

his hands shake as they clasp your own, his grip soft, yet firm, the contact grounding. a shaky breath leaves his lips, and he presses them to your knuckles, a prayer of thanks to the god above for allowing you to survive the ordeal.

your fingers twitch beneath his, and he brings them to his face, a silent invitation for you to touch him. his skin is smooth, and the planes of his features are sharp, chiselled to perfection, his visage comparable to a statue carved from marble. his eyes are wide and filled with trepidation, and his eyebrows are furrowed, creased with worry.

the tears still flow freely, and they dampen your fingertips, the pads of them smearing salty trails across his cheeks. you brush away the droplets and cup his face, a gesture meant to soothe him, to reassure him that you're here, alive, despite the physical (and mental) wounds.

it seems to work, somewhat, and his body sags in relief, the tension in his muscles dissipating. however, he's not entirely at ease. his heart still hammers in his chest, and his breathing is shallow, his chest rising and falling rapidly. it's a struggle to remain calm, but he does his best, for your sake. his voice is a tremulous whisper, and his words come out in a stuttering rush, his tone tinged with the panic.

he speaks of his fear, the dread that had settled like lead in his stomach when he'd first seen the state you were in. his voice breaks as he recounts his terror, the sheer terror at the thought of losing you. a shudder runs through him, and his digits clench around yours, a desperate plea for you to stay, to never leave him.

the prospect of living in a world without you is an unfathomable one, an idea so absurd it causes a bitter laugh to tumble from his lips. for without you, the world would lose its luster, its vibrancy, its life. the colours would fade, and the air would be suffocating, the grief a heavy shroud that would drape itself over the land.

yuuta is certain that, were such a fate to befall him, he would follow suit, his spirit crumbling into ash and dust. his very essence would disintegrate, the threads that bind him to this world coming undone, and his soul would be adrift, aimlessly wandering the realms of the beyond.

your voice is hoarse and strained as you reply, the syllables heavy, your mouth feeling as if it were filled with cotton.

you apologise profusely, the words spilling forth, a deluge of regret and remorse. the shame threatens to swallow you whole, and your vision blurs with fresh tears, the guilt a vice around your throat. but before you can descend further into self loathing, yuuta cuts you off.

his tone is stern, yet his touch remains gentle, his fingers brushing away the wetness that stains your skin. he admonishes you lightly, reminding you of the importance of your life, the preciousness of your being, the irreplaceability of your existence.

you're a miracle, he says, a blessing sent from the heavens above. you see much irony in the statement, as a halo could not be far off from encircling his head. a divine aura emanates from him, and he radiates light, the warmth of the sun itself. you're not sure if it's his natural disposition or the result of the proximity between you two, but yuuta glows.

if it weren't for your rosey liquid tainting his unblemished flesh, you'd almost say he was a seraph.

a soft, wet sound comes from him, and your focus is pulled from his visage and down to where he's holding your wrists. you watch as the young man licks his lips and presses them to the tyrannised flesh, a balm for the hurt.

sticky droplets of nectar cling to the corners of his mouth, but he pays no mind to the metallic tang. rather, he continues his ministrations, peppering feather light kisses over every inch of skin he can reach, his touch a whisper against the abused area. he's careful not to agitate the wounds, and he's delicate in his handling of you, his movements deliberate and slow.

when he pulls away, he looks at you, and his eyes are full of love, a compassion that could melt the coldest of hearts. it's a look that speaks volumes, and it's more eloquent than any words could ever hope to be. his gaze conveys the depth of his feelings, the true nature of his devotion, the unparalleled ardency of his emotions. he loves you, completely and wholly, and he's willing to show it, in every way he can.

his fingers ghost over the marks, tracing the lines, the gashes, the incisions, his digits dancing across the planes of your body, before he finally rises and scoops you up into his arms, careful not to jostle your injuries. ponderous drips of crimson fall from your open wounds and splatter onto the floor, a gruesome trail marking the path he takes as he carries you out of the room.

a single glance is all it takes for him to discern the severity of your condition, and, without missing a beat, yuuta sets his sights on the bathroom, his steps purposeful and sure. you're trembling in his arms, the adrenaline having worn off completely, leaving you a weak and shivering mess. the pain is intense, a pulsing sting that throbs and radiates outward, the agony spreading throughout your body. you can feel the blood oozing out of the lacerations, the sensation nauseating, the coppery scent invading your nostrils and causing bile to rise in your throat.

yuuta's movements are prudent as he places you on the rim of the bathtub, the ceramic cold beneath your thighs. you watch as he fiddles with the faucet, the water rushing out and filling the basin with a dull roar, the sound echoing off the tiled walls and reverberating in your ears. the young man tests the temperature, adjusting it until it's just right, before shutting off the flow. steam rises from the surface, and the mirror fogs over, a milky haze obscuring your reflection.

yuuta helps you strip off your soiled garments, his fingers working deftly as he removes the offending items, tossing them aside without a second thought. he guides you into the tub, the warm water lapping at your skin and turning a shade of pink as it mingles with your inside honey.

you whine at the initial contact, the ache a searing sensation that has you screwing your eyes shut. but it soon abates, and you relax into the embrace of hot curls and bubbles, your body going limp as the heat seeps into your bones. your muscles unclench and the knots loosen, the tension easing out of your system. the stress melts away, and the weight of the day's events is lifted from your shoulders.

you sigh in relief, and yuuta takes that as a sign to proceed.

he's methodical as he cleans you, his hands working efficiently, washing away the grime and the filth, the residue of your misery. your vital fluid mixes and swirls together with the adam's ail, forming intricate patterns prior to being whisked down the drain. the pigment slowly disappears, and the water returns to its transparent state, the only remnants of the incident the scars that have been left behind.

yuuta's touch is a gentle caress, and his strokes are soothing, the pressure just right. the suds slide down your skin, the foam a tickle, bubbles bursting into tiny clouds as a silken cloth wipes the last part of your pain away.

