#i actually sob into my hands because that means they were both destined for tragedy together and the long dark road they will walk

[lotus-pear]

whatever happens, please don’t break

[imaginativeamateur]

can you do 30 with kakashi and a fem reader pls 🥺🤲 I love your work and am so happy for you regarding your follower milestone, congrats !!

[Kakashi Hatake X Reader] The Power of Love

|200 Followers Event|

Prompt: 30 — "I mean it."

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x fem!Reader

Note: Aloha, I'm back!!! Thanks for the request and the cheers😝 Okay, this one is AHHH, the title :DD This one is very sentimental but playful at the same time. There's like some serious talk but also entertaining moments, too. Without further ado, please enjoy!

Constant requests that you get married were sent in your way for the past several months. Your parents were tired of having to wait to see you bring a man home, but you had no intention to comply. The topic would come up to the table during dinner every now and then, with your mother furrowing in her brows and your father sighing in distress. On your part, you played cool, soothing them that you just found a guy and dismissing the matter with a feigned grin.

Everything would be ordinary, much to your own liking until your parents secretly signed you up for a match-matching service. You had a big argument that night but they smugly smiled and ensured that you would fall in love with him immediately. It was ridiculous.

“You’d be head over heels in no time, Y/N,” your mother said.

“Like she knows who he is,” you mumbled, scoffing on your way back to your apartment.

Though you completely shut the door to the new romance—the guy that you presumably knew nothing about—you woke up earlier than usual, earlier than you should. You blamed it on your neighbor’s child crying but you discerned that you were being irrational. The whole situation was aberrant. You purposefully threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt that was too worn out for a first date. Still, you could not be any more careless, the last thing you wanted was to get the man to generate some form of adoration for you. You checked yourself in the mirror and made sure that you looked representable nonetheless.

The sun was already high up in the sky when you locked your door and tiredly dropped the keys into your handbag, storming to the destination with angry steps. It was your day off and you could have spent your time on something much more meaningful, training, for example. Kakashi-senpai said you still needed to hone your close combat skills. You pursed your lips at the thought of the Hatake, feeling even more enraged and annoyed. The said Shinobi was a nice guy, he was gentle and mannered with everyone but you. He treated you like his kid, bossing you around, requesting you to dig through the shelves of bookstores to find the limited edition of Icha Icha that was recently published. But you did not quit being his subordinate. Kakashi had everything that you needed to harness, from his skills to knowledge, and you would never let such a golden opportunity go wasted.

Being with him for two long years brought you many benefits and visible improvements, one of them being your patience. You were short-tempered and Kakashi was just the perfect tame to your boiling climate. The silver-haired veteran knew you were cantankerous on some days, like today, when you were having an involuntary sunbathing session, and would always be later than he usually would. Over the drenching months, you grew indifferent to his tardiness, adapted to his peculiar conscience of time, and no longer rambled when he arrived. He would come up with the most bizarre excuses to get away with it, and at first, you were furious about it, but you found them somewhat adorable now.

You smiled, wondering why you were recalling your moments with Kakashi when you were waiting for your date to come. You bit the inner side of your cheek when you realized your patience was running thin—it reminded you of your silver-haired senpai. Releasing a shaky breath, you calmed yourself down, assuring that you would apologize to the man that it was merely a misunderstanding with your parents that they signed you up for today. You rubbed the surface of the table with your fingers and let your thoughts carried you away at the moment, unconsciously drumming the rhythm of your favorite song—his favorite song that you grew accustomed to after years of the very special silver-haired occupying your day.

“You seem nervous.”

Your head perked at the unexpectedly familiar voice, “Kakashi-senpai?”

The silver-haired settled himself in the opposite seat with ease, “Good morning, Y/N.”

“What are you doing here?” You did not bother to greet him back properly due to the tremendous shock being registered into your system.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to… to,” you came to a halt, fumbling with the hem of your shirt when you found it impossible to continue. It was embarrassing.

“Blind date?” He questioned, quirking a brow.

Your cheeks heated up in modesty, unable to answer his beseech.

“That seems like a yes,” Kakashi leaned back, enjoying your flustered state, “I’m here for a blind date, too.”

“A what?”

“A blind date,” he repeated without failing to lose his composure.

It took you several seconds to comprehend the whole situation, then you shifted in your chair, propping your elbows onto the table to hide your blush, “This is such an… interesting encounter. But I won’t change my mind.”

You were fairly absolute with the plan to turn the whole thing down, despite whoever was your date, despite it being Kakashi Hatake. You did not want to risk the bond that took you so long to form with him and the trust that he enlisted you upon. You could not.

“I also came resolute,” he made a simple, yet down-to-earth statement. Kakashi caught your eyes and challenged, “What do you want to do after a coffee date?”

“No,” you jerked away, “what are you saying? Are you okay, senpai?”

“We’re on a date and you still call me senpai?”

“Look, we’re not going to do this, we can’t, Kakashi,” you tried to explain but to no avail.

The silver-haired smugly smiled, “Good, Kakashi sounds much nicer.”

“I’m not joking,” you cleared your throat and glared at him.

“Neither am I, Y/N. I mean it.”

Your lips fell apart as the coherence in your mind shattered into bits and pieces. Kakashi silently observed the fleeting expressions that you made, waiting for your response.

“I don’t know,” you stuttered. You knew who Kakashi was and the tragedy of your occupation. The two of you did not deserve anyone’s love, for once that you held the chance of breaking their heart. You looked away from his eyes to conceal the wavering of your emotions, “I never thought about life in that way. I don’t need a man in my life, that’s what I’d like to believe. I don’t want anyone to feel battered when I’m gone.”

“I hate it to see those I love cry and mourn, too,” he mumbled. You listened attentively as though it was yourself confessing to the dark. Kakashi continued, “I only live for a certain amount of time but I have been constantly filling it with despair and loneliness. There were things that I want to do and people that I want to love, but because of my fear of hurting them, I didn’t. But after the massive loss that I’ve experienced, everything was different, I understood how painful regret actually is.”

Tears began to well in your eyes the more his words dropped. You balled your fists, blinking profusely to prevent the warm droplets from escaping. Kakashi noticed your quiet sobs, running his fingers over your trembling hands, loosening your grip, and interlacing your fingers with his. You released a heavy sigh and pulled both your hands back, wiping away your tears as quickly as when they fell and dampened the fabric of your jeans.

“You’re not at the bottom of agony when you lose someone important,” Kakashi breathed, “it’s when you feel empty after they’ve left and mourning on what you could’ve done when they were still with you.”

Your sobs eventually assuaged as you chewed on his words. The silver-haired distracted himself by stirring the liquid of his drink, but he was in no state to enjoy its taste. He already said everything he wanted to say, and the decision was now fully on your shoulders. But by your lack of response, he was sure that you did not see your relationship taking another form—the way that he wished. He abruptly stood up from his seat, fleeting on his feet, “Let’s forget about what’s happened. I mean I still respect you as my teammate, Y/N. Don’t forget our meeting tomorrow.”

“No-no, Kakashi-senpai, wait,” you moved, hastily shoving your hands in his direction, gripping his wrist like a vice. You hung your head low to avoid his investigating gaze as you spoke, “I do.”

His gears in his head turned, and Kakashi smiled with satisfaction, “You do what?”

Your heart was beating frantically in your chest, so fast that you felt its rapid pumps in your throat. You stuttered out, voice growing quieter the more you expressed, “I-I want to go out with you, senpai—”

“Drop the ‘senpai’ already,” he playfully hissed and you grinned, certain that you just made the best choice of your life. Kakashi leaned down and rested his chin on your shoulder blade, snuggling his face into your neck, “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for letting me love you.”

