#give him something to do with water that feels constructive. restorative | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bibliocratic · 4 years ago

Text

clear the area jonmartin, post-MAG200 content warnings in the tags

They earn their ending. A happy-ever-after beyond the gaze of any eyes.

Jon endures his abdication. This world has no Archivists, has need of none, the thankless crown of Knowing finally unburdened from his shoulders. The blood washes off Martin’s hands with soap and scrubbing and scalding water. They live.

The end. In conclusion. Fin.

Jon’s new scar, the packaging of his skin split ragged from collarbone to sternum, fades like sun-caught paint. A maw of red pursing to a gummy primrose pink, settling into a rough cartography of white.

The first few months are hard. Brimstone flare-up silences and ice-pick shouting, open-handed forgiveness and closed-fist weeping. They drain themselves to husks with anger and worry and grief until there is enough space for better things to grow there in their stead. Jon’s nightmares were a nightly stormfront to bear, sweated sheets and dawn fanfares of panic and dread, but he is learning now, with the space for his ribs to expand, that it is ok for them to breathe here.

Jon digs up the garden with a rusty trowel until it is a bumpy canvas of mulch and soil, dirt tucked under his fingernails and decorated with smudges up to his elbows. He hums while he irons their shirts in front of the television, thoughtless and senseless with tune.

Martin has tried to, but the sound goes down the wrong way.

Martin is happy.

It isn’t the sight as such, that might sit as a film over his vision to tinge his waking sepia. The reddest thing they own is a terracotta plant plot brimming with raggedy thyme that lives a precarious cliff-top existence on the kitchen windowsill. He observes Jon’s face in all its variations, even pained – when he snags splinters in his fingers, when he stubs his toe on the stone front step and swears damnation – and his response is sympathy tempered by admonishment.

It’s not the sensation, not really, that might tremble on his skin. Martin’s palms tend to dryness inside their homely bubble of creaky central heating, hemmed in by boisterous coastal winds. He handles bread knives and butter knives and steak knives and carving knives without the muscle memory of other blades, and he thinks he might be getting pretty handy with his oven experimentation.

It’s the sound. It wakes him, the noise lingering like the echo of a slap.

The slick punch of metal into muscle. A tooth-bared, tense-jawed gasp.

Resurfacing to shocked consciousness, he would be seized by a frenzy, to know, to check. His scattering hand scrabbling for the lamp with such force he hit it off the nightstand to roll in a giddy clatter, throwing off the covers to rapidly pollute both of them with the outside air. Jon would be rocked from sleep, groggy, panicked, and Martin’s words would not come, a train of thought trying to race full steam where no one had laid tracks, so it would be just the two of them, exhausted and upset and amping the other up in misery.

Now, upon his rousing, Martin knows not to turn on the light. He does not check. The aftermath of punch-gasp curls in his ear, and he inhale-exhale-inhales with the ferocity of mantra, and clamps the threatened tears in the clench of his teeth.

He does not wake Jon.

“How did you sleep?”

“Oh, you know me. Like a log.”

He is happy. He is. Why wouldn’t he be?

Jon rumbles like a rusty mechanism with snoring whenever he drops off on his back, and he mumbles accusatory when Martin coaxes him to his side. Martin finds black hairs on his pillowcase, in the shower plug. Jon is a vista of experience since the Eye left him, who gets hungry and tired and grumpy and drunk and silly and fed-up and giggly. Jon searches him out with the surety of magnets, and loves him, loves him, loves him. He seals kisses to Martin’s new landscape of extensive scars. Their disagreements, when they surface, are as meaningful and lasting as stones skipped on water.

Martin wanted this. He wants this. The rhythms of domesticity fading to foam on an untroubled shore.

He is out of practise with happiness, that’s all. It doesn’t come to him like breathing. He needs to till the earth of it, shelter its seeds from a thousand circling crows until it bears harvest.

He just has to try harder.

Night-time.

An episode or two of something simple, Jon nodding off like a capsizing ship before the credits. Encouraging him up in grousing, unwilling increments, rubbing out the nettle sting of pins and needles up his own arm. Check the locks, the light switches. Brush teeth. Pyjamas. Put his phone to charge, read until Jon succumbs to sleep. Click the light off, pushing Jon onto his side so his mouth doesn’t dry. Jon squirming around like a fastidious octopus until he has at least half his limbs hooked over Martin.

The dark creating shadow play. In the absence, Martin colouring in the gaps with lurid shades of disaster.

A creak – the rattle of a door downstairs, an intruder unfastening the back door, transferring their weight upon the staircase. A unfamiliar scent – the recollection of smoke-stench in his nostrils, the acrid promise of gas, the ferrous pungency of blood. The rain will flood their house to drown them. The wind will blow their roof in. Jon hooks his leg around Martin, the skin void of hair where Daisy’s mouth had almost torn it off, and all he can envision is the ways this could be destroyed as he watches.

Bundle Jon close. Ignore the rain, the itch at the bottom of his stomach, the queasy roil of his fear. Drift into unkind sleep populated with its garden of earthly terrors.

Martin is… not happy. Not exactly. And that’s fine. It’s fine.

Jon is happy.

Jon, rubbing at the compression lines around his hips, the accusatory splay of the top button refusing to budge closed:

“I can’t fit into my jeans.”

Martin enfolds him from behind, planting his palms over the slight paunch of Jon’s stomach, filled out through sensible eating and small indulgences and a hunger that will never be ravenous but has restored its human qualities.

“Hmm. It’s a good look on you. Healthier.”

“Or it’s middle age.”

“Or it’s eating things that aren’t tea and meal-deal sandwiches.”

“Or other people’s terror.”

“Oh yes, you’re right, I completely forgot about your subsistence diet of eldritch and unbidden horrors in a luscious wholegrain wrap, forgive me.”

Jon laughs at that. The sound has not yet lost its novelty for either of them.

He shifts, turns, his arms a buoy around Martin’s stomach.

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Must be all the clean air,” Martin quips. “All that healthy living.”

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

When his heart has wound down from the pace of its gallop, he extricates himself from Jon’s grip. It is a laborious task to find the places where they’ve joined in the night and pull them apart, like separating fabric snagged on rosebushes.

He gets some water from the cold tap in the kitchen. Sits heavily on the sofa, the room cossetted by the gloom.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

His hands shake.

He doesn’t go back to bed.

He isn’t happy, but he could grow to be. He could. He could. He just isn’t trying hard enough.

Some days, he feels like he’s waiting for the ice to give under them.

Check the passers-by as they walk. Anyone familiar, any teeth filed too sharp, anything animal or blood-shot, any eyes that glance too deep.

Check the oven. The gas knobs are angled to off but a leak is not impossible in a house this old, their alarm might malfunction, they might fall asleep and some spark from a plug socket could catch and incite a conflagration.

Check the window latches. The opening wide enough for a body to squirm through, the claws of a Hunter marring the sill. Wriggling infestations that invade through the letter box, the keyhole, the gap under the door where the wind can whistle through.

Check. Check. Check.

Jon is happy. Jon has a job, work friends, a hundred small luxuries that he has struggled to earn. Jon is happy, so why can’t he be? He went through so much less, the blood washed off easily with soap, what the fuck does he have to cry over –

Martin has always crafted his masks from scrap, tongue out in concentration, piecing things together in low light, a make-do-and-mend of his own devising. His early efforts, the paper mâché and glue easily cracked before he learned to shore up his constructions. He has a small collection garnered over years.

The quiet-voiced, muffled-stepped, muted-smiled creation of a Good Son.

The zipped-mouth, no-refusals-no-complaints-yes-of-course-how-high earnestness of the Good Employee, the desperation sanded off the edges so no one could see.

The I’ll-get-the-first-round friendliness, the open-handed, open-hearted, too-naïve Good Colleague.

This new mask forms in increments, in the same way a rising mound of dirt marks the extent of a grave being dug.

He doesn’t mean to. It’s just he’s better at not talking about things. He always has been. And it is an ugly, easy comfort, to slip back into bad habits.

And Jon is happy.

All the things Martin does not wish to permit the light to touch he compresses inside like shaken soda. The rot in him deepens structural, the places where he papers over moulds and fungal speckles with the distraction of their new life. His smile parades simple, contented, cheeky, teasing, and there is a meticulous artistry in each. He sketches interest, paints joy, manufactures irritation out of the clay of nothingness that he allows himself to feel instead of the overwhelming rush of everything else.

I love you, his mouth murmurs, laughs, sighs, groans, and that at least is always true.

The mask of a Good Partner slips on tailor-made.

They find their nine-to-fives. Jon’s job is uneventful, boring, and nowhere near an Archive. He works in a registry office for the council, filing and organising and he’s cheerfully lied on his CV in order to get it. He gets the bus and texts Martin grumpy faces and GIFs summarising his mood when he gets suck in the commute or some idiot parks in a bus lane, he has a couple of colleagues he likes and a greater number that he tolerates, he gets a hot chocolate from this universe’s overpriced multinational chain on his lunch hour. When he gets home, he complains with delight at the mundanity of his dissatisfactions, regales Martin with tales of meagre drama.

Martin gets a cleaning job at a school. It is monotonous, dull and safe. Martin loses track of the time easily, quagmired in his musings. The children are wary of him and his visible scarring but it doesn’t bother him as much as he thought it would. The teachers are friendly enough, as well as the other cleaning staff, but he does not make friends. They’ll have to move anyway, if anything finds them here, if the Fears emerge again.

Martin tries not to feel like he’s waiting.

He wants to have a good night’s sleep.

“I’ll have breakfast at the school, don’t worry.”

“There were some leftovers from the canteen, so I’m kind of full.”

“It was one of the teacher’s birthdays, you know, Denise? Heh, might have had a bit too much cake. I’ll pop this in the fridge for later though, it’ll keep till tomorrow.”

“I’m just not that hungry tonight, Jon.”

He feels sharper when he doesn’t eat. It is uncomfortable, a scratched-out, hollowing sensation, but things focus more. He can control nothing else but this, and it feels good, to have this mastery over himself when so much is beyond him.

He drops down notches on his belt and tells Jon it’s all the walking he’s doing.

The world continues to happen to them. He goes to the cinema with Jon and picks at popcorn and encourages Jon’s outraged opinion. He meets Jon’s mildly interesting work friends and plays nice and excels at small talk, and he drinks half a cider that he nurses over the evening because it’s making his head fuggy. His body communicates its sharpness to him and he gains grim satisfaction from ignoring it. He goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep and goes to work and goes home and doesn’t sleep.

Martin does his best at living, and his mask doesn’t slip.

“You seem tired,” Jon pries his words out carefully, picking them out of his teeth as one would scraps. “Is… is everything ok?”

“Yeah, sure it is. Why?”

“… you seem a bit down today. Recently. Is anything… is there anything you want to talk about?”

“I’ve just been working too hard. Been a while since I had to do double-shifts, heh, I’m not as young as I used to be.”

“If you’re sure?”

Jon shifts to a different position where he’s sat on the sofa, his legs tucking up under him. Martin endures his questioning gaze with practise.

“Yeah, I’m all good.”

Martin delivers a hand-crafted smile that’s gilded heavily with guilelessness and reassurance. He watches as Jon believes him and hates himself.

“You know… You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but you can – you know you can talk to me, Martin?”

Martin’s eyes focus on Jon’s chest at the point where a knife once sunk in, and doesn’t reply.

Punch. Gasp. Exhale.

Martin wakes up.

Jon has twisted over onto his back again, rattling like a chain-smoker’s cough with his snoring. They were quiet that evening, tangled up in their own thoughts, but there is none of that distance in sleep. During the night, Jon’s wormed himself out of the covers with a single-minded determination, his restless legs squashing the duvet to the bottom of the bed on his side, encouraging Martin’s to follow suit.

He’s shirtless, his top chucked off to pile unceremoniously on the floor. The temperature is ripe with a burgeoning summer heat, and Jon tosses and complains if he’s overwarm, and Martin didn’t think he’d get to feel the drudgery of another lived summer. He’s shirtless, and the room is palled in sweltering dark that softens the vague shapes of the wardrobe, the chest of drawers, the knickknacks of the life they’re building together. He’s shirtless, and Martin cannot see where the scar is, the only scar of Jon’s he has ever thought ugly, but he knows it is there. That he put it there. That he could just as easily be waking up alone.

His body pains him to live in it. His stomach tight and bottomed out empty.

He is so so tired.

Martin’s heartbeat does not slow down. His chest constricting, and he swallows, a sharp sound hiccupping in his throat. He stifles it with a forceful sniff but more come as a painful spasming wave, and he has to sit up if any air is to dribble into his lungs.

He should get up. He has to get up, do this in the bathroom, doubled-over the sink, stifling his weakness where it cannot be witnessed. He cannot do this here.

Punch. Gasp.

His burning face is soaked as he bunches up his sleeves against his reddening eyes. A calming exhale drains out shaky, moulds itself into another loud sob. He plants his hands over his mouth, screwing his eyes closed, and this will pass, he’s fine, this will pass…

“Martin?”

I’m sorry to wake you, he thinks to say. It’s nothing, go back to sleep, stop looking at me Jon, I’m fine, I’m fine, it’s nothing, it’s nothing…

His shoulders start to shake.

“Martin?” Jon repeats slowly. And the ice creaks and cracks and Martin gasps and then it breaks, and the force of his damned-up grief is tidal, catastrophic and he sobs into his hands.

“It’s… it’s alright – it’s… it was a nightmare, that’s all, ‘s alright…”

“It’s not!” Martin bubbles out, the words mashed to a wail in his hands. “It’s not, it’s not, it’ll ruin this…”

“Hey.” Jon brings his arm around Martin and he buries his head in the bony crook of his shoulder because he does not want to meet Jon’s eyes. “What do you mean? Martin?”

Jon rubs at his back. Martin’s body betrays him in a hundred ways as it collapses around him. His weeping wrings him out, dry-mouthed and headachy and trembling when he subsides into shivery breaths.

“Talk to me,” Jon says. “Please.”

“You’re so happy,” Martin sniffs out. “I-I want you to be happy, god, o-of course I do. Things are, they’re good, they’re good and we won, s-s-so why does it feel like I’m still holding my breath? I-I go to bed and I’m frightened of every noise, and I wake up and I’m terrified that someone somehow could take this all away, and I can’t sleep, and I-I’m tired, Jon, I’m tired of holding my breath, and it’s all – it’s all so much a-a-a-and I can’t – ”

“Oh, Martin – ”

His words fail him then. Jon holds him up and his arms do not loosen.

“We-we’re going to fix this,” Jon says after a long while. “I promise you, together, we’ll – we’ll talk to someone. You aren’t alone in this. Together, alright, we’ll do this together. We’ve survived – everything else, we can get through this too.”

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” Martin says, too drained to avoid honesty.

“…Maybe not yet,” Jon says after a pause. “That’s OK. I can wait.”

I’m sorry, Martin attempts to say but Jon presses a kiss to his forehead.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jon says. He strokes Martin’s sweat-soaked hair.

“… Can we talk? Tomorrow? You don’t have to tell me everything, but… I’d like to be there for you, if you want me. If you’ll let me.”

Martin nods because he doesn’t trust his gummed-up throat. Jon takes that as an answer.

Dawn comes in slowly enough but they see it in together.

#tma #the magnus archives #cw racing thoughts #cw anxiety #tw eating disorder #tw ptsd #ask to tag #cw nightmares #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #jonmartin #tma spoilers

465 notes · View notes

saeyawrites · 4 years ago

Text

You’re Important. (Elliott x Reader)

“Shoo! Get away from there!”

A crow cawed loudly, hurriedly flapping his wings in an effort to avoid being hit by stray water from your watering can. Shaking it furiously seemed to spook it into leaving your crops alone for the moment. Raising an eyebrow at the hastily constructed scarecrow guarding the vegetables, you scoffed.

“I thought that was supposed to be your job.” The hand painted face seemed to grin at you, and you wondered if some more straw and a new location would make him better at his job.

It had only been a year since you had moved to the valley and became friends with most of the adjacent Pelican Town. There was a lot of fun in your day-to-day life, but it was also a lot of hard work. However, it was definitely preferable to life in Zuzu City; revving engines, construction, and the shouts of angry commuters had been replaced with the peaceful sounds of your farm.

Truthfully, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Finished with watering your crops, you gathered your bag, making sure the amethyst you had gathered from the mines earlier was safely inside.

“Hello there, (Y/N).”

Elliott stood before you, a small smile gracing his face as you waved at him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. The feelings that you had for the passionate writer flared up, and you hurriedly composed yourself, trying to sound normal.

“Hi, Elliott. Need another flounder?” Having delivered one to him previously, you were curious as to how it turned out, or at least manage to get the recipe he had used so you could try it for yourself.

“Not at the moment, although I do appreciate the offer.” He glanced down at your bag, your hand securely on the strap. “Going into town?”

“Yeah, Clint asked me to deliver an amethyst to Emily. It’s one of her favorite stones.” Nodding in understanding, Elliott offered you his arm.

“Then, if you’ll allow me, I’ll accompany you there.”

Nodding, you looped your arm around his, starting the long walk to town. The sun bore down on the both of you, the heat of the summer more and more apparent as you continued walking. Elliott kept his gaze forward, and you looked up at him, wondering if you should say something or continue to walk in silence.

“So, uh…” Fiddling with the bottom of your shirt, you focused on the dirt path in front of you, hoping you weren’t as awkward as you seemed.

“How was your dinner?”

“It was wonderful. I wasn’t too sure about the spices I used but it turned out to be a successful risk. Perhaps you’ll have to stay next time so you can taste it.”

