#enoshima fabricant

[theacstories]

Chapter 36 of Fabricant 100 by Daisuke Enoshima is the final chapter! The series is finally over, and there is a lot of ways I feel about it!

[shysheeperz]

[tariah23]

Still unfortunate that Fabricant 100 was axed. I’d just found it not too long ago (like two weeks ago or so) and ended up binging it because I found it decent enough to do so. It was never really all that boring to me either like, it kept me interested despite its problems and I still wanted to see more of it. But it’s over now. Well… I can say that there is no shame in having your manga axed after only 30+ chapters (shit happens) and it doesn’t mean that you’ve failed or have never had the chops to keep your manga running in a popular ass weekly magazine like JUMP, either.

I can point out quite a few positives from the manga at least. For one, the art for F100 remained very fairly consistent throughout it’s short run and it was aesthetically pleasing enough for me to linger on many pages that left me saying stuff like “Ohhhhh, sexyyyyy-“ and “so cool, I need more of this!!!” Like, the mangaka’s art style was very appealing to me right off the bat and I really loved the way that they drew faces and eyes especially. I’ve mentioned this before but I can definitely tell that they’re a fan of JJK because of their style. It’s always nice to see other mangaka be influenced by their fellow peers and friends. This is just my personal observation though but you can really see it in their style (just more polished vs JJK’s more rough look.) not to compare the two but yeah.

The story was pleasant enough for me to keep on pushing without feeling like it was a drag. It’s unfortunately axed to the shadow realms, never to see the light of day again, but I’d still recommend it if you’re just looking for something that is extremely easy to digest in a short period of time. There’s a decent amount of violence (typical for what you’d find in most shounen), some heart stings being pulled ever so slightly, again, great art, and a new fav character who you’ll say deserved so much better than what she’d gotten *cough* 100 *cough* 🚬.

On to my grievances with the story itself. Well… after finishing it (I just read the final chapter a couple of hours ago), I can… sadly understand why it had gotten axed.

For one, I feel as though the plot had been a little too fast paced for the kind of story that it was for it to work? The plot could be easily followed but the story didn’t linger on the world or the characters and their lives enough to fill in the blanks, causing readers to probably not care too much for what was even going on outside of admiring the art and looking at how cool 100 was. Tbh…… Would’ve helped with developing the characters a whole lot better if the mangaka had given themselves more time (it’s JUMP so who knows how much stress they had been most likely under while working on this series.) Fast paced stories CAN work! But I feel like you’d have to be an extremely disciplined, and probably seasoned writer, to pull off such a feat: i.e Fujimoto. Not comparing him to others (it’s unfair, sorry) but he’s pretty much on an entirely separate level when it comes to how he progresses his stories and how he chooses to transition them vs his peers. CSM is handled extremely well in that regard. Sometimes, you just need to slow done your plot, the world, and characters that exist within it in order to better understand where you’d like to take it next. ☠️ Because of this, majority of the characters did fall a bit flat because we got to meet them but we never had the chance to know them as characters outside the one or two chapters they might’ve appeared in just to add a bit of action and raise the stakes of the story. The thing is, the few characters that we did meet were actually pretty alright? They weren’t boring at all to me, they just lacked a lot of importance to the story and felt like place holder for the plot’s transition from point A to point B, to point C, onto D, etc like… they all felt like they were just there to advance a scene pretty much. It would’ve been great to learn more about some of them (the siblings and Luka especially. Felt completely wasted tbh.)

The MC, Ashibi Yao, wasn’t the worst shounen MC at all, either. I felt like he’d been limited as a character though. Like, his family were known to have unnaturally long lifespans for them to just be literal humans, and could all heal themselves from most injuries despite being a completely normal family. The reason for his family’s abilities were later explained in the last couple of chapters of the manga but I felt like there could’ve been more to this? Idk, I guess it wasn’t too bad when I really think about it. But I didn’t find him using his “spark,” (enhanced abilities that the body already holds deep inside or whatever. Since his body is not normal, his healing abilities had been greatly enhanced due to him receiving a spark,) all that interesting if I’m being completely honest. Like, him just jumping around and spilling his blood in any old flashy way like that…? Eh. Would I still like to see him doing this once it hits chapter 100? No way, man. His personality wasn’t too bad though. He had some kind of bite to him and didn’t fall to much into the “uwu, soft boy MC,” category like Tanjirou for example (very boring character archetype, especially if that is all that there is to them personally wise like give me something. Deku had fit this category as well for a short while but I remember enjoying his character regardless because of how quirky he was. I just wanted to root for him ^^. I still care about a couple of BNHA characters even tho I don’t care about the series anymore. Making a character too honest can be a turnoff. You have to give them some kind of personality to go along with their pure heart as well because then otherwise, they’d just end up as your run of the mill, shounen MC who doesn’t stick out at all.) Ashibi was honest and had a good heart but he was out for revenge. And never faltered and instead, put his trust into his will to keep going and 100’s power by his side. Idk, his journey had been short but I was happy for him in the end. He got to live and start his life over at the age of 18. He was a decent MC. The mangaka just needed to give him MORE of the things that he’d already possessed is all. And cooler powers!!!

Tbh, the Fabricants weren’t all that interesting at all… except for 100 (and that one Fabricant who had started to regret what he’d done at the end of his life… would’ve been nice to run into all sorts of different Fabricants who’d probably felt differently about their origin? Maybe they didn’t want to become the “ideal human,” (forgot to mention that this was the main conflict of the manga. All of the Fabricants (false human shaped individuals who’d all been created from the corpses of dead people who’d been bombed 🗿…) had been created by a Doctor who built those very bombs (he felt bad afterwards, blah blah blah, and wanted to make amends for his actions by bringing people with the purest hearts back or whatever. But none of his creations had ever proven successful. Upon bringing a Fabricant to life, he’d immediately reject them, causing each and every Fabricant to immediately feel insecure about their right to be alive if they’re weren’t perfect or what the doctor had wanted. They were all born with the mindset of wanting to become the ideal human being. Each Fabricants strength is based off of the order in which they’d been born. The largest number meaning the strongest. The MC just so happens to travel the world with the Strongest of them all. 100. Who had been the final Fabricant created by the Doctor. She’s kind of everything actually. I think her character was just too big for the story and that she would’ve thrived if the circumstances would have been different. She was pretty much the most interesting character out of the whole story and if the manga wouldn’t have gotten axed, if the story would’ve improved enough for it to continue, I could’ve easily seen her becoming a really popular character across social media. It’s too bad. 😔❤️.

I’m done talking tbh. Would like to say more but it’s over, man. I’d still be interested in reading more of what this mangaka has to offer whenever they do decided to work on something new and hopefully, their next work will become pretty successful. Their art is so nice, it would be a shame to see such a promising mangaka disappear after F100’s axing. I believe in them!

[demifiendrsa]

Fabricant 100 chapter 23 color page

[oratokyosaigunda]

Jinzou Ningen 100 series banner

[thebusytypewriter]

hello hello congrats on the followers!! for the event could i request a long kamukura x reader fic where he’s basically baby duck imprinted on reader? i imagine that after being locked in a cell and mistreated by hopes peak even an iota of basic human kindness has him clinging

YIPPEE I've been brainrotting about this one for AGES I'm so sorry for the wait anon!! I'm also sorry that you were probably expecting fluff with this and while there is some, uhhhh........... angstnohappyendOKAYENJOYBYE--

No, I’m not falling for you

So please have mercy on me

The night of the Tragedy—the first one—you were there. That was something Izuru Kamukura didn’t expect.

You weren’t exactly there, not in the classroom where it all went down; things would’ve been much different if you were. No, you were some Reserve Course student who’d found their way just outside of the Main Course gates past curfew.

In fact, it was well past that point, nearly midnight by then. Enoshima had yet to return from her place in the security office, Ikusaba likely with her. This left Kamukura alone outside to ponder what had just transpired.

The gruesome deaths of the thirteen Ultimate students replayed over and over within his perfect memory, everything from gunshot to impaling to chainsaw. He’d expected each and every one of them to turn away from Enoshima’s “motives,” since innocent lives logically outweighed petty hearsay, no matter how damaging it would be.

Such intense emotion on their faces when first attacks were made… He couldn’t understand it.

Wind whistled past his stony face as he strolled, the force tossing around his hair in every direction. Even if he had the capacity to care about it, he wouldn’t. There were far more pressing things to worry about.

The sound of rubber soles on stone alerted him to an approaching individual, so Kamukura swiftly moved behind one of the few trees lining the outer wall and watched.

You were far out of dress code for a Reserve Course student, but he figured that you didn’t care with it being after hours. A large hoodie covered you, engulfing your upper half in the softest fabric he’d ever seen, and your yoga pants were just as large and cozy-looking. The only thing that indicated you as part of the Reserve Course was the student ID faintly peeking out from under your collar.

He could see the bags under your eyes from his place a dozen feet away, and the slouch in your walk alerted his health-related talents of your likely insomnia.

“Hello?” you called out, almost timidly, not too soft to go unheard but not too loud to alert any remaining security. “I was just out for a walk when I, um, heard you. I know it’s late, I just want to make sure you’re okay. It’s not a good idea to leave Main Course grounds after dark, okay?”

Kamukura faintly wondered if you’d ever had a chance of being an Ultimate regarding empathy or safety. It would suit you.

“I go here,” you continued, “so don’t worry, I just want to help.”

His nail lightly scratched at the tree’s bark in contemplation. Two abnormal events in the same night… Perhaps he couldn’t let that go.

Letting his definitive steps announce his presence, Kamukura stepped out and into the dull light of the street lamps. He said nothing and simply blinked at you.

You inhaled sharply, clearly startled as you caught sight of him. There was only a brief moment of panic in your eyes before it switched over to concern, your gaze locking on something just below his own, slightly to his right. “Oh my god, are you okay?”

Ah. In the excitement of your arrival, he’d forgotten about the bullet graze wound across his cheek. He raised a hand and felt around the area, unsurprised to find it mostly still wet with blood. “And why would you be concerned about me? You’ll get nothing in return.”

“Nothing in…?” Your brow pinched further, now from both concern and confusion. “Dude, you’re bleeding. Like a lot. Like you might need stitches.”

“No. I’ll apply some disinfectant shortly, and it’ll heal just fine. You should be more concerned with your own safety, being out this late at night, instead of fussing over a stranger.”

“I-I’m not fussing,” you argued, cheeks now puffing out in your annoyance.

You reminded him of a chipmunk.

Cute.

Something in him halted at the thought before reassuring himself that it was simply fact. There were no opinions within him. You were being kind to him, that was all. It was… unfamiliar.

Unfamiliar, but not unwelcome.

“Oh!” Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. “How rude of me. I didn’t even introduce myself.” With a statement of your name—something he already knew from observing your student ID—you extended a hand while asking for his own.

In a handful of milliseconds, he considered what to tell you. He could tell you nothing and walk away, leaving you out of the insanity but leaving this odd new itch behind. He could tell you Kamukura, but there were far too many things attached to that name on Hope’s Peak campus. You were Reserve Course, not stupid. 

“Call me Izuru,” he stated. “For your safety, I’ll leave it at that.”

Your eyebrows shot up to your hairline. “Ah… okay? Nice to meet you then, Izuru.”

“You as well.”

“Aaaand your reason for being out here…?”

“Nightly walk.” It wasn’t necessarily a lie, but you didn’t need to know that. “I was in the process of returning to my quarters when you appeared. I am in no danger, I assure you.”

You nodded, hesitant but understanding. “Gotcha. Well… just be careful, okay? There are some real weirdos out here at night.”

The irony of your statement almost made him laugh. Almost. “I understand, thank you. Would you like an escort back to the Reserve Course dormitory?”

“Oh, uh, no thanks. Pepper spray’s got my back.”

“If you insist. Good night, then.” Kamukura gave the slightest of bows before turning to reenter the Main Course grounds and rendezvous with Enoshima. Your return of the phrase met his ears, but he continued on.

He tried not to feel your gaze boring into his back as he did so.

He tried not to look back when he heard your footsteps retreat.

Izuru Kamukura failed for the first and second time that night.

‘Cause it’s not romantic, I swear

I’m not gasping for air

After moving from one underground bunker to another, Kamukura quickly found himself to be once again bored out of his mind. The only thing that kept his attention, that lingered in his mind, was you.

He’d never seen your face among the rioters from newsfeed alone, leading him to the conclusion that you were abstaining from it all. You were safe, presumably. Given how kind you were to him when you met, he decided that you deserved it—the safety from Despair. Someone like you needed to be protected.

And yet, he still thought about what it would be like for you to stay in that bunker with him. Kamukura wasn’t alone there, of course not; among its occupants was Enoshima, Ikusaba, Mitarai, and the nurse that was dragged in—Tsumiki. Of these, Enoshima was the only one who engaged in conversation with him, as one-sided as it was, and as annoying as she was.

Despite himself, despite his programming, Kamukura missed you.

He knew that Enoshima had noticed his change of demeanor after that night. He knew that she’d look into what happened, badgering him until she inevitably gave up.