------------------

Taglist: @dai-tsukki-desu @thenightfallingstar @iam-gaaras-loveintrest @animepickle7 @tirzamisu @rinnegankakashi

[theorynexus]

Yay, 72!~

It suddenly occurs to me that Davepeta becoming a thing might not have only been the logical conclusion of ARquiusprite being included in Lord English (thus allowing Dave and Nepeta to confront their Bro and Equius in destined combat/pacification), but also possibly a reference to Dave’s fursona,  Akwete Purrmusk, whom he once used to RP with Nepeta after first being unable to utilize it with Jade?          Just a weird and sudden though that occurred to me at the end of my last post.  I thought it would be preferable to leave the “Do:” as the last note of said previous page, though.

I am in fact reasonably sure it could technically qualify as the one you grew up with.   That said... awwww, that’s not nice, taking Gamzee away before the battle rather than after/during its tail end.   That means that Gamzee that took place in it lost his conditional mortality and almost certainly just died in the world explosion/black hole.   What a cruel thing to DOOM him to. v.v

I remember this.  Also:  Maybe he hadn’t. At least, not in a non-romantic way.  I certainly can’t remember such an occurrence. 

Oh, umm... is this supposed to have been a reference to him being part of Lord English all along?  Man. There goes another joke flying above all of our heads. Wow.

Yeah. You go back to being too cool for school, not-yet-a-villain!Dirk. Nothing to see here.

Well. That’s an interesting trick. Very magician-like. Almost Houdini-ish. 

I suddenly wonder if Calliope has a sense of smell.   More importantly, gah, I know that smell. Not pretty.  John really should have thought this through more.

Awww. Him having wheezes mixed in there along with coughs is not a good thing. Not very nice or silly at all.   >:

On the other hand, his boos and hoos work very well with the honks, and fit with his Comedy/Tragedy persona duality.  “Sob” being mixed in is a mixed bag, but oh well.    Anyway, his being rescued and treated kindly by Calliope, here, sortof makes sense of his willingness to so pitiably serve the Cherubs later, I guess.   It’s not just a desire to become LE later, but a longsuffering debt payment which he is engaging in with Calliope.  Thus, his Rage is suppressed, especially compared to his violence in the Game Over timeline.

Prison CAN reform some people!   Torturous time in near-suffocating conditions can really make one rethink the decisions one’s made in one’s life, regardless of the major reveals concerning the fictionality/fates of such people, I guess.

Locked being semi-ironic, here. Because most certainly does this revelation stay with him; yet at the same time, he indeed also is corrupted by the influence of Caliborn and willingly ends up serving him+becoming part of LE.   ***shrugs***

***raises an eyebrow***    What an interesting wording and thought.   I did not think that Calliope would be the kind to be so performative like this!  (Or at least worn down/out of patience~)

Man, I don’t need to hear your inherently biased explanation. I mean, others might, but the fact that it’s coming from you and not the narrator isn’t going to help people actually recognize the tragedy inherent in your existence!

...   ...   ...    Aaaaaaaannnnnd this makes me think that Gamzee is actually being insincere, considering he is not actually in fact addressing the true problems that caused him to snap and become evil:  namely, Tavros’s death and Lil Cal. None of that other stuff affected him at all other than to cause him to become more susceptible to the aforementioned and much more important events, subsequent to his running out of the pie that his neglectful father figure allowed him to poison himself and/or rot his think pan with. Mind you, I’m sure that the initial burst of rage that would lead him to storm off would in fact be a result of his subjugglator/religious upbringing, but... Well, if those two events had not actually occurred, I’m sure that he would not have taken up the carefully planned---     you know what, given his rant to Dave about using his chucklevoodoos to make their universe terminal as a result of the blasphemies that Dave gave him via the Miracles music video, I have changed my mind.   I will admit that his upbringing DID have an influence on his actions, beyond making him fall to the perfect moment of weakness for LE to influence and direct him.  I’d say that if I had to measure it, the responsibility of his earlier life would be something between 30 and 49.9% of the overall reason for his behavior during the series of events called Murderstuck. His only mentioning the upbringing side of the coin still makes me question how honest he is being, though.  Having him explain it in such a manner really makes him seem to just be making excuses in a blatantly insincere manner.

Uhhh... Karkat?   Dangit, I knew it was going to be Terezi, but Karkat seemed the more straight-forward choice to inform before her.   Ugh.     Darn me and my refusal to make guesses that seem a bit less secure, sometimes.

Yeah... he probably deserves one.  Gosh darned prerequisite hidden conditions for the proliferation of reality, and the fact that you don’t want to---   wow, why does Karkat have tarps the color of his blood on his house [I forget the troll term] if he is trying to hide said blood color?   I’m sorry. It’s just that Let’s Read Homestuck is playing on my TV for some reason or another, and the thought suddenly occurred to me. Hivebent has obviously just begun.    Anyway, yeah, you wouldn’t want to get Gamzee raging out of control, at this point~

Yeeaaahhh.   Not much to say, indeed.  What can you do?  

...   I take it Terezi’s not going to be split between timelines?  Or is she?  Hmm.  It feels like events over there should remain singular; meanwhile, stuff in Earth C are divided.   I wonder if he’ll continue to talk to Terezi for a long, long time to come, despite the fact that John from the Meat Epilogue never really did until he met up with her again.    (She is right, though. He really didn’t deserve redemption. It’s just... necessary.  Gosh, he’s going to probably screw things up so badly, socially.  I shudder to think of the nonsense that shall result. Shall Earth C[andy] truly become the Paradise Planet that was prophesied? I guess that would make sense of his statement that the mirthful messiahs were both him and ***expletive*** him, mayhaps.  If he, for some time, spends his life as a sort of religious leader in this timeline, before moving on to the far future to help Calliope and Caliborn in their youth. )

Wow. This is a dramatic reversal of the other situation: her feeling like it’s been far, far longer than it has for the other John, once they do meet up.  Veeerrry interesting, seeing the mirror’s faces juxtaposed like this.

Irony.  Also:  WHAT THE HECK IS PSEP?!?!?!     Also also:  Way to go, you derp-head. He’s the one she’d least want to revisit.  Bringing him back practically assures she stays out of this version of the universe you live in!

It’s nice to see them both in such high spirits and playful humors, though. :3

Gosh, I hope that no one’s beginning to feel pity toward that pile of horns.  No one wants to see the disgusting filth that might emerge as a result.  The world doesn’t need more of that.

Yeah, he wouldn’t be able to. This is genuinely a huge shift in the balance of the world, though.  The beginning of a dark, dark carnival of mayhem to come, probably.   “performatively” seals the deal, especially with him speaking to the crowd like that.   ***shudders***

[magioftheseas]

It’s Such A Waste

KamuKoma Week Day 1: childhood lovers / soulmates

alt: hope / despair

Summary: Kamukura Izuru doesn't feel anything except resentment for everything and everyone else. Such resentment is kindled while his feelings for that wayward childhood friend of his remain. Predictably, this is a dire descent.

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of violence but nothing graphically described. Also some unhealthy behavior.

Notes: First fic for the new KamuKoma Week this year! And we’re starting off with a...weird one. It’s not like a certain fic from last year, but uh, considering the prompts, it *is* in a similar vein, huh. I wanted to write a “descent into despair” fic for this kind of AU, basically, and my mind was all over the place. I feel like you can tell. Well. Please enjoy anyway. :>

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

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“Kamukura-senpai, was it?”

Her smile is bright and cheerful, twisted like a carnivorous plant. Like any other predator, she flashes her teeth.

“I’ve heard about you,” she says, humming. “Quite the lone wolf, eh?”

“Why is this your concern?” His own gaze narrows. “There is no reason for our pathways to intersect, as we are of different classes and grades. And yet, here you are. Your regard is not one driven by mere curiosity, it seems.”

Her lips part.

“Ooh. Is that your talent?”

“You know the answer and yet you ask to be cheeky. How boring.” I can already see through this girl’s saccharine farce. “I implore once again. Why are you so concerned with my existence? Is there a role you wish for me to play? A means in which I can be useful to you? I am not interested either way. You are obvious. Transparent. Blatant. A simpleton. You are boring.”