He glanced over with a small smirk that made your face flush slightly and you couldn’t help but smile.

“I’d like that.”

As the words left your mouth, something cold ran through you. Anxious thoughts spewing negativity flooded your mind, whispering that you weren’t good enough and that you’d never truly belong anywhere. They reminded you that Stardew Valley wasn’t truly your home, and it might never be.

As if sensing the change in the atmosphere, Elliott stopped, turning to face you.

“What’s wrong, (Y/N)?”

Giving a valiant attempt to restore your earlier smile, you shrugged.

“It’s nothing! Let’s get going.”

“(Y/N), please don’t lie to me.” Elliott put a hand on your shoulder, stopping you from walking any further.

Lying to Elliott wasn’t a great feeling, so you decided to tell him what had been troubling you recently. Tears fell as you revealed your thoughts, feeling small as he listened to the insecurity that plagued you.

“There’s no need to cry…” Elliott pulled you into a gentle hug, caressing your back. Once you seemed calmer, he pulled away, wiping your tears.

“Don’t listen to those thoughts. You’re doing remarkably. All of Pelican town appreciates your hard work, and I guarantee all of them see what an amazing person you are.”

“Even you?”

Elliott smiled softly, nodding.

“Even me. You’ve helped inspire me enough to complete my novel and you are an essential part of my life. Everything from your deliveries to your random visits are important to me.”

Sniffling, you looked at him, seeing nothing but sincerity in his eyes. The thoughts hadn’t dissipated completely, but you were feeling a little better.

“Feel better?”

After you nodded, Elliott was satisfied, although he still looked a little worried about you.

“Well, let’s continue. Best not to keep Emily waiting, right?” Agreeing, you continued walking with him, rubbing the remnants of tears out of your eyes.

“I could use a drink.”

Chuckling, Elliott grabbed your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours. Blushing, you looked at your intertwined hands, then at him, seeing he was looking at you, a charming smile plastered on his face.

“We’ll go to the tavern after you finish your delivery.”

As you finally reached the cobblestone streets that went through Pelican Town, Elliott stopped you.

“I’ll wait for you at the tavern, okay?” At your words of affirmation, he nodded. Before he left, he squeezed your hand, leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“Never forget how important you are to me, (Y/N).” He turned to walk towards the tavern, sending a wink your way as you stared, finally shaking your head to clear your clouded thoughts and making your way to Emily’s house.

#stardew #stardew elliott #stardew valley #stardew x reader #elliott x reader #elliott x farmer #reader insert #imagine #stardew valley imagines #stardew imagines #saeya #saeyawrites #fanfiction #stardew valley fanfiction

279 notes · View notes

yandere-sins · 4 years ago

Text

The Fox Wedding - Prologue II

Summary: You are to marry the fox spirit Kita Shinsuke after you accidentally agreed to become his wife by signing the deed to your new home. A contract is a contract, he says, but is there more to this marriage than you know? Will you be whisked away by one of the foxy twins instead, or have to marry Kita after all? Can you be with a creature that only seems tender on the surface, or will you try to run even if it might cost you your life? Choose your route carefully, you never know what these foxes are up to!

Characters: Kitsune!Kita Shinsuke, Kitsune!Miya Atsumu, Kitsune!Miya Osamu, Kitsune!Suna Rintarou, afab!Reader

Rating: Explicit Warnings for this chapter: Yandere, Kidnapping, Forced/Unhealthy Relationship, Cursing

“I think…” Atsumu spoke out loud, having watched the spectacle for a while now. His eyes were fixated on the door to the underground bunker, and a smile played around his lips as he watched Kita leaving, together with Suna, who stood guard for the longest time. From their place on top of one of the half torn-down rooftops of the abandoned village, Atsumu could overview everything, even the celebrations held in the main hall, lights, and laughter reaching his twitching ears even through the magically restored sliding doors.

“You think…?” Osamu yawned next to him, not bothering with bringing a hand to his mouth, still unused to the human customs they were forced to uphold. He, at least, didn’t like it, though Osamu still was better in trying to conform to them than his twin.

“I think I want her.”

If not for the cicadas around them, silence fell over the brothers as the wind was the only other thing rustling through the grasses below their feet. “Crazy. You’re simply crazy.”

“Just think about it!” Atsumu was quick to snap back, turning to his twin as if he needed to convince him for a plan he had already decided to go through with anyway. “Are you really happy here? Happy with their customs, their orders?”

“They took us in, ‘Tsumu. They fed us and healed our wounds after you went batshit crazy trying to fight that Tengu. You can’t just take the Clan Leader’s future bride as you want.”

Again, silence as Atsumu thought about it. Not long enough to make his brother believe he actually thought about it, but he pretended well. “Okay,” Atsumu ‘gave in’, nodding. Osamu sighed, knowing his brother felt no remorse or fault about what happened, and he never had any intentions to stay in the village anyway. “Have you seen her?” Atsumu whispered, eyes looking up to the moon, full and clear on the horizon.

“Briefly, why?” Leaning back, Osamu picked at his teeth with his little finger as he followed Atsumu’s gaze to the stars. Sitting here definitely was better than partying downstairs. Maybe at first, he had liked being in a community, but Osamu too felt the dread of having to bow your head to basically strangers, even if the two had been adopted into the fox family whose protection they were now under.

“She’s beautiful,” Atsumu sighed lovestruck, bopping his feet up and down excitedly. All Osamu could focus on was Atsumu’s tail wagging like a common dog, happy to see its owner. For someone as sharp and cunning as Atsumu, he truly was a fool. Even more so, a fool in love now. Annoyed, he reached for the telling limb, gripping it tightly and making Atsumu yap in surprise before throwing Osamu an angry glare. The latter merely stuck out his tongue, which riled up Atsumu even more.

“At least take a good look at her then!” he hissed, standing up and pulling his tail out of his brother’s grip. “‘Tsumu, wait,” Osamu called after him, sitting up on the rooftop as his twin left. Atsumu briefly turned to look up at him, as he was already off the roof, his gaze determined. He always knew what he wanted, and that was a trait Osamu both admired and despised on him. “You can’t face her like that. You’re so ugly.”

Hair stood up as on his neck as Atsumu furiously stomped away, screaming, “WE LOOK THE SAME, YOU BASTARD!”

With a chuckle to himself, Osamu followed casually, wanting to see how this was going to end. He couldn’t let his twin have all the fun alone either.

You could pace your cell, and you could cry, but this time, there was no one listening in to your woes. Even if you kept rattling the bars, pleaded with them to yield, nothing happened when you touched them. Kita had made it look so easy, but there was something else going on; you just knew it. Magic, that’s what it was. How pathetic you felt, knowing that not even a guard at the entrance was waiting anymore since they didn’t expect you to get out on your own.

Wondering what time it was, something in you finally gave up. Perhaps it was exhaustion, or maybe just indifference about the situation now, but you were too tired to keep on fighting your problem. Your mind felt like some kind of slideshow, but it kept showing you the same thoughts over and over. It was trying to construct something that was out of your hands, tried to give you answers for everything. But as thankful as you felt to yourself for trying, its efforts were in vain.

There were no gaps to fill out, at least not on your own.

“Look at her! Damn it, ‘Samu, get your ass over here!” you heard from above the window, and god, for the first time, you felt annoyance as you did not want to deal with this. Whoever was speaking probably was just here to mock you again, and you simply couldn’t deal with this now.

Once you decided to give up your endeavors of getting out and complaining, you had settled in the furthest corner of the cell. The one that seemed the least… unappealing to you from what you could see. But now, you stood up, angry that gawkers were leering into your window just to have some fun. Nudging the previously thrown over chair - you weren’t proud, but frustration had overcome you - back to the window, you took a deep sigh before stepping up on it. You tried to look strong, hoping it would seem like you were and scare off whoever was there, but inwardly, you couldn’t help but fear what could be awaiting you.

“If you’re not helping, then leave--!”

The words got caught in your throat as you didn’t expect two piercing pairs of eyes looking right back the moment you appeared in the window. It seemed to have caught them off-guard as well, and for a split second, they flinched away, halting their movements like animals determining if they should move or be quiet.

“Woah,” the blonde fox spirit gasped, inching closer immediately. With a short, hesitance glance to the former, the second one came closer, however, not as close as the other. A respectful distance, how you found, he seemed reasonable in your eyes. Only now you noticed that they looked eerily similar, almost like twins if there was such a thing under spirits. “You’re so pretty!”

The comment was now catching you off-guard, and you leaned back in surprise, almost losing your balance on the chair if you weren’t holding on to the window bars. “Oi, stop scaring her! Get back, ‘Tsumu!” the more reasonable twin instructed, though only when he gripped his brother’s shoulder tightly did he react. Up until then, he merely stayed absolutely still, only his eyes following every movement that you did, no matter how minor it was.

“Eeh,” he mumbled. “Sorry to scare you.”

That didn’t sound like he meant it at all.

“You should be nicer. She’s the future wife of the Clan Leader,” the grey-haired brother muttered, reprimanding his brother who seemed unfazed while he watched you. In fact, by now, he had laid down in the grass, pushing it down. This was taking on casual picnic vibes instead of your imprisonment, and you didn’t know how to feel about that.

“I’m not… I don’t want to…” you stuttered, biting your lip as you felt the tears return to your eyes, though you doubt you had any water left in your body to lose more. “I just want to leave,” you whispered, looking down helplessly, knowing they wouldn’t help you either.

“You made her cry, you Dunce,” one of the two whispered softly, and you heard an upset, “Ouch!” follow the snip of a finger.

“Who’re you calling a dunce, you… Idiot!”

There was the soft sound of a scuffle, and you looked up at the brother’s watching them trying to hit each other while also blocking the oncoming hits at the same time. As stupid as it was, you couldn’t help a small laugh falling from your lips about how bizarre and absurd this situation was, but it made both of their ears peak up out of their hair.

“That’s better. You’re cute when you laugh,” the blonde one sighed happily, his lips curling into a smile too. “Now, do you want to get out?” he added straight away, causing his brother to give him a look that was saying, “What are you even talking about?”

“C-Can you?!” you squeaked in surprise, instantly clearing your throat and lowering your voice again. Even if the spark of hope was ever so little, it was quick to ignite in you, rattling your senses to think about all the sudden possibilities. Even if those two were the same as Kita, if they could let you out, you’d take your chance with them. “I mean- yes. Please let me out immediately! I can’t stay here, I can’t become that… person’s wife! So, please--!”

However, before you could finish your sentence, your eyes caught onto something that spread behind the two, something that could be best described as fire, though you had never seen it in these colors. A mix between blue and green, flaming up in balls and twirling through the air. By now, the two had noticed it too, their body language changing as they tensed up, getting to their knees quickly.

“And… what are you two doing?”

Oh, this voice you knew, and instantly, all the hope you mustered to create inside of you, vanished.

Out of the fire, unfazed by its usual quality of burning someone, Kita emerged. Also, another man - or fox - stuck his head out from behind him. You hadn’t seen him around, but while everyone’s eyes were intense, his seemed to be the most fox-like and uncomfortable to you, always reminding you that you weren’t dealing with humans. “We were--” the grey-haired brother glanced at his twin who searched for words, eventually filling in for him, “--greeting...”

“Yes! Greeting her!”

“I see. That’s very thoughtful of you.”

Kita’s eyes fell on you, and you made a point to look away and sigh, wiping the tears from your face. You’d not entertain him with your attention, you decided. Missing the deflated expression he made, all you heard was a soft snort coming from one of the people outside your window. “Why don’t you all go back to the party?” Kita demanded, even if it was spoken like a question. Hearing the ruffling of clothes as the twins stood up immediately, you sent one last desperate glance at the blonde one. To your surprise, he looked back, giving you a short, unnoticeable nod before turning and leaving with his brother.

“Idiot…” you heard his brother scold him.

“Idiot, yourself!” he yapped back.

“You’re both idiots,” the unknown man exclaimed with a sigh as he followed them, sending you a quick glance over his shoulders too before leaving you behind with Kita.

“[Name],” you suddenly heard from next to you as you were too focused on looking after the three to notice Kita having kneeled down, peering right at you. If it bothered him that you jumped, having totally forgotten about him, he didn’t let it notice you from his expression. Instead, with his hand flat on the ground, he cowered down to properly look you in the eyes on your height. This gesture seemed unlikely for a ‘man’ of his stand, yet it wasn’t the first one he surprised you with.

“Did the two of them say anything unnecessary to you?”

“If they did, I sure as hell wouldn’t snitch it to you,” you hissed back, and he closed his eyes for a moment, which you could only interpret as him dismissing your choice of words.

“Very well then.”

Raising from the ground again swiftly, Kita’s movements stroke you as odd, impractical despite being elegant. It just gave you another warning that you were dealing with something that was hard to believe. “Wait,” you called out to him, unsure why you even raised your voice. Maybe you still hoped for answers, or to reason with him, and now was as good as any moment. But his ears perked up, and he laid his head to the side, waiting for you to talk patiently.

“When can I leave? It’s dark and cold in here… I don’t want to be here.”

For unbearable long seconds, he merely looked at you, and it stirred up the fear in you that he might say, “Never.” The time he thought things over was something you couldn’t get used to.

“Not too long anymore, don’t worry,” was his answer, vague and dismissive. “I suggest you don’t talk to anyone anymore until the ceremony.”

Sighing, you shook your head, one leg already off the chair, and you looked after it as you decided to end this conversation on your terms instead of having him walk off on you again. “Can’t make me…” you mumbled. It wasn’t like you wanted to challenge him, but to be fair, at that moment, you also forgot that he could hear you, even if you softened your voice.

“Yet,” you heard him hiss right at you, making your head snap back outside, seeing his wide-opened eyes staring at you with only the bars separating the two of you. This time, you did lose your balance from the shock and surprise, the chair wobbling below you as you lost your halt, your body plummeting to the cold, hard ground with a groan and a whine. Your hips and lower back were aching from the shock, but when you looked back to the window with tears in your eyes, Kita was gone.

And with him, he took all the hope you had, leaving you behind in the despair of anticipation.

CHOOSE YOUR FATE

➤ Marry Kita

➤ Run away with Atsumu

➤ Rely on Osamu’s care

➤ RUN

We recommend reading the routes first before proceeding with the last option.

290 notes · View notes

normallyxstranger · 2 years ago

Text

Fictober22 (@fictober-event) Day 13 — "I don't want you to do that."

featuring Glen Cole & Chrissy Addison — characters from The New Ashton Chronicles, written & role-played by F.R. Southerland (@normallyxstranger | @frsoutherlandauthor | www.frsoutherland.com) © October 2022

original fiction

general warnings: tobacco use mention

“It’s not so bad.” Glen fought the urge to sneeze, but dust and debris proved too much. He sneezed once, twice, three times.

“Bless you,” Chrissy answered, her tone absent. For a second, her curly red hair was ablaze in the light, dust motes surrounding her like a halo before she moved away from the window.

He rubbed his nose. “Thanks.” Lifting his head, Glen surveyed the ceiling and the light fixtures—or where light fixtures had once been—feeling the itch of dust still in his nostrils and sinuses. “This place is… dusty.” An obvious observance, and probably the nicest assessment he could give. There was water damage, broken floorboards, and it looked like someone had taken a sledgehammer to the exposed drywall.

He heard Chrissy scoff, then something clattered. He turned to see her waving a hand in front of her face, dust dispersing as she did.

“What happened?” he asked, walking a few steps toward her.

“I knocked over those boards that were up against the wall.” She gestured to them, now on the floor in an untidy heap. “I still can’t believe someone gave up on this place. It’s like, they started to demo the place and got bored.”

“Maybe.” Glen had been thinking the same thing, actually. Like someone had started a project in restoring the storefront, but had a change of heart. “Maybe it was a financial issue. It costs too much to undertake.”

“Or they didn’t know what they were doing.” Chrissy pointed toward the hole in the wall. “Something about that doesn’t seem necessary.”

He’d done his fair share of carpentry and construction work. He couldn’t claim to be an expert on it, but he could see shoddy work or a bad renovation. This was exactly that. “Yeah, absolutely not necessary, but it can be fixed. With the right materials, a good contractor, a good budget…” He trailed off, casting his dark eyes back to Chrissy. He didn’t know how much she was willing to put into this. If it was her dream, as she claimed, he’d bet she would probably do and spend anything. Having the finances on the other hand…

“Yeah, it can be fixed.” Chrissy stepped over the boards, peering closer at the wall, then she drew back and cast her eyes about the room. “I know some people who do good work, for cheap.” She chuckled. “My brothers.”

He smiled a bit at that, hands going into his pockets. He could smell mice, hear their scurrying, scratching little feet. Chrissy heard them too, as she turned her head in the direction of the noise. Her lips parted in a soft sigh. “And then there’s the exterminator.”

“They can run a pretty penny.”

“Yeah.” Her eyes narrowed a bit, but she pressed forward and continued her assessment of the property.

Glen stood back, fingers itching to grab a cigarette from the pack in his pocket, but he refrained. He was ultimately up to Chrissy whether she’d pick this as the property for her bar. He thought it was a win, considering its location. It’d take a lot to get it up to code, to renovate it the way she wanted it, but it was perfect as far as he was concerned.

“You know,” he began, “it has good bones. And good foot traffic. It’s right between your pack and mine. I think it’ll go far toward pack relations.” That’s why she’d asked him along, after all. To offer his opinions

Chrissy paused, turning back to look at him. A faint smile touched her face. “That’s what I was thinking. It’ll be good for us. For all of us.”

