#gAhk its pathetic

[unicourt]

iff you ever want to sugegest a doodle my inbox is open !! it'll just be a doodle but still! :o)

[karpkorner]

"GAHK!! A-ah, Kia!"

The most pathetic sound left her lips as she was groped and- crash. There goes the drinks she was carrying. That... was gonna be at least an hour under the table with the boss later.

"I-Its... going great. Ha.. haha..."

Kia's gonna sneak up behind Tae, giggling as she gropes the bunny from behind.

╰┈➤ ❝ Free use slutty bunny~! How you finding the floor, babe~? ❞

[suitov]

How do you think it would be if Nagito were the one In the Kamukura project and hajime were to take his place, as the servant in the main verse, and as Nagito "Toy" in your fanfic?

I struggle to see the point of talentswaps (either you have the same characters with different talents, in which case what’s the point, or you change their personalities completely so they actually mesh with their new talents, in which case what’s the point) but here’s one for the talentswap Lucky Student Hajime I know...

--- ---

My lip curls of its own accord. That, at least, is novelty.

I push myself off the wall of my ugly, tacky cell. The boy on the floor looks startled. I approach, and -- wide-eyed, bristling and far too late to do him any good -- he begins to scramble back from me.

I pace around him in a perfect circle, leaving exactly a metre’s clearance.

“What have they brought me this time,” I say. This is for show. The instant he entered the room, I had seen his true worthiness.

“Uh, um, my name--”

“Will be asked for if required,” I finish smoothly as I come to a halt.

The boy stammers. It is ugly.

“Luck,” I remark. His talent is a spiteful, uncivilised thing. “Even I possess so ugly a talent as luck.”

“H-hey--”

“Your mouth is ugly when it hangs open.” As predicted, it closes. How pathetically easy this one is to manipulate. They could at least have given me one with a little wit or culture. This one has likely never read a book that was not on a homework list.

I watch him sit there, hugging his knees, chewing ungracefully at his lip. Idling in that messy way people have. I am able to predict a great many things, but I am at a loss to imagine the purpose of this boy being left in here with me. Perhaps I shall be asked to demonstrate a talent on him; Ultimate Interrogator, say, or Ultimate Hairdresser. His hair is unreasonably spiky.

“I like your hair,” he blurts. I give him a long, unimpressed look. “...it’s so long and, and cloudy,” he trails off.

“You realise that that is the least exceptional out of uncountably many exceptional things about me,” I tell him.

“I just... thought it was pretty,” he says. He is scowling. I am almost surprised he has the audacity. Were I face to face with my undisputed better, I would be smiling and polite.

“...ugly,” I say.

“Hey, hey, Izuru, don’t call yourself that! You’re--”

I roll a heavy sigh across the tracks of his speech. “I meant you. You are ugly. Your face; your voice; your dirty, feral talent. Everything about you is ugly.”

“W-well--!” He is bright red. “If that’s so, why are you talking to me at all, huh?!” Kindergarten logic delivered as though a devastating rhetorical strike.

“...This is pathetic.” I turn away and go to recline on the bed, one arm under my head, enjoying the strength and steadiness of my limbs, their shapeliness, the thrum of my healthy circulation (and, yes, even the length and lustre of my white cascade of curls). Ignoring the ugly boy.

Fourteen seconds pass.

“I guess I’ll just sit here,” he says.

It is so banal that to answer feels unbearably ugly, but I say “Irrelevant” to the ceiling.

Twenty-six seconds pass.

“They could at least have left me my homework bag,” he grumbles.

“Would you like to know how many ways I could kill you with a pen, let alone a book or a bag strap?”

He makes an ugly “gahk” sound. Then, “W-well, you could probably kill me with your bare hands too, right? But you haven’t yet, so I’m betting you’re probably not gonna.”

“Perhaps I am merely awaiting the instruction.”

“...they wouldn’t... right?”

“This school has harboured and trained more than one Ultimate Assassin.”

“Classes of 1949 and 1983, and I heard they’re scouting a new one.” I raise an eyebrow at the ceiling. He continues, “...but you wouldn’t follow an order like that, right? Someone like you... you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

I turn my head minimally to face him. “Why would I disobey orders? As the Ultimate Hope, I was created by the school and remain its property. Obviously, I was made for a purpose. I will carry that purpose out. In this way, I will justify my existence.”

The spiky boy stares at me for nine seconds, most of that time with his fingernail in his mouth. At last, he says “I get having loyalty to our school, but that... that’s just... like... turning your brain off.”

“What is your name?”

He is confused even by something as minor as this. “Hajime Hinata,” he says.

“Hajime Hinata, you are ignorant and you are ugly,” I tell him, and turn over to face the wall.

“Dick,” he says, and I hear him turn around too.

An hour and seventeen minutes pass.