What he didn’t know was how invested she’d be in the situation.

In the midst of his purusing old documents within the bunker, he was met with the sound of Enoshima’s delighted hum growing closer… then farther. It was odd. There weren’t many rooms in the bunker, and there were even fewer rooms that Junko Enoshima herself would enter. If they were dirty, she sent Ikusaba in. If they were hazardous, she sent Tsumiki in.

So where was she going?

Damn it, his interest was piqued.

Cautiously and quietly, Kamukura followed the Ultimate Despair down a corridor he’d never seen her traverse before. She hummed the whole way, a slight bounce in her step, before stopping at a closed iron door. It had a small square window at head level, but that seemed to be the only way one could see in or out of the room. Enoshima slid the massive bar lock out of place and pushed her way inside, letting the door close behind her.

He stalked up to the solid barrier and peered through the window, careful not to let more of himself show than what was unavoidable. As Kamukura’s gaze settled on the pigtailed frame he’d watched enter, her voice met his ears.

“Just checkin’ on ya, sweetheart! Can’t have you dying on me just yet, right? You just got here!”

Then, a second voice followed hers, one that made his blood run cold.

“I-I think you’ve got the wrong person,” you stammered, teeth audibly clacking together in the cold concrete room. “I don’t know who you are, I don’t know why you brought me here, I haven’t done anything wrong—”

“Of course not, silly!” Enoshima strode forward in faux contemplation, manicured hands clasped behind her back. “Consider this a… witness care program. We take care of our witnesses!”

With the Despair’s movement, Kamukura was able to get a full view of you. You were still in your pajamas, just a tank top and fuzzy pants, implying that you’d been abducted either in your room or within the dorm in general. Your feet were bare and pale—borderline blue—against the gray floor. (He understood then why you were shivering.) From that angle, he was able to notice your hands wrenched behind your back as you sat by a pole, and he deduced that Enoshima—or maybe Ikusaba—had tied you to said pole to restrict movement. How cliche.

“Witness care?” You blinked, fluorescent light sparkling in your eyes. “So you’re protecting me then?”

“Well, aren’t you just a little ray of hope?” Enoshima reached out and pitched your cheek with enthusiasm. “Cutie pie! I could just eat you up!” Her grin dropped abruptly, and Kamukura saw a few little beads of blood spring up on your skin where she held you. “…And then I would immediately vomit. Your gross little rainbows and sparkles make me sick, y’hear me? What the hell does a god like Kamukura see in a worthless Reserve Course chump?”

Your brow furrowed. “I’m sorry, who’s… Kamukura? Like, the founder of Hope’s Peak?”

“No, silly,” she snorted. “Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome. The one you met a few days ago. What exactly did he say his name was?”

He watched your mouth open to answer, then slowly close as you appeared to connect the dots she’d presented. Your response came out quiet and disbelieving. “…Izuru.”

Enoshima’s free hand flew up in mocking celebration. “Give the kid a prize! This might come as a shock to you—who am I kidding, it so will—but the Izuru Kamukura you talked to is a lab experiment gone horrifically right. He’s a god among men, the Ultimate Hope. And that makes it all the more confusing as to why he’s chosen to latch onto you of all people. Kinda silly if you ask me.”

Much to his odd delight, all traces of fear left your face at the statement, and you snarled at her. “Well if you admire him so much, then why does it sound to me like you’re doubting his judgment? I’ll be sure to let him know when I see him next. Whose word will he believe—mine or yours?”

Enoshima’s hand ripped away as she recoiled. “Ugh! God, you’d get along really well with the know-it-all detective in my class. Keep holding your head up like that, and you’re ten times more likely to get smacked by a bat. It’s just statistics!”

The twitch of your brow betrayed your returning terror.

“Anyway,” she drew out, “I wouldn’t get comfy, m’kay? Even though you’re here as a present for my beloved Kamukura, I still have an agenda. Maybe look up the phrase ‘take care of’ in the dictionary! Oh, wait, you can’t do that here. Hm! Your problem, not mine.”

Kamukura ducked out of the window just as Enoshima turned, forgoing the remainder of the conversation to preserve his assumed innocence. In his brisk return down the hallway, he felt an odd tingling sensation rising from the midst of his throat all the way to his skull. It reminded him of an ant colony, one that disturbed the neutrality within him.

He then noticed how tense his brow had been the entire time. How clenched his fists were. How much he itched to burst through the door and rescue your kind self from Despair incarnate.

Some Ultimate Psychologist within him ticked off some boxes and raised a finger to share the new discovery, but he ignored it.

He had to.

The Ultimate Hope did not get attached.

I want you to be here, but please don’t come near

‘Cause even though I’m pretty sure my head’s exploding

I’m not ready for hand holding

Kamukura was attached.

Within the couple of weeks between his discovery of your presence—when he was sure that Enoshima and Ikusaba weren’t in the bunker, and Mitarai and Tsumiki were stationed in the former’s workspace—he often found himself visiting you.

The first time he made an appearance and explained what he could, he’d been expecting your immediate response.

“So you’ll let me go?”

He shook his head. “As much as I am of the mind that you should be given your freedom, there is a strong chance Enoshima may just hunt you down again and kill you. A far from ideal outcome, wouldn’t you agree?”

You did, and he was relieved.

…What?

Ah, yes. That was the recurring problem around you; Kamukura found himself feeling things. At first, he was convinced that he could become desensitized by visiting you more. It only made things worse. He got to know you then, all your hobbies and quirks and everything that made you unique in his eyes.

Not to mention your kindness. God, all the harsh interactions with immoral scientist after immoral scientist made him realize how truly important you were.

You invaded all of his waking thoughts, and Kamukura expected that he was doing a good job at hiding it.

He was created to have perfect judgment.

It’s not love, I swear

“Oh, Kamukura darling! I have a surprise for you!”

He let himself sigh as he turned from his absentminded file browsing to meet Enoshima’s wide grin. “I have no interest in your presents.” Not to mention he already knew to whom she was referring.

The grin flipped on a dime to a childish pout. “You don’t have to be so mean about it! And here I thought you’d actually like this one.”

“If you’re going to pester me about this surprise regardless, then I suppose I have little choice. Get on with it.”

Enoshima immediately perked up again, much like a dog whose master said the word ‘treat’ aloud. (What a hellish dog the Ultimate Despair would make, Kamukura thought to himself. He’d have to tell you that one later.) “Okie dokie! You’re gonna love it.”

“Doubtful. I am incapable of love.”

Incapability, the Ultimate Dictionary part of him said, is another word for inability, which is the lack of ability to do something. Denial is an unwillingness to accept that something is true.

He stubbornly shoved the thought away and followed behind the bouncing girl.

Love clouds even the most objectively perfect judgment.

They continued on to a section of the bunker that Kamukura was slightly less familiar with, as it was usually occupied by the other inhabitants, and he wasn’t one to socialize with them. (He wasn’t one to socialize with Enoshima, either, but she forced it upon him.) At some time, he’d heard the sounds of panic and stress echoing from that same direction, but it was her business, not his. It appeared that it was about to be his business, though.

Enoshima led him into an offshoot of the main hallway, her deranged humming increasing as they moved. It was never a good sign when she was so pleased.

The distorted music he’d listened to her perfect met his ears, laced with the edited screams of Ultimate students. Why was she playing the Despair-inducing video? Was there a “guest” he wasn’t aware of?

…Wait.

There would be.

If he wasn’t already aware of them.

“You’ve been so pressed over the battle of Hope and Despair, and I wanted to help you along—” Enoshima pushed a door open, and the sounds became clearer— “so you get to see Despair in action!”

A dim concrete room greeted the two of them, bathed only in the flashing lights and red glow of her video. In the center, a single chair sat askew with what appeared to be leather straps dangling from its arms and legs. The quick inspection with his Ultimate Analyst talent revealed a lack of tears in the leather outside of the usual signs of torture—fraying and scuffing. The occupant didn’t escape their containment, but they were released.

Speaking of, Kamukura’s gaze fell upon a figure settled on the floor, head pressed against their knees. It was reminiscent of a traditional Japanese deep bow—zarei, that is—but they were tense, shaking. Their hands dug into their hair and pulled against their scalp in this panicked manner, and that wasn’t even the part that set him off.

This figure, the victim of Junko Enoshima’s Despair-inducing video, was you.

“Turn it off.”

“Eh?”

His fist closed around Enoshima’s throat and tugged her close in an instant, dragging a garbled noise of surprise from her. “Turn the video off, or I will do it myself.”

Her eyes were wide at this new display, one he himself was quite unsure about, and she burst out in startled laughter. “Woooow! Okay, Mr. Assertive! It’s done the job anyway. This was mostly just for theatrics and funsies, to give a little pizzazz to your present—Hey, are you even listening?”

Kamukura was not. Oh, how he thought about bashing in her head at that moment. It would be quick and effortless on his part, ultimately ridding the world of her sick plan. But Enoshima wasn’t his priority; he was already crossing the floor toward your crumpled form, an uncharacteristically-loud heartbeat pounding in his ears. Odds of your being unharmed were slim, to say the least, and only dropping every second you didn’t move, but he called upon his Ultimate Luck to combat them.

Pristine black dress pants rubbed against the concrete as he settled on his knees next to you. Kamukura’s hand hovered over your back while he debated on the best course of action. What would he do if you were lost? Could he bring himself to hand you over to Enoshima, or would he go directly against her to repair a broken mind? Was it even possible for him to do such a thing?

Might still be in shock, he reminded himself. It was entirely possible that Enoshima had been bluffing. You were fine.

You had to be.

He let his hand run over your spine once. Twice. You remained, head pressed to your knees, though you shuddered at the touch.

Just ahead, the Despair-inducing video clicked off. Finally. He shot a glare at Enoshima and, by virtue of her sudden appearance, Ikusaba. Additionally, Tsumiki appeared to be peeking in from the doorway, and her twisted smile did nothing to calm his anxieties.

…Anxieties? The Ultimate Psychologist in his head once again raised a finger to say I told you so, but he ignored it.

Kamukura called for you, quietly at first. When he received no answer, he tried again, louder.

Something finally spilled from your lips, unintelligible and hushed. He wondered for a moment if what he felt at the sound was hope, but it quickly snapped away as your garbled noises continued and then transitioned into an objectively worse sound.

You were laughing.

No, you were crying.

It was both. You were hysterical.

Finally, finally, you sat up, and the “no signal” screen previously playing that maddening video kept your face under an eerie red light. The color illuminated the teartracks down your cheeks, and his heart clenched. Your gaze met his, and it sank.

Those kind eyes, the ones that made him feel warm, feel anything… were hazy and unfocused. The smile that set off the butterflies in his stomach, however few they were, twisted with insanity.

Tainted.

She’d broken you.

You. The one good thing in this spiraling world.

Kamukura cupped your cheek as you giggled something about his expression. He didn’t care to listen. He ran through the possible ways of repairing your mind and found that the list was both shorter and less possible than he’d initially thought. Human beings are fragile creatures, he reminded himself. You can’t hold one too tightly, or else it’ll hurt more when they break.

Perhaps this wasn’t what Enoshima had meant by seeing her work in action, but it got the point across.

His tears fell alongside yours.

It might be closer to Despair . . .

[cham0mil3-and-h0n3y]

Dont Get Caught

Characters - Servant!Nagito Komaeda x Reader Summary - Things get depraved while trying to escape from a crazed Servant Word Count - 1,802 Warnings - Smut, Servant being absolutely feral, Female Reader, The consent LOOKS dubious at first but shes into it trust guys, Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Junko's hand is barely mentioned one time A/N - This used to be in first person lol, but uhh being fr I dunno where this came from I passed out and woke up with five pages idk.

Pain shoots through the soles of your feet as you tear through the halls as fast as you can, the sound of chains rattling accompanies a sick, twisted laugh echoing out from behind.

 "Ahaahahah~ Oh dear! Do you really think you can run from me?! How mistaken you are. " A chill shoots through your body at those words, distracting you, causing you to trip over your feet and go tumbling to the floor. "Ow! Damn it!" you yelp, your ankle throbbing with pain as you scramble back up to your feet. Your escape slowed. "Uh-oh! Looks like someone’s not as lucky as they thought they were!" Your pursuer chuckles darkly.

Gritting your teeth, you limp past door after door, finally finding one that’s unlocked rushing inside and turning the locking mechanism behind you as your eyes skittishly search the room for a hiding spot. There! That might work! you think wildly, diving underneath a table covered with cloth, body shaking as your ears prick up at the door handle rattling, someone panting heavily behind it. The noise stops and relief washes over your body, but at the soft, unmistakable clinking noise of a key, your stomach drops. With a click, the door creaks open.

You can hear the footsteps of "Servant", as he prefers to be called, creeping closer and closer, his deceptively softened voice murmurs, echoing dreadfully in your ears. "Aww come on dearest~ won’t you come out and play?" He coos, trying to lure you out into the open. 