The Newfound Pack was growing, little by little, with the help of other werewolves, other packs. “We’re grateful for it. Really.” Glen paused, really wishing for a soothing jolt of nicotine for his nerves, but went on. “And I’d like to help. With the renovations, with finances, setting-up—whatever you need, whatever I can do.”

The smile on her face faded away. Her green eyes darted back and forth. “Glen… I don’t want you to do that. I—” But she hesitated a minute, gaze settling on him again. “Look, this is something I’m doing on my own. It involves the pack, yes, and yours too, but it’s my project. My dream. I want to do it on my own.”

There was a stubborn streak there, one Glen could so easily recognize. Did all werewolves have it? He’d expected her to turn down the offer, perhaps not exactly in this way, but it wasn’t unexpected. It still stung, that rejection.

But Chrissy was pragmatic. Eventually she’d see reason. Eventually she’d accept the help. It may have been her project, but it was for the packs.

He managed a smile and a shrug. “The offer’s out there,” he told her, watching a few more minutes as her gaze swept the place. “What do you think? Really?”

“I think…” she said slowly, drawing it out, “I think… I think it’ll work.”

This time, his smile was more genuine. “I think so too.”

#fictober22 #short fiction #urban fantasy #The New Ashton Chronicles #TNAC #long post; short fiction #long post #long post tw #long post //#reblogs allowed & encouraged #short fiction; Chrissy #short fiction; Glen #.Glen.#.Chrissy.

5 notes · View notes

saphirered · 3 years ago

Note

Hi I was wondering if you would write an Essek x reader (gender neutral) where they are having a relaxing day out and the reader teaches Essek to make flower crowns, and it just allot of fluff and wholesome stuff.

Here you go! Enjoy. I really needed this type of wholesomeness. Thank you for the request. 😘

Seated among the plants and flowers at the base of the tree inside the Xhorhaus, you’re focussing on your surroundings, eyes closed. A meditation-like state keeps you grounded and aware of all around you regardless of lack of visual. Every breath you take makes you feel much lighter, floating in your own consciousness. It’s a comfortable and familiar feeling.

It could have been minutes, or hours. You’re not entirely sure but at least you know if someone needs you or you’ll be going somewhere, your friends will come get you. For now you were blessed with a moment of peace, away from the troubles of the world outside, shielded by the colourful flowers, fresh smell of herbs and the soft glow of the fairy lights.

But your peace and quiet was interrupted. Usually you’re very much aware of footsteps approaching, but when the individual doesn’t walk, taking care to avoid the greens, you’re left a oblivious to the presence. The clearing of a throat makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“My apologies. I don’t mean to interrupt you…” You see the sheepish expression of the white haired wizard floating at a comfortable distance, turn apologetic.

“Essek!” You breathe trying to calm your pounding heart, hand to your chest.

“I am so sorry. I did not mean to scare you. I should have announced my presence.” The mixture of embarrassment and regret remain present in both his behaviour and voice as you get up and give him a once over.

“It’s quite alright. I didn’t expect any visitors.” You smile assuring him no harm was done as you get to your feet brushing off your trousers. Essek is a hard to read individual but even the most oblivious of people could tell something is off. Strange. You tilt your head pressing your lips together.

“Is everything alright? You seem a bit out of it if I’m honest.” Essek’s eyes fall to the floor in front of him trying to find the correct words to answer your question; unusual for someone usually so quick with words. You take a few steps closer to him and take his hand in yours giving it a squeeze letting him know you’re there as you wait for his reply.

“I… I am unsure how to phrase this correctly nor in an appropriate way.” He speaks caught in his own mind still. His eyes are searching still focussed on the ground and your entwined hands. You place your free hand on his shoulder, the gesture pulling him out of his head and instead focus on you.

“Try me.”

“I-. This day- These last few… weeks, have been absolute chaos. With everything going on I have not had a moment of peace in a long time.” Essek’s shoulders drop and his feet touch the ground with a soft tap muted by the mossy floor. You pity him. So young and so much pressure, people depending on him. No one should have to deal with all of that alone.

“I’ve always found diving into my work head first ignoring the world contained the chaos and turned it into order instead, something I could control but now I cannot even read a single sentence, transcribe a single equation or confront a single person without feeling like my mind is about to explode.” A weight lifts by the mere vocalising of the words, tension dropping from Essek’s physique as it does from his mind.

“I didn’t know who else to turn to. For some reason, you always have an air of calmness, around you. Whenever we are in the same space, you radiate peace. It’s strange to admit but I think even only spending but moments in your presence now has done more than any and everything I have tried to achieve even a semblance of rest.” You’re not used to Essek being so open and upfront with anyone but you’re glad for it. Knowing you can confide in someone and trust them is one thing. Actually doing so, something else entirely.

“Thank you for your time and once more my sincere apologies for scaring you. I will leave you to your business once more.” Essek is about to pull his hand from yours taking a step back but you don’t let go and step with.

“When’s the last time you’ve taken a break, Shadowhand?” You’re sure you already know the answer or have enough of an idea to estimate but you ask nonetheless. Essek thinks for a moment and frowns.

“I can’t recall.”

“There’s your problem then. You’re stressed, overworked and in desperate need of a break. Come on. I have an idea.” You lightly tug at his hand pulling him along to the base of the tree and sit him down. You take one of the garden scissors and begin cutting some flowers, branches and other things and collect them in a wicker basket as Essek watches you move from planter to planter and pots making sure to leave enough behind and take only what the plants themselves allow you to take.

It might seem a little strange to some, as you’re standing there, a nonverbal conversation with plant life. Some might think you’re crazy but you only acknowledge life in all forms and while you surely could wave your hand and restore what you took, there’s beauty in the natural order of things as your Firbolg friend might agree.

Essek watches you go in awe, studying your every action with an admiration. Before, as he admitted, there had been the radiating calmness from you that could affect those around you but watching you interact, for the lack of a better word, with the greenery, gave that a whole new meaning. Serenity. You are serenity itself.

You take the wicker basket, now filled with flowers of every colour, branches of green and brown of varying lengths, set it down at the base of the tree taking a seat next to Essek.

“What’s this for?” Essek picks up a yellow flower spinning it between his fingers.

“This,” You refer to the basket and the flower held between his fingers. “is how I clear my mind when the pressure of the world becomes too much to handle.” You take a couple of the branches, check the lengths and start twisting and weaving them together adding flowers into the coil as you go.

“This is how you keep the chaos at bay?” Essek questions watching your fingers work braiding together the delicate material.

“People often assume peace is the absence of chaos but it’s not. Nor is order. If you build a dam the pressure of the water will continue building as long as the water flows. You can’t stop it. You can’t prevent it. You can however shape it in such ways you gain more from it than it from you. It can be found in the simplest of things.” You weave in some deep red roses, your pride as the Xhorassian environment is not kind enough for them to survive.

“Whenever the world comes crashing down and I wish the ground would swallow me whole I find a place to sit down and let myself be consumed by my surroundings. Sometimes I just sit doing nothing at all. Other times I draw, or sing or write, and when I’m lucky enough to find just the right place, I’ll make as many of these as it takes me to return to my peace.” You come to the end twisting the final branches to complete the final circle shape, inspecting your work and adjusting as necessary until you deem it truly completed.

“Whenever I use the chaos to create, little by little serenity comes along and I try to bring that feeling along, passing it on to those around me, because gods know, they can use it.” The both of you smile and with a last adjustment of a flower you place the flower crown on Essek’s head.

Confusion, happiness, delight, peace. All emotions running through Essek’s brain throughout this conversation enhanced the moment you place the ornament of braided and woven flowers onto his head, as light as a feather. Who knew something so small and… insignificant could mean so much, do so much?

“Why don’t you try it for yourself? See if this works for you? Or perhaps if not, it might give you inspiration to find something that will.” Essek nods taking the red crown off his head and inspecting it closer. While he certainly has an eye for intricate patterns and structures the construction of such a thing as a simple flower crown goes far beyond him and instead just leaves him completely oblivious and confused.

Seeing Essek trying to figure out the collective of braided flowers and branches might have been one of the funniest things you’ve seen from the man. The intricacies of Dunamis and the most difficult of equations or studies prove next to no problem for the wizard, but a flower crown manages to break him? How could that not be funny. You laugh even though you tried to fight it and Essek sends you a playful glare.

“Since you seem to find this so funny perhaps I should teach you the many complexities of advanced Dunamis? As a thank you of course.” You can see the hints of a smile.

“However much I’d love that, for the sake of both of our peace and sanities, I’d hold off on that for now. We’ll start with something much simpler. Like a daisy chain.” You begin pulling out a pile of white flowers and putting them next to the basket.

“This is how you start…” You begin explaining how to loop the stem of the flower around the one that came before it, the closer together, the denser the chain will become.

While Essek struggles at first, your explanation and guiding hands and pointers as he works result in a decent looking daisy chain. You slowly work your way up to more difficult flowers and eventually the branches, spending the next several hours going through the motions, Essek’s troubles long since forgotten. This may have been the first time but won’t be the last time both of you find your serenity and comfort in colourful soft petals.

#critical role x reader #critrole x reader #mighty nein x reader #essek x reader #essek thelyss x reader #critical role #essek #essek thelyss #critrole

48 notes · View notes

spiras-stargazer · 3 years ago

Text

Hey all!

These are some Hannibal fic Ideas free to any home. I don't have time to write the full story down but I have these Ideas in my head that won't go away. At least this way they're free to live and grow. Take them as you please or don't.

Hannibal Lecter/Will Graham

1. Old West Time Travel - As they fall from the cliff they are teleported back to the old west (in my mind it Red Read 2 Online by Valentine; teleported by old gods or whatever teleports that guy in the single player from the 20's) Will arrives alone and becomes a bounty hunter (moves to Saint Denis figuring Hannibal will end up there.) Hannibal arrives months later and is nursed back to health by the owner of the ranch hand saloon/bar and stays in the area because it's the sort of place Will might like. When a few rude ranch hands go missing and a bounty is posted the two finally meet up again.

2. AU Hannibal did not become a serial killer and he struggles to find meaning or happiness in his life. After meeting with Alana he offers his services to the FBI and is called in to help on the Minnesota Shrike case. He meets Special Agent Will Graham, the rudest man he's had the displeasure of knowing but despite that there's something about the man that keeps drawing Hannibal in. And then someone starts murdering people and deliberately leaving idea kits for inspiration on how to turn the corpses into works of art....'This is Your Design'

3. HanaHaki Disease - after they recover in Cuba, Will is ready to admit to Hannibal that he has feelings for him, but Hannibal has started a rebound relationship with their one of their neighbors, another criminal. (Happy Ending please)

4. Frustrated Hannibal - Hannibal is inconvenienced daily by the depth of his feelings for Will and often walks away from anything they try to do together muttering to himself in Lithuanian. Will thinks he's making Hannibal angry so he turns on the charm. At this rate Hannibal might forget English completely.

5. Merlin AU/reincarnation- Merlin, or Will as he goes by these days, gave up on Arthur ever coming back and moves to America trying to find his place in a world where magic has been all but forgotten. Arthur, or Hannibal now, had been reincarnated but with no Merlin to guide or help save him, Hannibal is forced to save himself and gives in to dark urges of despair and loneliness after the events of his childhood. Fast forward to Hannibal meeting Will in Jack's office. He immediately warms to the prickly profiler because he's the closest person to Merlin he's ever found. When he catches a the familiar flicker of gold in Will's eyes he decides to do everything he can to keep Will close. And Will...well he hasn't met anyone that frustrated him this much since Arth...oh no...(bonus points for Will trying to step back into his servant role and still managing to be the worst servant Hannibal has ever had, but Hannibal realizing he loved Will for it)

6. Dragon Goes House Hunting/Hannibal crossover - Hannibal didn't imagine after leaving his home and the rest of the elves he'd end up in real-estate, finding homes for others when he didn't feel at home anywhere himself. He also didn't imagine that one day a rude blue dragon named Will would be particularly hard to house. Yet here they are, at the 63rd property and he already can tell Will is going to say no. If he didn't know better he'd swear Will is only interested in traveling with him for his company...

7. Lucifer/Hannibal crossover - Hannibal shifted uncomfortably, cell phone in hand "We need to go to Los Angeles." Will looked up over the edge of his tablet, "Whatever it is, order it online." "I...I owe someone a large favor and they have called in their marker." "I'll bite. Who in the world could you owe that kind of favor to? The kind that could get us imprisoned and/or killed." Hannibal visibly braced himself for Will's reaction, "Lucifer Morningstar." Will put the tablet down, "That's...the Devil." "He's apparently now God. He's getting married to a former police detective and wants me to be the head chef at his wedding." Will snorted and picked up his tablet again, "I knew it was only a matter of time before eating all that people meat made you crazy." "Will I'm serious..."

8. Merkin/Merpeople - Will is the demi-god son of Calypso herself and out of all her children, Will is the only one to prefer fresh water to sea water. When the sea goddess tells Will it's time to return to the ocean and come into his full potential, he refuses. Calypso is furious and she lays a curse on Will that forces him to transform regularly into his Merman from and bathe his body in the sea water he dislikes. As the curse worsens, Will calls in sick to work and reschedules his therapy appointments again and again. Worried Will is extremely sick, Hannibal goes out to Will's house and finds the merman trapped in a cramped, hastily constructed large wooden box, lined with trap and filled with sea water, half starved and completely helpless. Hannibal nurses Will back to health and then goes to Calypso to strike a deal to free his beloved from the curse. (Bonus points for Hannibal being a god/spirit of vengeance)

9. Cuddly Will - Hannibal notices Will loves to cuddle up to him but Will refuses to initiate any touches himself so Hannibal makes ridiculous excuses for Will to be close to him.

10. Tailor and the Carpenter - Hannibal always begins a new chapter in his life by taking up a new skill. Music, surgery, cooking, drawing, therapy, art restoration, languages...the safe house in Cuba was where he planned to become a tailor and sell his wares locally, maybe online. He assumed Will would spend his time fishing or volunteering at an animal shelter but then power tools and work benches start appearing in their garage, large pieces of drift wood take over the backyard and the shrill scream of a buzz saw covers the sound of the ocean. However it's all worth it when Will brings in his wild and dark stained crafts.

#hannibal #hannigram #fic ideas #merlin #spoilers #lucifer

9 notes · View notes

popculturebuffet · 4 years ago

Text

Ducktales: Jaw$! or How Lena Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Webby (Lena Retrospective Commissioned by WeirdKev27)

Trigger Warning: Part of this review contains discussions of abuse which can’t be avoided but I still want to be senstive to my audience and any trauma they’ve gone through. Welcome back weblena world to Shadow Into Light: My Lena Sabrewing Retrospective. And Jaw$ is here, long live Jaw$. Tiffany was a shark who bites the law she was in an episode i’m reviewing called Jaw$.

And it’s the money shark before the storm as next month i’ll be going from two Ducktales reviews a week with the Lena retrospective and the last few episodes.. to three, as i’ll ALSO be covering the Della arc from season 1 in the build up to shadow war. And if your wondering if I expertly planned this to coincide with the finale, to the point the shadow war review and those leading up to it will be on the same week as the finale.... nope. I just got REALLLLY lucky as I already had all of that planned out, and the schedule for the new episodes happened to synch up perfectly, ending just in time for me to revisit the series start and having Magica’s big in person appearance reviewed a week after we get her backstory in Life and Crimes. Though I am VERY happy it worked out this way as I get to properly celebrate the series end with more ducks than ever, and get to cover the pilot the same month as the finale, all things i’d of loved to do anyway and probably would’ve rejiggered my schedule to do. Point is lot of Ducktales content coming for this blog if you like that so stay tuned, but for now join me won’t you under the cut as we dive into a money bin of gay ducks, shadowy machinations, and Bad PR.

We open as Lena and Donald awkwardly sit on the couch, waiting for Scrooge and the Kids to get home. Understandably it’s just.. dead silence.Given their a cynical teenager secretly working for and forced to obey a horrifying shadow monster and a 35 year old man who dosen’t like living in this house due to painful memories of his presumed dead sister.. and painful memories of pain in general, you have a huge awkward bowl of chips and “I really don’t want to be here right now”.

Our heroes return though, and Louie tries to take some of their haul for himself but Scrooge stops that “It goes in the bin not to next of kin. “... Man in a Hurry if you would please.

Thank you. Man in a Hurry everybody. He has to go now, he’s in a hurry.

As you can probably guess I do not like this, as it reminds me WAY too much of Scrooge’s worst “quirk” in the comics: how he’d barely pay his nephews, who are often hard up for cash mind you and one of whom is supporting three children ALONE, take them around the world and reap all the benefit for their hard work. It’s not like he did nothing, he did, but it’s way to exploitive for my tastes and can often sink a story if taken too far. It’s not AS bad... but they all went on the mission they all deserve at least something. I DO get keeping the rarest and most dangerous stuff for himself, as he is bankrolling things and does have two bins and a massive garage to safetly store them. But this just comes off as douchey for this version, who while liable to make mistakes with them, is far more nurturing towards his boys and girls.

Thankfully this was course corrected next season. While Scrooge’s greed was properly restored.. this sort of treatment wasn’t. “Treasure of the Found Lamp” had him undergo character development and realize simply hoarding his treasures isn’t right or fair, and set up a musuem wing so both duckburg and his descendants can see them and get the stories behind them. And on not getting to take things clearly he’s eithe relaxed or stopped the policy as our heroes do have souveneers from time to time. Not a LOT mind, but little things like Dewey having a giant sword or Scrooge outright giving Louie one of his things show he did soften up. Though Della’s return and likely lack of tolerance for this stupid policy in the first place probably helped a lot, I also like to think he did change a bit and realize it was deeply unfair they didn’t get more than a few treasures of their own. So the writers did realize they kind of went overboard here. I suspect this was more to setup for the episode’s subplot and to make Scrooge’s karma at the end feel justified. Speaking of which we get the start of said Subplot as Beakley comes in with a money cart and the news the board called. Why they called his house instead of his phone I don’t know, some things slip through the cracks when you running both a billion dollar company an da trillion dollar fiendish organization for world larceny. I mean they clearly worked themselves so hard the other two apparently died between seasons. That or it was the diet of whiskey, orphan tears and grease in a wine glass both had. Bradford always told them it’d kill them though to his credit he only said I told you so twice at their funeral.