Her smile twitches, just the slightest bit.

“Wow,” she sighs, inhaling. “You’re one fucking guy.”

She skips forward, placing her well-manicured hands on his chest.

“I think we’ll get along just swimmingly, senpai. After all, I think we’re pretty similar.” Her expression softens. “If there’s anyone who understands me, then surely it’s you, Ultimate Analyst, Kamukura Izuru-senpai.”

...

Huh.

--

He has always known that he was particularly gifted for a child. He was always told as much, always expected of as much. He supposes that someone as himself was destined to never live a normal life from the start. When one is beloved by talent, those who lack it are attracted like ticks to cattle.

He has grown used to and weary of such inevitabilities. Even those extraordinary in one regard are predictable and expectably needy and clingy. People are all the same when it comes to what they want but do not have.

Parasitic. But predictable. And boring. So very, very boring. He has no need for such neediness. It is sickening.

His childhood friend is already such a dire case.

“Ah! Everyone’s so bright! It’s beautiful...!”

His worthless, useless childhood friend who coos over their class pictures like a starving dog over scraps of meat.

“They all look so happy, they’re shining... So, so beautiful... Isn’t it wonderful that everyone’s getting along so wonderfully?” he murmurs, marveling. “Aha... Hahaha... It’s just a shame that your face is dour as always, Izuru-kun.”

“I do not see why our class excites you so,” Kamukura replied drearily. “They are all the same. Wretched and clingy. If it were not for the Class Rep, they would be utterly directionless. And...”

They are not kind to you.

“Doesn’t that just make the Class Rep even better?” his childhood friend asks, eyes wide. “Oh, Izuru-kun, you really should be more open to her. You likely won’t regret it.”

“Boring. So boring.” Kamukura’s gaze flickers to one where the entire class is posing and grinning. All of them save for two. Himself, as he was the one to take the picture. And save for his childhood friend, who had been out sick. This picture is their teacher’s favorite. “I could not be less interested, especially in regards to someone so narrow-minded.”

“Spoken like a shallow cynic,” the other sighs. “Izuru-kun, for a symbol of hope, despite being so incredible and splendid in your own right, you really are disappointing...”

There is nothing to say to that.

“Is there really nothing at Hope’s Peak that peaks your interest?”

There was still nothing to say.

“Ahhh. You might just be hopeless, then. How sad. That’s so horrible... Izuru-kun...”

Is it really hopelessness? Is it really horrible? Is it really—?

“Nagito.” It does not matter. He does not care. Not about any of that. “How are you feeling?”

He places his hand over Nagito’s flushed forehead, noting how his childhood friend’s wretched, wan cheeks darken from a rising blush.

“You are still feverish. I see.”

Nagito coughs so much that his eyes are watery. He manages to regain himself after Kamukura rubs his back.

“Aha. Hahaha. It’s not like it really matters. I’m still suspended,” he says, smile twisted. “Izuru-kun, seriously. Your school life is going to waste the longer you bother with me. Sensei wouldn’t like that.”

You always say such things. As if such matters concerned me at all. They do not.

All these years and you still don’t understand, Nagito?

“Boring. So boring. I have nothing better to do than tend to you, Nagito.”

“Aw, that’s definitely not true... Flatterer...” Nagito’s giggle is wheezy, painful, and anything but endearing. “You should be leading the world’s future with everyone else, Izuru-kun. You should be generating the Ultimate Hope.”

“Boring. So boring.”

He thinks about how easy it would be to twist his childhood friend’s thin, delicate neck where there had once been scars from rope.

This person who talks of the future is someone who draws closer and closer to death, both willingly and inevitably.

--

“It’s booooooring, isn’t it?”

“...”

“Upupupupu. Senpai, despite that stoicism, you’re actually pretty easy to read, too.”

“...”

“You hate it, don’t you? This world. This place. That’s why you can’t even be bothered to perk up a little. You’re so gloomy. It’s so sad. So...despairing!”

“...”

“Senpai, we’re the same, aren’t we?”

“...”

Her arms lock around his own, and she presses up close.

“Aren’t we?”

--

“It really is a shame.”

“Such a tragedy.”

“What a waste.”

“What a horrible thing to happen.”

“It’s unfortunate. But...”

“...what’s going to be done about the child? Komaeda-san and his wife don’t have any relatives, do they?”

The chattering was obnoxious, especially when done in pseudo quiet whispers. The only one truly quiet because they truly did not want to be heard was Komaeda Nagito, sobbing softly behind the building.

He doesn’t even notice when he’s being approached. He’s curled into a ball. He’s trembling. He’s crying after hours of blankly nodding and acknowledging every adult who attended the funeral. He does stir when poked in the shoulder, but tears continue to spill over as his breath hitches.

“I...I... Izuru-kun...”

His face is frankly disgusting. Swollen and leaking from every orifice save for those reddened ears. The red-brown strands are stuck to his skin, damp from various fluids. It’s disgusting.

He sits beside him, staring up at him. Nagito’s disgusting face buries itself in his shoulder.

“I-I’m sorry... I-I’m so...sorry...”

Without really thinking, his fingers run through those red-brown strands. The ones that are dry are also soft to the touch. It’s not unpleasant, unlike everything else.

“Izuru-kun... U-Uu... S-Sorry...”

“It is fine.”

His parents had them interact in order to impress Nagito’s parents. Now, to continue interacting was utterly unnecessary.

And yet, he had no desire to be anywhere else besides the side of this person who clearly, truly needed him. Not for any particular reason than for the general, instinctual desire for companionship.

“It’s fine, Nagito.”

--

“It’s so boooooring,” she sighs. “And exhausting. Watching a bunch of needy self-serving fucks tail each other. It really makes me so sick that I could just throooow up!”

She’s pressing into his side. She reeks of sickeningly sweet strawberries. He inwardly thinks of Nagito, who just smelled of sterile hospital rooms and soap. These two are nothing alike. It goes without saying that Nagito’s presence is preferred.

But.

Nagito would not cling to him like this. Not anymore. Not when he’s been deemed a disappointment.

“Don’t you wanna see it burn to the ground?” she asks. “Wouldn’t it be way fucking better if everything just burned to the fucking ground?”

“...mm...”

He thinks of how Nagito’s eyes had sparkled when they gazed upon this school for the first time. How his pale hands tightly gripped his acceptance letter. How his knees quaked and bucked.

Nagito had not always cared so much about talent. This wretched place ruined him. So, perhaps.

“Perhaps that would be better,” he murmured. “If it was just reduced to ash.”

It would not make much of a difference, that said. Hope’s Peak Academy was emblematic of the world’s follies and frivolities, but it was merely the refined product. Burning the campus to the ground would not dissipate the poison already sunken into the earth.

But it would be damn satisfying.

Wouldn’t it.

Especially with how this school had affected his Nagito and warped him for the worst.

Her smile is a knowing one. He does not return it.

--

She gives him another knowing smile when he sees her latched onto a certain Tsumiki Mikan’s arm in passing. He does not return that, either.

“Has Junko been harassing you?”

He twitches, but his expression remains unchanged.

“It is but a minor trifle, Matsuda Yasuke.”

Matsuda’s look darkens, but he shrugs his shoulders over it.

“If you say so. But don’t let her hear you say that.”

“It does not matter. Nothing she does will ever matter to me, Matsuda Yasuke.”

“Sure, sure.” He waves his hand. “But you have been in a worse fucking mood lately. More agitated. You’re usually somewhat complacent so what the hell’s your problem?”

“...nothing. Nothing at all.”

Matsuda, predictably, looks unimpressed.

“Sure. Nothing. Komaeda’s suspension is going to end pretty soon, huh?”

“Yes. It is.”

“Tell him to come visit me right away, will you? Dumbass still doesn’t have a cell phone, so...”

“I will. Of course. You are his doctor, after all.” He speaks the words lowly. “So of course. I will.”