you can feel the love behind each pass, the fondness and attention that goes into each motion, the affection that percolates from his fingertips. the intimacy is overwhelming. so overwhelming in fact, that you can't help but bleat, the tears beginning anew.

unlike before, though, these are tears of joy. the euphoria that comes with being cared for, with being cherished and appreciated, is a bliss unlike any other.

you're grateful, immensely so, for the privilege of being in his presence. maybe, just maybe, you've been too blinded by the smother of your purgatory to truly comprehend the immensity of your partner's proclivity towards you, his unflagging loyalty and commitment to you, his unfaltering faith in you. it's a sobering realisation, and the epiphany strikes you hard.

you're reminded of the fact that he's your paramour, not in name, but in heart and soul. the affirmation is a salve for the punctures that have been imposed upon you, an unction for the fissures that have ruptured your heart. and you thank him copiously, a string of garbled words that leave your lips, a jumbled mess of indebtedness and appreciation. your speech is nonsensical, the sounds melding together and blending into one, the syllables running into each other and forming a singular unit, an amalgamation of vowels and consonants.

but he understands, and he smiles, a smile so beautiful it makes the sun seem so bleak in comparisson. the brilliance is blinding, and it has you blinking back stars, the radiance burning your retinas. but you don't look away.

how could you? how could you, when it's a smile that makes the world stop spinning, the planets halt in their orbits, the constellations freeze in place, the galaxy hold its breath.

the climbing, prickly plant that squeezed your insides, coiled around your intestines, and strangled the life from you has finally blossomed into something sweet. it's an explosion of colour, a profusion of aromatic petals, a display of vibrant hues. the nectar that flows from your core is honeyed, a sap of saccharine ambrosia. and it tastes like hope, like happiness.

your heart flutters, a hummingbird's wings flapping erratically against your ribcage, the palpitations causing your pulse to race. it's a pleasant feeling, a warmth that spreads through your veins and permeates every fibre of your being, the euphoria a tingle in your extremities.

who knew that the remedy for all ills could be found in the shape of a gorgeous boy with a big heart?

who knew that the cure for all wounds could be found in the form of a loving, caring soul who just so happened to be yours?

and who knew that the key to feeling whole again could be found in the hands of someone who looked at you as if you were worth more than the world itself? you, certainly not, before today. yet, the evidence is irrefutable.

as you sit there, bathed in his love, the wounds on yourself forgotten (regardless of the buzz that lingers), you can't help but think that, perhaps, you've found a reason to stay. a reason to live. a reason to continue walking this path, hand in hand with him.

the journey of existence, though long and arduous, seems less daunting now. for, as you gaze into the depths of his eyes, you can see a future. a future full of possibilities, a life rich in meaning, a chance at joy. it's a prospect that excites you, and the thought of exploring it together with him, by his side, swells within you a feeling of elation.

you can't express it properly, the enormity of the emotion too big, so you lean up and capture his lips with yours, water splashing and drenching his attire as you throw your arms around him. the kiss is an explosion of colours, the palette merging into one another and forming a rainbow of shades. it's a kaleidoscope of emotions, a prism of sensations, a mosaic of sentiments and an ode to your love. it's everything you've ever wanted to say and more.

and, by the way yuuta returns the gesture with a passion and vigour, you know he understands.

after all, they say actions speak louder than words. and what could be a more succinct, yet expressive, form of communication than a kiss? for, in that single act, you convey all the things you can't seem to find the words for, all the emotions you struggle to verbalise. it's a language all its own, and it's one he can speak fluently. a language you two have mastered together, a dialect of love.

112 notes · View notes

liveyun · 2 years ago

Text

h a e g e u m | 01

banner by the lovely @archivededits ♡⁠˖

pairing. yoongi x female reader.

genre. mini series. crime au. angst. thriller(?). smut

w. (01) mentions of smoking, injuries, k*lling, corruption, injection (!!)

tags. @secfir

teaser | part 2

01. RED ALERT

She knew something was wrong when she looked at him in the CCTV footage frame by mind numbing frame,for the first time.

However, she her doubts were confirmed when she saw him—for the second time— in the alley near a collapsible gate—skinny, hunched,coated with crimson, smoking— and realised he was the danger rather than being in danger himself. The sort of danger which is fatal, the sort of danger which relishes in the blazing inferno.

The sort of fatal which increases your heartbeats, the sort of danger you know you're fucked up to feel your stomach churn with exictement. The sort of danger who was wanted all over the country, spreading his wings all over the nation with a rapid growth of that like a disease.

It fell upon her to banish the growth, and boy, it wasn't at all easy. It was the clash of opposite elements facing in a battlefield, the only difference being that there had been no swords and no bloodshed, well, not untill now.

Failures after failures. Injuries after injuries. Despair and despair, yet it felt all like a circus to him.

And the third time she saw him, was in her own custody, but she knew something about this man never changed ever since she first laid her eyes on him. Calm, cool and collected— somehow radiating off how much he's aware of his worth and how much of a pain in the ass he has been to finally get captured. But still, this was all but a game to him— something he plays everyday.

“didn't mean to kill the president, my bad. ”

His bloody wrists remains cuffed— she wonders silently if the cuffs burnt into his skin, for why his flesh seemed to be more than bruised, injuries were spread all over. But once again, that particular glint in his eyes told her that it was nothing new for him.

“ You didn't ? ” her reply comes back as a question, implied with a cool sentiment. His eyes rest somewhere down the table she's seated on, particularly on the gun that rests atop. However, his eyes slowly travels up to her own, and she is surpirsed to see how dark they are. The last time she saw them, they were…brown?

“ Remember to always have the lock on your gun always, officer. ”

“ Beating around the bush won't free you from here, D. ” a small laugh, a displeased one. A light exhale, and once again his eyes trailed down to anywhere but away from hers.

“ I always get away, officer. ”

His eyes flick to hers own, a certain hue of coldness flashing across. Maybe she was an officer, but the slightest of the shivers which ran down her spine was undeniable.