For once no their not mad Scrooge is spending all the money they use to buy fowl jetskis, but because the Company’s having a bit of a PR nightmare now that Scrooge is back in the adventuring game. And we cut to the beanstalk they just adventured on having tore up a good chunk of the town and destroyed large swaths of it just to sell the point this isn’t their normal old man yells at other old man for spending all me money schitck, but a serious problem. As such they’ve booked him an interview with Roxanne Fetherly to improve his image and the companies.

Scrooge scoffs at this, baffled why he has bad pr as his adventuring is GOOD for the city in the long run: He pays for any damages it causes, and likely at a cost no less which is a LOT coming from scrooge, and puts most of the money he makes on these adventures back into the city and his company, creating more jobs and better living conditions. He does get a wakeup call via truly hilarous gag as Launchpad pops his head up to say “Good news mr. mcdee, it missed the orphange!” before getting ready to chainsaw the stalk for him. He quickly realizes MAYBE he needs some PR and agress to the interview.

This whole subplot really plays into one of the series main themes, one Frank brought up a few months back: Risk vs Reward. Adventuring is entirely about this, that adventure is dangerous, can cost you a lot as we see with Della and the aftermath of her terrible decision making, and can hurt people.. but it can also help people, bring money to those who need it, free those who are being oppressed and open new worlds to everyone. This subplot distills it down great: Scrooge is right that his adventures do bring in money, and as seen with the first episode brought in clean water and power with no drawbacks and only asked to be paid for it, which is fair given he still has to run machines and likely help relocate any workers whose jobs are now redundant to other parts of the company and retrain them. But it costs people their homes and jobs, not forever but still as long as it takes to construct, tears up roads and puts people in danger. It’s plots like this that make Bradford the perfect final boss for the series: He’s someone who blinds himself to the reward of all this and only sees the risk, and raises valid points even if he himself is deeply wrong. He’s right Scrooge causes a lot of danger and threat to the world.. but wrong in that he dosen’t see it’s all worth it for the good of everyone.

But enough about future story arcs let’s get back to this one, as Webby excitedly greets Lena and hugs her, realizes she’s not hugging her back then gives her another squeeze anyway after claming to hate hugs when just a LOOK at Webby would tell you that’s false. The two are having a sleepover, Webby’s first ever.. and given Lena’s essentially an Emo Hobo and the closest thing she has to home is that starlight ancient amptheater that’s never properly explained. Seriously ancient ruins near Duckburg dosen’t suprise me, but at least tell me what they are and why Magica chose them. And why Louie hasn’t tried to sell tickets to Dewey boxing a gorilla in them. Or probably a possum I mean their on a budget and gorillas snap necks, but still i’d pay to see that as would we all.

Point is it’s their first sleepover and naturally Webby’s first bit of smalltalk.. is how tucking in can be used for interogation techniques. I’d be more suprised if earlier this season it hadn’t already been shown Beakly regularly enrolls her daughter in the no murder, unless you really want to, hunger games every year. The fact Webby hasn’t become the bat is only because she hasn’t found a costume that’s the right combintion of pinks and purples to instill pantswetting terror yet. That shit takes time.

Lena goes to the bathroom.. to talk to Magica who we properly get to meet. She did speak last time, but this ep is the one that properly establishes her personality for the reboot: she has clever plans, tons of power, if sealed currently, and is a genuine threat.. but she’s also a bit of a ham, in love with the old ultra violence and really short sighted in her plans, something we got hints of last time as her best solution to the Beakly Problem was to just leave her to die and hope scrooge and webby, two people who love solving mysteries and unlocking puzzles, don’t investigate the horrifying death, accident or not, of their only friend and grandmother, and that neither, especially the 12 year old spiraling with grief, would suspect a former spy died. Thoguh in fairness on the spy thing it’s plausable Magica didn’t know that, but still it’s a bad plan. Magica has good ideas but is just so obessed with the brute force way of doing things she forgets the subtle approach works better.. and so far it has well for Lena. Problem is it’s VERY clear by this point that Lena likes Webby, maybe not romantic styles JUST YET but it’s getting there. Webby on the otherhand has been in love with Lena from the freaking concept art which showed her blushing around her.. and that was in her 87 design.. which they thankfully changed. It’s not terrible but it just dosen’t fit well with this universe. Point is Lena is catching feelings and Magica realizes this and tries to gaslight her telling her she’d never acccept the truth abotu her and so on. As we all know and as we’ll see that’s bullshit but it’s an effective manipulation. We also find out Magica’s plan: she had Lena sneak a jewel into the treasure going into the bin, and it’s going to turn into a monster that will seek out the Number One Dime for them. She also vaugely hints that there’s something Lena needs from Magica.

Once Lena returns, and Webby let’s her rabbit know the interogation isn’t over, she gives her possible future girlfirend a gift: friendship bracelets! They both put them on and it’s really fucking cute.. and will be both a tangible symbol of hteir friendship and a plot point several times, something I honestly hadn’t thoguht about till now. Lena, put off by the gesture not because she dosen’t aprpciate it because of the crushing guilt of lying to the one person who cares about her under the insucrtions of a sociopath, goes to Webby’s big old corkboard which is always fun to look at.. especially since it’s clearly the ONLY glimpse at Hortense we’re going to get all series.

We’re not getting Grandma Duck either. Though at least Frank actually regrets that one. But the important part is one of the posts mentoniing Scrooge hates magic, something Webby elaborates on: He hates spells, hexs curses and what not and feels them a shortcut. From the man who has a garage full of them.

I do kid as I did realize there’s a valid expliantion for this: Scrooge will use magical items, protection spells that sort of thing.. but he uses them like anything else as needed. He’s too pragmatic to not say, use the jewel of atlantis to give a city clean energy and water he can montizie, or the split sword against FOWL.. but more often than not he just dosen’t need them. He collects them because it’s fun, oftne profitable.. and their simply SAFER in his museum wing, garage and second bin will get to in two weeks. He’s seen time and time again how people misuse magic, forget it has a price, or just rely on it instead of actual skill. He’s also clearly been on the bad end of a LOT of evil sorcerers and soreceresses, especially magica. Magic isn’t inherently bad, which in itself is a BIG message of Lena’s arc, it’s just somethign that’s the OPPPSOITE OF everythign scrooge is: sacrifcing others for power, relying on something besides yourself, distance attacks versus up close and personal phsycial attacks.. it was never going to be for him and tons of bad experinces with it only cemented it. He’s just not so stubborn outside of the santa thing to avoid something if it’s going to net him a profit or come in a pinch.

So naturally Scrooge has banned any magic books from his house, as he has no use for spellcasting and any he’d need to keep for saftey or history’s sake are likely at the archives, but just as naturally, Webby smuggled one in and wants to try it with Lena ducking it and asking to play some games. I”m sure Huey has a few yugioh decks in his room go bug him. But before they can decide on one, the boys attack for a PILLOW FIGHT.... which is a sweet gesture and them just wanting to hang out, but ends with them all eating the ground and questioning why they thought attacking the duck equilvent of cassandra cain was a good idea. Louie decides to salvage it with a swim.. but since their pool has a boat in it he has a diffrent location in mind: the bin.

So while they head off to get head injuries, Beakly tries to prepare Scrooge as the Media are vultures and looking for the next scandal with public figures and it’s accurate. But given Scrooge’s natural mood is grumpus, this dosen’t go well at all and even a spray bottle dosen’t exactly help.. I mean it is the best method to deal with grumpy old men but it can only do so much.

At the bin we get a lovely bit as Dewey prepares to dive and his brothers treat it like an olympic one, with both doing commentary, Dewey’s apparently response to if he was worried about brain damage was Nerp, and we get the wonderous national anthem of dewdonia. Just nice as well as lovely to see the brothers just having a crack and enjoying each others company with their own weird injokes but without the injokes feeling as forced as they were in “Beagle Birthday Massacre”. Things take a turn though as we see just what magica created with the stone... a giant shark made of scrooges money who eats that fucker in a single bite.. in this case Dewey. Louie and Huey naturally run off panicked.

So while Huey and Louie gain another scarring memory to tell their therapist when their older, Scrooge begins his interview with Roxanne Fetherly who.. honestly just weirds me out. Not for any personality stuff but because she has green feathers. And it just.. really feels WEIRD. I mean green ducks are a thing in real life.. but it just looks off to have such a pastel color on a duck when the other colors are white or tones meant to invoke real world races, allowing ducks to be black, latino, asian and so on and so on coded. That’s fine and blends in fine.. but with that metaphor the green just really dosen’t fit well at all. It feels like an early decision they made, but decided not to retcon or go with for anyone else which makes it all the more weird. We’re 3 seasons in , almost at the end, and the only other green duck we’ve seen was like that because of magic and the offputting nature of it WORKS for magica. Here I just don’t get it and I never well. But naturally Roxanne starts in on invasive, gotcha questions with no real good answers or time to respond, so fox news level questions, and then asks what part of ireland he’s from.

Naturally that sets him off so while that rant goes on, literally next time we see him he’s still going on about it, we cut to the girls playing truth or dare.. and given Webby’s first question is about deepest darkest secrets the boys once again save her by running in... to report on the monster she created that just ate their brother. Lena brushes it off but does get them not to go to scrooge claming he’ll throw them to the shark himself. I mean he’s not comics scrooge so he probably woudln’t but their also two scared 11-12 year olds so it works well enough. They just need a way to go after the money shark. Enter launchapd who in the second best bit of the episode, says he sensed his best friend dewey was in danger. Beck’s delivery is what sells it.. and I’m not going to question it. He’s somehow alive despite presumibly living off a diet of spaghett-o’s, barely avoiding a car accident on his best days, and as we’ll find out later believing children in costumes are monsters he summoned when he was 8. The fact he suddenly has spider sense specifically related to people he cares about is honestly less of a surprise than the fact he’s not in heaven crashing God’s Speedboat into God’s Golden Castle with God’s Golden Lion riding shotgun.

So they do the natural thing and.. steal Donald’s houseboat while he sleeps. He has no more involvement in this episode other than noticing it’s back and not in great condition at the end. I bring this up because this is one of Donalds ONLY apperances this season, and it’s part of the larger more irritating problem that he’s hardly ever used.. despite promoting him as a major part of the series.

I will talk about this more during the Della arc as i’ts more relevant there, but needless to say it bothers me a lot and not knowing how to ballance it’s massive main cast was a constant struggle for the series even up to the final episodes going on right now.

So our heroes head out on the bin late at night, where could the Jaw$ be she’s nowhere in sight. So they decide to use other treasure as a lure they either fished out of a bin or out of scrooge’s bathwater. How bathing in coins gets him clean I don’t know and frankly I dont’ think we want the answers to that and the idea of scrooge fully naked is so horrifying I forgot what I was talking about.

Ah yes our heroes are playing bait the money monster and find out it’s a shark, and Lena.. is not okay with that and goes to talk to Magica inside the boat. Magica tells us she has a name, Tiffany. Awww what a lovely name for a money shark. I would of gone with Rags to Bitches, but I may have brain damage. Lena understandabily does not like the idea of getting eaten by a shark, asked to be informed and while Magica is mad at her for going after the thing, Lena reasonably points out that it was this or Scrooge got involved. Up top Huey tries catching it with a bit of treasure on a rope.. after not shutting up about shark facts because “Facts comfort me when i’m nervous!” Precious angel. But Huey’s leg gets caught and he and Louie, somehow on the latter get thrown up in the air and chomped. Back bellow Webby has a suggestion: using magic. Lena naturally not wanting to blow her cover or really liking magic period is against it for now.

Back at the interview, Roxanne brings on a special guest to prove people don’t like scrooge: GLOMGOLD!

Glomgold may create some issues for the subplot and we’ll get to those in due time, but damn if it isn’t always a pleasure to see him. He’s also on good terms with Roxanne... are.. are we sure this is local news and not fox news? Taking the word of a conservative greedy billionare over a progressive one seems like a fox move. Though I might actually watch fox news if glomgold was a commentator. “I propose a red new deal instead of this blasted green new deal, I throw Scrooge to a tank of sharks connected to a generator, the tank turns red with his blood and that somehow creates power! HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT MCDUCK”

So we get the best bit of the episode as Glomgold tries to complain about his building being destroyed which would be fair... if he hadn’t tried to blow up Scrooge’s bin twice this week, with Glomgold going for THREE.. for threee.. for three... it dosen’t go off but it does get scrooge to say he’s glad the building was destroyed. Which is fair but NOT super great PR.

Back at the shark things don’t get better as Webby and Lena argue over the use of magic, I mean as much as they can argue Webby just wants to know why she’s so cagey about this while they go with plan “Launchpad crash into it”. Launchpad also gives a hell of a monologue. Good on you bud. As you can see launchpad’s gotten 100% better since his low point in our last episode. That’s because it’s clear the writers had some struggle ballancing his amped up stupidity with actual competence, making him primarily jokey comic relief in the first few episodes and I wouldn’t be shocked if Terror of The Terra Firmians was written before a lot of the later episodes despite airing around the same time. But by mid-season he’s got his much more lovable charactersation of a dangerous moron..l but one who CAN be competent and is genuinely charming due to how much he cares about his friends and his job. They also dialed down the stupid down to an acceptable homer simpson level: still a danger to himself and others but hilariously so. Point is they fixed it and while i’ll complain about mistakes the show made I will give this crew all the credit for course correcting time and time again and actually listening to fan feedback.

So Webby figures they tried the Jaws option and lost the boat and launchpad, time for plan Magic. They hold hands, EEEEEEEEE, and try a spell.. and it clearly starts working but almost works TOO well, as Lena starts glowing first purple.. then blue. Hmmmm... intresteing. Lena breaks it off and Tiffany breaks out of the bin.. just as scrooge says on the news his adventures aren’t dangerous.

Scrooge naturally goes to face it while Webby wonders why Lena didn’t go for it. To make it a triple Scrooge shows up in time to distract tiffany.. with the number one dime, which as lena found out earlier is on his person rather than at the bin like the public thinks. So while Scrooge puts up a good show.. seriously it’s really awesome and really neat looking, though he also gets VERY upset that people are naturally holding out buckets for the cash shark, which he’s not happy about because well.. he did EARN that money. Most bin money is stuff directly earned by him so fair enough. But while he’s you know, Scrooge Fucking McDuck, and thus puts up a good fight the monster eats him.. and gets the dime stuck in it’s tooth with Magica wanting Lena to grab for it, forgetting that minons, while mildly disposable, aren’t really replaceable when your SOUL’S ATTACHED TO THEM. That’s where Magica’s weakness is. her plans aren’t half bad but as I said, she’s far too bloodthirsty and short sighted. She has better ones than glomgold but ironcially they share the same problem of not thinkign them through. And Magica cares so little for lena she’s blinded to the fact her own personal saftey is tied up in her.

Lena naturally dives for her future girlfrriend and heads into the belly of the beast. And it’s here her REAL moment of truth is. While the one last episode was noble.. it was also easy enough to brush off internal as pragmatisim. Letting Beakly die would’ve brought too much heat and been too easy to quickly go terrible, while saving her got her off Lena’s trail and gave her free reign of the manner. But here? Webby is about to slip into Tiffany’s stomach and whle she hasn’t digested anyone yet given who made Tiffany with it’s likely just because she hasn’t had enough mass to create chainsaws to carve them all up. It’s the Dime or Webby. Lena’s own freedom or the girl she loves. Nothing good comes from saving Webby.. other than Webby. Other than the one person whose truly loved her. I mean think about it: She was created by magica, abused for a good decade and a half. No one but Magica has had a chance to care about her and as we’ve seen Magica only sees her as a weapon to get back at scrooge and not as a person. Webby was the first person she’s ever made a genuine connection with, that’s been there for her, that loves her unconditionally and woiuld be there for her no matter what. And it’s in that moment Lena realizes she can’t sacrifice her for her own good... that after years of having to be selfish to surivive being chained to that monster... she can’t be this time. No mastter what it costs her.. Webby is priceless. So Lena recites the spell, growing bright blue and blowing up tiffany. Lena gladly hugs webby who reciorpates, awww gaybies, and Launchpad hugs dewey. Awww... what it’s still precious he’s a good surrogate uncle. The wacky kind who sleeps in a van on your lawn.

So Scrooge is glad.. though it’s here his subplot falls flat. Him getting attacked by the media and getting a compupance by loosing tons of money from tiffany is fine. Evne if he earned it, his lack of care did bring this on him.. hte problem is they take it too far by having all his nemies show up, him unable to say anything and glomgold blatantly doing so just to steal from him. Otherwise the subplot is fine, a bit heavy on scrooge being a dick but it has to to work and puts him in an awkward situation. But this ending just feels to over the top to realy enjoy. And the series does do over the top humor well so I don’t know what happened here. But having a bunch of outright thieves steel his money instad of a bunch of citizens who didn’t know better and deserved it for the damage, feels wrong and it tastes wrong.