Your eyes never leave the shadowy outline of his body behind the thin sheet of fabric, stalking the room, occasionally bending down or lifting things in search of your person. Small sounds of disappointment leave his mouth every time he’s wrong. The chain around his neck rattled softly with each movement. 

After a few minutes, his eyes land on the table you’re hiding under.

Your lungs burn as you hold your breath, careful not to make a sound as he slowly creeps over, inspecting the table but never moving the cloth. Your whole body was trembling so hard you were almost certain he could hear your shaking. With a dissatisfied sigh, he turns on his heel and starts to slink away from the table. Closing your eyes, you let out a gasp of relief, foolishly believing he had left. Suddenly you feel a strong grip around the protruding bony knobs of your ankle and within seconds you’re dragged out from under the table, Servant pinning you roughly to the floor, a crazed expression of victory and desire plastered on his face. 

As you tremble underneath his grip he leans down, locking his longing eyes on your shaking form. His warm breath sends shivers through your body as he leans further and whispers into your ear, "So what now Angel?" Your wide eyes slowly soften as he patiently waits for an answer.

Your response comes in the form of your lips curling upward, bestowing him with a shaky smile. You suck in a breath as an animalistic look fills his eyes, followed by a far too-wide grin before his mouth slams onto your own, immediately overtaking your tongue with the fervor of a lunatic, all the while he practically tears your clothes off. He only pauses his assault on your lips to help your still-shaky hands remove his ragged sweater, revealing the sallow expanse of his pale skin. You take particular care to avoid pulling \his striped glove off along with his sleeves, the both of you keen on keeping the knit hiding the rotting piece of Enoshima firmly on.

 His hungry eyes trail over your now-exposed body. Heat flushing your face and somewhere much lower as he starts biting and sucking along your throat harshly, reddish-purple marks blooming on the delicate skin of your neck in his wake, marking you as his and his alone.

 Moans of pleasure and pain tremble in the air past your chapped lips as he moves lower, his large hands lightly scratching down your sides and then trailing off to grip your thighs harshly. "God... you look so fucking hot spread out for me like this, darling," he moans, burying his face into the swells of your chest, nipping and sucking at one of the sensitive pink buds while the other hangs free, bouncing in tempo with the movement of his head dipping to latch onto your nipples. Quiet moans slip out of your mouth as you gaze upon the depraved sight of Servant sucking on your tits like a whiny baby, alternating between each side in an effort to give both his undivided attention. 

Your core was hot and dripping from the feeling, but craving more. And as if he could read your mind your eyes widen as I watch him nestle between your legs, spreading them out farther. Even though you had a front-row seat to his minstrations Shock still shot through you as he swiped his index finger through the slick heat between your thighs. "H-huh! Wait, what are you-" You don't get the privilege of finishing your question as Servant quickly thrusts one of his long fingers into your throbbing cunt. Pistoning it in and out at a frighteningly fast pace.

 "Mmph! I-it feels so good Servant!" Your mewls are music to his ears as he thrusts a second finger in, obscene squelching sounds accompanying your lustful melody filling the air. The white curls of his hair slip into his face as Servant lifts his head and soaks in the scene below him. The erection he has is so blatantly obvious as it strains against his grimy jeans that it looks painful, a thin line of saliva pooling in the corner of his mouth as he unconsciously grinds himself against the floor in erratic jerks. "Angel, you feel so- so good on my fingers like that…" he whines softly, his tone not at all matching the ferocity he’s finger-fucking you with, your hips twitching upward violently whenever he presses into that spongy spot your own smaller fingers could never dream of reaching on their own.

 He slows down and pulls his fingers out of you, a dissatisfied whimper dragging out of your mouth as the sensation of pleasure dissipates and is replaced with frustrating emptiness. Servant, however, wraps his mouth around his dripping fingers and sucks. An absolutely salacious moan erupting from him as he licks his fingers clean, "Sweets aren’t usually something I enjoy... but you taste divine dearest..." he breathes in a low tone that makes you clench around nothing while he uses his free hand to unzip his overly tight jeans and rip them off, taking the boxers with them. 

The groan that escapes Servant as his twitching cock is finally released sends a fresh bolt of arousal to your core. The sight of the poor thing leaking fat pearls of pre and flushed an angry red member made your cunt practically ache for it.  With one look at your huffy breathing, and wide eyes fixed upon him Servant’s restraint snaps. His eyes swirling with lust darken as he grabs your hips, and without warning, slams himself fully inside you. Bottoming out. A sharp sting shoots through you with each of his thrusts, slowly fading into rolling waves of satisfaction. "A-Aaah! S-Servant Mmph! Wait-" Your wailing cut off once again,  the pain and pleasure of being fucked so mercilessly blended your senses in a way only Servant could accomplish.

 "Y-You feel so good inside me!" Your voice keens. And as he picks up the pace, sharp, deranged laughter melds in with moans spilling uncontrollably from his mouth. A chill goes up your spine but you instinctively wrap your legs around him anyway, giving him better and –more importantly– deeper access into your gushing cunt. Your nails claw red lines into his pale back as your body reacts, hips rolling in time with his, the pain melting into overwhelming pleasure.

"Yeah? Yeah! God, please don’t s- stop talking! " he snarls into your shoulder as his head falls to bury his face back into your skin as he loses himself in the ecstasy of you, hips snapping faster and faster as your cry out nearly reaching the release you both had been chasing.

 " Servant- Ah! Please, please never stop!" your voice breaks as you moan out for him, all while he growls and keens like a starved animal. "More! Aha- Keep going!" he demands, Wrenching one of your legs over his deceptively frail shoulder, letting him rut deeper. You shriek now that he’s hitting that spot, the feeling of his spasming cock almost too much for you to take as you dangle on the precipice of finishing.

 "S-so good! I-I’m almost there- Ahh! Please-" Your words falter as the walls of your greedy cunt flutter around him, moans ripping from your throat almost as fast as he’s slamming his hips into you. Servant slows just a fraction and purrs sadistically sweet into your ear, "Please what?" He asks, almost innocently, innocent except for the look of pure crazed desire on his face.

 "Please fuck me till all I can remember is you! Aaah! Fuck me until I’m absolutely mindless!"  You beg shamelessly, your release practically dangling from a frayed thread clutched between his lithe fingers. "Perfect darling…" he praises, and in a matter of seconds, the starved, crazed part of him returns and his brutal pace along with it. Slamming into you rougher than before. "A-angel I’m going to- Nnghh!" Servant gritted his teeth, thrusting faster and faster.

Words finally abandon you as you moan and writhe without abandon, back arching and thighs trembling as stars blind you. Your body convulses with the force behind your orgasm, waves of pleasure and relief crashing into you as your mouth drops open in babbling and incoherent whimpering. Servant finishes next, the pace and rhythm of his thrusts becoming disoriented as the heat building in him reaches its boiling point and he spills over, his cock twitching and throbbing as cum shoots out of it, filling the confines of your cunt and gushing out of it, dripping down your thighs and the floor beneath your bodies. 

"Mmm, you were so good for me Angel..." Servant collapses onto you, his head resting upon your chest as you lean into his warmth. “Thank you." He whispers weakly against the bruising skin of your hickey-lined neck, snuggling closer into the warmth of your plush body. You sigh content and high on your afterglow as you nuzzle against his milky skin, uncaring of the dirt that marred his complexion, "Mmhm..." You can barely hm a response, but he seems more than satisfied and pulls you in closer. Each of your quickly beating hearts slow to the rhythm of unconsciousness as you fall asleep like dogs together on the floor.

[aparticularbandit]

Of A Fatal Captivity: Day Seven (IV)

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.

TW for Vomit. A lot of vomit.

AO3

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Book One

Day Seven (of a Fatal Captivity).

Ryoko hunches over and retches again.

There’s nothing there – she’d gotten rid of everything when she’d smelled that rotting corpse – but this is….

This is worse.

“Ryoko?”  Mikan is by her side in a moment with a trashcan in one hand.  She sets it in front of her, then gently pulls Ryoko’s hair back out of her face and rubs her back soothingly just the same way as she had on the trip here, when Ryoko became afraid during the gunfire.  “Wh-wh-what’s wrong?” she asks.  “Are you okay?”

Of course, I’m not okay.

But Ryoko can’t really say that, can she?  She can’t tell Mikan that she just remembered—

Ryoko shudders and retches again.  Then she tries to take a deep breath through the burning in her throat and just ends up coughing again and again while her stomach stills.  She groans.

“H-h-here!”  Mikan hands her a bottle of something from out of nowhere.

At first, Ryoko doesn’t even drink anything.  She just holds the bottle cool between her hands; then she presses it against her forehead and against the back of her neck.  It helps.  (It doesn’t help.)  But as she stands there, forcing herself to breathe, Mikan – again, as though out of nowhere, brings her a cool, damp cloth.  “Are you magic?” Ryoko asks as she takes the cloth and drapes it across the back of her neck.  It’s only then that she glances at the contents of the bottle; it’s not water, but something clear and carbonated.  “Do you just have these?”

Mikan flushes.  “There’s a mini-fridge.”  She points away from her.  “Right there.”

That doesn’t explain the cloth, but as Ryoko takes it from her neck and refolds it to bring the cooler side back against her skin, she realizes that it’s not a rag.  Instead, it’s a thin pink tank-top, folded and rolled into shape to mimic one.  She runs her thumb along the fabric.  It’s soft.  Achingly soft.

It also smells a bit.

Well, when it’s against the back of her neck, that doesn’t matter!

(After getting sick so much, Ryoko’s pretty sure she smells a bit, too.)

Ryoko screws the cap off the bottle, takes a drink, pauses, and then chugs half of it in one go.  It’s sweet in her mouth, washes away the horrible taste of everything, and fills her empty, quivering stomach without sitting heavy, without the cool in that void bringing the nausea back.  She wipes beads of sweat from her brow and then turns completely away from the screens, from the entire set-up that even now her eyes want to keep sweeping over.  There’s more there – there’s so much more there – but she doesn’t want to see it, she doesn’t want to know.

Still.

Sometimes, apparently, it doesn’t matter what she wants.

Ryoko runs her fingers along the wall just the same as she had in the tunnels.  Her eyes light on a note taped to a wall on the opposite side, and she heads towards it.  But it’s just an arrow.  Her brow furrows, and she turns – there’s a longer area, but it’s empty, save for a note on the opposite side.

This time, though, when she reaches it, Ryoko finds that the note has writing on it.

Just your luck!  Press here, Ryoko-chan!

The writing is unfamiliar to her, which means it isn’t hers.  It has to belong to someone else.  She should probably be concerned about that, but she isn’t.

“Ryoko, what did you—”

Ryoko presses on the tile, and another keypad appears.  She doesn’t know what the passcode Mikan used was, but if she gets it wrong, she’ll ask.  This one is supposed to be for her, though, and if someone who knows her set it up, then the passcode should be 927853.

Yasuke.

As soon as she presses the last digit, the keypad merges back into the wall, and then the whole wall slides open, just as the one from the tunnels did.  Even before turning the light on, Ryoko sees multiple racks of…of something.  She flicks the light on.  Inside are three racks, full of clothes.  They look nothing like what she’d imagined the Ultimate Fashionista would wear, given what little she’d seen of her clothes (one outfit does not a full person make), but then….

There’s another note taped to the front of the middle rack with her name written on it in huge gel pen pink bubble letters shaded with black.  Ryoko starts for it immediately, but before she does, Mikan is there, fingers brushing along the paper.  “Hey!” Ryoko snaps without thinking about it.  “That’s mine!”

It has her name on it, after all.

“It’s from Junko-sama,” Mikan murmurs, not stepping away.  Instead, she carefully pricks the paper from the rack.  She runs her finger along the sharp edge, gasps, and then brings her finger away with a slice through it, deep red blood bubbling up from within.  “Oh.”  Her lips curve into a bright, bold grin.  “A gift.”

Ryoko snatches the note from Mikan’s fingertips.  “That’s not a gift!” she exclaims.  “That’s just pain!”  She tucks the note under her arm and then pulls Mikan’s hand into her own.  “Are you okay?”  It’s only as she examines Mikan’s fingers that she notes the second slice now there, left from how quickly she taken the note from her.  Her eyes widen.  “I-I-I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

It takes a second.

Mikan blinks at her fingertips, brow furrowing.  “Huh?”

“Miki, you’re hurt.”  Ryoko glances up, meeting her thistle-bruise eyes.  “You’re the….  You said you were the Ultimate Nurse, so you’ve…you’ve got band-aids or something, right?  And um….something to clean it with?  You gave me this—”  Instinctively, she pulls the cloth from the back of her neck, unwraps it, and presses it against Mikan’s fingertips to stop the bleeding.  “Are you okay?”

But Mikan just blinks again.  “You don’t…you don’t have to worry about m-m-me.”  Her brow furrows again.  “It’s a gift—”

“Getting hurt is not a gift!” Ryoko exclaims, gaze jumping up from Mikan’s hand to meet her eyes again.  “Who told you that?”