There was a thing to argue on : he was pretty. A criminal with a pretty face was dangerous, for why she sensed him as the danger in the first place. From the ridges of his brow to his feline shaped eyes, and the smooth skin had something to do with the carnal impulses this man had.

“ And how is that, if I may ask you?” No sardonic reply came back, not even a chuckle. His curled hair fell elegantly around his neck and forehead, and you wonder again if he knows how beautiful he is. You ponder that he does, the reason he's so cocky about himself in the first place.

“ You're rather nosy for a cop, officer. ”

“ It's my job to interrogate, D. ” And maybe this reply coaxed a small, harsh laugh at you, almost like a hiss. The atmosphere feels rather compelling for you, and it doesn't take a genius to figure out that the atrocious behaviour has a single intention, and that is to piss the system off.

His eyes suddenly dart up to your own, and you see the malice behind them, floating in subtle threats. His face, slowly comes your view, dried blood sticking to the corner of his mouth. And his lips quirk upwards so full of amusement, that it did feel like a laugh, but it perplexed you, because a rather alarming siren within a distance was heard. A single commotion had your whole office premises in shambles, because this notice meant a single thing.

Red alert.

The man infront of you didn't react much, and this is the first time you've been called to the red alert. The superior authorities had some difficult time to actually acknowledge that you had caught hold of this hoodlum, or rather the most wanted criminal in the whole Daegu, they were totally astounded in their chairs.

You are totally aware of how treacherous possibilities may occur, now. You did feel dubious when you realised it been way too long for his side to respond,and you must admit that red alert was something you did not expect in the least.

Your phone buzzed in your trouser pants, breaking you from the reverie you had trapped yourself in. Not breaking any eye contact with him, you receive your call.

Lieutenant Police.

“ Officer, we order you to release him, right now. ”

“ May I ask for a reason why? ”

“ You don't ask for a fucking reason why when you're given a red alert within your premises, do you ?”

the voice growls like a mad man, and that voice does not intimidate you, not at all. Even when you know that the red alert is the last warning an officer gets. More of a do or a.. die situation, where you have to do what they instruct, or..

…your straw that you may not survive, and if you do, you'll no longer be accepted as an police officer. The situation is way too dangerous to keep hostage criminals like him,but it's been forty eight hours since you've captured him. Red alerts chime within four hours.

That means you're in grave danger.

Isn't he sitting infront of you already?

“ I still stand regard to my question, Lieutenant. ”

“ The Min Orphanage will break down our department if you don't fucking release the man right now. ”

Min orphanage ?

The man's brows pinch all of a sudden, the only sort of emotion other than sarcasm he has ever let out since. Do you see a flash of..concern in his features?

Your brain refuses to work, because in what actual ways would be a notorious criminal like him, connected to an orphanage, that too in such a way, that it seems like the orphanage is more inclined towards him? Your own brow pinches as you hear a sigh from the other side of the call.

“ Officer, you maybe are yet to realise how much in danger you're in, right now. ”

“ I’m just seeking for answers which have been unspoken and unapproached since, Lieutenant. ”

“ If you do not release him.. ”

there's a sickening silence which follows. However, you can hear chaos from the other side which is rare, because the upper departments are supposed to have a pin drop silence. His eyes never leave your own, and the ticking down of water droplets as Mother Nature starts pouring her soul out, you feel a light throb at the back of your head. His eyes are challenging, captivating, ironic because you're his capturer now.

He's intriguing in so many ways than one.

“ They're all little children here, and in no way we can take any particular option even if you had something on your mind, officer. ”

Another reaction. A light, unamused snort.

Another commotion. Muffled screams and yells are constantly changing their paces as you hear shuffling, and suddenly you're hearing vigorous panting from the other side, and a much older voice.

“ ____, I ORDER YOU TO RELEASE HIM, RIGHT NOW. ”

a voice you never expected to hear, not atleast now.

“ Supreme, he's a threat. A real danger if he's let out—”

“ you. are. ordered to let him go right now, because I absolutely cannot risk my team to sail closer to the wind because of your cheap ego. ”

his voice trembled with rage, and your throat feels dry to hear the screams echoing inwards to your own room. Bangs of gunshots and panicked screams as you hear the snaps of fire outside, most likely advancing towards your own room, now. Silent gangs like these get vigorous at times like these.

Cheap ego.

If your ego is cheap and this situation is playing with fire, you'd rather chose to burn your money to that burning whirls of arrogance. This wasn't easy, it wasn't easy to achieve the victory over the challenging, yet collected eyes of the gangster infront of you. If your team, or rather those puppets who shamelessly dance along to the beat they're instructed to, you'd wholeheartedly admit, that you were the only reason why he's here. Infront of you.

Alas, let people call you selfish and self centred, but you've learnt in this struggling world that if you're not so, you'd be used and thrown around like a rag full of holes. And even if your position is at stake, your years of hardwork going to vain because of this menace infront of you— you cannot help but risk that if you've reached till this far, you will ace your goals. You cannot be a sore loser in the end.

“ I’m not letting him free. ”

Silence, but chaos.

“ You're terminated from your position, Miss ___. ”

The call ended.

And so did your dignity as a police officer.

You close your eyes for a moment. You feel sick; it meant that you were no longer in charge of his custody, the head of your team, and no longer an official. No body would give a fuck if you make out of here alive, or if your dead body is dumped somewhere and you rot. No one would care.

You were ready for this exactly the moment you heard the sirens,but however maybe you weren't totally ready to acknowledge that. Your hands feel clammy by the time you put your phone on the table, and the unpleasant feeling of your hair sticking to your neck is creepy. You sigh, your whole life dedicated to your career was shattered by the system, just because you were inclined for the safety of your people..

..or maybe because you were just a mere puppet, too.

..or maybe you're blinded by anger to actually come out of your haze and take care of what's happening, but it's of no use; you're partially bounded.

“ Wouldn't that be a crime if you'd hit me now, officer? ”

his voice echoed in your ears, and the officer in the end hit you like a pan on your head. He sounded all collected and cool: much to the contradiction to the inner turmoil you were going through. Anger courses in your veins to see his bleeding lips quirk upwards at your misery, but again..is he really the one to blame?