Matsuda snorted, averting his gaze back to the open manga in his hand.

“No need to be such a bitch about it. I swear.” A pause. “You really, really should stay away from Junko. With how irritable you’ve been? She’ll get under your skin big time.”

“...”

“But, you know.” Matsuda flips the page. “She’s actually told me about how you more or less let her chat your fucking ear off. That’s curious.” He shuts the book. “Stay the hell away from her. For your own sake.”

“...” Kamukura tilts his head. “What an odd thing to say about your childhood friend.”

“I mean it,” he hissed. “It’d be a pain in the fucking ass if you got caught up in one of her schemes. If not for yourself, don’t get involved in something dumb for Komaeda’s sake.”

He does not dislike Matsuda Yasuke, not truly. Of all other elite students, himself excluded, he is one of the very few who tolerates and even indulgences Nagito’s rambles. Nagito especially adores Matsuda Yasuke, even compared to his adoration for all elite students. He does not dislike him, for that. He understands the kind of person Matsuda Yasuke is, and on some level, he does appreciate it.

Matsuda Yasuke is not the type to bring up sentimental matters lightly. He knows this. That said.

That said.

“She is not wrong about every little thing she says,” Kamukura finds himself saying. “Not when it comes to Hope’s Peak.”

You are not spared from any of that, kind as you may be. You’re complacent.

You have no right to talk about what’s best for Nagito when you’re complacent.

“Kamukura,” Matsuda responds warningly. “Look, I’m serious...”

“You bore me. I have no interest in furthering this conversation.”

“Urgh.” Matsuda rolled his eyes. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t fucking warn you.”

From someone like you, I really don’t need to hear it.

--

Truth be told, he’s never much cared for Hope’s Peak from the start.

Perhaps that’s privileged of him. But it was how he felt. It had always been how he felt.

Especially back then. And especially when ‘back then’ had to change because of it.

“Kamukura Izuru-kun, was it? That’s a pretty interesting name. How do you spell it?”

“Is there something you want?”

“Testy, testy.” The man smiles wryly, tugging down his hat. “I’ve heard things about you. So I decided to size you up for myself. Nothing wrong with that, riiiight?”

Of course, he had already known who this person was. Everyone did. To be approached was an experience most could only dream of. He is aware of the fact that his classmates both admire and resent him, and this will only fester those feelings further.

But it’s not those menial nobodies he’s concerned about.

“Hm. You seem to have a lot on your mind, kid,” the man hummed.

“You seem slightly buzzed,” Kamukura retorted. “Your collar is wrinkled, there are stains on your shirt that you have poorly hidden behind your jacket, your face is not consistently shaven. You keep tugging down your hat because you are nervous, even though your smile is so plastered that you must have been in this situation several times over already. Are you really a representative of Hope’s Peak Academy...? It seems the school is more stressful than paradisiacal if you’re any indication. Kizakura-san, was it?”

“Yep.” Kizakura’s grin widened as he held up a hand. “That’s me. And no doubt about it, you’re the real deal.”

Real deal. As if talent is something you can fake.

“With all due respect, I have no interest in enrolling,” he said. “My childhood friend is sickly and susceptible. I have no intention of leaving him to the world’s mercy.”

Nagito suffers enough as it is. But... Once he hears about this...

“I would like for you to report that I am not what you had assumed, that you were disappointed,” he said, lowly so that no one else would hear. “I am not a desirable addition. Something along those lines.”

Kizakura’s grin twisted.

“You don’t want your friend to feel guilty, eh? Remarkably loyal kid, I see.” With that, he pulls out his card. “I can respect that. But, you really do have a place at Hope’s Peak. There’s no one quite like you, Kamukura-kun.”

Adults say that all the time. What boring, worthless words.

“Besides,” Kizakura adds cheekily. “Who knows? That friend of yours might be the winner of the lottery.”

Kamukura takes the card to be polite, nodding and saying nothing more. Even with those words, he had full intention of throwing it away once out of sight.

--

“Izuru-kun!”

Of course, once he had the opportunity, it was as if the other had been summoned.

“Nagito.”

He hides the card expertly, in such a way that even Nagito wouldn’t notice. Nagito, who was flushed with sparkling eyes. Against his paling hair, such features stood out even more.

“I-I heard you were approached by a scout for Hope’s Peak!” he burst out. “Is that really true?”

“It is. But I may not be accepted, Nagito.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Nagito takes his hands and squeezes them tightly. “Someone as amazing as you? You belong there, Izuru-kun!”

I would rather be by your side above all else, Nagito.

He only sighs.

“We shall see. But please do not concern yourself for now, Nagito.” Nagito’s frown deepens, but he squeaks when Kamukura pulls a hand free to ruffle his hair. “You have not overexerted yourself, have you?”

“Izuru-kun, I’m not five...”

“If you collapse again, it will be worrying.”

“You worry too much...”

“You need to take care, Nagito.”

“Uu...”

Yes, regardless of what would happen, he had decided that he would remain by Komaeda Nagito’s side, always.

(And of course, when Nagito showed up on his doorstep, with both an acceptance letter and medical papers in his trembling grip, Kamukura knew his fate was sealed, and after reading through both as Nagito fidgeted anxiously at his table, he resented Hope’s Peak Academy a little more.)

--

“Yep! It’s pretty damn sickening! How do you think the reserve students keep themselves from rioting, I wonder?”

“...”

The reserve course...are ticks. So I do not care for them. They are not like Nagito.

“That saaaaaid, our fellow student body is so carefree that it’s mind-numbingly boring. Just pass the exams and you’re fiiiine, jeez, how’s that supposed to shape them for the future? It’s just going to make them duller and duller. We need spice! Something like—like a burst!”

“...”

A burst...perhaps that would be more interesting. As it is, there is a precarious, wretched system in place. One that Nagito is swayed by and fixated on. Something so dreary and cold...

He’s so bored by it.

“More than anything, I want to see the Ultimate Hope spring forth,” Nagito would say.

Under these circumstances? Where the strife and struggles of people are muffled and suffocated while the talented few skirt by with little to no effort? And Nagito thinks I’m disappointing?

“Even if you don’t say anything, I know you agree with me,” she says, chortling. “That’s why you agreed to meet me here, right? This is the old main building. Some students still meet up here for club activities. Right now, we’re going to meet a very particular group.”

Kamukura perks, and he can already guess.

“The student council. They do not strike me as the type to be terribly interested in what you have to say.”

“They’re not,” she said. “Which is why we’re going to play with them another way. Muku-nee should be finished setting things up. I definitely want you to see this, senpai.”

Kamukura blinked, and then, he can viscerally feel the chill brought about by the atmosphere and underlying meaning to her words.

“What are you talking about?”

Enoshima Junko spins around on her heel, and the smile on her face is something that cannot be described any more than the gaping maw of the void.

--

He can’t help but recall that time in middle school that Nagito had been missing. When he asked around, his classmates shrugged. There were mutters about how maybe he ran away—or maybe ran off to die. He called the police, but was shrugged off by them, as well. He wasn’t Nagito’s family, after all, and maybe he just ran away? What did it matter?

He sees Nagito on the news, and he does not hesitate to rush to the hospital he’s being held at. He is not allowed to see him at that point, either. Brushed off. Disregarded.

Worthless.

When Nagito was released, he did not wait a second before taking him into his arms.

“Sorry,” Nagito mumbled, as if embarrassed. “I’m really, really sorry for worrying you, Izuru-kun. But... Look!” He shows him the lottery ticket in his bone-white grip. “I... I-I won, Izuru-kun! Isn’t that amazing?”

“...I am just glad to see you safe and sound. We should go home, Nagito.”

Nagito giggled, clinging to him as they took the train back. He kept smiling and laughing, grinning wildly as he rambled about what happened. No one would have thought much about it, but the way Nagito’s breath sometimes hitched and wheezed...