Mikan squeaks.  She quickly looks away.  “N-n-no one!  No one t-t-told me that!”

It’s a lie.

It’s a lie.

Which means—

Junko told her that.

Mikan must read that realization on Ryoko’s face because she takes her hand from Ryoko’s, wraps the dirty tank-top a little tighter about it, and says with some trepidation, “I-I-I’ll just go take care of…of this!  Th-th-there has to be soap here somewhere!”  And then she scurries off, back into the first room.

Something tells Ryoko that Mikan won’t find any soap at all.  If Junko – the person who was here before – thought that pain was a gift, then why would she keep soap around?  She’d get hurt and just leave it, get hurt and let it get infect, get hurt and—

Mikan calls Junko beloved.  She would never have let Junko hurt herself that way.  Not if her care of Ryoko says anything about it.

Ryoko takes another sip from her bottle and then pulls the note back out.  It’s still emblazoned with her name – RYOKO OTONASHI!!!! – with more exclamation points than that and surrounded with multiple hearts, all in pink and black, all in varying sizes.  Why would Junko leave a note for her?  How had she even known that Ryoko would be here?  And if this is Junko’s handwriting – one that doesn’t look as close to her own as Ryoko…doesn’t, strictly speaking, remember, but feels like she does – then…then whose was that on the other note?  Because it certainly doesn’t match this one either.

Maybe Mikan will recognize that one, too, if she gives it a good look.

But it doesn’t matter.

Right now, Ryoko has this note, one with her name on it in as loud a way as someone can write it, and which, if she opens it, may explain a few things.

Does she really want to know what Junko wants with her?

Curiosity overcomes Ryoko’s hesitation, and she pulls herself to one corner of the room, hunkers down, and opens the note.

Ryoko! As I live and breathe (hah!), Ryoko Otonashi! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen you? I mean technically I’ve never really seen you, just a mirror image of you, which strictly speaking isn’t the same thing, so I guess you couldn’t say I’ve seen you.  How unfortunate.  Kind of defeats the whole purpose of that question, huh. Oops. Better question: Do you know how long it’s been since you’ve been out and about in the world?  Couple of years, at least.  You probably don’t remember any of that, though. Best question: What do you remember?  Do you remember me yet?  That’s the thing about recovering memories; it’s a little unpredictable.  I mean, I know you’ll get all of them eventually – been there, done that! – but given all those modifications I made to Yasuke’s memory manipulation thingamajig and Izuru’s input— You’d think I would have given that a better name, actually, but I didn’t want to overwrite what he’d done with me, you know?  It’d be a bit like erasing him.  I never wanted that. But you probably haven’t remembered that bit yet.

Ryoko pauses.  Remembered what bit?  She’s suddenly struck with an even stronger bout of nausea.  Whatever this is, she’s not sure she wants to remember.  Is there a way to not remember?  To pick and choose which memories she wants to keep?  Can she do that?

No?

Back to the note.

Anyway. What I mean to say is that I don’t know what you’ll remember when! Honest.  I don’t even know if you’ll remember everything in order.  Maybe you won’t!  Wouldn’t that be great?  All of those pieces and no way of knowing how they all fit together until suddenly, all at once, they do! And hey!  Maybe you won’t be the one who dies this time!  That’s what I’m hoping for, anyway!  ;) (Don’t tell Mikan.  She’s the one with you, right?  I don’t know why I’m asking; I know it’s her.) Oh!  Fun fact!  You’re not just the Ultimate Fashionista!  I know, I know, that’s all my little Horrors are going to talk about, but that’s because I never told them this one! And you shouldn’t either. Point of fact, I’m pretty sure there’s only one person still alive who knows. …and Izuru, I guess, but he doesn’t count, because I didn’t fucking tell him, he probably just guessed it.  Asshole. Huh. How tragic. How despair-inducing. For me, not for you, although you’ll remember that in the future, too, so – no spoilers!  You’ll meet her in approximately— Oh, right.  No spoilers!  I literally just wrote that.  How boring. Well, Miss Ultimate Analyst, your Ultimate Fashionista bestie made you a whole new line-up of—

Ryoko stops again.  Wait, wait, wait.  She just slipped that in like it was nothing.  Ultimate Analyst?  What does that even mean?  Is that…is that how Junko knew Mikan would be with her?  How she knew that Ryoko would be here in the first place?  Hm.  Well, if she’s the Ultimate Analyst, and if she’s Junko (which she still steadfastly refuses to believe, no matter how much evidence continues to grow in that direction), that means Junko is also the Ultimate Analyst, which means she should have been able to accurately predict the kind of clothes Ryoko would like.

Okay, fine.  That’ll be her trial!

If Junko really is her, and they really are the Ultimate Analyst, then…then Junko should have been able to recreate the suit Ryoko stole from Sonia!  She should have been able to make it, and it should fit perfectly!  And – and! – Ryoko should be able to button up the lavender blouse without having to worry about…about fit!

With a giddy smile on her face – because the likelihood of all that is so small as to be impossible – Ryoko returns to the note.

Well, Miss Ultimate Analyst, your Ultimate Fashionista bestie made you a whole new line-up of— And you’ve stopped paying attention. Fine, that’s fine, I know what it’s like to get bored and distracted, trust me, I get bored all the time, but you can at least pay attention to the rest of the letter that I lovingly crafted for you, can’t you?  Maybe?  Just a little bit? No? Well. I need you to do something for me.  Immediately.  Without finishing reading this.  Okay? Just a little…trial, we’ll call it.

(Ryoko doesn’t catch it, but you do, don’t you?)

In the back of the middle rack, the very last hanger should have a garment bag.  Can you open that one for me?

Ryoko’s brow furrows.  What an odd request.  Still, she folds the note again, takes another swig from her bottle, and pushes herself up from where she’s been crouched in the corner.  Mikan still hasn’t returned, which means she probably didn’t find soap in the other room.  Not that Ryoko’s particularly surprised by that.

Middle rack, middle rack.  All the way at the back—

There, separated from all the other clothes on the rack (clothes that Ryoko doesn’t hate, actually, although she’s not too terribly focused on them) is a garment bag.  There’s a note pinned to it, too, although this one isn’t folded – a note that says, Yes, Ryoko!  This one! inside a huge pink heart.  Ryoko takes the note, crumples it in her hand, and shoves it into her pocket.  Then, as directed, she unzips the bag.

Her eyes widen.

Her entire being tenses, a singular chill running up her spine, and she resists the urge to vomit again.

She doesn’t want to get it on the suit.

Shaking, Ryoko brings the other note back up.

You wanted a suit like Sonia’s, right?  You were probably wearing that yesterday, too, huh.  And today, you’re back in my war outfit. Of course, I never referred to it that way.  Kyoko did.  Not that she ever said as much to me, but— Oh, do you remember Kyoko yet?  You’ll LOVE her! I certainly did, anyway. But it’s simple to read things like this, Miss Ultimate Analyst. Mikan was going to come save me. She was going to take me to that hideaway because it’s the closest one, and she was worried about carrying me too far away…and because she believed that I was going to meet the rest of them there after that final Killing Game.  (Don’t worry if you haven’t remembered that one yet, it’ll come sooner or later.  You’ll hate me for it, but then again, that’s the entire point, isn’t it?) Mikan took you there, and I didn’t leave any clothes there, which meant after you woke from your coma, you would want clothes.  She would ask Hiyoko, who would be the closest fit, and you would bring up Yasuke because you always bring up Yasuke, you poor, broken thing, and Hiyoko would be a bitch about Yasuke because that’s a game she and I play together, and she’d think she finally found a way to get under my skin, and it would be a bit of a joke to her, and if you were me, it would be a great game, but the thing is— The thing is you’re right, you know. You’re NOT me. (Again, that’s the entire point.) But you would bring up Yasuke, and Hiyoko would be herself, and you would snap and hurt her in one form or another, and then you would run, and Kazuichi would be in the hallway from trying to talk to Sonia for the millionth time and not being able to get through to her, and he would notice that you needed better clothes (although he probably liked you in the towel, huh), and he would of course think of Sonia because she’s always the first thought in his mind when I’m not. Which means you would end up with Sonia, and you wouldn’t like all of her frilly princess dresses because I don’t like all of her frilly princess dresses, and most of them don’t fit you even if you did, which leaves one thing. The suit. Oh, yes, you would like the suit. And you, my darling girl, reading my letter and noticing that I called you the Ultimate Analyst, would conspire some sort of trial for me to prove myself, and it would of course be that suit. Because how could I ever know about Sonia’s suit? Well. Who do you think made that suit? :) Believe me, Ryoko Otonashi, when I tell you that despite everything we are the same person and you are the Ultimate Analyst and that if you don’t get your shit together then you will be the one who dies instead of me, and let’s be really honest here, neither of us wants that. So get your head on straight, Ryo-chan. Remember me. And then figure out how to kill me before I eat you alive. Kisses!! Junko Enoshima ♡ ♡ ♡

[tobiasdrake]

So, I've complained extensively about 3-1's terrible Motive. It's time to talk about what works with this setup - and, in a sense, why such an obviously bad Motive would be written in the first place.

While the Motive itself is terrible, it exists not to create an interesting reason for the characters to kill each other, but rather for a different purpose entirely.

In Danganronpa 1, the characters' relationships with one another was what drove the plot. In DR2, it was driven by the Remnants' missing history and redemptive journey, with sacrifice being a core theme. For V3, a major thread that runs through each individual case is "cutting the knot".

Tsumugi is a talentless hack of a writer, and her Killing Game is an incompetently managed mess - often to a comical degree. In turn, the victims of her Game are able to be the single most uncooperative bunch of would-be Blackeneds ever to grace the Mutual Killing Game stage. The murders that take place throughout V3 happen in spite of Tsumugi and Monokuma's machinations, rather than because of them.

She can't keep her players on the rails. This blows up in her face multiple times over the course of the Game - even to the point of subjecting her to multiple full-scale violent revolts. Someone arms her secret base with an assassination trap in the first case and that's just the start of the insurrections she's going to face. She's. Just. Not very good at Masterminding. As a DM, it's hard to be Junko Enoshima.

In the first case of DR1, Junko expected that her players wouldn't be persuaded to kill even with the interesting Motive she offered. She had a whole tutorial murder set up with a co-conspirator, meant to get the game started and grease everyone's wheels into the necessary paranoia needed for them to start killing each other. Then she was surprised when this became unnecessary; the Hope of the Future were way more willing to go along with her despair than even Junko anticipated.

Here in this first case, Tsumugi finds herself in the opposite boat. The best she can come up with for a Motive is, "Uh, do it OR I'LL FUCKIN' SHOOT YA!" But rather than terrify these randos into submission, her trash Motive has the opposite effect: They come together in solidarity. Rather than hop onboard and start killing each other, her LARPers gather up weapons to fight for their lives against the horde of Monokumas.

That is the worst possible outcome for the Killing Game. When you shove a gun in someone's face and order them to kill, they aren't going to think, "Who can I kill and how do I go about it?" They're going to think, "What do I need to do to get this fucking gun out of my face?" You are now their problem to solve.

She's supposed to turn them against each other but has instead given them a mutual enemy to unify against. She went for a physical threat instead of a psychological one and utterly shot herself in the foot. It's hard to be Junko Enoshima.

It is only by the sheer good fortune of Kaede's attempt to kill Tsumugi and Rantaro miraculously picking just the right moment to investigate Tsumugi's base, that this didn't wind up being the most anticlimactic season in the history of the show. And when that still didn't work, Tsumugi had to put her hand on the scale, fabricating a fake murder through authorial fiat. A fact that will ultimately be the undoing of her sloppily-managed mess of a season.

[danganronpa-21]

General Warnings: Minor descriptions of wounds

Fandoms: Danganronpa

Relationships: Kirigiri Kyoko/Naegi Makoto

Additional Tags: Feudal Japan AU, Falling in Love, Action & Romance, Friends to Lovers, Indirect Danganronpa Trigger Happy Havoc Spoilers, Everyone is Samurai (except for Kyoko who is the Empress), Yes the Kamakura period was a real era of Japanese history, It was one of the few that had female samurai so with the name added it seemed like a natural fit

Chapter Word Count: 11,287 words

Summary: Set in Japan's Kamukura period, Empress Kyoko takes on a new samurai in her army, and realizes she has fallen in love with him... when he is moments away from his death.

A wound gapes in Naegi Makoto’s side as he is carried across the battlefield.

Anger and anguish sear into Empress Kirigiri Kyoko’s heart. 

She could kill Enoshima for this. Order her samurai forward and have that wretched woman’s head cleaved clean from her shoulders. Hell, she would do it herself if her advisors could contain their fits. She wants to kill Enoshima for this. She wants to kill her for the invasion of her lands, for the massacre of her people, and for the kind-hearted man she has nearly sentenced to death. 

Two years ago, she would never have anticipated that this would happen. Kizakura Koichi had assured her that female empresses, although rare, always had well-supported rules. 