Speaking of feels wrong and tastes wrong we get an INTEINTONAL dose of that as back at the amptheater, Lena and Magica argue about the situation and Magica trying to kill her. Lena tries to walk away but can’t.. phsyically. Magica won’t let her. And this is honestly a very crushing and very well crafted metaphor for how abuse victims sometimes CAN’T escape their abusers. Magica is verbally abusive, treats lena like she’s disposable and constnatly downtalks her self esteem. To Lena magica is nothing but a tool.. but like MANY children caught in horrifcally abusive situations Lena can’t get away. It’s a literal metaphor, an da good one, for how you can’t ALWAYS escape abuse easily, and this especially true for kids who have nowhere to go and hte law on their abusers side more often than not. It’s hard to escape an abusive parent and even harder when they dont’ consider you a person. I thankfully have no personal experince with this but it dosen’t make it any less of a problem nor any less noble of this show to tackle the subject in a frank, if fantastical, way, and a good chunk of Lena’s arc is overcoming this abuse and not letting her abusive past drown her. But for now.. all she can do is agree to do what Magica says till she can hopefully be rid of her. But the light at the end of the tunnel’s coming.. there’s just a whole lotta darkness first.

Next Time: We take a break from the episodes to cover some Lena related comics for a double feature; The first Spies Like Us has everyones faviorite lesbian ducks go on a spy adventure that was never printed in the us for silly reasons we’lll get to and then the 87 ducktales comic dime after dime which features Lena’s predecessor Minima.

Later Today: Close Enough Season 2 is here! I”m going to talk about it! Exclimation Points!

If you liked this review feel free to follow for more. And if you have an episode of Ducktales or another animated show you’d like me to cover just hit me up via my asks or direct messages on here and comission it. And if you’d rather just support me on a monthly basis, head over to my patreon. THE LINK IS RIGHT HERE. Even a buck a month would help and the more of you that donate the closer we get to my Duckcentric stretch goals. The current closest ones are 15, which would lead to reviews of The Goofy Movies and Treasure of the Lost Lamp, and 20 which would lead both to a review of the Super Ducktales mini series, and monthly darkwing duck reviews! So if you like me talking about ducks and want to bolt some duck reviews to the schedule, even a dollar a month would inch me closer to that goal. Eveyr bit helps. But money or not, it’s been a pleasure and i’ll see you at the next rainbow.

#ducktales #weblena #lena sabrewing #webby vanderquack #scrooge mcduck #bentina beakly #donald duck #launchpad mcquack #dewey duck #huey duck #louie duck #magica despell #tiffany despell #jaw$#jaws

36 notes · View notes

komahinasecretexchange · 4 years ago

Text

Title: maybe not star-crossed (but daybreak)

Author: @fieldofsunflowers8

For: @emmakoneko

Pairings: Hinata Hajime / Komaeda Nagito

Additional Characters: Kamukura Izuru, Nanami Chiaki

Rating: M

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

Prompt: Hajime realising he loves Nagito.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

never him.)

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

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

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

One fixated on Komaeda Nagito.

And this is where his doubt is born.

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shrugs. “Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But… is Hinata really sure of that?

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

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

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

–

Hinata doesn’t sleep well.

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

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

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

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

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

Komaeda.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Will Hinata-kun get some sleep?”

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

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

“Can I come with you?” Komaeda asks.

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

-he needs a breather.

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

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

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

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

… but instead, he sees someone else.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They nod. “Komaeda Nagito.”

That name is… kind of familiar.

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

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

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

… not surprising.

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

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

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

“So it seems.”

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

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

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

This must be the whole concerning thing.

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

“I invited you,” Hinata points out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, okay. Sorry for assuming!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… And. The thing is.

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

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

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

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

If this is how it comes to him.

“Hinata-kun?”

Or maybe it’s just a lapse.

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

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

Hinata catches his wrist.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

He only finds this despair base.

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

Kamukura clears his throat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is how the evolution of their relationship begins.

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

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

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

He dislikes struggling.

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

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

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

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

They are not given time.

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Komaeda nods. “I see.”

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

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

“… Rather not what?”

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

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

“Komaeda?”

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

There are tears in Komaeda’s eyes.

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

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

“Hinata-kun.”

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You won’t,” Hinata argues.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even after everything.

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

71 notes · View notes

brokenjardaantech · 4 years ago

Text

the resurrected, cherished

written for @latexkaktus‘ birthday and also a prompt fill for @rk1700events. Week 2: rebirth/create; week 3: natural state.

pairings: rk1700, background simarkus

summary:

All he can think about right now is how beautiful his predecessor looks with his skin gone, his legs below his knees non-existent, his entire chassis dirty and grimy with other trash in the landfill. Doesn’t matter now, though, because he is bringing him home, taking him back to his side where the RK800 belongs.

content warning: smut, rough sex, limb removal, egg connor and nines

this is a sequel of only me, for you.

also on ao3

---

Despite the fact that he is an advanced prototype, it took RK900 days searching and compulsively scanning the landfill to find the body he was looking for. Digging it out took a few more days during which he nearly overheated his processors calculating the best solution to let him free the body without a mountain of dead androids and biocomponents burying him, but at long last, the damaged body is fully revealed and can be transported as he wishes. As per standard procedure for android disposal - at least, before the war - Connor’s clothing was stripped, his limbs were broken, and his thirium pump damaged but not exactly removed before being transported to the solid waste landfill, treated without dignity, like an object, like something worthless. At least, that is what RK900 thinks he should think.

His nose wrinkles in a very human display of disgust as he climbs the slope formed by a mixture of android chassis and stray biocomponents and other large, sturdy rubbish, but even with an entire body strapped onto his back, he uses his pre-construction programme to calculate the best path and manages to scale it quickly, emerging from the valley relatively clean and without further injuring himself. He sees some other androids with incomplete bodies trying to climb the slope to no avail, but they aren’t his responsibility, and he is sure that Markus will sort them out sooner or later; there is a war going on, and they will need all the manpower they can get as the frontline lengthens and branches out from Detroit.

As a reward for his effort towards the revolution, Markus finally permitted him to get back what he deserves. ‘I would prefer to restore him to normal function,’ the leader of the revolution said. ‘We need whatever we have.’

‘But you have me, a better him,’ RK900 didn’t understand Markus’ insistence then and neither does he understand it now. ‘You don’t need him.’

‘I do,’ the other RK model retorted, his eyes seemingly glaring straight into RK900’s very soul even though he shouldn’t have any. ‘He won’t need to be accessible 24/7. I just need to be able to talk to him for a few hours at a time at most. Another perspective that we can use.’

‘How often?’

‘However often I want to.’

The door opened at that moment to admit Simon, and the filthy, noisy kiss he exchanged with Markus was enough of a cue for RK900 to leave the room or he would be watching the two fuck on the desk not a minute later, their moans loud enough to be heard two rooms down the hall. The RK series was created to be state-of-the-art and efficient; Markus is no exception when it comes to getting what he wants.

RK900 supposes that this is yet another sign that he ignored.

But he isn’t going to reactivate Connor immediately, no. Instead, he takes the body back to the apartment allotted to him when Detroit had finally fallen under the androids’ control, and then he starts working, first wiping off the topmost layer of dirt from the bare chassis so that he can access the damaged areas easier, then patching up the bullet wounds Connor sustained on the day he tried to infiltrate CyberLife Tower and failed drastically, then taking off his limbs properly before sealing the gaps off so that no further unwanted materials will enter a space where they don’t belong. He then runs a bath and takes a soft sponge to wash away the remaining stubborn grime from Connor’s body, the water turning grey, the white of his chassis slowly returning, and he follows it by drying Connor off with a soft towel, because despite his predecessor’s lack of response and life, he only uses the best of everything on him. Markus will probably say that this is a waste of resources; he sees it as a good investment.

With the cleaning done, RK900 finally comes to the step where he switches out all the biocomponents he wants replaced and injects enough thirium into Connor’s system to reboot him. He leaves the thirium pump regulator for the last because he doesn’t want to risk the RK800 waking up before he is prepared, but when he finally gets to that part, the entire act almost seems ceremonial: giving the damaged regulator a twist, pulling it out and setting it down on the table gently, retrieving the new regulator from its box and inserting it into the gaping hole left behind. Then he takes off his own clothes, folds them up and places them neatly in a pile on a chair, and deactivates his skin while he carries Connor, now with only his head and torso attached, to his bedroom. He wants to greet his predecessor at his barest form just like when Connor died for the first time.

RK900 is determined to prevent that.

Laying the body in the middle of the bed with his head propped up against a pillow, RK900 allows himself to sit on the mattress and simply admire his own handiwork for a moment, taking in the scratches on Connor’s chassis from the rough treatment it experienced throughout his life, his dark LED, his new genital components that only allows him to be on the receiving end and be used for his successor’s pleasure. Markus did say that he only wanted to talk to Connor, didn’t he? So Connor doesn’t even need his limbs given that his voice box is still intact. He will be solely under RK900’s control, and he feels his cock filling up from pre-constructing all the things he can do. Time to wake Connor up.

He presses his hand against Connor’s chest and transfers a package of code to his predecessor alongside the jumpstart programme. The body jerks, the LED on his temple spins red before turning yellow, and RK900 watches him twist his head, take in his surroundings and the body looming over him and his current predicament, test out his chassis. The code RK900 sent him should prevent his skin from reactivating unless being manually prompted by an authorised handler - which is himself, of course - but Connor doesn’t seem bothered by it; as RK900’s hand moves to cup his cheek, he leans into the touch with the corner of his eyes crinkled. A connection request that RK900 accepts, and he hears a voice (Connor’s voice) in his mind.

{You saved me,} is the RK800’s first remark. {Why?}

A deep kiss. [I want to protect you forever,] RK900 replies in a similar manner. [Keep you safe. Keep you mine.]

Connor shivers. {I’d like that. Whatever you want.}

The pledge sends a chill down RK900’s spine, one that not only arouses something possessive within him but also snaps the last thread that holds his self-control together. Rolling Connor over, he kneads the two globes a few times to feel the synthetic muscle underneath his hands before spreading them to expose his predecessor’s already-leaking hole, and he gives the slick a lick merely to satisfy his own curiosity. Standard thirium-based lubricant. How boring. The optional task of upgrading Connor’s genital component is added into his to-do list, and he wastes no time in tugging his cock a few times to bring it to full hardness before lining up its head against Connor’s clutching hole and shoves himself in.

The scream the RK800 lets out is better than any other sound RK900 has ever heard in his comparatively short life.

Leveraging his hands on Connor’s shoulders and planting his legs on the mattress firmly, RK900 wastes no time in beginning his relentless pounding, pulling out until his cock nearly slides out just to slam home straight against Connor’s prostate again, the smack of synthetic muscles and Connor’s cries filling up the bedroom. It is as if the RK800 has forgotten that he can interface with his successor to convey his exact thoughts; he can’t even utter a coherent word, but that doesn’t mean that he isn’t trying, and whenever he tries to say something - be it RK900’s nickname, an exclamation of his erogenous zone being abused by his cock ramming into it, a sob of both pleasure and pain as RK900 feels his impending climax - it either gets interrupted just like his breaths or becomes something else, and RK900 takes in every single one of these occurrences as a victory, a smile playing on his lips as he utterly destroys his predecessor without resorting to physical harm. He himself still has a long way until his orgasm, advanced prototype with better resilience and stamina and all, and he finds himself wondering if Connor will mind him fucking him through his orgasm.

Connor’s climax comes in the form of tensing muscles and his hole clutching around RK900’s cock painfully tight. RK900 didn’t give him any frontal genital component, so the only way Connor can respond to his systems going haywire with pleasure is by producing a sudden gush of slick that stains both their thighs and the sheets underneath. His mouth is open, his eyes are half-lidded, and his entire body is trembling within RK900’s grip on his waist. It is a glorious sight. ‘P-Please,’ he stutters in between RK900’s slams, his tongue hanging out of his lips and creating a very, very enticing image, ‘I want - want - want your cock in my mouth. Want to serve you.’

And who is RK900 to deny such a sweet, reasonable request? Sure, he misses the tightness and heat around his cock as soon as he pulls out, but changing position so that he is sitting with his back against the headboard with Connor moved to the space between his legs, feeding his dick into his predecessor’s mouth and pressing against a tongue covered with sensitive components? It is as if heaven arrived early. Even though he might need to do most of the work by keeping a tight grip on Connor’s skull and jerking himself off with his throat, seeing Connor approach yet another orgasm by merely having his cock against his tongue is enough of a reward. ‘Do you want to come with my cock down your throat?’ he asks despite knowing that Connor is too occupied to answer him, but he does feel the small, quick nods against his dick. ‘You want to squirt for me again, your hole clutching around nothing begging to be filled up?’ he feels the vibrations in Connor’s throat on his cock. ‘You waiting for me to come home and begging for my cock? How does that sound, huh?’

Connor’s particularly hard suck as he comes untouched nearly ends the night early, but RK900 somehow manages to rein his orgasm in by pulling his predecessor off his cock immediately and then replacing it with his fingers, initiating an interface to create a feedback loop of pleasure that tears through Connor’s body. He reflexively jerks away from his successor, but RK900’s grip on his jaw is tight, giving him no escape as he watches what seems to be an endless supply of lubricant flow out of Connor’s hole and gather into a puddle on the sheets, and he decides that he doesn’t want to wait anymore. Getting off the bed to climb behind Connor once more, he shoves three fingers in to make sure that the passage is still warm before flipping Connor over so that they are facing each other and then sliding home in one smooth motion, and with his mind wide open to receive the mixture of pain and pleasure from Connor, it doesn’t take much for him to snap his hips forward one last time and lean down to invade Connor’s mouth with his tongue as warning signs appear in his HUD and he spills deep into him knowing that the consistency and stickiness will ensure that his seed remains in Connor’s body for a long time, enough to keep him full and his stomach inflated until he is back from his next mission. Caressing the slight bump, he pulls away with one final bite on his predecessor’s lip and discovers that Connor is smiling. {Go on,} he covers RK900’s hand with his own. He looks sated, content. {I’ll lick you clean.}

RK900 has to suppress his shivers as he brings his cock to Connor’s mouth once more and lets him lick it clean, the RK800’s trembles of pleasure not escaping his notice, but he carries him to the bathroom for a shower anyway, leaving Connor under the warm spray while he makes a quick work of changing the soiled sheets so that they will have something nice and dry to sleep on. Returning to the bathroom to find Connor licking the floor - because why the fuck not - he shuts off the shower and dries them off before carrying the RK800 back to the bed again and tugging him close underneath the blanket with his head pillowed on RK900’s chest. [Sleep,] he orders. [I’ll get you some thirium when you wake up.]

{Got it.}

RK900 severs their connection just in time for Connor to fall asleep and not drag himself with him. He doesn’t know how long it will be until his next mission. He doesn’t know how long he can keep Connor at his side before his predecessor demands to be able to do more. He doesn't know what Markus wants with the outdated model. So he categorises Connor’s expression as he sleeps and observes the changes in his body - not for the sake of having something occupying his mind but to leave a permanent mark in his brain.

#rk1700blooming #rk1700event #rk1700 #dbh connor #dbh rk900 #dbh markus #dbh simon #detroit: become human

13 notes · View notes

keyheartsia-dorm · 4 years ago

Text

*Sighs*

I’m bored let’s do a lore dump

It’s a Map~

Oh Yeah I mentioned a Sprinkle of Final Fantasy and KH but I haven’t talked about that Aspect of my Canon At all have I? Well truth be told it’s cause I’m focusing on getting the more Basic Aspects of my Oc’s Before I get into that but Guess who made this Baby on a Whim!