He got what he wanted, the system got ehat they wanted, and even if you're reluctant to see anything else, you know you're the loser here. A sore loser. Indignation rises in your chest as you take a look at him, your head suddenly feeling lighter than usual. Your throat burns to speak, and your heart thrums in it's cage.

“ Thank you, D. ”

“ It'd be better if you start your countdown now, officer. ” his voice is barely a whisper as now there's a sudden throb in your head, and his voice a mere croak by the time you gasp to fill in air inside your lungs. Silence, it's a wicked silence as the murmurs deepen.

Your jaw clenches as you feel the sting, an overwhelming sting, your limbs feel numb, and the wider your eyes open, the blurrier it seems now. The room spins, as the yells increase and the rifles scream, they all turn to a crestfallen murmur.

Is this your end?

Your throat hurts, hurts, and its just an outline of his wrists, cuffed wrists, the mop of black hair, your identity card on the table, his wrists..something held within..what, what.. Your head ducks down in an immediate effort to get a better look, but lolls away immediately, too weak and throbbing to work, and everything goes black.

But screw that, you didn't see the injection needle pricking the skin of your thigh as he injects the whole of the syringe into your system skillfully with his thumb, his eyes burning with rage. The same shit eating grin on his lips, as he sticks his tongue out to lick the dried blood on his mouth.

“ You're welcome, officer. ”

#bts au #yoongi au #bts fics #yoongi fics #bts smut #yoongi smut #bts x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #bts fanfic #yoongi fanfic

651 notes · View notes

six-demon-bag · 1 year ago

Text

Top Gun Fic Recs

some of the fics i really adored on my icemav dive 🩵

if you lead, i will follow by qin_ling (7.5k, M)

Maverick and Iceman stare at each other a lot. Goose despairs. Or; Goose is the best wingman.

who cannot go by susiecarter (1.6k, T)

Maverick felt fine. Completely fine.

Bloom by thecarlysutra (1.7k, T)

Iceman Kazansky is born with chronic Hanahaki Disease. Any time he represses a feeling or hides a secret, he has symptoms. He probably needs therapy, but instead he gets flowers.

Doing It Right by simplecoffee (1k, NR)

Mav kisses Ice on a Saturday night. Two days later, he wakes up in hospital. (- Wait, he could have sworn it made a little more sense than that.)

just to see each other (feel it all) by susiecarter (35k, M)

After Goose's death during a fight with a kaiju, Maverick left the PPDC and didn't look back. But his self-destructive bender gets interrupted by Charlie Blackwood, showing up to invite him to participate in a brand-new weapons development program, codename Top Gun: the first two-pilot jaegers to ever be deployed in the fight to defend humanity. That means Maverick's going to have to get back in a piloting rig again—and he's going to have to do it while drifting with another pilot. Drift compatibility means getting each other, understanding each other, on a level nobody else can beat; so whoever his partner is, at least he's not going to get stuck with the Iceman, who pretty much hates him. Right?

A Shared Cup by susiecarter (7k, M)

It was only a training exercise. It was only supposed to be a training exercise.

Summer Rain by TunaSupremacy (29k, T)

Mav isn’t entirely sure how he ended up dating Captain Tom “Iceman” Kazansky, but to his understanding it had something to with bad press, low recruitment numbers, and Admiral Cain.

and gamble for the sun by susiecarter (4k, M)

It's like this: Maverick and the Iceman make bets, sometimes.

Flowers for Sale by Owner by aelibia (2.5k, T)

Most people would do anything to stop the flowers from coming. Maverick is not most people.

i would love you ‘til it hurt by stardustsunflower (3k, T)

Ice looks at Maverick like something he can’t have. He knows Maverick won’t ever look at him back. Or at least, so he thinks.

and sings the tune without the words by susiecarter (10k, M)

Four times Maverick and Iceman didn't have to talk to each other to know the score—plus the time they did.

wingspan by aelibia (4k, M)

Iceman is in love. Maverick is oblivious. And the only thing in the world that can bring them together is locked up in a bathroom.

fire in the sky tonight by susiecarter (4.5k, E)

Graduation from TOPGUN was one thing. It was great, no question, but it was just the warm-up. You hadn't made it, really made it, until you got hitched.

#might come back and add more later but i loved these ones sosososo much #top gun #icemav #sixdemon fic rec #fic rec

130 notes · View notes

suitov · 5 months ago

Text

Wrong on Multi Levels (Kamukoma Week '24)

"You attempted to brainwash him," repeated Izuru.

"And it went despairingly wrong."

"And it went wrong."

"I only wanted to show him the joys of despair!"

"I told you to leave him out of your schemes."

"Well, good friends share their toys!" said Junko Enoshima.

"You qualify as neither."

"And anyway it didn't work, so I don't see why you're bitching."

Izuru looked at his property. His property currently had two first-years cornered and was looming over them, trying to sell them 'reasonably-priced' starter kits.

"Interfere with him again and I shall make your life extremely unpleasant and despair-free," he told his omg✨bestie✨5✨eva. And Izuru Kamukura swished away.

---------

"The compensation plan is a little complicated and I'm gay, but I figured it out," Nagito was telling his classmates. "Each month you have two legs and the payout -- well, first I have to explain recruitment..."

"Wh-what's he on about?" whined Mikan. "I-I'm pretty sure he's d-delirious. He keeps talking about things that don't make sense -- more than usual,, I mean,,, like lines down and talentpreneurs--"

"Downline," corrected Izuru, making her shriek by appearing out of nowhere as usual. "Do not buy things from him and do not sign up for things."

"But he r-really wants me to,,, and he looks so sad if you say no,,,, and he said he's only ten sales away from ranking up his m-monthly bonus,,"

"He has an illness," Izuru said. "Recovery depends on his not being encouraged and not dragging others into the delusion."