“A woman symbolizes order, and perfection,” he had said in a tone so confident she couldn’t help but believe him, “You cannot be everything your people will need all at once, but they will respect you. Rest assured, your highness, people from all over will come to see you as the jewel you are.” 

How could he have known? How could he have known that someone like Enoshima Junko would come along, hungry for the very thing she is said to oppose? He swore to protect her from the moment her father fell to that witch, and now… and now she has nearly lost another person she loves because of her. Death is too good for her. 

Kyoko does her best to apply pressure to his wound as she rides, her horse carrying her as fast as it can manage. The wind rushes past them, blowing her hair in wild directions, but she finds that she cannot care so long as she can still see what is happening to this man she has come to care for. His chest plate has been pried from his body by Hagakure Yasuhiro, leaving his clothing exposed and the inky carmine colour of his blood to soak into the fabric. If it were not so unbecoming of an empress, she might have cursed. How could she allow this to happen? She should have been at his side. 

As her eyes flutter shut, whispering a silent prayer, she wills herself to believe that he will survive. Hope is the one thing they have in this war, and it is the one thing he has taught her to hold dear.

______________________________________________________________

The day they met, the empress almost thought nothing of him. 

Kizakura Koichi was the one who brought him in. The rest of the court had raised their brows and shook their heads almost the moment they saw him. To take a vow as a samurai was to take a vow of honour, strength, and protection, but the man – no, the boy – they saw before them did not appear as if he were prepared to do any sort of protecting and fighting. Small and scrawny in appearance and seemingly slight in personality, he would have no place on the battlefield. One of Junko’s soldiers could take a sword to his side and that would be it for him. His blood would be on their hands, staining their soil, and they would have to live knowing that he was not ready when they tried to send him out to war. 

The only problem with that was that he did not share their opinion on his stature nor his demeanour, and was insistent on lending himself to the cause. 

“Both my mother and father were slain by Enoshima’s soldiers,” he explained with a voice that could not dare waver, though they all could hear it wanting to, “It is only my sister and I now. I cannot leave her defenceless and prepared to die. I cannot allow more lives to be taken in the name of conquest without doing something.”

A noble man, Kyoko thought, fingers drumming on the armrest of her throne, her long nails making tink tink tink sounds as they made contact with the gold. But such nobility can be attributed to stupidity as well. Don’t go throwing your life away for an honour you cannot hope to achieve, Naegi Makoto. 

These thoughts have been woven into her from the moment she was born, but at times she found herself wondering if they were ever truly hers. As empress, she had been elevated above all others. Though it was always hard to be taken seriously as a woman, there was a certain amount of status she was awarded — a superiority in more than one sense of the word. Seeing a common man, someone as painfully usual as Naegi Makoto, it did not stir great emotion in her – at least, not when it come to the subject of her battles ahead and her own protection. Truth be told, she found herself wanting to protect him more. That was her duty as empress, after all. To protect and consider the needs of her people. Did this man truly need to be sent off to war, or could they avoid sacrificing his and his sister’s safety some other way? Her fingers continued to drum on the armrest, and she pursed her lips. 

“And what do you propose that you will bring forth to the imperial army, Naegi-san?”

Most of the courtiers were used to her unwavering voice and powerful gaze, but Makoto seemed to shrink under it a little. If he could not survive under this scrutiny, how could he hope to survive in the war? Her body craved a sigh, but she did not want to dismiss this young man so rudely just yet. He was offering to put his life on the line for her, after all. Even if he seemed unlikely, there had been other bright heroes with equally humble origins. Perhaps there could be a place for him yet, if he could learn to stand on his own two feet. It probably wasn’t easy, being under the inspection of the most powerful woman in the country. 

“Anything that I can, your Imperial Majesty,” he said carefully, his olive-green eyes locked on her face. It was difficult to notice before, but in a way, Naegi Makoto was… handsome. Not unbearably so, but he was at least a little attractive. Smooth, lightly tanned skin, messy brown hair that stuck up in all sorts of places, a pair of lips that looked like they were always prepared to smile, a button nose that added to the softness of his face, and those eyes… They were so full of fire, so full of life, that Kyoko could not help want to look into them. She’d never seen such intense eyes in her life, and legend had it that her family had had people shrinking under their violet stare for generations. But to see someone like him, so meek-looking but with such fire… It awoke something in her. Whether it was something like love or a drive to live, she did not know, but she liked it nonetheless. 

“Anything?” 

He nodded. “Anything.” 

She flittered her gaze away, hoping to maintain her image of aloofness. “Anything is good, but only theoretically. If you would truly give me anything that you can, Naegi-san, what would you say are your special talents? Things from you that are assured to enhance our army?” 

The question appeared to stump him at first, a crease digging into his brow. His teeth bore down on his lip. The rest of the courtiers began to mutter around her, all too ready to voice their disapproval. The army needed warriors of strength, people who actually understood that there was more to the job than wandering into the palace and requesting an audience with the empress. Military histories, special skills, profound character – these were the things that were valued. If Makoto could not provide any of these things, what business did he have there? Why was the Empress even bothering to consider him? Kyoko waved off their words, and waited for Makoto’s answer. 

“My optimism,” he answered, expression tentative, wondering if that could possibly suffice, “I have been told that I am… more hopeful than most people, even in times of hardship. That can be powerful in a war. I-Improving morale is important.” 

A hint of smile played at Kyoko’s lips, though she could not recall when that sneaky little grin managed to slip past her. “I’ll give you that, I suppose. And what of your military skills? Have you any background?” 

“A bit of combat training from my father,” he confessed, “Nothing special, but I… I don’t think I will have much trouble learning. I could learn quickly.”

The last two phrases sounded so quickly tacked on that the courtiers started to rumble with conversation again. This time, she shot them a look. No twisting of her face into a sneer of warning, just a cold, hard stare of expectation, like the one her tutors used to give when she would goof off during her lessons. It silenced them immediately. 

“And what of your mind? Have you any education?” She asked, turning her head back to look at Makoto. 

“A little. I’m a good puzzle solver.”

She does not have the energy to look back to see the faces of the courtiers again. She cannot value their judgement right now, not when she knows that they are not seeing what she sees. They cannot see that fire in his eyes, and the potential that is dancing beneath the surface. Is it really there? Are they trying to save her from this whole debacle? 

It mattered not. 

Once he shared the flame of his hope, it would not leave her.

______________________________________________________________

They met a few more times between then and now. Mostly during check-ins on the military, collecting reports. He always made a point of saying hello and striking up a conversation, even in spite of how it seemed to rub the other recruits the wrong way. They thought he acted too chummy with her. She could not have cared less. It was nice to have someone be so friendly, and it was not as if it was anything too personal. 

It was not until a few months in, on a late night in the palace gardens, that the two of them would come to encounter each other with real vulnerability for the first time. 

It was a rare occurrence for her to be alone anywhere. Even in times of peace, it was difficult to be anywhere without guards. In times of war, this was even worse, but with the sheer amount of bloodshed, that position just became much less important if she was not escorted outside of the palace. She could certainly handle her own if it was just her in her own home. She had been out in actual battles, though it drove the court insane. With that being the case, however, they could not deny her a little agency in being by herself every once in a while. That was how her trips to the gardens came to be, and how her next encounter with Naegi Makoto would begin. 

She had been stressed about something. What it was, she could no longer recall, but its ties to the war were certain. Wherever she turned, an object of stress was sure to follow. Blood seemed to seep into every aspect of her life these days, and no matter how hard she tried, it only continued to stain her hands. The walks in the gardens were small respite, but they were something, and she knew better than to underestimate the power of that. Having time to hear herself think was pleasant, and she truly did enjoy wandering around in the moonlight. The garden just looked different in the wee hours of the night, as the moon and stars drifted towards their place in the sky. She swore the light from them sometimes made the flowers glow. 

Seeing Makoto there was unusual, though. The samurai were welcome in certain areas of the palace, but Makoto had never been one to dawdle. Apart from his hellos at the troop inspections, he tended to maintain an even stronger sense of decorum than most. He knew very well that he was a lower man, looking up at a radiant being far beyond his station. Togami Byakuya, one of his fellow soldiers, had to repeatedly remind him that he did not have to bend a knee every time he saw her. Though it stung a bit to think that she was so above others that the common man could not even greet her properly, Makoto’s clumsy insistence on formality was… kind of cute, in its own way. Not that she would ever admit that to anyone. 

“Naegi Makoto.” 

Merely hearing his name made him jump. Were his superior around, she is certain that he would have been thoroughly scolded. Whether it would be for acting cowardly in front of the empress or not being aware of his surroundings… well, that was anyone’s guess. All she knew was that there would probably be something. Not that that should really be a surprise to anyone. He took it in stride, but his humbler origins paired with his gentle demeanour usually meant that the higher-ups were harder on him than they were on some of the other recruits.

“Oh, your Imperial Majesty, you scared me,” he said, scratching at his cheek, “I didn’t expect to see you in the palace gardens at this hour.” 

Kind as it was, she found herself too exhausted to share his amusement. She rubbed at her temples. “Well, it is my palace. I am prone to moving about it as I please.”

Ouch. Sharp. Too sharp. The royals have always had a reputation of being a cold, calculating people, but she’d tried to train herself to be better at interactions. The venture would help with future diplomacy, and stop the claims of Junko’s allies, who insisted that her comportment had something to do with thinking herself as entirely superior to others. Even now, it would probably smooth over her relationship with the servants and courtiers. It would be a lie to say that she had been in perfect humour right then, and she knew her prickliness made them talk about her behind her back. It’s typical for royalty to become gossip, but she hated it. She hated that everyone could spend the time making her out to be such a frigid, uptight witch when she was killing herself to keep them all safe. She knew it to be unfair for her to act in such a way, and she tried not to, but so early in her reign, this behaviour would be bound to colour people’s opinion of her. If she acted like this with Makoto as well, who knew what he would think?

No, she shouldn’t worry about that. He may not have known her well, but he knew enough to understand that she was never intentionally going to be unkind. It was all just stress, building up inside like a fungus that threatened to ail her. She was sure that someone like him is able to see that. She cannot be the composed Empress forever, especially not when trouble has come so early in her reign.

As if to compliment her for her perceptiveness, Makoto’s brows furrowed, and he stepped forward to get a better look at her. The corners of his mouth begin to tug into a frown as the moonlight gave him a clearer picture of her face, noticing the dark circles under her eyes. 

“Are you feeling alright?” He asked quietly, tilting his head to the side as if to drink in all of her features. For a minute it seemed almost as if he was going to reach a hand up to brush her cheek, but he stopped himself quickly. They did not have anywhere near close enough of a relationship for him to do something like that, but the fact that the instinct arose in him at all puzzled her. It seemed to puzzle him, too. 

He doesn’t mean anything malicious by it, she assured herself. He’s not that kind of person.

Still, she averted her gaze from his. Suddenly it felt like too much trouble. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice flat and grey as the stones that paved the garden paths, “I simply have had a lot to contend with as of late.”

He nodded thoughtfully. However, the concern etched into his expression did not quite disappear. It was only slightly tempered. “Ah. So you were taking a break in the gardens, then?” 

She let out a long sigh, trying to focus on the appearance of the flowers. Most of them had closed up their blossoms for the day, processing all of their food from the sunlight hours, but their beauty endured. It was much easier to focus on than the man before her, whom she found she both did and did not want to know at the same time. He was confusing. 

Like me but don’t like me. Like me but don’t like me too much.

Yes, that’s more like it. As her subject, it was important that he liked her. As one of her samurai, however, it was important that a certain distance be kept. If something were to happen to him out on the battlefield, she could not afford to suffer for that. She could not live with his death on her conscience, another pint of blood splattered on her earth. That fire in his eyes… she could not stand thinking that she would be the one to extinguish it. That is why she had to pull away from his attempts to share the flame… even if a small part of her wanted to take pleasure in his warmth.

“In a manner of speaking.”

“Is there anything that I can help you with, milady?”

Kyoko’s gaze darted back to him involuntarily. “What?” 

“I-I mean, is there something I can do to help you with your heavy workload? I know a lot of it is probably related to the court, but… is there anything I could do to help for the war effort, maybe? Or something I could do to help ease your mind?” 

“Ease my mind?” 

Makoto’s face reddened slightly. “S-Sorry, your Imperial Majesty, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that, it’s just… I wondered if you might need some personal support. You seem very tired, and I heard that the courtiers h-have been hard on you lately, so I just wanted to ask and see if maybe you needed a confidante.” 

And you would suggest yourself? 

Her heart skipped a beat – something she internally scolded it for. She would not let herself get attached to this man. She barely even knew him. He barely even knew her. That’s the way things had to be. Her position demanded it. 

Yet she couldn’t help but feel herself melting as she looks at him, his olive-green eyes tinged with sincerity. Was he genuinely worried for her health? It had to be the first time in a few days that someone has actually noticed her composure slipping. Even the kindest among her people had become so preoccupied with their own plights that they hadn’t noticed her struggle. That tended to be the price you paid for being the one on top. 

“I… suppose I might.”

Idiot!