“Oh, oh, but sometimes they’d watch TV,” Nagito would say, referring to his kidnapper. “I got to see such a wonderful speech given by Headmaster Kirigiri of Hope’s Peak Academy!”

Nagito’s eyes are sparkling.

“...”

“I’m sorry for taking to long to get back to you, though, Izuru-kun,” he added hurriedly. “Um, I wasn’t exactly fed...so I was in pretty bad state when the police finally found me...”

“...”

“I just... I didn’t want you to worry, which was why I headed off on my own...but I really, really, really messed that up, Izuru-kun, I’m sorry...”

“...”

“B-But it wasn’t so bad! I, um... It’s good, actually...” Nagito trailed off. “If you had been with me that day and if you had been kidnapped as well... That would’ve been the worst. I never would want to drag you down, Izuru-kun.”

“Have you been getting rest, Nagito?”

“A-Actually, I’ve been too agitated to sleep well for a while, but...” Nagito yawns. “For some reason, I’m super drowsy now. Maybe it’s because I’m with Izuru-kun.”

“I will let you know when we reach our stop, so it is alright, Nagito.”

“Mm...”

Nagito slumps into his shoulder. His eyelids start to droop. Tenderly, Kamukura strokes his hair. He is paler than before. Frailer than before.

“It is alright, Nagito.”

--

It was funny. How easily they turned on each other when it started with just one person lashing out. It had been so remarkably easy. So very, very easy.

Enoshima Junko hums as she watches, and he watches as well.

The Ultimates are meant to lead the future, but they’re so easy to misdirect. How pitiful it is. And, yet.

“Pretty entertaining too, am I right?” she asks, grinning widely before gasping. “Oh! Wow! Look at all that blood! Damn, that one was bruuuuutal.”

“How fragile harmony in this world really is,” he murmured. “Well, it is unsurprising.”

And Nagito called them symbols of hope...

He can see how twisted, warped, and wretched these beings tearing each other apart really were. His own lips twist. How deep and effortlessly this display of despair runs.

“Is that excitement, senpai?”

“It is disappointment.”

--

“So beautiful! So bright! So splendid, so wonderful! You are all just so...”

“Dude just shuuuuut up. No one wants to hear that!”

Nagito’s mouth shuts obediently. With a harsh ‘tch’, their classmate turns away, but he is not the only one who looks upon Nagito with disdain and contempt.

“Komaeda-kun,” their teacher says gently. “The things you say are just a little...”

“Aha. Haha. It’s because I’m trash compared to them. Right, right?”

“Oh, you definitely shouldn’t say that...”

“But isn’t it true?”

“Of course it’s not.”

Kamukura’s eyes narrowed sharply.

“Seriously why does that freak have to be so weird?”

“It’s sooooo creepy!”

“His words are akin to toxic fumes.”

“Komaeda-kun...really is uncomfortable to be around, sometimes...”

“He’s not a bad person, but...”

“He just needs to stay the hell away from us.”

“Sensei. Nidai Nekomaru and Owari Akane are fighting again.”

“Ahhh, I should probably make sure those two don’t wreck anything the gardening club made... This conversation isn’t over, Komaeda-kun!”

“Good luck, sensei.”

She brushes past them, worked up into a huff. He regards her coldly before turning to Nagito. Nagito who seems much more tired than before.

“Aha... Haha, thanks for saving me, Izuru-kun.” He offers a pitiful smile. “Sensei is really kind, isn’t she? But, she...really doesn’t understand...”

“She is willfully ignorant.”

“I wouldn’t go that far...”

“She only speaks to you in regards to how you’re treated. Not the others.”

“Well, it is more my fault, right? I’m so bad at conveying myself... I really am worthless...”

“I understand you fine.” The others are at fault. They are the truly worthless ones. “Right?”

Nagito’s cheeks darken.

“Izuru-kun’s my oldest, dearest, and only friend. That’s for sure.” His smile widens more, but it also strains more. “But, Izuru-kun... Don’t you think you’re too attached to me?”

“...”

“I mean,” he inhales. “Compared to the others, I really am a nobody. You shouldn’t limit yourself to me. Um. I’d just be happy to see you happy, Izuru-kun, even if it’s from afar.”

“...”

“We’re friends. I just want what’s best for you.”

“...”

Time means nothing. It is about effort.

“I only want you, Nagito.”

Nagito sputtered a bit, flustering.

“You really should mature one of these days, Izuru-kun...! You can’t keep saying that!”

What else should I say?

“Mm.”

How compared to you, everyone else is akin to insects and murk? How hope means nothing to me so much as the way you light up at the mention of it? How despair, too, is nothing until I see the way your gaze falls as you’re ostracized by people you love and admire time and time again? Those wretched people who fail to appreciate the incredible gift they’re given with zero effort on their part?

“It remains how I feel, Nagito.”

“Geez...” Nagito frowns. “That’s so troubling. Sensei’s right. You should make other friends.”

“...”

Other people are nothing. I feel nothing.

--

In the end, there’s not much to feel. These are, for all intents and purposes, complete strangers who are suffering. Is he really supposed to care?

“...boring...so boring...”

“Awww!” Enoshima whines. “You’re leaving already? There’s still a few left to go!”

“I have seen enough of these nobodies.”

“Nobodies?” She blinks, batting her eyelashes. “Oh, my, senpai, you aren’t suggesting...”

“Take from that what you will,” Kamukura said. “Are you going to stop me?”

“Noooope.” She shakes her head. “I’m happy with the amount of attention you’ve given me thus far, senpai. I hope to engage you more and more down the line. This is the start of a beautiful friendship.”

I only need one friend.

“How much despair do you plan to cause, Enoshima Junko?”

“Enough to throw the whole world into chaos, preferably!”

“...”

“My luck works in a very specific pattern, Izuru-kun! Good luck begets bad luck begets good luck begets bad luck begets good luck! So, you really should be more careful around me.”

“Understood. I will be careful.”

“Admittedly, I’m not sure what good luck could balance out the bad luck of losing Izuru-kun, but... You know, Izuru-kun, the more people struggle, the stronger they get...”

“Is that so.”

“I-It is so! What I mean is... You shouldn’t give up regardless of what my bad luck throws at you... You’re an Ultimate, now, so you should be able to overcome any despair and...bring about a bright and shining hope, right?”

“I suppose.”

“Do you understand, Izuru-kun...?”

“Of course I do, Nagito.”

“Good luck with that, I suppose, Enoshima Junko.”

“Aww, thanks!”

With that, he leaves.

--

There is only one place he can return to.

Because how late in the hour it is, much is obfuscated by darkness, but he knows the code to the door by heart. Even if he did not, he would be able to tell from the buttons that were the most worn under his fingertips. The door is opens. He steps inside, shutting the door behind him and locking it.

Nagito sleeps peacefully, the picture of serenity. Such a contrast to the violent exhibition of before. Nagito sleeps, unknowing and untouched.

He wishes to keep it that way. His childhood friend is one he wants to keep protected. But, above all else...

He wants to keep him close.

So much so that he finds himself crawling into the other’s bed.

“Mmm... Izuru-kun...?”

Nagito stirs from his slumber. He opens his mouth to apologize, but rather than saying the word, he just ends up pressing closer to Nagito’s meager warmth and nuzzles into Nagito’s soft hair.

“W-What...?” Nagito stiffens, but with time, he does relax. His heart is pounding. Kamukura can tell that it’s pounding. “I-Izuru-kun, um... Is something wrong? It’s so late. Why are you here?”

It’s rather ironic, he can’t help but think. I thought of Nagito on death’s doorstep, but it turns out that he is incomparable to a corpse.

“Mm...”

“Izuru-kun?”

Nagito shivers when lips brush against his nape. It’s surprisingly warm. Nagito is warm. He’s especially warm to the touch.

“Izuru-kun...? Did something happen...?”

“It does not matter. Not in the slightest. But allow me to stay here for the night, Nagito.”

“O-Oh. Um... O-Okay...”