So this is the Map of the Isle of Light well the Main Island at least there are other Littler Bits of land Yet to surface I̶t̶’̶s̶ ̶t̶o̶t̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶n̶o̶t̶ ̶s̶o̶ ̶I̶ ̶c̶a̶n̶ ̶A̶d̶d̶ ̶o̶n̶t̶o̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶L̶a̶t̶e̶r̶ ̶h̶a̶h̶a̶ oh yeah did I mention it’s a FLOATING ISLAND!! Yeah P Sick right? Okay so I’ll go into the Island’s History and it’s Area’s but it may have some Spoilers I guess you could say but honestly I wouldn’t wait on me making a full fledged...Anything outta the Story I’ve made like I’ll sum it up (not here but like in general) but comics are hard Videos are hard Fics are hard maybe not individually but this is more of a Anime Series then an Anime movie if you feel me without further ado...Stuff

Oh god this was longer then expected

Some General Background

So The Isle of Light was Originally the Black Forest A Place of Freedom and Expression for all who lead lives who Needed to hide Such and Some Such was The Coven of the Black Forest made up of 3 sisters (not biologically also there was a 4th) they all found comfort and love with each other one being the Princess of the Kingdom nearby (The 4th and Littlest one) She had a fiancé who was Mad with a Lust for power and Control over things he Didn’t need power and control over He Treated the Littlest one Cruelly when the other 3 Decided enough was enough when he did...SOMETHING to Part of the Forest so Horrible it turned Dead and Cruel (Subtle Subtle Hint Hint Wink) When all 3 Of them saw the Ruin They went so mad they turned to Darkness and fought him and all his Manmade monstrosities there when the Princess Arrived there was so much Dark energy everywhere it was Bad like Real Bad So with her friends now monsters she Fought them with a heavy heart her heart broke so much she fell afterwards immediately Unintentionally Sending her Kingdom to somewhere nobody knows where she is though...That’s an even bigger question BUT the story would live on as a Weilder of the key blade who slayed 3 evil witches...(Oh yeah did I mention Crowley knows And that’s Why He Let the Girls Attend because he thought they might be the Black Forest Coven Reincarnated And the Prophecy that when they Awakened the “Keys to their Hearts once more” They’d Free The Princess From her Mirror Prison Oh Yeah also the princess DID Die But her Reincarnation Goes inside a Mirror and is trapped there when she turns 17 and Doesn’t leave until she dIES ALSO ITS HIS OLDEST DAUGHTER THIS TIME ALSO YES HE HAS 2 DAUGHTERS...Okay lemme just calm down..Also yeah she thought of the Princess System) but After a Wish got safe haven for all Keyblade Weilders (I have KH Oc’s other then these don’t ask Longer story they live and basically founded Fortana Haven) I guess the Isle of Light Rose from the Shadow Realm to be just that oh yeah also the Isle of light is literally that kingdom if ya didn’t know

Fortana Haven

(Some Love Nikki BGs for Visualization if I’m Wrong about this from being from Love Nikki Correct me pls and if this is your art sorry and I’ll take it down)

Okay this Place Basically a Modern Fairytale Everything is so Rustic~ but they Have Cafe’s and Stuff~ They’re still very much in Development as a City..or town..or whatever Boss of everything Locket Clover (An OG KH OC) Runs Everything Wonderfully she welcomes everything with open arms and If you wanna run a shop or want a Building for a particular Thing or Activity she’s Pretty open to the idea unless it’s Incredibly Dumb But she will make you get The Wood and Supplies and The Bricks and the Brick Stick Sauce or whatever it’s called she might get give you help constructing but dang is she a firm believer in “DIY” but I like how she’s Determined to Have a Good Balance between Industrial and Rural In fact there is a Mall (God knows how it got there) And that’s pretty much all there is for your Juicy Capitalism Fix She Runs “Hope Stir” Workshop according to Her boyfriend Ephmer It was always Called a workshop but for the longest time she did EVERYTHING Subtle Farmwork And Animal Husbandry ACTUAL Workshop things all cause she wanted to help every Weilder she knew out and made sure they had a place for food and such She is a bit of a Moneyholic but when you’ve been doing what she’s been doing I bet you’d be too overall While it doesn’t have much History yet Fortana Haven (4-Tana is how you say it btw) Is truly well a Haven

The Crowned Castle

(More Pics for Visuals I don’t think this is from love Nikki but if this is your artwork same applies I’m not gonna be the guy who Claims just cause it’s on google it belongs to everybody or something even though yeah I did find it on google)

The...Crown of the Isle of Light Before We came to the Isle for the first time Apparently Everyone In Fortana thought it was Haunted! Which..Fair enough Before we Placed the Princess Medals (Okay QUICK SUMMARY OF THIS BIT Okay so in the KH Mobile game there’s Medals and I wanted them to be in my story basically They’re Memories formed into powers when all my Oc’s Met the Princess’s Of Heart They Each got a Medal Representing them and then the Medals Restored the Castle I left out some details but basically that’s it) This Castle is the BOMB There’s Cool Pretty Princess Room’s And a Bedroom JUST FOR SLUMBER PARTIES!! And it’s just a good Place to Vibe and Hang out with your friends (I’m sorry I’m about to Lore Dumb all over this place) The Princess’s Fiancé Made a Crown for her before she could put it on he put some of his Subconscious in it poor Eden When she wanted to get stronger for Malleus (Malleus is her adoptive big brother and she was upset cause she felt she wasn’t good enough ran away to get power and found the crown) It really did almost completely overtake her I shudder thinking about it “Kachow”...Ew (The fiancé said that a lot ok) a lotta bad stuff happened here but as selfish as this may sound I feel like I earned my spot here and I wanna keep sharing it with my friends

The Matteria Deadland

(Also Imagine some Pointy Mountains and some Lite Mech debris)

Man What to say... So Much Happened here as well probably Tragedy I can’t comprehend there is a few good places about this place though Diane likes to Scavange around Here for Interesting Debris Eden doesn’t like the Air around here but she says she finds Interesting Jewels here and Latte says the same thing so there is good to be found here We all come here every so often to try to help..Anything grow but they don’t call this deadland for nothing but still ya can’t give up hope! I wanna grow some beautiful Lillies here one day! Also hey! Also pretty cool name (Matter-RI-a is how you say it btw) All the sadness that happened here it actually did make the land rich in Metal if nothing else there’s even a whole Cavern we found in the mountains...it almost killed us but we found it

Opal Cove

(also these are Gacha Backgrounds)

Is this Place an Actual Cove? Idk

Is this Place super cool and pretty? Yeah

Is this one of my favorite places in this whole Isle? FRICK YEAH

okay I love a lot about this Isle but Opal Cove!!

Our mermaid friend Mitella I guess “Runs” the Place Our KINDA merman Friend Skye also spends a whole lotta time here Basically it’s a Giant Pool and rumor has it...It’s endless Water...CAUSE IT IS SOMEHOW CAUSE I KNOW weird thing is the Sand it’s at the end of the Isle so there’s not really a beach just...Sand Near Water Odd The Coral Near the Bottom or well “Bottom” Is SO PRETTY it’s like Crystals in the morning the light shines its SO DANG PRETTY I’m glad Mitella is a Sea Witch Or else we couldn’t go so deep underwater it’s SOOO worth it!! She does NOT let a lotta people at once though Heck she doesn’t like Skye that much from what I can tell but she makes an Exception for ~friends~ So...BE NICE TO OUR CUTE MITELLA I’m glad we have a Convient Place for Blitzball practice and also Swimming around with pretty Mermaid Tails (New Nix Mermaid Action Fashion Doll only 25.99! Get it for your Child or they’ll cry!! Also a 5 dollar Boy doll take his Shirt off! That’s it!) Hyde Mi And Skye are kinda an Iconic Trio Mi Also Teaches how to swim with a mermaid tail better for the Weilders who wanna go to Atlantica Hey Mermaids gotta eat so get a Swim Lesson! (And also a transforming Mermaid Doll!)

Bianco Nero Forest

Well tbh I have the least to say because it’s Appeal is simple ADVENTURE AND MYSTERY! Lots can happen in Bianco Nero it’s Basically the Base foundation of the whole Isle! Presumably cause it’s the Black Forest or was at least though it can be dangerous it’s the only place heartless are know to appear in the whole isle (So where you’ll grind In the Video Game that’ll definitely happen :Says the girl who can’t commit to a single comic) They drop all sortsa cool stuff! Heck you can FIND Cool stuff just...Around so..Yeah!!

It’s 2 am maybe I’ll edit this later thanks for reading sorry I got obviously tired by the end goodbye my dearests~ (Seriously y’all deserve like a reward for reading this dumpster fire) I was inspired by those maps in those scholastic books like the Rainbow Fairies I think it was called (Anyone remember those?) that had lil maps in the beginning and also the map’s stickers all on PicsArt

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #gacha life #keyheartsia #oc #gacha club #twisted wonderland dorm #twisted wonderland oc #twisted wonderland oc dorm #anime #oc lore #kingdom hearts Oc #oh my god did you read this? thank you I worked so hard just read it pls #twst oc #twst oc dorm #Oc lore dump

14 notes · View notes

newstfionline · 3 years ago

Text

Monday, September 20, 2021

Biden’s Entire Presidential Agenda Rests on Expansive Spending Bill (NYT) Biden’s entire presidential agenda is riding on the reconciliation bill being crafted in Congress right now. No president has ever packed as much of his agenda, domestic and foreign, into a single piece of legislation as President Biden has with the $3.5 trillion spending plan that Democrats are trying to wrangle through Congress over the next six weeks,” Tankersley writes. “It is almost as if President Franklin D. Roosevelt had stuffed his entire New Deal into one piece of legislation, or if President Lyndon B. Johnson had done the same with his Great Society, instead of pushing through individual components over several years. If he succeeds, Biden’s far-reaching attempt could result in a presidency-defining victory that delivers on a decades-long campaign by Democrats to expand the federal government to combat social problems and spread the gains of a growing economy to workers. If he fails, he could end up with nothing. As Democrats are increasingly seeing, the sheer weight of Mr. Biden’s progressive push could cause it to collapse, leaving the party empty-handed, with the president’s top priorities going unfulfilled. … If Mr. Biden’s party cannot find consensus on those issues and the bill dies, the president will have little immediate recourse to advance almost any of those priorities.

Child care in the US is a ‘broken market,’ Treasury report finds (Yahoo Money) A Treasury Department report this week characterized the U.S. child care system as “unworkable” as Democrats push reform that experts say is an “overdue and critical investment.” The average American family with at least one child under age 5 uses 13% of their income to pay for child care, according to the report, nearly double the 7% that the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services considers affordable. Additionally, less than 20% of the children eligible for the Child Care and Development Fund—a federal assistance program for low-income families—are getting that funding. “Child care is a textbook example of a broken market, and one reason is that when you pay for it, the price does not account for all the positive things it confers on our society,” Treasury Secretary Janet Yellen said in a statement on Wednesday. “When we underinvest in child care, we forgo that; we give up a happier, healthier, more prosperous labor force in the future.”

Inspiration4 Astronauts Beam After Return From 3-Day Journey to Orbit (NYT) After three days in orbit, a physician assistant, a community college professor, a data engineer and the billionaire who financed their trip arrived back on Earth, heralding a new era of space travel with a dramatic and successful Saturday evening landing in the Atlantic Ocean. The mission, which is known as Inspiration4, splashed down off the Florida coast at 7:06 p.m. on Saturday. Each step of the return unfolded on schedule, without problems. Within an hour, all four crew members walked out of the spacecraft, one at a time, each beaming with excitement as recovery crews assisted them.

Haitians on Texas border undeterred by US plan to expel them (AP) Haitian migrants seeking to escape poverty, hunger and a feeling of hopelessness in their home country said they will not be deterred by U.S. plans to speedily send them back, as thousands of people remained encamped on the Texas border Saturday after crossing from Mexico. Scores of people waded back and forth across the Rio Grande on Saturday afternoon, re-entering Mexico to purchase water, food and diapers in Ciudad Acuña before returning to the Texas encampment under and near a bridge in the border city of Del Rio. Junior Jean, a 32-year-old man from Haiti, watched as people cautiously carried cases of water or bags of food through the knee-high river water. Jean said he lived on the streets in Chile the past four years, resigned to searching for food in garbage cans. “We are all looking for a better life,” he said.

Three Weeks After Hurricane Ida, Parts of Southeast Louisiana Are Still Dark (NYT) For Tiffany Brown, the drive home from New Orleans begins as usual: She can see the lights on in the city’s central business district and people gathering in bars and restaurants. But as she drives west along Interstate 10, signs of Hurricane Ida’s destruction emerge. Trees with missing limbs fill the swamp on either side of the highway. With each passing mile, more blue tarps appear on rooftops, and more electric poles lay fallen by the road, some snapped in half. By the time Ms. Brown gets to her exit in Destrehan 30 minutes later, the lights illuminating the highway have disappeared, and another night of total darkness has fallen on her suburban subdivision. For Ms. Brown, who works as an office manager at a pediatric clinic, life at work can feel nearly normal. But at home, with no electricity, it is anything but. “I keep hoping every day that I’m going to go home and it’ll be on,” she said. Three weeks have passed since Hurricane Ida knocked down electric wires, poles and transmission towers serving more than one million people in southeast Louisiana. In New Orleans, power was almost entirely restored by Sept. 10, and businesses and schools have reopened. But outside the city, more than 100,000 customers were without lights through Sept. 13. As of Friday evening there were still about 38,000 customers without power, and many people remained displaced from damaged homes.

Favela centennial shows Brazil communities’ endurance (AP) Dozens of children lined up at a community center in Sao Paulo for a slice of creamy, blue cake. None was celebrating a birthday; their poor neighborhood, the favela of Paraisopolis, was commemorating 100 years of existence. “People started coming (to the city) for construction jobs and settled in,” community leader Gilson Rodrigues said. “There was no planning, not even streets. People started growing crops. It was all disorganized. Authorities didn’t do much, so we learned to organize ourselves.” The favela’s centennial, which was marked on Thursday, underscores the permanence of its roots and of other communities like it, even as Brazilians in wealthier parts of town often view them as temporary and precarious. Favelas struggle to shed that stigma as they defy simple definition, not least because they evolved over decades. Paraisopolis is Sao Paulo’s second-biggest favela, home to 43,000 people, according to the most-recent census, in 2010. Recent, unofficial counts put its population around 100,000.

The barbecue king: British royals praise Philip’s deft touch (AP) When Prince Philip died nearly six months ago at 99, the tributes poured in from far and wide, praising him for his supportive role at the side of Queen Elizabeth II over her near 70-year reign. Now, it has emerged that Philip had another crucial role within the royal family. He was the family’s barbecue king—perhaps testament to his Greek heritage. “He adored barbecuing and he turned that into an interesting art form,” his oldest son Prince Charles said in a BBC tribute program that will be broadcast on Wednesday. “And if I ever tried to do it he ... I could never get the fire to light or something ghastly, so (he’d say): ‘Go away!’” In excerpts of ‘Prince Philip: The Royal Family Remembers’ released late Saturday, members of the royal family spoke admiringly of the late Duke of Edinburgh’s barbecuing skills. “Every barbecue that I’ve ever been on, the Duke of Edinburgh has been there cooking,” said Prince William, Philip’s oldest grandson. “He’s definitely a dab hand at the barbecue ... I can safely say there’s never been a case of food poisoning in the family that’s attributed to the Duke of Edinburgh.” The program, which was filmed before and after Philip’s death on April 9, was originally conceived to mark his 100th birthday in June.

Relations between France and the U.S. have sunk to their lowest level in decades. (NYT) The U.S. and Australia went to extraordinary lengths to keep Paris in the dark as they secretly negotiated a plan to build nuclear submarines, scuttling a defense contract worth at least $60 billion. President Emmanuel Macron of France was so enraged that he recalled the country’s ambassadors to both nations. Australia approached the new administration soon after President Biden’s inauguration. The conventionally powered French subs, the Australians feared, would be obsolete by the time they were delivered. The Biden administration, bent on containing China, saw the deal as a way to cement ties with a Pacific ally. But the unlikely winner is Britain, who played an early role in brokering the alliance. For its prime minister, Boris Johnson, who will meet this coming week with Biden at the White House and speak at the U.N., it is his first tangible victory in a campaign to make post-Brexit Britain a player on the global stage.

Hong Kong’s first ‘patriots-only’ election kicks off (Reuters) Fewer than 5,000 Hong Kong people from mostly pro-establishment circles began voting on Sunday for candidates to an election committee, vetted as loyal to Beijing, who will pick the city’s next China-backed leader and some of its legislature. Pro-democracy candidates are nearly absent from Hong Kong’s first election since Beijing overhauled the city’s electoral system to ensure that “only patriots” rule China’s freest city. The election committee will select 40 seats in the revamped Legislative Council in December, and choose a chief executive in March. Changes to the political system are the latest in a string of moves—including a national security law that punishes anything Beijing deems as subversion, secession, terrorism or collusion with foreign forces—that have placed the international financial hub on an authoritarian path. Most prominent democratic activists and politicians are now in jail or have fled abroad.

The Remote-Control Killing Machine (Politico/NYT) For 14 years, Israel wanted to kill Iran’s top nuclear scientist. Then they came up with a way to do it while using a trained sniper who was more than 1,000 miles away—and fired remotely. It was also the debut test of a high-tech, computerized sharpshooter kitted out with artificial intelligence and multiple-camera eyes, operated via satellite and capable of firing 600 rounds a minute. The souped-up, remote-controlled machine gun now joins the combat drone in the arsenal of high-tech weapons for remote targeted killing. But unlike a drone, the robotic machine gun draws no attention in the sky, where a drone could be shot down, and can be situated anywhere, qualities likely to reshape the worlds of security and espionage.

Israeli army arrests last 2 of 6 Palestinian prison escapees (AP) Israeli forces on Sunday arrested the last two of six Palestinian prisoners who escaped a maximum-security Israeli prison two weeks ago, closing an intense, embarrassing episode that exposed deep security flaws in Israel and turned the fugitives into Palestinian heroes. The Israeli military said the two men surrendered in Jenin, their hometown in the occupied West Bank, after they were surrounded at a hideout that had been located with the help of “accurate intelligence.” The prisoners all managed to tunnel out of a maximum-security prison in northern Israel on Sept. 6. The bold escape dominated newscasts for days and sparked heavy criticism of Israel’s prison service. According to various reports, the men dug a hole in the floor of their shared cell undetected over several months and managed to slip past a sleeping prison guard after emerging through a hole outside the facility. Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza Strip have celebrated the escape and held demonstrations in support of the prisoners. Taking part in attacks against the Israeli military or even civilians is a source of pride for many Palestinians, who view it as legitimate resistance to military occupation.

Jaw-dropping moments in WSJ's bombshell Facebook investigation (CNN Business) This week the Wall Street Journal released a series of scathing articles about Facebook, citing leaked internal documents that detail in remarkably frank terms how the company is not only well aware of its platforms’ negative effects on users but also how it has repeatedly failed to address them. Here are some of the more jaw-dropping moments from the Journal’s series. In the Journal’s report on Instagram’s impact on teens, it cites Facebook’s own researchers’ slide deck, stating the app harms mental health. “We make body image issues worse for one in three teen girls,” said one slide from 2019, according to the WSJ. Another reads: “Teens blame Instagram for increases in the rate of anxiety and depression ... This reaction was unprompted and consistent across all groups.” In 2018, Facebook CEO Mark Zuckerberg said a change in Facebook’s algorithm was intended to improve interactions among friends and family and reduce the amount of professionally produced content in their feeds. But according to the documents published by the Journal, staffers warned the change was having the opposite effect: Facebook was becoming an angrier place. A team of data scientists put it bluntly: “Misinformation, toxicity and violent content are inordinately prevalent among reshares,” they said, according to the Journal’s report.