("Holy shit, you guys!" said Leon, ignoring them on his way to talk to his friends. "I just got an amazing deal on some oils that'll make the chicks flock to me, guaranteed!"

"Guaranteed?" asked Kazuichi.

"And they disinfect your piercings, too!")

---------

"Quit?" repeated Nagito in shock. "But I'm already so successful! Half the school is signed up under my team and my personal sales volume is already at Premium Tiara Peach Passion level even before reinvesting my profits!"

"You are engaged in a business scam and dragging others into it," said Izuru. "Others who, lacking your luck, are 99.7% likely to lose money in this scheme."

"Well... maybe, if you trust the income disclosure documents," said Nagito with scorn. "But you know what I say. Never tell me the odds!"

"You have not said that, ever."

"If you'd just join, you could be my upline," said Nagito, whose eyes were big and practically rippling. "You could lock arms with me and my tribe of boss-Ultimates and change lives all over the world simply by sharing the incredible, organic, cruelty-free, vegan, hope-filled products you love. It would mean a lot to me. Please, hon?"

Izuru, faced with the full wattage of that smile, hesitated.

---------

"Well, you never said you wanted a way to undo it!" whined Ryota.

"You never said it'd go fucky-wucky and make him start a pyramid scheme!"

"It wasn't supposed to! You must've used it wrong!"

"Anyway, cure. Before I start cutting parts off you."

"I can't work in these conditions!" he bleated. "Mukuro's already tried to sell me a diffuser and it's not even morning bell!"

"Huh," said Junko. "Bitch didn't try to sell me a diffuser."

"That's not the point!"

"Just make an undo button for it already, hikikomori."

---------

"Further research," said Izuru, "has revealed that the proper treatment of this disease is to give Nagito Komaeda whatever he wants forever."

"U-um,," replied Mikan.

"And to tell him he is pretty. And cute, and good."

"I-I think it's,, getting worse,,," she told Ibuki.

"That stuff smells gross!" complained Akane.

"Just one drop of basil oil in your pasta will fill you with manly passion!" Nekomaru bellowed down at Teruteru.

"You can't ingest that stuff, cher!"

"You can! It's vegan and organic!"

"So is deadly nightshade..."

"They grow their own lavender!" Nekomaru roared at some fleeing freshmen.

---------

"I'll never live this down," Junko Enoshima moaned, kicking a broken stall off the school walkway.

"At least we stopped it," said Ryota. "And I can go outside again now that stinky stuff isn't giving me asthma attacks."

"I can't believe I saved this freaking school!"

"Um, well, I did all the--"

"And as for Izuru, that backstabbing hoe! Ditching me to play mommy's makeup store with some sickly luck slut!"

"That's not a nice thing to ca--"

"Can't rely on anyone for anything," snarled Junko, pausing to stomp a few discarded vials into an essential oil slick.

Ryota pulled on a face mask hurriedly. "Did anyone actually make any money, you think?"

"Well, I did."

"What? But you didn't even join in all the selling..."

"Bought a 50:50 share in Komaeda's outfit as soon as he started. That guy's luck is something else."

"Does that mean you're going to pay me for any of the work I've done?"

"No," said Junko.

#kamukoma #junko enoshima #ryota mitarai #kamukomaweek2024 #izuru kamukura #nagito komaeda #shitpost

28 notes · View notes

thethirdromana · 1 year ago

Text

I got curious about how 19th century newspapers actually reported on storms and shipwrecks. Here's an example from the Teesdale Mercury, 29th January 1890:

RESCUED IN MID-OCEAN The liner Gallia brings particulars of the rescue of 18 mariners in the North Atlantic by Captain Munro, of the British steamship Stag, on the 29th ult [?], while on a voyage from Shields to New York. The sinking ship was the old American clipper-built ship Shakespeare, and the crew had already been left to their fate by one passenger steamer, and had abandoned all hope. Captain Munro in his account says the wind was blowing at hurricane force, and his ship was making its way through big seas when the wreck was seen through a veil of hail and rain. He made for the vessel, and found it was a dismasted ship, wit h the crew waving and shouting in a frenzy of despair. He continues: " At that time it was blowing a frightful hurricane, and a boat could not have lived a moment in the seas. Shortly after a heavy snow squall shut out the fast-sinking ship, and all that day and night the vessel was obscured, but every once in a while we could see the flash of lights and rockets telling us where they were. All that night we sailed about the ship, hoping that the storm would abate sufficiently to allow us to go to the crew's succour. For hours we could not see their distress signals, and it gave me intense anxiety for fear I would lose them. When morning dawned I again made a search for the ship. After hours of fruitless endeavour the snow squall suddenly ceased, the mist cleared away, and disclosed the ship to our view. She was almost level wit h the water. The sea was still frightfully high, but I knew that the crew's safety depended upon m y promptness. I ordered away the port quarter boat and called for volunteers to man it . Every one of my crew to a man instantly responded. Second-officer Noell and four of my ablest seamen manned the first boat and rowed to the rescue. On account of the heavy sea the boat could not get within 50ft. of the sinking ship. Then those on the ship threw my men a line. I shouted to everyone to put a lifebelt on and jump into the sea, and then, with the aid of the rope, pull themselves through. Owing to the sea my lifeboat could only rescue five men the first time, and it made four successive trips, each of the men having first to jump into the sea, and then, with the aid of the line which was attached to the ship, swim towards the lifeboat. On the two last trips a fresh crew of volunteers, in charge of First-officer William Hanson, went to the wreck. Chief-officer Fred Matte, the last person to leave the sinking vessel, could not hold on to the rope, his hands being so sore and blistered from exposure and cold, and had to swim the whole distance, my men dragging him out of the water benumbed and exhausted. The rescue, although attended with the gravest difficulty, was successfully accomplished, and the conduct of my men and the presence of mind displayed by the Shakespeare's crew are deserving of the highest praise. We abandoned the ship and the late captain's pet dog to the mercy of the elements, and continued on our trip . The rescued men were weak and exhausted from fatigue and exposure, and were one mass of bruises and sores. They had been tossing about the Atlantic for nearly three months, having left Hamburg on Oct. 24. Their ship was dismasted in a gale on Dec. 17, in which she also sprang a leak. For four days and nights, amid frightful hurricanes, the big seas constantly sweeping over them, the brave crew manfully worked at the pumps in a hopeless endeavour to keep their ship afloat. Capt. Mullar died from heart disease on Dec. 16, and just as a big sea swept his ship on the following day, hurling the mizenmast wit h part of the mainmast to the deck, his body was buried in the sea."