Just like this, he can relax with ease. Nagito tense, but he, too, unwinds from careful strokes of his wrists and shoulders.

“Izu...ru-kun...”

“It is alright, Nagito.”

“Hah...”

“It’s fine.”

--

When Komaeda finally managed to return to class, the reserve course was rioting and he had heard some awful, wretched, despairing whispers.

Komaeda pushes open the door, heart leaping in his throat, and the only one to greet him is...who else.

“Nagito.”

“I-Izuru-kun.” He stiffens and then he swallows. “Where is...everyone else?”

“They are out. I volunteered to stay behind, of course, because I knew you were to return today.”

Something feels...wrong.

“Izuru-kun, I heard murmurs of something strange. Of Ultimates...killing each other? For despair? And also...murmurs of other...things...that this school is doing.” Komaeda hesitates, but his childhood friend only draws closer. “Where is the rest of our class? What could they possibly be out doing under these circumstances?”

“They are out because I had them leave.”

Something feels wrong, but it’s Izuru-kun...right?

“Ah. I suppose we should have you visit Matsuda Yasuke.” His cheeks are cupped. Kamukura Izuru’s hands are gentle and warm as always. His gaze, however, seems strange. The tone may not be perceptively different to the untrained ear, but to Komaeda, who has known him for most of his life at this point... “How inconvenient. But I do think he would be rather busy at this moment.”

“I... I don’t really want to bother Matsuda-kun.” I’m more worried about other things. “Sensei, too? Where is she?”

“Nagito, what would you say marks a true hope?”

Komaeda snapped up at that.

“An absolute good,” he answered immediately. “Something that overcomes any darkness or despair and engulfs the world in a dazzling, blinding light. Something that only grows stronger and blooms more beautifully in the face of adversity.”

“Adversity. So if one is unchallenged, they are not true hope.”

“Pushing forward in spite of obstacles or hindrances is part of being human,” Komaeda found himself murmuring, now self-conscious of the way Izuru’s thumbs traced his cheeks. “I’ve told you all this before. Why do you ask? Is this because of the reserves rioting?”

...rioting because...of ridiculous audacious things that couldn’t possibly be true...right?

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it? Adversity to overcome.” Izuru tugs him forward, letting him see out the window. “Obstacles and hindrances. Let us see how others will persevere. That might be interesting, for the ground beneath the Ultimates to crumble and for them to still crawl out on top over the withering masses.”

“Symbols of hope...would never lose to deception and despair.” Komaeda shivered. “These impertinent beings are but mere stepping stones... They’re also being misled. How miserable...despairing... They could never ever reach hope like this. Not that they were capable from the start...”

“Despair. Hope.” Izuru exhaled. “So boring. But it might be something you want to see, Nagito. And that is all I care for.”

“Izuru-kun...” Komaeda grimaced, and squeezed his eyes shut. “You haven’t...fallen into despair, have you?”

“Nothing about me has changed, Nagito.”

Izuru takes his hand, and he squeezes.

“Nothing at all.”

Trembling, Komaeda squeezes back.

[darklxghtz-blog]

It Isn’t Your Fault

Pairing: SEUNGMINxREADER, JEONGINxREADER

Genre: angst, hanahaki au, death (is that a genre????)

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: triggering topics including suicide if you’re uncomfortable reading about these things then please don’t read.

—————

[Day 1]

Seungmin came home today (I have to live with them in their dorm because of my brother) and started talking about a girl he liked. He was talking about how he wanted to confess but was too shy to, and I told him that he should just go for it. But I have to admit... it really hurt to say that. And there was this painful itch in the back of my throat the whole time he was talking about her. Thankfully my brother Chan came at that time, so I could excuse myself and go to the bathroom. I wasn’t sure what was wrong with me but I suddenly felt like throwing up. I wasn’t expecting to throw up purple and blue flower petals, which I found out are purple lilacs and blue roses. They apparently symbolize first love and the desire for the unattainable... hanahaki isn’t exactly super rare or anything, most people just don’t know about it. The only reason I know about it is because my mom went through it before she met my dad. She told me stories about it before both she and my dad passed away. I didn’t want to go through it nor did I expect too. I might know who’s causing it but I’m not sure yet.

[Day 29]

Seungmin is the cause of my case of the hanahaki disease. He finally confessed to that girl, Jinwoo was her name, and she accepted his confession. You know it’s funny... the day he came home and told me he thanked me for giving him confidence and telling him to do it. He was too caught up telling me what they were going to do the next day to realize my smile was fake. He normally sees these things but I guess it doesn’t matter anymore. Every time he’s done talking about her I throw up these damn flowers. It gets worse and worse each time. I honestly just want it to stop.

[Day 67]

I didn’t think anyone around me would have the same disease as me, but I was wrong. Jeongin has it. He hasn’t told me who caused them or what his flowers are though. It’s funny how he found out I had it... obviously I don’t clean up my mess well. He went into the bathroom after I was done and found some petals on the floor and since I was the last one in there he asked me about it. I kinda just broke down and sobbed it all out, so now he knows.

[Day 100]

I accidentally found out what Jeongins flowers are. They’re Daffodils... he’s says it means its unrequited love, but he didn’t tell me who’s causing them yet. It’s ironic that something so beautiful could bring so much hurt and pain.

[Day 189]

I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up. It’s not going away and it’s hard to breathe just being around him. Also I found out who’s the cause of Jeongins beautiful flowers... Me. I was the reason for his flowers. I’m so sorry Jeongin.

[Day 247]

It’s been over eight months since this started.

I’m sorry Jeongin. I can’t stay here. No matter how much I want to support you. No matter how much I wish I could take away your flowers. No matter how much I wish I would’ve fallen for you instead of Seungmin. If I had this would all be so much easier. But that doesn’t mean you can take the blame for this. As for Seungmin... I’m sorry I fell for you when I knew nothing would happen between us. Please stay happy with Jinwoo and don’t blame yourself for my departure, which I know you will. And Chan.. My dear big brother Chan... you know I love you right? You’re the best brother I could ask for and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about this. But I couldn’t have you worry now, could I? This isn’t your fault either Chan. Don’t say you were a horrible brother for not noticing. I’m going to leave this on my bed with a note saying for you guys to read. You deserve to know what I’ve been thinking through all of this... I don’t blame anyone besides myself so please don’t hate yourselves.

I love you all..

Y/n

-3rd person-

After you finished writing your last entry for your journal you set it on your bed with a sticky note on top saying “please read page 140 first” and smiled in satisfaction, a smile that quickly turned into a frown. “I’m sorry.” You whispered to no one, but somehow hoping they would hear you.

You walked out of your room and saw Seungmin at the end of the hall, he glanced up and smiled at you. You returned the smile before a familiar painful itch scratching at the back of your throat, reminding you of your destination.

You reached the bathroom and shut the door, not bothering to lock it. You didn’t have enough time to make it to the toilet so you ended up throwing up your flowers on the floor. When you were clear of flowers for the moment you took a minute to look at them, admiring the flowers that caused you so much pain.

You decided to leave them scattered on the floor making it pretty and peaceful looking to you. You smiled pitifully at the scene before opening the cabinet and taking out the pills. You poured out a handful in your hand, looking at them for a moment before consuming them all in one go.

Jeongin was about to go inside his room before he heard a loud thump, like someone fell, coming from the bathroom. He walked to the bathroom and knocked on the door multiple times. Getting no reply he twisted the doorknob that was surprisingly unlocked before walking in.

The young boys terrified scream made all the members immediately jump up from whatever they were doing and run to the sound of the scream. They didn’t know what to expect but seeing the teenager sobbing on the ground while cradling your lifeless body surrounded by purple flowers was not one of them.

As soon as they saw it they were frozen solid, with tears streaming down their face, except for Chan who had walked up to Jeongin and your body before collapsed on his knees beside his baby sisters body being cradled in the arms of the youngest member.