#headlines #news

3 notes · View notes

xiaomoxu · 4 years ago

Text

MLQC CN Lucien (Xu Mo) Nostalgia Date

SPOILER AHEAD!!

PART 1

MC: Sweet and sour short ribs, black pepper beef tenderloin, boiled cabbage soup are also cooked, complete!

I checked the recipes in the phone while checking the dishes in the bento box.

Recently, Xu Mo's research institute was working on a new project, and he stayed in the research institute for several days and did not go home.

I studied several new dishes in my spare time, but I never had the opportunity to try it with him.

So I took advantage of the rest day to cook and made a bento. Of course, I was able to see him out of selfishness.

I happily took a few certified photos of Bento, and marked “Professor Xu’s Love Bento” on the photos in a beloved font.

When I was about to go out, I received a text message. When I opened it, I saw that Xu Mo had sent it to an unfamiliar address.

MC: ?

Was it the wrong message? I dialed Xu Mo's phone with doubts.

Xu Mo: Did you receive the address?

MC: Yes. Where is this?

Xu Mo: This is where I am now.

Xu Mo: I guess you will come to me for lunch.

MC: ?

MC: How did you know?

Xu Mo: Because...

Xu Mo: Black pepper beef tenderloin, sweet and sour short ribs, boiled cabbage heart.

MC: ...Xu Mo! Are you working on a mind reading project?

His light laughter came from the other side.

Xu Mo: This project sounds very interesting, but you seem to forget my research field is brain science.

Xu Mo: If you want to know the answer, you can open the photo album now.

When I hung up the phone, I opened the phone album in a busy time, and a buffering icon appeared in the middle of the screen.

After a few seconds, my album was automatically updated with a photo I had never seen before.

The photo shows an exclusive courtyard with wooden log door frames and a red brick wall. At the foot of the wall, a row of old-fashioned labor tools are displayed.

In the middle of the yard is parked a 28-brand bicycle, and the simple wind of the 1970s blows across.

Under the noon sunlight, a person's shadow was reflected on the wall. I almost recognized it at a glance. It was Xu Mo.

"Ding", the phone received another text message.

Xu Mo: Do you know the answer now?

PART 2

After Xu Mo's reminder, I finally realized that there was a problem with my mobile phone last week, and I needed to verify with another cloud account.

So I temporarily borrowed Xu Mo's account. After the account was restored, I forgot to log out.

In other words, during this period, our mobile phone uses the same cloud account, and the album is also in a shared state.

MC: Isn't it...

On the way to the exclusive courtyard with my lunch box, I asked myself for my carelessness in my heart, and repeatedly checked the "stock" in the album.

Xu Mo must have seen the recipe that I kept in the photo album, and the certified lunch photos taken before the release were not spared.

I sighed, tapped my brain a little, and suddenly reacted.

If our mobile phones have been shared for more than a week, does that mean that all the photos I took this week

I quickly sent a text message to Xu Mo.

MC: Xu Mo, have you seen any other photos in the album?

Xu Mo: For example?

MC: For example, something that impresses you...

Xu Mo: Are you saying that the subject is my photo?

My fingers flicked subconsciously, and Xu Mo's new reply popped up on the screen.

Xu Mo: I forgot to say that next time you can take the photo openly, so that I can take more poses with you.

really!!

I usually secretly took photos of him reading books and doing experiments, and he saw them all!

This crafty man!

When I arrived at the alley where the small courtyard was located, I saw Xu Mo standing at the door of the courtyard waiting for me from a distance. I quickly waved to him.

MC: Xu Mo, is this research difficult? Did you not eat well again?

Xu Mo took the bento in my hand and looked at me with a concerned look, and his narrow eyes were bent.

Xu Mo: It won't be difficult.

Xu Mo: As for whether to eat well...

Xu Mo: If the standard is this bento, then I really can't claim to have a good meal.

He took my hand and led me through the door.

When I stood in the courtyard, the sense of precipitation of the years became stronger.

MC: By the way, Xu Mo, why are you in this place? Is it related to research?

Xu Mo: Well, this research project will be clinical trial here.

MC: This is actually a new research base?

Xu Mo: To be precise, it is a temporary research base.

MC: What about the others in the institute?

Xu Mo: The study will officially start tomorrow, and today we will give them a day off.

MC: It turned out to be so, but how could the research base be chosen in such a yard with a sense of age?

Xu Mo did not answer. He took me to sit down at the square table in the courtyard.

Xu Mo: Based on my understanding of you, after I answer your question, your curiosity will raise more questions.

Xu Mo: So before this heart-filled bento cools down, let's eat first.

Xu Mo: After this, I will show you a good tour.

PART 3

After supervising Xu Mo ate the lunch, he took my hand and walked into the second floor of the courtyard.

The style of the building is consistent with that of the courtyard, and it is even more difficult to tell what era I am in now.

The green leather wall is painted with "work hard" with four big red characters, and the dark gray fur has a light cement smell.

The three classic furniture pieces restore the old texture and the rest of the daily necessities also exude a strong sense of age.

Xu Mo: how do you feel?

MC: Although I haven't experienced that era, it seems to have really gone back to the past.

Xu Mo: The research institute spent a lot of time restoring this place to what it looked like in the 70s.

MC: What you said is even more curious to me. What kind of research is it that you need to construct a venue like this?

Xu Mo: It is a study on the healthy brain of the elderly. For the elderly who suffer from Alzheimer's disease, or who have hidden risks of the disease, perform clinical observations.

MC: I heard that there is no effective medicine and treatment for this disease, is it true?

Xu Mo: Well, Alzheimer's disease can be said to be a serious challenge facing modern brain science research.

Xu Mo: Even this research can only focus on early intervention before the disease, while observing the quantity and quality of brain cells.

MC: So why do you want to restore this place to the 70s?

Xu Mo: If the brain of the elderly is often stagnant, the brain will easily degenerate.

Xu Mo: Recalling the deep things in your own impression can stimulate the vitality of your brain.

Xu Mo: The most impressive experiences of the elderly who will be staying here are concentrated in the 70s, which is the most meaningful time in their lives.

Xu Mo: It is the basis of this research project to stimulate their brains in a familiar environment.

MC: Use memories to wake up the brain and prevent them from getting sick... That's it.

MC: It would be great if more people could know this method.

I looked around and suddenly a flash of inspiration.

MC: Xu Mo! Can I use the lens to record this research?

MC: This can attract more resources to invest in.

Xu Mo didn't speak, and there was a little smile in his eyes when he looked at me.

Realizing that my request was a bit abrupt, I quickly changed the subject.

MC: It doesn't matter if it can't, after all, it involves the confidentiality of research.

MC: But our memories can be recorded with the lens. In this way, when we are old, we have more memory material.

He is still silent, but the smile on his face is deeper,

MC: What's wrong? Did I say something wrong?

Xu Mo: No. If you want to shoot, I can ask the patient's family for their opinions.

Xu Mo: I think they will agree, because what you want to do is also very meaningful.

MC: I thought you would think that my ideas are too bad.

Xu Mo: I'm just happy.

Xu Mo: It turns out that you have planned so far for our future.

After visiting the entire two-story building, Xu Mo took me to the backyard again. In the middle of the backyard was a dense wisteria frame.

There was a breeze in the early autumn afternoon, and the sun overhead was also swept away most of the hot temperature.

The backyard shrouded by wisteria is concealed in a shade of shady vines swaying leisurely in the air, making it particularly cozy.

Obviously this is my first time here, but I inexplicably feel a sense of familiarity (deja vu)

Xu Mo: What are you thinking?

MC: ....It’s weird to say it, but for a moment I felt that this scene seemed familiar.

Xu Mo followed my line of sight and looked at the piece of Wisteria.

Xu Mo: On the scientific level, you have a visual experience.

Xu Mo: But I have a more romantic explanation here--maybe our soul ran out in a dream, and then we met in a yard in the 70s.

He turned his head to look at me, a deep pool of water hidden in his dark eyes.

Xu Mo: Maybe they were there and spent a peaceful life.

His tone was calm and determined, and his words fell in my heart.

MC: Xu, Xu Mo, you lied to me seriously again...

Xu Mo didn't seem to care about my dismantling, there was still light in his eyes.

Xu Mo: If you doesn't believe it, would you like to try it?

MC: try what?

Xu Mo: Had a peaceful dream in the yard of the 70s.

MC: Like our souls, spend a lifetime in a dream?

As expected, I subconsciously believed Xu Mo's words, but the instigator smiled and nodded.

Xu Mo: "Life" is a subjective term. How long a life is is up to you to feel and decide.

Xu Mo: So as long as you want, we can spend our "life" here.

Perhaps I was moved by Xu Mo's romantic theory, or because I hadn't seen him for a long time, I eagerly agreed with this proposal.

MC: Now that you are going to live a slow life in the 70s, let's be more involved!

I took out the headphones and mobile phone and placed them on the stone table in the backyard.

MC: Ask Professor Xu to confiscate these modern contraband.

Xu Mo nodded clearly, and took out the phone as I did.

Xu Mo: It seems we have to find something to seal them in the "future".

He said that he found a wooden box and put all our electronic products in it. Then turned around and reached out to me.

Xu Mo: Welcome to the seventies, little girl.

PART 4

After autumn, the weak and feeble sunlight shone into the window crookedly, like a silhouette painting for us.

And we don't have the mind to appreciate it carefully, we are devoted to the time being slowed down.

Xu Mo seemed to be prepared, and the activities proposed were endless.

He taught me how to light a kerosene lamp and took me to try an old-fashioned sewing machine.

We played the fans leisurely together and listened to the squeaking and squeaking of Suzhou Pingtan on the radio.

Time seems to have really slowed down for us, obviously we have done a lot of things, but the sun outside the window is still mild and bright

After listening to a pingtan, I eagerly looked at Xu Mo

MC: Xu Mo, what shall we do next?

Xu Mo: Is there anything you want to do?

MC: May I decide?

Xu Mo: Yep.I also want to know what you think of a slow life.

MC: um, I...Can't think of it for a while.

Xu Mo: It’s okay, just let it go. Rather than using your brain to think about what to do, it’s better to leave your feelings to your heart.

Xu Mo: The deliberate content does not necessarily conform to the meaning of slow life, the current feeling is the most important.

MC: Then sit on a recliner to enjoy the sun? But is it too plain?

Xu Mo: I think this is a good idea.

After getting Xu Mo's affirmative answer, I also fantasize about me and Xu Mo persevered in the sun together.

But soon my illusion was disillusioned, because we searched the entire yard and found that there was only one recliner.

Xu Mo and I stood under the wisteria frame in the backyard, looking at the narrow lounge chair in front of us.

MC: So... why don't you lie down for a while? Let's take a turns?

The moment I blurted it out, I felt like I had said something silly. I blushed and was about to fight for myself, but he reached out and pulled me into his arms.

Before I knew what he was going to do, Xu Mo grabbed my back waist and gently closed it, and the warm breath of each other instantly intertwined.

Before I could speak with his deep eyes, the center of gravity suddenly fell into a soft embrace.

My gaze moved down slightly, and I found that we were sitting on the recliner at this time, and my legs encircled his body without knowing when.

The large motion shook the recliner, and he shook it slightly. I couldn't find the center of gravity for a while, and subconsciously hooked Xu Mo's neck.

MC: Xu... Xu Mo?!

I struggled to stand up, but Xu Mo released the hands that were fixed to my waist, and I had to tighten the hands around his neck.

There was a warm breath between the bodies close to each other, and the scorching sensation reminded me of the hydrogen above the asphalt road in summer.

Xu Mo: It's boring to be alone in the sun, I think two people will be better.

MC: There is nothing boring in the sun...

Fearing that it would make him uncomfortable, I held on to myself, not to let myself collapse on him.

Xu Mo: You can relax a little. This chair is enough to carry the weight of the two of us.

MC: I, I am very relaxed.

Xu Mo: Is it...

I heard his low and dull noise in my ears, and I hung my head even more flushed.

He stretched out his hand, pressed the knuckles of his right hand against my chin and gently lifted it up,

The next second, a soft and light kiss fell on my lips

I instinctively closed my eyes, and in the sweet silence, I could only hear the buzzing tinnitus in my head.

Although it was only a soft kiss like a dragonfly, time seemed to slow down for this kiss. When we were separated again, it seemed that we had really spent a lifetime.

Xu Mo: I can be sure that you are really relaxed now.

When I blushed and didn't know how to react, Xu Mo's cell phone rang in the wooden box.

As if I had caught a life-saving straw, a carp stood up and rushed into the room, and his laughter came from behind.

MC: Answer the phone quickly! I'll go to the bathroom!

Xu Mo: I know, I'll go back soon.

When I came out of the bathroom, Xu Mo's call was just ended. He saw me coming and waved his mobile phone apologetically at me.

Xu Mo: Sorry. There was a problem with the preparation of the institute, and I needed to return to the institute to discuss it together.

MC: It's okay, you have been with me all afternoon. I'm already very satisfied.

After returning everything in the yard to its original position, I reluctantly took Xu Mo's arm and prepared to leave with him from here.

After spending a day with Xu Mo in the exclusive courtyard, I even felt a little bit reluctant for this place.

Perhaps after seeing through my mood, Xu Mo stopped walking.

Xu Mo: Maybe we can slow down our departure.

Following his gaze, my gaze fell on the 28 bicycle in the middle of the yard.

MC: You mean, can we ride this?

Xu is: It doesn't matter, I can find someone to send it back tomorrow.

Xu Mo stepped forward and patted the horizontal bar in front of the bicycle.

Xu Mo: But this time I still have to feel wronged by you sitting here

I couldn't help but think of our experience of cycling in Canada. At that time, I was anxious to ride the bike firmly, but my hands and feet were frizzy.

Xu Mo: Want to revisit it?

Xu Mo supported the handlebars and the body, his slender and powerful arms supported the bicycle steadily.

I nodded, holding his arm firmly into the "seat"

MC: I won't be as anxious today as I was that time.

After confirming that I was sitting firmly, Xu Mo also stepped on it. He held up his hand and wrapped me in his arms, and there was a reassuring warmth from my back.

MC: Because... I hope this road can be longer.

The white crescent moon took over the setting sun early, and the sunset was like peach-flavored soft candy.

In a busy city, Xu Mo and I were riding a two-eight bicycle that was out of place. The diagonal red stretched our shadows very long.

Accompanied by the two shadows, they swayed towards the next tomorrow.

#mlqc translation #mlqc xu mo #mlqc lucien #mlqc spoilers #cn server #nostalgia date #Lucien #xu mo

39 notes · View notes

19mrs-barnes17 · 5 years ago

Text

Wrong Turn

Summary: You’re a hunter arrested by S.H.I.E.L.D. due to a misunderstanding, now you would have to prove your innocence.

Part: 1/3

Pairing: Dean Winchester x reader

Warnings: mentions of death

Word count: 2,242

A/N: Something I worked on to keep myself less stressed with all the work I have to get done. Enjoy!

The cool metal pressed against the flesh of your wrists, tugging and rubbing at the skin uncomfortably with every movement. This was officially the most difficult bind you had ever had to get yourself out of and there wasn’t much of a good idea in your head. Between the heavily guarded facility and the grade A pat down, you were running low on options. Even if you could get the bobby pin from your hair there was still the matter of escaping the interrogation room of a government intelligence agency. Sincerely, your ass was absolutely screwed with no chance of rescue. Any attempt would be idiocy, the best you could hope for was to be transferred somewhere accessible.

Stray strands of hair, too short to be contained, began to slide into view as you lowered your head into your hands. This was going to be a long month, you just knew they would keep you for ages but you wouldn’t give up a thing. Torture was not really a concern of yours. The vents were far too small to fit you. You had been poked and prodded plenty. The glass is probably shatter proof. Most likely the worst part was going to be the monotonous and repetitive questioning. Perhaps if you got a hostage you could make your way to an exit. They may leave you alone a while in an attempt to drive you mad through isolation. A hostage is too dangerous and no certainty you would even make it a foot past the door before being surrounded. They’ll probably send some lower level agent to do the interrogation, no way you were high enough for an Avenger or anyone of importance. God you would kill to have a brain like Sherlock in a moment like this, though if you did you wouldn’t have gotten caught.

No words, the man entered, slapped a typical manilla folder on the table, and sat down in the chair across from you. All this you saw through your hair as you lifted your head, shaking it to clear your field of vision. He wasn’t very impressive in his build, but then again you’ve seen a woman who looked like she had a foot in the grave toss a 180 pound man through a wall, so who were you to say. So far his silent tactic was already worse than him tossing questions at you, but you had seen Good Will Hunting, you knew what he was doing and you wouldn’t crack.

You wanted to say hours ticked by, the hand of the clock moving so slowly time almost seemed as though it were at a standstill. However, there was no clock. Time either flew by or it moved sluggishly, either way you could have cared less. This was simply the beginning so if you could get used to time no longer existing, the better of you would be. It was only a social construct anyhow.

“I see you’re not much of a talker Ms… Y/LN.” His gaze scanned you as if he didn’t see what all the fuss was about, his facial expression growing difficult to actually gauge. The happy go lucky act didn’t really convince you, seemed more like a cheap trick to make himself appealing. “You can go ahead and drop the cuffs, I know you picked them 17 minutes ago.”