“Would you allow me to be that person then, milady? A-Assuming I’m not overstepping, of course.”

A long pause hung between them for a moment before she released yet another a sigh and shook her head, knowing in her heart that she was too tired to try and beat this. “I would.”

A smile snuck across his face, his eyes twinkling with delight. He had a nice smile. Had she ever really seen him smile before now? Maybe during their swift hellos. This one seems different. It sent a warmth spreading through her chest, and strangely through her cheeks. Quietly, she prayed that it did not mean anything. 

“Might we walk through the gardens and talk, then?”

“That… sounds reasonable.” She paused for a moment, letting the personal implications of her acceptance sink into her own mind. “Follow me. I’ll show you the garden’s best.”

With a cheerful nod, Makoto followed eagerly, seemingly quite happy to get to walk shoulder-to-shoulder with his leader. It is not so often that someone of his standing is given such an invitation. In fact, it is not often that someone is given that invitation at all. He clearly understood that this was, in some way, an honour she was granting him… although she cannot say that she saw it that way. 

Their walk was silent at first, only taking in their footsteps on the stone pathways and the crickets singing in the dead of night. Contrary to what she expected, the silence did not feel all that uncomfortable – and it had little to do with forgetting that Makoto is there. In fact, she found that she could barely get away from his eyes. In no way was he being invasive, but she could not help but feel as if he was always watching her, almost with a sense of admiration. 

“I don’t mean to question your decisions, milady, but what made you decide to come to the gardens at this hour? With everything going on, I’m sure that you’re exhausted from the day’s events. Why put yourself through a little extra?” He asked, openly, almost as if they were dear friends. It was strange, but she did not dislike it.

“I use my time in the gardens to decompress. I would scarcely be able to sleep if I went directly to bed after my councils for the day.” 

Makoto’s eyes widened a little, and she could see him bearing down on his lip out of the corner of her eye. “When do your meetings tend to end for the day?” 

“Typically after supper, to allow me time to focus on answering important letters and filling out paperwork. However, given that Enoshima Junko has brought war, the answer is something closer to two hours past nightfall.”

“That long?! I heard that you would do anything for us, but somehow, I underestimated your dedication. Do you still carry on doing your paperwork after that?”

“But of course. I try to leave at least an hour or two for it, and then I take my stroll through the gardens, as I am doing this evening.” 

Makoto’s brows furrowed. “Are you sure that that is a wise decision?”

From what she heard, Makoto was the bashful type, so she wondered where he got the courage to outright question his empress right to her face. Somewhere beneath the surface, however, a hint of a smirk threatened to play at Kyoko’s lips. He could be fun to tease with this. 

“Are you questioning your Empress?” She said, voice as flat and monotone as she could make it. The words were barely out of her mouth for ten seconds when Makoto started sputtering, bowing in apology – and then nearly tripping over his feet because he tried to bow while walking. She could do little else other than snicker softly and shake her head. “It was only a jest, Naegi-kun. You invited me to speak my thoughts freely, and so, you may also speak yours.” 

A sigh of relief shot out of him, and a hand came to rest over his heart. “You frightened me!” he laughed. “Nobody told me you were so teasing!” 

She winked, but does not smile. It would be improper to give him the wrong idea… whatever that idea would be. “I’m full of surprises. That is how I intend on winning the war.”

He only half-smiled at that comment. She cannot say that she blamed him for that being his response. Wars will inevitably weigh on the rulers who engage in them, but it is the people who will suffer most in the turmoil. Makoto had already lost his parents to the ravaging of their kingdom, so she can imagine that the war is a sore subject for him. It’s something they have in common; she supposed. It might just be her exhaustion that made her insensitive to this.

“Jokes aside, your Imperial Majesty, I really do worry that your diligence may be putting you in a bad position. Are your advisors not worried for your health?” 

Kyoko could only shrug. “They don’t seem to be,” she paused for a moment, “Are you?” 

Makoto’s mouth opened for a moment, then quickly closed again, trying to avert his eyes. “I… I know it is not my place, but…” 

“But what?” 

“You look absolutely exhausted, milady.”

“Do I?” 

He nodded. “Even in the moonlight I can see the dark circles under your eyes. The other day when you were inspecting the troops, you mixed up two of your top commanders.” 

“So?”

“Your commanders are two different sexes.”

Kyoko’s lips pressed into a flat line. She did not mean to be curt, but it was very unlike anyone who was not a servant to worry about her health. Only those closest to her tended to do that, so the presence of Makoto, a regular soldier, trying to do such a thing was… confusing. Uncomfortable, maybe? No, perhaps that would be going too far…

“What is your point here, Naegi-kun?”

“That you’re greatly important to your people, and as much as we appreciate all that you are trying to do in helping us win this war, we don’t want your care for us to be the reason you fall into harm’s way.” 

“I’m not in any danger at the present moment.”

“But you could be! Enoshima draws closer and closer every day. Weren’t you saying just the other day that she took over two cities and a town?” 

She swallowed thickly. Much as she would like to deny it, Makoto did have a point. That villainess had been steamrolling the country with remarkable speed; she could be there before a woman of six months’ pregnancy gave birth. She just did not want to consider how easily she could crumble under her enemy, with no one to succeed her in the throne. If she were to die, then the kingdom would be Junko’s for the taking, and that is a larger threat than anyone is prepared to deal with. Letting her people throw away their lives for her would destroy her, but dying there and now would destroy them. 

“Yes, I was… but it is a complex situation. The way I see it, it is either you or I, and I have never been the kind of woman who would want to throw away the common man just to save my own skin. One of us will have to admit to some weakness, will have to fall in some capacity, and I cannot trust that it will be easier to do that to others like yourself. Blood of the royal lineage or not, a kingdom is nothing without its people.” 

He fell silent for a moment. Something about his attitude told her that this was not the answer he expected. He seemed to shift his positioning ever so slightly and bite at his lip, as if he was reflecting in depth on what she said. 

“But a great leader can inspire the kingdom to move forward,” he said finally. “Maybe we’re looking at this the wrong way. To judge one person’s life as more important than another’s does not make sense. We need to look at everyone’s contributions as something with value.” 

Kyoko hummed in acknowledgement. He had a point there. No good would come from dismissing one as more or less important than the other, but still… she knew it would circle back around into his concern for her, and she was still rather unsure of how to feel about that. 

“If that’s the way we choose to look at things, then we can consider both that the people are in need, and that you need your rest.” 

She sighed and shook her head once more. What had this man so determined to fuss over her? Was there some kind of bug he’d been bitten by that she just didn’t know about?

The love bug, perhaps, she heard Koichi’s teasing voice in the back of her mind. That comment was one she quickly pushed away. At most, Makoto could admire her. It cannot be said in any capacity that he should love her. The two did not know each other well enough for that to be within the realm of possibility, at least as far as she was concerned. 

A wisp of a smile found its way to her face nonetheless. 

“Do you think me so frail?” She asked, sure to keep her tone openly teasing this time, lest he misunderstand her intentions. 

“I think you are so kind,” he said without missing a beat. “Anyone with half a mind can tell that despite your-”

Foot in your mouth, she almost laughed, noticing his hesitation to speak the words. She would be willing to bet several thousand yen that he was about to use words such as “cold” and “calculating” to describe her. 

“- ahem, intimidating exterior…”

Ooh, saved face. 

“… You truly care about the people you are leading. I mean, you had no reason to take me on other than the goodness of your own heart and your willingness to respect my wishes. I know when I came here, I was far from the ideal soldier, but you allowed me to be apart of your cause anyway.”

“I liked your fire,” she blurted out, not even thinking before the words left her lips, “I could tell you were passionate about what you were setting out to do. You cared about what would happen next.” 

Makoto smiled at this comment, taking a moment to scratch at his cheek awkwardly. She had come to know of this as a nervous tick of his based off of their other, smaller interactions. Whenever he felt strange or bashful, he fell into the habit. It was oddly charming. 

“That’s what I mean, milady. Most people don’t look at someone like me and see anything worthwhile, but you actually looked at me. You thought of what I meant as a person, of what I wanted. I was human to you before you even got to know me.” 

I could say the same about you, she thought. The passing idea spread another pump of warmth throughout her chest, although she cannot say she understood why. Best not to consider it now, she decided. 

“And I’m not the only person you granted this to. I know Togami-sama rather regularly disagrees with your policies and stirs trouble in your court, but you never give up on him. You treat him with the same dignity and respect as you do any other person.”

Well… mostly. The two of them are prone to little verbal spars, but he was not wrong – at the end of the day, there are plenty of things about Togami Byakuya that she respects... Even if he did behave as if he was the gods’ gift to the earth.

“And what about when there was that scandal with Oogami-sama and her family? How she was manipulated and tortured into giving over information, and the rest of the court wanted you to dismiss her for being a traitor to the crown, but you wouldn’t allow it? You gave her a chance to redeem herself and her family, and allowed her to stand by Asahina-san as well, who helped her heal.”

That had been a tense time. She had not thought of much during it other than protecting her people. As far as Junko was concerned, she was hoping that Kyoko would make an example out of people like Oogami Sakura, to show off her cruelty and vouch for herself as the superior leader. Propaganda, she supposed. But Kyoko could not bring herself to hurt Sakura when she had done nothing within free will. Torture was the tool of cowards – people will say anything to stop such severe pain. She could not blame Sakura for her actions, and she would not allow the others to as well. She hadn’t had to think much about it. It was just what made the most sense to do, yet Makoto thinks of it when he wants to give examples of how she is kind. 

“Or what about all of the money that you have sent in the direction of that orphanage that was decimated by Enoshima? How they were able to rebuild within a matter of a few weeks, and how the children were hopeful and well-fed all that time? You could have left the community to handle it, but you chose not to.” 

“I’m just being a good empress.” 

“You are choosing to be a good empress. People like Enoshima are not.”

Kyoko frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your point, Naegi-kun.”

“My point is that your kindness is something everyone in Japan admires about you. We love that you are so willing to take care of us, and to ensure that we have a future beyond what is happening now. It is what inspires us to never bend to the wills of people like Enoshima. You may not see your life as inherently more valuable than ours, milady, but you are the symbol of the future we are striving towards. We want to take care of that future, just as much as that future takes care of us.” 

“So what you’re saying is-”

“Please, go to sleep at a reasonable hour and eat three meals a day!”

Both of them erupted into laughter so naturally that Kyoko’s heart skipped a beat. 

______________________________________________________________

A woman like Maizono Sayaka was doomed from the beginning, and Makoto seemed to be the only major actor in the army that did not know it. 

A songstress turned warrior was a trophy target for Enoshima Junko. To slay not just a commander, but a singer of the empress’s court, would bring her a satisfaction that they could barely begin to understand. As blood leaked on the woman’s white underclothes, the same shade of pure white that she had worn during her songs before the war, Makoto hung his head over her and wept. Try as she might, Kyoko could not find the right words to console him. After all, judging by the gaping wound in her belly, her death had been anything but quick. She and several others had learned the hard way that five minutes was the shortest amount of time it took a person to bleed to death. 

“This is all my fault,” Makoto whimpered, brushing aside the inky blue bangs that are still matted to Sayaka’s forehead, “If I had just stayed… when you asked me to change positions…”

She was your commander, Kyoko longed to say. You were meant to follow her orders. 

Instead, she chose to hold her tongue. Logic would not comfort Makoto now. Not when considering the loss of his friend, nor when considering that he had now also lost a piece of home… The friendship between Makoto and Sayaka had bloomed because they grew up in the same town, and had some of the same education… Dare she say it, Makoto may have once held a bit of affection for the girl. Now that she was gone, her spirit being guided to peaceful rest, Kyoko could not blame him for his grief and confusion. Had she any love in her heart for someone like that, she felt certain that she would have been the same. Even just seeing it in him hurt… but she knew that there was only so much she could do about it. 

“Naegi-kun. Can I speak with you for a moment?”

He looked up from Sayaka’s body for a moment, staring expectantly. When he realized that she wanted to take him aside, his gaze flicked back to Sayaka’s lifeless body, and his lower lip trembled. Then, he turned back to her and nodded again. 

“It’s about Maizono-san, is it not?” 

She blinked. “I’m surprised you figured it out.”

Quietly, he pulled himself up from the ground and follows his empress, the rest of the recruits lingering on them until finally they were face to face in the castle’s hall.

“I have… heard some reports from Kuwata-kun, who was with her, when she was… when it happened…” 

The words were surprisingly difficult to get out. Her tongue felt like cotton as she tried to speak, each word coming out oh-so-carefully, like she was piecing together some kind of puzzle. It is probably for the best that this was the case – her coldness has not lent itself well to comforting others in the past. In fact, it is often what has deterred her from being able to do it effectively. 

“And… Maizono-san, in her last moments… as she lay dying, she was thinking of you… and praying that you were safe…” 

Makoto said nothing, nor did his eyes. All she could see on his face was that he is hanging onto her every word. 