“Y/-y/n.” Chan sobbed, grabbing your hand. Woojin was the member who almost immediately called the ambulance, but everyone knew it was too late.

~~~~

It took almost two and a half weeks for Chan to muster up the courage to read the journal you had left on your bed. He told all the members to meet him in the living room because there was something he had to tell them. He read what you requested to be read first out loud to the members, but not without pausing many times, hearing all the members cry or leaving tears stains on the pages of your journal.

Just like you had thought Seungmin, Chan, and Jeongin all blamed themselves for what happened. Even after so many years they still blamed themselves. Jeongin never loved anyone else after you. He couldn’t. He even liked anyone in the slightest bit. But you can’t blame him. As for Chan, well he lost his last remaining family member. And every year on the same day, the day you died, he reads all your journal entries. He has them all memorized. But no matter how much you didn’t want him to, he thinks he should have noticed or done something. Seungmin is no better, because he feels like he should have noticed how you didn’t hang around him after he told you about his feelings for Jinwoo, that he should have confronted you about it. But he was too caught up in what he thought was love. But in reality he actually liked you, without knowing it. After what happened he broke up with Jinwoo. He didn’t want to be around her thinking that he doesn’t truly love her.

None of the members were the same after and all of them wish they could turn back time and prevent it.

But that’s the tragedy, isn’t it? No matter what mistakes we make. No matter how badly we regret something, how much we wished we did it differently, we can’t. We have to live the choices we’ve made. No matter how bad or how horrible, that’s just how life is. There is no second chance to redo something.

[chantalkrcmar]

India Receding…Further and Further

29 April 2021

As western news outlets catch on more and more to the enormous COVID tragedy unfolding in India, more and more people here in the US are asking how our friends and family there are doing.

And what do I say?

The truth is almost unbearably hard.

My mother-in-law, Sudha Dave (Mummy to Rahul and me; Dadi to Anamika), died unexpectedly a couple days ago. Another COVID casualty. Because of COVID’s burden on India’s already patchy and weak healthcare system, Mummy did not get the medical care she needed. So, though she will not be counted in the official COVID statistics, COVID was a contributing factor. (A note about the Indian government’s official COVID stats: Do not trust them. Currently, they put the COVID fatalities at 200,000 — not even counting those who died victims of the failing healthcare system. Experts claim the fatalities directly from COVID are actually already one million.)

The advice most everyone in India is getting right now from medical professionals and the government is: do not go to the hospital unless you are at death’s door. The unspoken message is also: And even if you are at death’s door, do not come expecting to get the care you need. Maybe you’ll be lucky, and maybe you won’t. Well, our family doctor gave my in-laws that advice when Mummy started having breathing trouble and low oxygen levels. My mother-in-law and father-in-law knew she was not well, but they thought she must be stable. Her doctor probably knew, but my in-laws did not know she was actually on death’s door. So once they brought her to the hospital, she went into cardiac arrest and that was it.

So what do I say to well-intentioned folks who ask me about India now? To us, it’s not an abstract headline in the New York Times or a clip on NPR. It’s flesh and blood and lots and lots of tears.

Honestly, it’s been horribly hard to hear, “How are your friends and family in India?” when I can’t respond with a simple, “They’re safe and healthy. Thanks for asking.”

The real answer is more like “Absolutely horrible. My mother-in-law just died, ripping a huge hole in the fabric of our family. One that will take a good long time to mend. And one that right now is just goddamn painful. And almost everyone else we know is getting COVID, to boot. Thanks for asking.”

I’m not sure that’s what well-intentioned acquaintances want to hear. 

My mother-in-law is gone, and with her, our experience of India is irrevocably and irreversibly changed forever. As I sit in the fog of grief, one of the many thoughts that keeps recurring is how much Mummy made India what it is to me. The first time I ever came to India, she met Rahul and me at the Mumbai International Airport with a gorgeous bouquet of flowers in hand. As she passed them to me, she said, “Welcome home.” Within minutes of getting to the apartment, we were sitting with hot cups of Ambubhai’s world famous chai in our hands. And so it began…At the time, I did not know how much India would become my second home. I came to find over time that Mummy was right. I was coming home.

Our family home in Mumbai will be so…quiet…next time we’re there. My mother-in-law was a presence to be reckoned with. She brought a lot of laughter and love and zaniness and, yes, sometimes exasperation, into our home. She and Anamika would paint together, and watch Paw Patrol in Hindi, and have epic battles of the will over how much aanda or dhal or bhindi or chapati Anamika would eat. Ultimately, though, my mother-in-law adored Anamika so much that…well, who do you think won their battles of the will? We all managed to live together through the world’s harshest lockdown without even fighting that much. Even while going through it, I knew how remarkable that was. Sure, there were annoyances, and sure there were some arguments, but we five adults and one four year old managed pretty well.

My mother-in-law was imperious, curious, quite adventurous — especially for a woman who was raised in a time in India when girls and women were expected to be nothing but docile and demur. Many, sadly, are still expected to be that way. She loved Anamika’s feistiness and self-assurance, probably partly because she saw parts of herself, and her aspirations for herself, in her little granddaughter.

Mummy’s death is having wide ripple effects. Anamika and I are grief stricken; Rahul is, of course, even more so. Ambu Uncle is a mess, too. On WhatsApp video calls, he looks so drained. Riaz Uncle, my in-laws’ driver who hasn’t really driven them anywhere all year but is still being paid (if only other Indians would be as fair and humane as my father-in-law) looked stricken when we spoke to him on WhatsApp too. My father-in-law called Riaz Uncle to come drive them to the hospital so Mummy could get a CT Scan and then drive them home. Nobody knew that it would be a one-way trip.

Tutuji and Hemanta are also so affected. When we called to tell them Mummy had died, Tutuji and Rahul both broke down and sobbed together. Tutu and Hemanta have stayed in our home in Mumbai with all of us many times over the years. Hemanta calls my in-laws Dada and Dadi, just like Anamika does. Over the past couple days, Hemanta has been calling us regularly. Our 11 year old foster son is acting so mature. He inquires, “Has Haathi Papa [Rahul] eaten lately? Is he sleeping enough?” Hemanta also called us in the middle of the night yesterday to report that he had called Ambu Uncle to check in on him and Dada. He is concerned about them too. “Dada has eaten cherries,” he solemnly told us. Hemanta’s care for them is so touching. Anamika has also been so attentive to Rahul. She’s been hugging him and holding his hand and stroking his head when he cries. She keeps saying, “Dadi was my Dadi.” And then she reluctantly follows with, “And she was yours, too, Papa.”

Now we all must mourn and celebrate Mummy together over WhatsApp. Rahul’s cousin Alka, mercifully, lives in Mumbai and is fully vaccinated. So she’s been helping my father-in-law navigate the bureaucratic hoops, and the emotional fallout, that follow death. Alka helped Rahul “attend” Mummy’s cremation through WhatsApp video. Because the COVID situation in India is such a nightmare, we cannot go there now. Many international flights to and from India are canceled anyway, and soon all will be. Rahul and I have not gotten our second dose of the vaccine yet either. My poor father-in-law can’t even have visitors right now. So he and Ambu field phone calls from friends and relatives, and then sit in their quiet home. A home that is stuffed with my mother-in-law’s being — her colorful sarees spilling out of one whole closet, her tiny bottles of shampoo, perfume, lotion everywhere. She had a funny habit of collecting small hotel toiletries from everywhere they traveled.

Anamika and Mummy painted together a lot during lockdown, but after we left India, my mother-in-law took her artwork to a new level. Using Anamika’s bedroom as her studio, she was constantly trying new techniques. She was waiting for our return so she could resume doing art with her favorite creative companion, Anamika. The fact that that day never did come is such a loss for her and for Anamika. Theirs was a bond that brought me such joy. My only surviving grandmother when I was a child was downright mean. So to see how much love my mother-in-law showered on Anamika was heartwarming. So that’s what a grandmother/granddaughter relationship is supposed to look like!

I never thought when we left India in September that we’d never see Mummy again. We knew that my in-laws were in a high risk category for COVID, but we also knew they were willing to be shut-ins until the pandemic was past and that Ambu Uncle would take excellent care of them. I think we overlooked the fact that the Indian healthcare system would totally collapse, leaving them at risk if anything else went wrong.