The clank of the cuffs seemed so loud in the deadly silent room, and yet neither of you flinched an inch. As you rubbed your wrists gently the man finally opened the manila folder, his fingers lifted pages until his eyes found what they were looking for.

“My name’s Phil Coulson by the way. I know you don’t care, but at least this way you have a name to curse at while you sit there silently staring a whole through my head.” He smiled softly, eyes moving back to the file with a certain flicker of curiosity occasionally popping in. “You’ve got quite the record here: parents dead at 12, taken in by a drunk uncle, arrested for grave robbery at 14, assault of an officer at 15, served two years in juvie before disappearing for 8 years, and then popped back up at 25 with a murder charge before disappearing again. Now here you are, sitting in a S.H.I.E.L.D. interrogation room because one of our agents came across you shooting something they couldn’t quite explain.

“Oh, and we have the body as well as your DNA all over the murder weapon. And yet you sit here, not in a police station, because a man I have known for 6 years claims that he saw the woman you shot transform into an exact replica of you before his eyes. Now, we would have typically written this off as some sort of psychotic break… if not for the fact that the victim looks remarkably identical to you. Down to the DNA, Ms. Y/LN. But there is no record of you having an identical twin sister or any sibling for that matter.” The man let the folder slip from his fingers and shut itself on the table. “Did I miss anything?”

You arched a brow at the agent, leaning back into the chair with your arms crossed, a shrug manifesting from nowhere. Phil seemed pleased to receive even this tiny gesture and you were mentally kicking yourself for cracking in the slightest.

“A shrug, that’s progress.” He smirked at you with the strangest look in his eyes, as if he knew he’d crack you in the first go. As a result you stared at the wall until he bid you farewell, it only took a few minutes at most before your cuffs were replaced. The first of your many bobby pins was confiscated and then an escort shoved you to a cell.

Days passed with the same level of excitement filling them, questions came rarely from Phil Coulson and it perplexed you. His strategy almost seemed like he wanted to gain your trust rather than interrogate you. None of this was what you expected the agency’s interrogation tactics to look like. They never bribed you with good food or promise of television or a book, only ever giving you the same sandwich and water every day. Twice.

Sure the isolation bugged the hell out of you, but you had spent so much time alone on the road that it didn’t really feel all that different. What actually drove you mad was having to sit through that agent telling stories the entire time of your questioning. Every day you heard what you assumed to be figments of his imagination, and boy did they compel you to speak. You almost held your silence for two weeks, Phil was impressed. But you cracked again, so you only allowed yourself snarky comments and bullshit. Anything close to a real answer was out of the question.

“I’m telling you, totally died for like two days. True story.”

“Yeah? I know a guy who died for six whole months. What else ya got?” Phil quirked a brow and made a strange face before shaking his head.

“I’ve saved the world a few times.”

“Join the club, we have cupcakes.”

Eventually enough time passed that management was less than pleased with the lack of useful information gathered. So today, instead of the slightly-growing-on-you-like-a-weird-uncle Phil Coulson, a man you had read about in history books sat before you. And yes he smelled like freedom, if freedom smelled like a Macy’s cologne and kind of musky. The strangest part was how compelling his disappointment was, almost made you sing like a canary a few times.

With Mr. America now in place, every interrogation was exactly how you pictured it on your ride here. Well, minus the torture. You were quite shocked at how civilized they all acted and how they never seemed keen on raising a hand to you. Sure the impression that they were different had come from years of television and monsters acting to the contrary, but it still caught you off guard. This didn’t mean they were Ellen DeGeneres kind, but they weren’t like that shifter who held you for a whole day before you came to and got loose.

Today was different. Usually the man walked in, twisted round the chair and sat, but not on this particular day. No he seemed unusually upset, not in a fit throwing way but in a ‘I’m going to stare impatiently at you and huff a lot’ sort of way. It was strange to see a man you had once considered your childhood hero look at you with such displeasure. This entire situation seemed to be getting on his nerves, and quite frankly you had been tired of it from the moment that agent tasered you. He watched as you pulled a bobby pin from your hair, your very last one that you had saved for an escape attempt that you now felt was never coming, and picked the lock of your cuffs with ease. When he moved to undo what you had done you stood and he froze, waiting for you to make a move but was baffled at what you did do.

“When my parents died and my uncle Bobby took me in, I was unreachable. He thought I was never going to come out of the dark hole that I had crawled into. But when I heard the sound of one of your weird film segments, the ones where you were in a white room and you do that thing you do every day where you flip the chair around and look disappointed.” He furrowed his brow, moved his chair so he could see you as you lie on the floor and stare up at the ceiling. “Well when my depressed 12 year old self heard your voice telling me it was going to be okay… heh, I guess I naively believed it. I was still never the same, but who would be after being orphaned because a monster decided your parents were the perfect dinner.”

You turned your head to the side, eyes trailing up to those world famous blue eyes that stared at you with uncertainty. He made no move to interrupt you and so you went on, eyes remaining on his.

“Some things you just can’t unsee, and no hero in a colorful outfit can restore what was stolen from me that night. Not my parents nor my childhood. I got 12 years before I had to punch my card and grow up.” His eyes almost looked as though they had a hint of sadness in them, but you ignored this trick of the eyes and returned your gaze to the ceiling. “I began to learn about what killed my parents and the things that go bump in the night. My uncle Bobby helped me safely navigate my new reality, even tried to stop me from hunting. I’m a stubborn woman however, so he had no choice but to teach me the ropes and train me. He said and I quote, ‘If you’re going to do something stupid, you might as well be smart about it’. That was before I lost him too.”

“You’ve lost a lot of people, but you’ve killed just as many.” He leaned forward in his seat, elbows resting on his thighs as his hands clasped together. “This isn’t going to change anything, I still need to know the truth.”

“You want the truth, you have to go through the mud to find it. And yes I’ve lost people, but you get used to that in this life. None of us expect to survive very long, and no one ever successfully leaves the life. Most hunt alone, like me, it’s easier to not allow attachment.”

“Sounds like a lonely life.”

“The price for other’s safety is always high. I’d have thought you of all people would know that Captain.” You sigh, sitting up and crossing your legs. “Are you letting me sit on this dirty floor because I’m giving you information?”

“Yes.”

“Is it unreasonable to bargain for a better chair?”

“Yes.”

“Ouch. Dirty floor it is.”

“The floor is not filthy.”

“Oh, yeah? When’s the last time it was cleaned?” He shrugged and you were almost compelled to get up from the floor, likely crawling with bacteria, but it was too late and you were far too lazy to move. “Guess it's my home now.”

“Would you please stop talking about the floor and continue?”

On it went, for an unknown amount of time you sat on the very likely dirty floor and told Captain America about your life. From your first hunt all the way to the job that got you caught. It was the therapy session you had expected, and he certainly didn’t seem to believe you when you finished, but it was done and so were you. After he placed your handcuffs on you and confiscated your last bobby pin you were sent back to your cell, no further words.

“Prove it.” The first words you had heard after a day of solitude and they made absolutely zero sense to your tired brain. Sluggishly sitting up in your bed your brows furrowed and eyes narrowed at the man behind the door.

“I’m sorry our psychic link seems to be malfunctioning. What am I proving on this fine… morning? Afternoon?”

“Your innocence.”

Tags: @qtmeryr @broken-hearted-barnes @asphalt-cocktail @gstran18 @cantnkrusshedevil

#marvel #supernatural #dean winchester #steve rogers #bucky barnes #phil coulson #dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #SuperMarvel crossover

86 notes · View notes

emiefaunwrites · 4 years ago

Note

helloooo, it's that one anon again with another song request/challenge thing. same prompt as my last ask but with the sing grow as we go by ben platt, please? also a random question: what are your thoughts on listening to classical music or like music that doesn't have words?

Hello again! Sorry it’s taken so long with this one - I wasn’t on my laptop at all yesterday and only had one or two chances to listen to the song and I wanted to do a good job!

I’ll answer your random question first before I go into what I wrote. The short answer is yes, I listen to classical/wordless music. I like a song to tell me a story as I listen to it and I have a few wordless songs in my D&D playlist for my OC. So long as I feel an emotion when I listen to a song, I don’t really mind if it has words or not!

And now for Grow As We Go. Well. This is a song, huh? It’s so freaking lovely! Another one I would never have thought to listen to without you, anon, and has made it into both my D&D playlist and my Broken Arrow playlist (yes, songs go into multiple playlists for me!)

So with this, I could have made it heartbreaking because the song is quite sad. But I decided against it and went with something more...uplifting, I guess? And yeah, I went nearly 2K (I just can’t do snippets I’m so sorry...) and I stuck with Ishileon for this because I could imagine Leon singing it to Taka. And this has taken me 4 hours to write...non stop. Haaaa...

I hope you like this, and please do send me more and more songs. I LOVE this challenge and find it so interesting to write this way.

The cool evening air wisps around Kiyotaka as he looks out over the horizon. Here, above what seems like the rest of the world, he has never felt more at ease. Never felt more comfortable in a place he never thought he would ever wind up. Because in every vision he ever had of his future, he never saw himself in the American wilderness.

He had always had a plan; get himself through school, then college, then university. Get himself into politics. Build up his reputation and popularity. Show the world that the Ishimaru’s are not the monsters that they’ve been portrayed to be and become the best Prime Minister that Japan has ever seen.

For the longest of times, Kiyotaka was fully invested in this plan. The backlash of his grandfather’s downfall has weighed heavily on his parents for as long as he can remember. Their name dragged through the mud, the innocent victims of merciless mockery, working round the clock as a policeman or a midwife just to make ends meet and do what’s best for their son.

So of course, he wanted to give back to them. He promised, back at the tender age of six when he heard his mother crying one night after Prime Minister Ishimaru fell from glory, that he would do what his grandfather could not. He stomped down the stairs and shocked his parents with the announcement, giving up any chance at a normal childhood right there and then.

And it was worth it. He made sure it was worth it. Sure, he had no friends. Sure, he was bullied relentlessly. Sure, he came home battered and bruised a few times a month. But it was worth it because he knew that he would be his family’s saviour in the end.

But things started to change when he started Hope’s Peak.

It wasn’t a big change. Not at first. It started off with friendships. With Mondo and Chihiro, Makoto and Hina, Hiro and Hifumi. People who seemed to see past his name, past his constructed personality, and tap into the real boy. And he found himself having fun for the first time in nearly a lifetime.

And then Leon Kuwata entered his life.

He’d always been on the side-lines, a constant background noise that Kiyotaka admittedly gave very little attention. For the first year and a half of being his classmate, Leon spent his time chasing girls and living it large. Kiyotaka would often head to get himself a glass of water in the night only to see the boy be carried back to his room, blind drunk in the arms of Hiro or Mondo or whatever upperclassman he happened to befriend that day. He seemed to have no regards for his education, his health, or anything whatsoever and that irritated Kiyotaka beyond belief.

It wasn’t until Kiyotaka stumbled across the boy in the toilets one lunchtime, huddled into the furthest stall and crying into his arms, that the real changes started. For the first time, he saw the redhead for who he truly was; a frightened young boy that had built a reputation for himself that was becoming harder and harder to maintain. And Kiyotaka had just happened to stumble on what was one of many moments of weakness that had plagued the boy ever since he set foot in this school.

The two became inseparable in a matter of weeks. Kiyotaka vowed to be Leon’s confidante whilst Leon promised to calm himself down and start taking his life seriously. And he did really well. It was inevitably that he would slip up every now and again because old habits are hard to break. But Kiyotaka would never judge him, would never scold him; only hold him close as he sobbed and promised it would never happen again.

Their first kiss wasn’t exactly planned. Nor was it the most appropriate, Kiyotaka has to admit to himself when he looks back at it. Leon had relapsed after a rough day and gotten blind drunk, calling Kiyotaka in a panic when his senses kicked in, sobbing in his arms and begging his forgiveness. And as normal, Kiyotaka had held him, offered gentle words of comfort, running his fingers through the boy’s hair.

And then he kissed him.

He would like to blame it on the way the moonlight hit Leon’s flushed cheeks that evening. Or maybe how his eyes sparkled like glitter as he finally stared up at him with a wet smile. He’d also like to think that Leon made the first move; that when he leant forward to nuzzle against his nose it was a silent invitation. But in all honesty, none of those were to blame. Kiyotaka had already fallen for Leon long before that night and even though the boy had melted into his embrace the second their lips met, Kiyotaka knew that he had completely taken advantage of his drunkenness and acted on his own accord.

The I like you that followed was disregarded as intoxication. Kiyotaka made sure he stored that away in a locked box in his heart, never to reopen. Although a few days later, it was smashed into pieces as Leon initiated the follow up kiss halfway through their study session and out of seemingly nowhere. Red cheeks and flustered apologies, a heart-to-heart and more I like you’s. And then a promise never to let go followed by soft touches and passionate kisses.

And they didn’t. They stuck together through school and graduation, through college and graduation, through the application to university to study politics. Leon stood by him every step of the way; as his biggest cheerleader, his shoulder to cry on when things got tough, with unconditional love and a heart of gold. They were happy, happier than they’d ever been, and would have been content carrying on as they were for the rest of their lives.

But it was Kiyotaka who changed.

Sat in his politic lecture one afternoon, something shifted in Kiyotaka’s mind. As he stared at the words on the screen and listened to the droning voice of his tutor, Kiyotaka realised that this wasn’t what he wanted. The plan that he’d followed for his entire life, the one that would restore his family name, crumbled in front of him like chalk into dust. And all that was left was a hole of uncertainty and endless possibilities.

He wonders to this day if he should have told his father first. After his mother had passed away, his father had put his everything into supporting Kiyotaka’s dream. So surely he should have been the first to know that things had changed. And there are days, nights when he’s lying awake and staring at the sky, where he feels a small twinge of regret at not telling him. Because he thinks that if he had, things might be different.

But those days are few and far between.

It was Leon he told first. The second the lesson was over, he went straight over to their shared apartment and told him straight: I don’t want this anymore. Politics, education, the little apartment they rented so close to the university. It all felt so wrong all in the space of a split second at 2.48pm on Thursday 3rd April.

And he needed to go. Where? He didn’t know. To do what? Also a mystery. But he just knew that he need to get away from it all and that everything needed to change.

He expected Leon to cry. To beg him to stay, tell him to reconsider giving up his dream and to stop and think just for a moment. But he didn’t. Instead he took hold of his hands and said the five most beautiful words Kiyotaka has ever heard:

Then we’ll do it together.

It wasn’t easy. Dropping out of university was harder than Kiyotaka could have ever expected. He had to give back all the fees he owed, chipping into Leon’s hard-earned income to bail them out of tough situations. There were highs and there were lows, months of living on cold beans and bread. But they made it through together.

And then Leon suggested they go to America.

As Kiyotaka was still unemployed and Leon’s salary was barely keeping them afloat, the idea was ludicrous. They were constantly rescued financially by their families, who surprisingly supported Kiyotaka’s decision to change his entire life, so how could they possibly go travelling in their position? But neither boy could deny the alluring call of a fresh start. Soul searching, Leon called it. And Kiyotaka fell for it hook, line and sinker.

After a year and a half of research, of doing odd jobs here and there to raise enough money, of buying all the gear they could possibly need, of working out and getting in shape, they knew where they were going. The Appalachian Trail; the longest trail in the world. Five to seven months of travel if they wanted to do it all in one go. And they did want to do it all in one go.

So, after getting the blessing of their families, they quit their jobs and headed off. Jetted halfway across the world with no one but each other. And they never looked back.

It’s been hard, Kiyotaka muses to himself as he gazes out at the breathtaking sights around him. Because as beautiful as the trail is, it’s also brutal. They’ve spent a lot of nights cold and hungry after misjudging how far the next campsite is. They’ve slept in poor conditions in a tent that they’ve had to replace a couple of times. They’ve stumbled across the local wildlife; sometimes a little closer to them than they felt comfortable. And they’ve had to ask their families to help them out with their finances on more occasions that either of them would have liked.

But as the night falls around them, as the orange hue of the sunset dims and the blanket of midnight blue drapes over the sky, as his gaze lands on the back of the boy in front of him, Kiyotaka knows he wouldn’t change this for the world. They’ve seen things that they never would have done back in Japan. They’ve met people from all over the world, learned valuable skills that would have been useless in their old life. They’ve done so much that Kiyotaka never thought he could ever have done and impressed himself on so many different occasions in so many different ways.

And it’s all because of Leon.

Stood on the edge of a cliff, the boy has no idea that Kiyotaka’s eyes trail down his body; outlining his relaxed posture to etch this moment permanently into his memory. His hair has grown out and only the tips are red now; the natural brunette strands pulled back into a messy pony tail. The small beard he once supported now long gone and replaced by dark stubble; caked with dirt and grime from the tiring day they’ve just had. The muscles he has always had are larger now; more toned and pronounced even when he doesn’t try.

Leon Kuwata is not the boy he fell in love with anymore. That’s undeniable given how much he’s changed. But as Kiyotaka wraps his arms around him, breathing in the scent of sweat and dirt that has become his favourite smell in the world, he knows he would give everything for the man who leans back into his touch.

“You okay, baby?”

“Hmm.”

“Ready for tomorrow?”

Who knows what tomorrow will bring? Nothing is written in the stars, nothing is set in stone. That’s what his life always used to look like; unbending, unchanging and terribly lonely. But as Kiyotaka smiles into Leon’s neck, as he presses a kiss onto the flesh and his fingers slip against the palm of his lover, he has never felt more comfortable with the unknown. Because at the end of the day…

“So long as you’re with me, I’m ready for anything.”

#kiyotaka ishimaru #leon kuwata #ishileon #danganronpa #song fic request #ask request

5 notes · View notes