“Kuwata-kun said that she thought herself coward. She actively sent you to a worse position because she could… she struggled to…” 

The empress felt the urge to hang her head like a scolded child. There is no use in trying to act like Sayaka died without cowardice or pain, but that still does not mean that her comforting should destroy the relationship the two of them had. Kyoko would rather face the truth than be consoled with a lie, and she could only hope that Makoto was the same. 

“She was unsure of her positioning when my tactician brought it up with her. Her hesitation attracted failure.”

Makoto blinked. “Why are you telling me this?”

Kyoko drew in a long, deep breath, then released it. “Because… you are the kind of warrior who can overcome this. Because you can move past death of your allies – Maizono-san and Kuwata-kun – and keep moving forward. Without someone like you, the others will never be able to break free of a desperate situation. You may think yourself an ordinary soldier, Naegi-kun, but the others look to you.”

“Move past their deaths?” He parroted, colour draining from his face. “That’s… I could never do that.”

For a moment, she considered opening her mouth, but thought better of it. It was hard to tell at first, but there was most certainly something brewing under the surface… a kind of storm. If she had to guess, it was that fire of his that bubbled up – she just hoped that it was not one that would invoke its ire upon her. 

“I’m going to carry them with me for the rest of my life. How could I possibly “move past” something like that? Maizono-san… Kuwata-kun… I will carry them with me forever,” his voice spiked suddenly, his shouting surprising even him, “I will carry them with me wherever I go!”

As his voice rang out, so too did the weight of his words. Kyoko found herself stunned to silence, unsure of what to say. She had never been good at comforting people, but she thought maybe what she could say would help… yet Makoto seemed to be making a choice she would never have anticipated. Perhaps it really was his passion after all. 

“So instead of forgetting them… you are choosing the more difficult path.”

She paused, drinking in the information, as a small, hopefully comforting smile graced her. 

“Well, I have high expectations for you… By the way, I wanted to ask…”

“Hm?”

“… How did you know I wanted to talk to you about Maizono-san?”

“Oh, well… I’m psychic.”

Kyoko jolted back, an action that embarrassed her immediately, although she tried not to show it. “Huh?!”

“Just a jest, milady,” he almost laughed, giving her a particularly weak smile in return, “I have good intuition.”

______________________________________________________________

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that our conversation from before went right over your head.”

Makoto would never have been so smug as to say those words, yet somehow it was as if she could feel them emanating from him. He was barely even approved by the guards to be invited to visit her when she is in such a state, but he still had the audacity to have this air of rightness about him… Alright, perhaps she was exaggerating. Really, he wasn’t doing much of anything that could cause her shame, other than sitting nearby, helping to prepare a meal for her that one of the servants left. It was not Makoto’s job to care for her, yet his diligence upon arrival made it seem like this was his job all along. She wondered if he felt guilty for not having more of an influence on her, or not being there at the right time. She hoped not. It was not his fault that she barely slept and then thought she could handle battle. 

“I appreciate you coming to see me, Naegi-kun.” She murmured quietly, unaccustomed to speaking after a few days of healing. “Although I am sorry that it means you have to look after me…”

Makoto shook his head thoughtfully, carefully breaking up seaweed with his fingers to sprinkle atop a bowl of steaming jasmine rice. “No need for apologies, milady. I’m happy to look after you.” 

Kyoko hummed. “Even after I neglected to take your advice?”

His eyes flicked up from the seaweed for a moment, and it almost looked like he was going to say something, but he seemed to think better of it and just looked down again. Was he mad at her? Being concerned with that at all felt strange, but she supposed she could understand it if he was. He made it clear in their earlier conversation that he was counting on her just as much as she was counting on him. 

“I’d heard you were headstrong.” She could have burst out laughing at how casually Makoto said it. No others spoke to her like that, and though she could take it as an insult, the honesty was refreshing. “I anticipated it might happen.” 

“You did, did you?” 

He nodded. “My sister can be like that as well. More than once I’ve had to drag her out of a problem because she got in too deep,” a slight chuckle tinged his speech, “She has a bit of a weird sense of pride sometimes.”

Kyoko softened at the mention of the girl. Though they had had a little bit of time to get to know each other since that one conversation, she still only heard bits and pieces about her. Talking about his home life before the war still seemed to pain Makoto, so she had made a point of avoiding the topic when they did speak. Honestly, she might have heard more about Sayaka than she did his sister, even after the latter passed.

“How is your sister?” 

He smiled gently, although she noticed that it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “She’s in good health… and worried about me, as any sister would be. She asks about how things are here, what the people are like, what you are like…”

She quirked a brow. “And what did you tell her about me?” 

“That you are much kinder than the rumours about you say. And that the rumours about your beauty are true – she asked about those.”

Somehow, she was disappointed that Makoto himself didn’t take the initiative to tell tales of her allure. “Well, that’s kind of you.”

He shrugged. “Just answering her questions…” His smile faded. “Although I fear I may have answered too many. She’s been asking about joining the army as of late.”

“I could see about taking her on.”

“Komaru is not built for war.” Makoto cut her off the moment she finished, still seemingly unfazed by interrupting his superior – what confidence he has built! He had certainly changed a bit, from the man who used to be excessively respectful before that night in the gardens. Honestly, she appreciated his candor. “She is far too innocent. When all of this started, she could do nothing but cry, and now she wants to join the army? It makes no sense.”

She placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, surprising Makoto into looking up at her. Their gazes linked together, and it was the first time that she realized just how rich of a colour his eyes were. Before it was the fire that attracted her, but now… the harmony in the sea of green was just as appealing. “I will not pretend to know a great deal about your sister, but there was a time where most thought this impossible for you, and you are here now. Surely that must mean something?” 

His brows knitted together as she spoke, at first grateful for the words, but then seeming to evaluate them much more carefully. “I understand your thoughts, your Imperial Majesty, but I… I just don’t think I could fathom seeing her hurt. No one wants to see their family in harm’s way.” 

“I understand. I don’t have a sibling of my own, but my father did come before me… I know what it’s like to watch someone you love charge headlong into battle, unsure if they will make it to the end.” 

The crease between Makoto’s brows could only deepen at the words, but his eyes softened in comprehension. 

“I’m sorry, I hadn’t meant to upset you.”

She raised a hand, putting on a somewhat easy smile in hopes of making him more comfortable. Unlike him, talking about her family did not offend her. She often had much less to say than someone like him would anyway. “No need to apologize. It was I who asked about your sister, and I am merely continuing the conversation. Besides… it feels like ages ago that my father walked the earth alongside us.”

“Do you miss him?” Makoto blurted out, only to look as if he wanted to kick himself for asking. Considering everything he had done and said so far, it was almost painfully ironic. If it weren’t for their current subject matter, Kyoko could have laughed.

“Sometimes.” She paused. “We weren’t particularly close. His work always brought him away from me. For a long time I resented him for it, but now, actually being here myself… I suppose I can sympathize with what he was doing. It may not have been what I needed, but perhaps it was all he could provide. The way he saw things, I think… it was him and I against the world.”

Makoto nodded, appearing uncertain of what he should say. That was alright with her. It was just nice to have someone listen.

“I’m sure he’d be very proud, if he could see how you’re doing. I know I am.” 

The comment caught Kyoko off-guard, and she had to fight not to start blushing. “T-Thank you,” she muttered, praying he didn’t notice her embarrassment – how did he always manage to put her in such a state? “What about you?” 

He blinked, surprised that she would have anything more to ask about him at all. Did people not ask about him and his life, she wondered? It would certainly be unusual to not do so. “What about me?”

“If the memory is not painful for you, I long to ask… what was your family like?”

He smiled softly, sadly. The look on his face told her immediately that he was thinking of his parents. She almost wanted to tell him to stop and not answer, just so he wouldn’t have to relive that pain, but when he began to speak, it appeared as if this might have been something good for him. Maybe he did need to speak about them more than he had been doing. 

“They were… nice. Typical, really. Working class, perhaps more on the frugal side. My father had some military experience and education, which is where I got my skills from, but it was never really enough to stay comfortably afloat. He worked two jobs, and even then, my mother had to take up spinning silk to make sure ends met. They were hard workers, and kind people. There wasn’t a person alive they weren’t willing to help, even when it was hard for us, and they loved Komaru and myself with everything they had. I never doubted that they cared about us, not for a moment.”

His eyes sparkled as he talked about his family.

“And Komaru?”

“Komaru is like any other little sister – a tad mischievous, but cheerful and a pleasure to spend time with. She’s still young, so she relies upon me a great deal, often crying and getting scared by the dark clouds that surround us… but there’s bravery there, too. She rises to challenges set in front of her, regardless of whether she thinks she can. She cares so much about the people around her, and overall, I think she just makes my world a brighter place.”

Kyoko smiled. “They sound lovely. I’m sure you miss them a great deal.”

“I do…” He sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. His eyes lingered down at the table for a moment, as if they were searching for something, some hint of his family, but they eventually found their way back to her. “Maybe, when all of this is over, I can bring you to meet Komaru. I’m sure she would be honoured to have an audience with the Empress.”

“I would like that. However, if it’s not too much to ask…”

“Yes?” 

Somehow, that stubborn blush rose in her cheeks. Oh, how she wished she could kick it away. How did he always manage to do this to her? 

“Would you please tell me more? I know so little of your life, Naegi-kun, and if it’s alright with you… I would love to know more.” 

“O-Oh! Of course, milady. I-If you don’t mind, I would actually like to hear more about your upbringing as well.” 

She smiled. “Sounds like we have an agreement, then.”

The hours that followed seemed like mere minutes as the two spoke, starting with the basics only to later delve into the intimate details of their lives, their hopes and fears, their dreams and wants… Dare she say it, it is entirely possible that nobody else had known Kyoko as much as Makoto did within those hours. For the first time in ages, she felt as if she may have truly connected to someone, someone who saw her for who she was – not just as an Empress, but a person. Talking with him was as easy and as natural as falling asleep. Did it feel the same for him too, she wondered? Perhaps not, given that he had no high station of his own to deal with, but she liked to think that she was a comfort to him. Away from his family and all he had ever known; she was sure he was lonely. If she could provide him even a little bit of support, that was all she wanted. After all, he always made her feel so safe.

Oh, god. She was in this far deeper than she had ever planned to be.

______________________________________________________________

Kirigiri Kyoko’s heart is in her throat as she passes Naegi Makoto off to Kimura Seiko, the latest in their line of healing experts. She is more of an expert in medicines than she is in saving lives, but she is all that they have access to right now, and Kyoko would rather die than not take a chance on her. When she took him on, she promised herself that no matter what happened, she would do all that she could to keep that light from going out. She fully intends to keep that promise.

Her delivery of Makoto safely to Seiko denotes that she should likely return to the battlefield. Yet for the first time in a long time, her knees shake at the prospect. With or without Makoto at her side, she would always have her confidence and her courage, but with his fate hanging in the balance… Well, it’s as if she can barely focus. Ever since she plucked him off the ground and threw him atop her horse, tearing her clothes to try and stop his bleeding wound, unease has pricked her heart. Not knowing whether he will live or die made her ache with a kind of longing she has never felt before, and though she knows that she should be more concerned with the soldiers who are defending her with their lives… Can she really go back out there without knowing? 

She steals one last, long glance over at Seiko, who is perched over Makoto on her knees. Her chin-length white hair hangs in front of her face as she blots at his wound with a damp cloth, adding pressure in hopes of staunching the bleeding. At her side there are bandages and bottles of medicine, ready to clean and protect the wound, but all Kyoko can think about is if that alone will be enough. How could that possibly be enough? 

Her hands curl into fists. No matter how it looks, she cannot afford to let her thoughts run wild. She must have faith that things will work out. If it were her lying there instead of Makoto, she knows that that is what he would have done. He would want her to get back out there. 

“I will not be able to live the same without you, should you leave me, Makoto-kun…” she mutters under her breath, shaking her head. “So I expect that you will pull through. For your empress… and for the woman who…” 

The woman who cares for you.

With those words still stubbornly clinging to Kyoko’s lips, she lifts herself back onto her horse, heart pounding with all its might. She does not dare look back at Seiko and Makoto once more. It will only make her want to stay. Instead, she draws her weapon from its sheath, and with a flick of the reigns, sends herself charging out into battle once more – ready to take on whatever Junko can throw at her. 

For Makoto. 

The hours she spends in battle are long and exhausting. They must have gone for at least two more after Makoto was grievously injured, and it went without saying that there were heavy losses on both sides. Oogami Sakura, Ishimaru Kiyotaka,Yamada Hifumi, Yasuhiro Taeko, Fujisaki Chihiro, and Oowada Mondo were just some of the more major names that were lost on her side – sons and daughters of daimyo who had pledged themselves to her cause, wanting to protect their lands and people. Yet with their deaths came several large losses from Enoshima’s side as well, taking out powerful confidants such as Ikusaba Mukuro and Masuda Yasuke – although rumour had it that it was Junko herself who destroyed them. 