Who knew that one of the areas where Bram Stoker allowed himself creative licence was the inclusion of paragraph breaks?

#dracula daily #historical context #rip the captain's dog :(

89 notes · View notes

aparticularbandit · 1 month ago

Text

Of A Fatal Captivity: Nagito (I)

Summary: When do they decide that she can’t leave? That they’re going to keep her there no matter what she wants? That’s the day her captivity begins. Is that today?

Some of you will think that this beginning is a gimmick. Up to you! Think what you want! (It’s not a gimmick more than anything else in writing is a gimmick, which is to say, of course, it’s a gimmick, because that’s all writing is, really, isn’t it? A bunch of gimmicks? Some of them more successful than others? Isn’t that why we have tropes? The trappings of a Tragedy to tell us whether that’s really what the story is or not? (Do you know the story you’re in?))

Enough games.

You’re here for something better than that.

Or: Junko Enoshima’s factory reset may or may not be going as planned, and Ryoko Otonashi has plenty of things to say about that. Or will, once she realizes what’s going on.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: M for Danganronpa reasons.

AO3

previous chapter | next chapter

Book One

Five Days Ago.

Nagito walks down one of the far too many tunnels, carrying the laptop under one arm.

“Hid something here for me to find….”

His voice trails off.

Someone else might find this infuriating, since Junko gave no hints in his message, just, “I’m sure, with your luck, you’ll find it eventually.” Then she’d given a little dismissive wave of her hand and a cheeky grin before signing off with a “Good luck!” Of course, she understands just as well as Nagito himself does: the higher the probability of impossibility for anyone else, the higher the probability of possibility for him. Sometimes that ends well, and sometimes that ends poorly.

Having a rare disease eating away at his already fragile mind?�� Poorly.

Having the plane he and his parents were meant to board get hijacked? Poorly.

Having a meteor strike and kill said hijackers? Well.

Having said meteor also strike and kill his parents? Poorly.

Inheriting said parents’ fortune while he was still very young? Neutral, really. He was a kid. What was he supposed to do with all of that money? (More than money, although he’s not sure any of that is still accessible.)

Right now, there’s no assurance that finding what Junko left for him will go well or poorly, but Nagito sincerely doubts it will be neutral. Junko doesn’t really do neutral. He certainly isn’t going to hope for it, either. No, in fact, he’s certain that whatever happens, it will end well. Whether she intends for it to increase despair or not, it will only lead to an overflowing of hope.

And from what he understands of her plans….

Well.

He can’t pretend that he does.

Now.

If he were Junko and he wanted to hide a present for him where no one else could ever possibly hope to find it – where even he couldn’t hope to find it, if not for his luck – where would he put it?

He steps.

Trips.

Lands on a tile in the floor that flips as soon as he puts his full weight on it.

Waves his hands wildly as he falls…and falls…and falls.

Nagito’s back cracks when he lands – a sharp, sharp sound that echoes around him. He groans as he slowly pushes himself up, rubbing the small of his back. It hurts, but luckily, he can still move. Then he raises a hand, touches the back of his head, and brings it away with thick red blood on his fingertips. A concussion, maybe. It doesn’t hurt the way his back does, but maybe that’s because he’s used to head wounds by now. They’ve never killed him before, even when they should have, so they probably won’t now either.

The laptop, held aloft in both hands as he landed and now tucked back against his side, is completely unharmed.

Good.

He needs that more than Makoto Naegi and Kyoko Kirigiri do.

(More importantly, if he left it with them, Kyoko would likely find some way to translate the message he’d been left, and that would do no good. No, no, best for him to take it with him.)

((Not to mention he was told to do so. He still has use for it, after all.))

Nagito glances around the room. It’s dark. He starts to feel along the wall. There’s got to be a light switch around here somewhere—

His fingers thwack against it – ouch – and then he flips it on.

A loud bang explodes overhead, so loud it would make a certain other of his associates flinch if she heard it. Multicolored confetti flies everywhere. Junko’s voice booms overhead: “Congratulations! You found it! Good job, Nagito-sama!”

Nagito’s teeth grit at the title. He’s a lord just as much as Junko’s a lady, which is to say, not at all, and he knows she just calls him that to spite him.

Still.

Nagito steps forward, scans the room, ignores the balloons and streamers and banners (Junko has decorated this room as though it’s someone’s birthday, with a plastic cake set on a table in the corner, complete with a Monokuma topper), and finds what looks like a singular glove resting on a table like some sort of power-up in a video game. He lifts the glove, and as he examines the metallic too much weaving in and through and about it, a note flutters out.

It’s covered in Junko’s bright pink gel pen.

He picks it up.

Reads it.

Grins.

#bandit fic #of a fatal captivity with ryoko and junko #danganronpa #nagito komaeda #junko enoshima #the rest do not appear in these chapters but are mains for the fic which is why the continuing tags #ryoko otonashi #otoshima #kyoko kirigiri #enogiri #mikan tsumiki #junkan #matsushima

3 notes · View notes

corruptedbunny-multimuse · 1 year ago

Text

((*gently slides metabee and rokusho towards y'all for asks and starters*

metabee and rokusho have a despair disease m!a so let me know if you want the m!a ignored in an ask!))

#inbox call #starter call #(dude. i rock. | metabee)#(wandering medabot | rokusho)#(metabee/rokusho m!a: despair disease)

2 notes · View notes

danggirlronpa · 11 months ago

Note

Okay so you said we can send transfem headcanons SO here's two wlw Kazuichi ships. A messed up one and a cute one for flavor.

Kazujunko in this context is so interesting to me because I think Junko would realize Kaz is trans before she's even fully realized it herself, and absolutely use that to manipulate her into despair. She'd play the part of supportive girlfriend who teaches her about make-up and clothes but then fill her head with how the rest of society will mistreat and disrespect her, and how that will never change. How she has no option but to join her, and destroy society before it destroys her.

On the cute side: Soudabuki! I think Ibuki would do great at pulling Kaz out of her shell, help her find a style that fits her and makes her feel comfortable in herself for once. Plus, Kaz has a lot of issues with her appearance and self esteem so I think someone like Ibuki, who would 100% tell her she's hot to her face without shame, would do wonders for her. Also Ibuki directly rejects her in canon, so I think I'd be funny if Ibuki wasn't into guy Kaz but the second Kaz is now a girl Ibuki goes full AWOOGA for her like she does for Peko.

YEAAAH these are both so good!! Tbh I have a big brOTP soft spot for. Well, all the SDR2 kids, because I think SDR2 does by far the best in this aspect, but in particular Kazuichi and Ibuki. The whole scene in the second chapter of everybody meeting up at the restaurant is just so fundamentally Queer Teen Friend Group Meeting Up Outside School Hours. A lesbian and someone who thinks they're the token straight (they are not) talking about how hot girls are. Guy everyone in the friend group has a crush on was dragged along because he has nothing better to do. Everyone here should be tested for autism. It's all there babey

And Kaz and Ibuki in particular have a soft spot for me because they satisfy a big narrative hole in SDR2, with Kazuichi as the only survivor without someone who sacrificed themself on his behalf, and the third trial being the only one that doesn't have this sort of self sacrificial theme. I privately like to pretend that Ibuki somehow kept Kazuichi from getting the Despair Disease as her Best Bro She Talks Abt Girls With.

I love them as a M/F friendship, because I just love M/F friendships so much. But I'm DELIGHTED by the concept of transfem Kazuichi/Ibuki. The pipeline of "bro I talk about hot girls with" to "hot girl I talk about with friends" is so real. Kazuichi like "We'll still be cool right? We'll still talk girls?" and Ibuki going "Yeah of course! (HAJIME GET OVER HERE KAZ HAS BOOBS AND THEYRE SO HOT)"

#and we ALWAYS love a manipulative junko ship!!#i just chose to focus on kaz and ibuki because When Will I Ever Get The Chance To Gush About Their Friendship/Possible Lesbian Romance Again #asks #anon #talk to the mod #transfem kazuichi

16 notes · View notes

kandisheek · 13 days ago

Text

FIC REC WEEK 44 – HORROR

AUTHOR SPOTLIGHT: Diomedes

No other fandom author that I know of has such a gift for invoking existential dread and the sort of quiet despair that follows you even after you finish reading. Diomedes' writing style is nothing short of incredible, and I adore every single fic of theirs that I've read. If you like horror, then their AO3 catalogue is a giant, tasty treat just waiting for you to gobble it up.

Here's some of their work that I think you should check out:

The Cure and the Disease

Pairing: Gen Rating: M Words: 6,952 Tags: Team Whump, Temporary Character Death, Hurt No Comfort

Summary: They break Stark first. One by one the rest of them follow.

Reasons why I love it: Holy. Shit. I doubt that if asked, anyone could've come up with a more perfect torture for each of these characters, it's so beyond brutal. And not in a violent kind of way, just – the psychological horror, it's unimaginable. And the explanation for what was going on at the end just makes it even more awful. It's brilliant, and if you're down for some gruesome angst, definitely check this one out!

This Crowded Place

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: M Words: 8,705 Tags: Psychological Horror, Obsessive Behavior, Religious Imagery

Summary: “Do you remember?” Steve croaked as the last of the inferno bled out of him leaving only ashes and ice behind. Tony hesitated at the familiar refrain. “Yes.” Steve stared up at the grey ceiling and remembered a hell of their own making. He loaded the single word with contempt as he pushed it through his teeth, aimed like a weapon: “Good.”

Reasons why I love it: I've recced the fic that this one is a sequel to before, but I'm still going to rec this one, because it's one of my favorite things ever. I love this version of Steve so much, how he's confronted with the realization that his dark side is a lot closer to the surface that he wants it to be, and maybe always was. It's dark and gruesome, and I really hope you check it out, because it's incredible!

Blooms in Frost

Pairing: Steve/Tony Rating: T Words: 3,490 Tags: Body Horror, Hanahaki Disease, Not A Fix-It

Summary: Tony coughs up his first petal on the sixth of July. He has been married to the love of his life for two years. -- Bury a Hanahaki corpse in earth and it will beget the most beautiful garden. All that love, it is said, must go somewhere.

Reasons why I love it: Jesus Christ, this fic hits you right where it hurts. It's so goddamn sad but wrapped in Diomedes' beautiful words, it's the most wonderful, awful dichotomy. I'm a huge fan of dark Hanahaki fics, and the body horror elements in this story are just perfect. I love it, and I bet you will too, so I hope you check it out!

Sleep Sisyphus (Guard your Star)

Pairing: Gen Rating: T Words: 3,426 Tags: Character Study, Howard's A+ Parenting, Introspection

Summary: Howard says Stark men are made of iron and this is not one of his lies. Iron is useful: it can be forged into weapons and bridges and keys alike. Iron is blood and magnets and the spinning core of the Earth. It is fool’s gold, it is armour. It is the heaviest element found in the heart of stars but much too heavy for a boy’s heart to carry. Tony will never forgive his father this inheritance.

Reasons why I love it: Oooffff, this one hurts. It's one of the darkest takes I've ever seen on Tony's self-image, and yet it slots so seamlessly into canon that it feels like it must be true. I love how the horror in this fic stems from something so human – the fear of never being good enough and your life amounting to nothing. It's amazingly written, as all of Diomedes' fics are, and I really hope you go and experience it for yourself!