Nonetheless, the weight of this battle burrows itself into Kyoko’s soul. When the night comes, she will have to begin writing letters of condolences to their families. Each word of thanks will feel empty on both sides. She knows just as well as they do that they would rather have their son or daughter come home than to have them die honourably. She cannot blame them if they choose to resent her after this. She might do the same in her shoes. 

God. The thought brings her back to Makoto once more, the person she has been trying so desperately to avoid. What if she returns to find him dead? What will she say to his sister, who would now be all alone in the world? A woman as young as her, with no other family, no husband… She would be without anyone to love and support her. Her heart squeezes in prayer. Makoto cannot be dead. If not for her sake, then for his sister’s. There has to be some goodness and justice in this world. There just has to be. 

This is all she can repeat herself as she rides back to the medic’s tent. 

Unkind as it is to say, the place quite literally smells like shit. A mixture of that and blood, vomit, and sterilizing equipment. Seiko works tirelessly within, alongside several others with lesser experience than she, wrapping bandages around bleeding torsos, wiping alcohol on sizable gashes, and saying final prayers for safe passage past Izanami. The air is thick and hot with agony, but she does not let it get to her. These people are in much greater pain than she. It would be tasteless of her to complain.

As she strides into the room, following closely behind a shy woman called Gekkogahara Miaya, she tries to offer the passing soldiers a few rare smiles, or even a “thank you for your service to the Empress”. It does not do much in the way of comfort, she knows, but many of them smile anyway. One even reminds her, with a toothy grin, that they will get past this. She dearly hopes that is true. 

There are a few curtains set about between the beds to try and give the soldiers some privacy from their neighbours, so it takes some time to pin down exactly where he is, but with her naturally keen eye, the Empress doesn’t find it difficult to find him at all once they get close enough. She can hear him murmuring something to one of the nurses, something about not needing to worry for him. His voice is so raw that it almost takes her a moment to realize that it’s him, yet his words are so Makoto-like she could never fully miss it. 

“I’ll be okay if you want to look after some of the others,” he assures his nurse, a redhead. Yukizome Chisa, if she remembers correctly. It was exactly like her to be fussing over someone like Makoto, from what she’s heard from others. She could not help but smile at the mental picture of the two of them together. “I promise, I’m sturdier than I appear.”

“You needn’t be such a boy,” Chisa says, not without a hint of accusation, “Your injuries are quite serious, Naegi-kun. You are still unstable, you could even be teetering on the edge of death, and if my indiscretion leaves you-”

“Yukizome-san?” 

Miaya cuts in without thinking nor caring what the two of them are up to. She pulls back the curtain without hesitation, putting a war-ravaged Kyoko on full view. Both Chisa and Makoto straighten up immediately… although the latter immediately winces in pain and sinks back down into his bed not long after. 

“The Empress has asked to see Naegi-kun.”

Kyoko hopes she does not wince rom how bluntly Miaya delivers the message. It is not as if the other soldiers and nurses in the area are lacking in ears. As much as people love the royal family, it is not as if rumours about them are not the subject of idle gossip. She’d rather such things not be spread, especially right now, when there are more important things to contend with. 

“O-Of course!” Chisa squeaks, nodding as Kyoko steps into the small area. She definitely seems more rigid than she was a moment ago, but her smile lingers. “Is there something I can do for you, your Imperial Majesty?” 

Kyoko moves to Makoto’s bedside, pretending not to notice that he watches her do so. She’s only been in here a few minutes, but it certainly feels like everyone is watching and knows her business. What a strange emotion to be feeling at a time where things are still rather dire.

“If Naegi-kun is in reasonable enough condition, I was wondering if I might have a moment alone with him?” 

Chisa looks from Kyoko to Makoto and then back again, swallowing thickly. No one could blame her for being reluctant to leave a patient she was just insisting upon watching, but when she sees the look in Kyoko’s eye when she looks at him… well, she fails to say anything but yes. 

“I could spare a few minutes away. I suppose Munakata-kun will want my presence.” 

“Thank you. I will be sure to get you if I notice him struggling.”

With a grateful nod, Kyoko says nothing else to Chisa nor Miaya as they take their leave, leaving her alone with the man who nearly gave his life to support her.

It is just the two of them alone now, and though she fought so hard to get to this moment, it is hard to know what to say. The words build up within her like the incoming eruption of a volcano, yet they all seem to swirl together in a way that makes them feel impossible to properly produce. There is so much affection in his eyes when he looks up at her that she doesn’t even know where to go, or how she can say what she wants to say without sounding bizarre. In the end, the first words she settles on are:

“I’m so sorry.”

For whatever reason, they make Makoto chuckle – and then grimace again at the searing pain that rips through his side. “What are you sorry for?” 

“That you were hurt,” she says, her voice then lowering into a whisper, “That you could have gotten killed.”

That you still could die without ever seeing your younger sister again and being able to say good-bye. That you still could die without me ever saying everything that you deserved to hear. That I could say it all and still be too late. 

“Hey,” he whispers softly, “You don’t have to worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

She clenches her teeth, finding it hard to look at him in this state. “You have no proof of that.” 

He shrugs a little, still trying to maintain that same, easy grin he’s been comforting her with since she walked in. She both loves it and wants it off his face as soon as possible. “Maybe not… but I can feel it.”

She purses her lips, clearly not as amused by this situation as he seems to be. Although maybe she should cut him some slack, she thinks. For all she knows, he could be pumped full of Seiko’s drugs to help him deal with the pain. 

“What, in the gigantic gash in your side?”

He shakes his head, still almost giddy, as if his eyes are not half-lidded and every movement of his limbs does not seem to make them tremble. “In the part of me that has hope. In my fire. I have no intention of dying yet. Not when you did everything you could to save my life.” 

His expression turns serious suddenly.

“I owe you everything for that. Thank you.” 

“You owe me nothing. It is my job as your Empress to protect you. On and off the battlefield,” she pauses for another quick moment, finally feeling that accursed heat begin to rise in her cheeks, “… And as your friend, I owed it to you to save your life.” 

It’s hard not to notice Makoto’s attempts to keep his brows from furrowing at the word friend. Somehow that makes her blush even more. Surely he could not be feeling the same as she, could he? It seems a bit absurd to think. 

“Still, you’re… more important than me-”

“No one is more important than you,” she interjects, “Especially not to me.”

He blinks, slowly, and his voice is lowered just to the tone of a whisper the next time he speaks.  “What are you saying, milady?”

I’d think a man as clever as you would know, she almost blurts out, but catches her tongue before she can get too far. It will do her no good in romantic endeavours to be sharp – although if experience has taught her anything, it seems as if Makoto might actually be attracted to that. Still, it is best to be gentle with him while he is in such a fragile state, even if that must extend to her words as well. 

“You…” She stops, unsure of how to phrase this. She’s never been masterful with her words, with getting things exactly right, or with expressing her emotions exactly as she feels them. It’s even harder when she has to lower voice and make sure that she doesn’t say it too loud, let it reach the wrong ears. For all that Koichi told her that a woman symbolizes perfection, she is not so sure she is it right now. But she’s willing to be the closest that she can be for Makoto’s sake. “You mean a great deal to me, Naegi-kun. More than I think you know.” 

He raises his eyebrows, but says nothing. His desire to let her speak is written all over his face. 

“My saving you, it… I… I think my advisors will surely lose their sanity when they find out that it happened. My whole life, I have been told to consider myself above others when it comes to matters of life and death. They told me that I could not so easily be replaced. But when that commander, Kamukura Izuru… When he nearly slayed you…”

She swallows.

“I found myself affronted with the knowledge that if I lost you right then and there, I would never be able to replace you. You are more than just a subject or a soldier to me. And I know perhaps that it’s early to say this, given that perhaps you and I do not know each other as well as some others might, but… I have a particular fondness for you that I cannot explain – one that I do not feel for anyone else, and have never felt before.” 

“Are you saying that you…” 

“Yes.” She nods. “Yes, I am.”

“But what about your station?”

“What about my station?”

“Y-You’re the Empress. Shouldn’t you be with someone of royal descent?” 

“I’m the Empress, Naegi-kun. My bloodline is chosen by the gods. If I have had to go through this war and met you, then I know that they have brought us together to do right by me. That is how I see it.”

Makoto’s face reddens into a cute blush of his own, his eyes darting away from her as if to process this whole thing. Part of her begins to worry about this reaction, for he has not yet said that he returns her feelings. What if he feels as if he cannot reject her because of her power? Does he feel indebted to her because she saved his life? She shifts uncomfortably, praying that this is not the case. 

“Are you alright?” She asks quietly. 

“Yes. Great, really, I just…” He shakes his head, finally letting his eyes lock onto hers once more. “I never dreamed we would feel the same way.” 

Now it’s Kyoko’s turn to fall into shock, a sharp heat, one more intense than any of the others she has felt so far, spreading across her cheeks and nose. “You mean…?” 

He nods. “I do.” 

The two of them pause awkwardly, not really sure what to say. 

“So what do we do now?” 

“I think… we would usually kiss?” 

Kyoko gets up to go over to him, but he brings her to a halt with a lift of the hand. 

“Hold on. If I’m going to get through this injury, I’ll need something to live for. This seems like a pretty good thing.” 

And once again, that very natural laughter that comes in each other’s company strikes again.

[theacstories]

Since training is now over already, time for a mission. Nope, time to farm! Is that all there is to chapter 20 of Fabricant 100 by Daisuke Enoshima?

[shysheeperz]

[ljaesch]

Fabricant 100 Manga Ends

This year’s 40th issue of Shueisha’s Weekly Shonen Jump magazine has published the final chapter of Daisuke Enoshima’s Fabricant 100 manga. The manga is described as: There was once a doctor fixated on creating the “ideal human being.” After the doctor’s death, his fabricant creations start attacking humans in order to attain the perfect body. When Ashibi Yao’s entire family is murdered by these…

[demifiendrsa]

Official English translated author comments featured in Weekly Shonen Jump 2023 issue #25

One Piece chapter 1084 - Eiichiro Oda

Nue’s Exorcist chapter 2 - Kota Kawae

My Hero Academia chapter 389 - Kohei Horikoshi

Cipher Academy chapter 24 - Nisioisin

Sakamoto Days chapter 119 - Yuto Suzuki

Akane-banashi chapter 62 - Yuki Suenaga

Blue Box chapter 101 - Kouji Miura

Tenmaku Cinema chapter 6 - Yuto Tsukuda

Do Retry chapter 3 - Jun Kirarazaka

Jujutsu Kaisen chapter 223 - Gege Akutami

Kill Blue chapter 5 - Tadatoshi Fujimaki

Witch Watch chapter 109 - Kenta Shinohara

Undead Unluck chapter 159 - Yoshifumi Tozuka

The Ichinose Family’s Deadly Sins chapter 25 - Taizan5

Mission: Yozakura Family chapter 178 - Hitsuji Gondaira

The Elusive Samurai chapter 110 - Yusei Matsui

Me & Roboco chapter 137 - Shuhei Miyazaki

Fabricant 100 chapter 22 - Daisuke Enoshima

Mashle: Magic and Muscles chapter 156 - Hajime Komoto

Black Clover chapter 359 - Yuki Tabata

[ayukoshop04]

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[molsno]

chihiro does not tell us anything about her own gender. everything we hear about her gender is told to us by monokuma after she dies. in order for your transmasc chihiro headcanon to even have the slightest credibility, you have to take everything monokuma says about her backstory as completely factual. I will remind you that the person controlling monokuma, enoshima junko, constantly lies and uses the information she has to manipulate others. she fabricates a suicide note from sakura later in the same game, and in dr3 (the anime) she blackmails a gay man by threatening to out him to his best friend and crush if he doesn't obey her. is this who you want to listen to about a trans girl's life story? to assert that chihiro could be transmasc you have to side with a homophobic liar.

In many cases, 'headcannoning' a character that has transfeminine subtext as transmasc leads to a weaker or in some cases, hateful, transgender narrative overall. For example, Miquella from elden ring. In the case of transfeminine miquella, you have a narrative in which miquella seeked to give up her heart, burying and hiding her heart, her love, everything that was feminine so far down that nothing could ever reach it, hoping it would either and die, and this ultimately leading to her downfall because she could not ever hope to succeed without her heart, her love. She throws it away, and it destroys her. The story is obvious in a transfeminine reading of the story: By not embracing herself as a woman, miquella threw away her heart and her love and all joy she could have felt. It's a beautiful, tragic, heartwrenching tale about how the choice to never transition will slowly eat away at you, leaving you a loveless, joyless shell of a person. On the flipside, we have the case of a transmasculine reading of the character, and the exact *opposite* narrative: By transitioning, miquella loses any chance of joy and happiness, becomes an incomplete being, and is doomed to fail because he could never hope to be a god since he threw away saint Trina. By choosing to interpret the story this way, you make an implicit reactionary statement that being transgender is a curse, something that holds you back. It's a cruel and hateful reading, so that begs the question, why would anyone interpret the text that way? Or did they perhaps not engage with the text to see the implicit meaning, choosing a shallow desire for 'representation' over proper literary analysis?