Conversations at Yorick's Graveside

Pairing: Gen Rating: M Words: 10,886 Tags: Grief/Mourning, Delusions, Not A Fix-It

Summary: Two days after the funeral Stephen starts hallucinating a dead man. -- A ghost story for atheists.

Reasons why I love it: This fic is like a finger in the wound, a perfect representation of that feeling of 'it never gets better'. But at the same time, there are so many moments of Stephen working through his grief that are cathartic and bittersweet. I love this fic so much, and I really hope you check it out, because it's incredible!

#marvel #fanfic #a year in fanfic recs #fic rec #fanfic rec #stony #ficrec #horror

5 notes · View notes

apenitentialprayer · 11 months ago

Text

[M]y view of what it means to be human is preeminently existential — a focus on particular, singular, flesh-and-blood persons grappling with dire issues of death, dread, despair, disease and disappointment. Yet I am not an existentialist like the early Sartre, who had a systematic grasp of human existence. Instead, I am a Chekhovian Christian who banks his all on radical —not rational— choice and on the courage to love enacted by a particular Palestinian Jew named Jesus, who was crucified by the powers that be, betrayed by cowardly comrades and [...] yet is remembered by those of us terrified and mesmerized by the impossible possibility of his love. [...] I remain a Christian —despite Chekhov's agnosticism— primarily because the concrete example of love and compassion of Jesus rendered in the biblical Gospel narrative constitutes the most absurd and alluring mode of being in the tragicomic world.

- Cornel West (Introduction to The Cornel West Reader)

#Christianity #Jesus Christ #love #agape #compassion #Fools for Christ #Cornel West

15 notes · View notes

aita-blorbos · 1 year ago

Note

AITA for ruining the cumulation of my father's lifetime of work and the chance for a better world?

My [10F] father A [~30M] and his 'partner' B [~30M] were part of a scientific research group lead by an extremely charismatic preacher I'll call C [~30F], whose primary goal was to try and help out a lot of downtrodden people in our city and ultimately fix the extremely unjust political and socioeconomic situation here. C believed that everyone in the city had a "disease of the mind" - I'm not paraphrasing, this was what she called it - and that by delving deep with experiments into the human collective unconsciousness, her group would be able to discover a way to release this "light" into the world and empower people.

I can't overstate how charismatic C was - everyone who met her loved her and believed in her cause. One of her closest followers was K, who was essentially a one-woman PMC and an incredibly feared name in our city. I also do have to establish that I didn't exist at this point, so a lot of the details here are secondhand, but they're important.

As progress slowed down, the research group began experimenting on humans - all volunteers, at least initially - but when they had trouble finding enough people for it, a homeless boy [E, ~9M] who'd essentially been adopted by the entire research group volunteered himself and died. C then committed suicide; supposedly she was 'overwhelmed by despair' but I don't know if I believe that. At this point, A took C's place as the head of the group and decided to keep trying to follow her mission the best he could. A few members of the group died at this point for various reasons - one [J, 20-30F] tried to help with research that was way too advanced for her and ended up dying, causing one of her colleagues [R, 20-30M] to spiral into paranoia that wound up killing him. Another colleague [V, 20-30M] volunteered for an experiment that might resurrect C but ended up as a vegetable on life support when it didn't work.

One of the junior researchers [M, 15-20F], who was the second youngest person there after E & E's best friend [L, ~9F], finally cracked under the pressure of what the group was doing and reported them to the top authority in our city. That company ended up sending G [??F] to investigate, who destroyed the research facility and killed everyone there except A and B. During this, K managed to almost fight G to a draw; K died, but G was almost dead.

A and B then performed brain surgery on G to extract any information she had about how to avoid the company that sent her; to stabilize her, they placed her brain in a mechanical body. They determined the best way to avoid that company would be to become one of the 24 major companies that work with it... but there were no open slots available for a new company to step up.

At this point, B started a war for A. This is not exaggeration. People call it the 'Smoke War' now, but it was so traumatic that many of the veterans involved can't talk about what they saw and experienced to this day. This ended up causing one of the 24 companies to close, and A & B' had already founded an energy company to replace it, based on their old research group. I was born around this time. When A saw I looked like C but did not remember or act like her, he refused to treat me like a human being in any way, although B was kinder to me.

A and B had also figured out at this point how to pull off C's original plan - or what they understood to be it, anyway - which would be to spread self-actualization through the entire city by having people work through it on personal scale & generate massive amounts of energy. As part of this, A wrote a "script" for the main facility of his company that I was made to direct; R, J, K, V, E, L, M, G, and a few other people had their memories mostly wiped and they were placed into mechanical bodies that would oversee departments of the company. The goal was that, if enough energy was collected and each of these people was able to self-actualize with help, their knowledge and experience could be sent to the entire city and people could improve their situations. In order to get enough energy before the company that had originally sent G found out, they made a deal with companies who had figured out how to compress and loop time, meaning that the scenario could play out as many times as needed until the unknowing "actors" finished performing the "script". A himself wiped his own memory so that he wouldn't have preconceived notions about the "actors". (B eventually decided this had gone too far, but he was too in love with A to kill him, and attempted to run away. At this point, I was also forced to "kill" B and place him into a mechanical body like the others.)

I was made to unwillingly antagonize these people in order to carry out A's "script", to a degree that many of them still resent me for. My job was to make sure they had personal breakdowns so severe that working through them was cosmically significant. I was also forced to work as the amnesiac A's secretary, who did not know or remember his relationship to me. Every sentence I said to everyone was scripted; I was not allowed to make my own choices.

Anyway, when all the energy was eventually collected, before it could be fully released to the city to allow people to... something, I interrupted it and took the energy for myself. Releasing this energy would have killed everyone remaining in the facility, including me and R, J, etc.; we were intended to sit back and patiently await an eternal sleep. This was the first time I had been allowed to choose my own actions essentially ever, if it matters.

AITA?

#aita #am i the asshole #unreality #suicide mention

18 notes · View notes