This post is obviously about my mother-in-law, but the grief over her death is being compounded by our stress and worries about others in India, too. I am not sure I can even appropriately convey how dire the situation in India is now. As I was writing this post, I got a message from Thresiamma, a friend who runs an NGO in Kerala, the south of India.  She is 74 and she has COVID. She has taken a turn for the worse and was hospitalized. I hope she makes it out. But I am not too terribly hopeful. And Rahul’s good friend Ahmet who lives in Mumbai has told him that about 10% of his co-workers have died of COVID. His colleagues were not elderly — nor were they poor and unable to afford medical care. It’s just not available much of the time — no matter who you pay off. The Indian crony system has met its match during this pandemic.

Here’s a little taste of just how bad it is in India...

https://thewire.in/government/india-covid-19-government-crime-against-humanity

Right before the pandemic hit India, we took a little family vacation to one of our favorite travel destinations: Kodaikanal, a small town in the Western Ghat mountains in Tamil Nadu. Thank the gods we got there one last time. Who knew what was just around the corner?!

I snapped this photo of Anamika hamming it up with her Dadi and Dada in front of one of our favorite spots in Kodai: The Pastry Corner, a little hole-in-the-wall bakery with the most amazing South Indian filter coffee, delectable homemade ice cream and gooey pastries. The Pastry Corner is tiny; it’s grimy; the ice cream server’s nine fingers were always dirty. But we all loved it and made a daily pilgrimage down the road to share outdoor benches jam-packed with locals and sticky from all the treats customers had been dropping all day. Best. Place. Ever. (And, no, those coffee cups were not all ours. Just most of them were.)

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, CASS! You’ve been accepted for the role of BENVOLIO. Admin Rosey: " Such runs a very thin line between sainthood and damnation, proving that longing for peace does not make one soft but instead exhibits the iron running through their blood.” I think my cold, aching heart actually broke in two when I read this line. It encapsulates the whole of Benvolio so damningly well that I needed to step away and scream for a bit. Cass, you have no idea how much love and affection I have for this war-weary boy -- and I am more than ready to throw him into your capable hands. You have given Benvolio a whole other layer to explore and a whole group of hearts to break. Be kind, please. From this application alone, it seems necessary to BEG for mercy; although, knowing Bellamy, he’s more than willing to grant it.  Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

Out of Character

Alias | Cass

Age | 23

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her/Hers

Activity Level | So currently I… barely have a life. I’m in grad school, and we just broke for about five weeks for our winter break. During this time, I anticipate being around pretty regularly (daily or even more frequently). However, my grad program is pretty intense, so there is a high likelihood of slowing down once February rolls around again. Despite the constant need to study, I still anticipate checking the dash and posting every few days!

Timezone | US Eastern (GMT -5)

In Character

Character | BENVOLIO; Bellamy Santo Domingo

What drew you to this character? | There was one facet of Bellamy that kept drawing me back in – how can one fight for peace? The more I thought, the more I began to understand the struggle plaguing Bellamy. To avoid the fight entirely brings you out of the war, but it does not cause a ceasefire. Being away from the blood and the trauma does not mean that stains begin to fade. He has tried stepping away from the battlefield, yet he has been drawn back by a duty that Atlas’s shoulders cannot shake. Bellamy fights the war not because he believes in it, but because he must – and, perhaps, because fighting the very battle he most desperately wanted to diffuse was the only way to bring about an end to the bloodshed. Such runs a very thin line between sainthood and damnation, proving that longing for peace does not make one soft but instead exhibits the iron running through their blood. It takes a deity to stare down hell and still believe in heaven.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

i. what is loyalty? There is no question that Bellamy is loyal. Despite being away for years, a single phone call placed him back in uniform. But how deep does loyalty run? What happens when, inevitably, loyalty and ideals collide? I do not believe that Bellamy is one to turn on his friends and family, but he is also not one to give up on himself. At what point will he be forced to chose between fighting against this war and being a part of it? Exploring Bellamy’s relationships with the other Montagues as well as with the Capulets will truly alight the war waging inside Bellamy. Pushing his definition of loyalty will force Bellamy to embrace war for what it is, and I can see Bellamy falling off either edge of the sword. If Bellamy is ever able to see the Capulets as the enemy rather than a collective of individuals fighting their own battles, loyalty wins, and Bellamy resigns himself to be the soldier his parents always wanted. Should the Montagues and Capulets continue to push for a dialogue consisting largely of us versus them, Bellamy’s ideals win, and he will seek for peace regardless of the cost. This would be a slow-burning development throughout the entire course of the roleplay, and would be influenced by individual relationships and overall events, but it would appear impossible for Bellamy to indefinitely wave the banner of peace while clothed in Montague colors.

ii. what is the cost of war? Bellamy had heard time and time again that one could lose the battle yet win the war, but in a war with no apparent end, he has come to question the cost of victory. As more and more blood spatters the streets of Verona, Bellamy’s voice grows louder. He no longer believes that a victory with casualties is superior to a loss where no man dies. There is not light at the end of the tunnel that will outshine the sparks of those they had already lost. Too often, an aloof ideal of what it would mean to have full control of Verona conquers the tragedy of another burial. No longer. Bellamy will not support a plan that places undo danger on any of his peers, and his strong desire to keep people alive will lead him to begin thinking of bloodless victories. In an effort to establish peace, Bellamy may very well trip into strategizing battles so that there are not casualties on either side. He will fight the war in an effort to preserve life, not destroy it.

iii. what are friends for? Bellamy has a way of dealing with conflict. Years ago, that way was by simple avoidance. Now, he mediates. He elicits both sides of a story in the name of truth, and in their combined narrative, he seeks resolution. Whenever there is a disagreement amongst Montague ranks, Bellamy will step in hoping to diffuse the situation. Perhaps more often than not, people are more interested in a fight than a solution. It would be interesting to place Bellamy in the middle of a feud that cannot be resolved, largely because Bellamy thrives on fixing problems, quelling fires, and healing hurt egos. Having that one conflict with seemingly no solution would eat at him, and the amount of emotional energy Bellamy would devote to an impossible cause would leave him drained and off kilter for the rest of the problems knocking at his door.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Does it make me a terrible person to say that the very notion thrills me? (Yes, I am 100% comfortable with that, though I can’t promise that there won’t be a few tears shed.)

In Depth

Bellamy hated fights, though his family never truly believed such. He hated the way his shoulders would tense, how his fingernails would dig crescents into his palm. He hated the naturally boiling of his blood, of the tremor left behind when the heat would leave his core numb. Nothing good ever came from war, yet he stood at the entrance to his family’s home with armor built of suitcases and a sword atop his lips.

Despite the armory within him, Bellamy’s voice was soft: “I’m leaving.”

His mother blinked at him, but she said nothing. His father continued walking upstairs, and Bellamy pretended that he had not seen the bloodied handkerchief hanging out his father’s back pocket. This city was one of unspoken sin, and on days such as these, Bellamy could clearly see the demons hanging off sloped shoulders. This was his future, if he stayed.

“I don’t know when I’ll be returning.” His was even, measured. Silence met him yet again.

He hadn’t known what to expect. He first thought of leaving when his eyes opened this morning, and it had only taken an hour to assemble a suitcase capable of sustaining him for a week or so. He half-expected to promptly unpack and return to his life, but as soon as he felt the handle beneath his fingertips, he knew that this was right. He needed to be away from Verona, and his family needed to be rid of their anomaly. It would be a break, a relief, and then he would return to quell more fires.

He stepped across the threshold without so much as a goodbye, and he couldn’t bring himself to call Roman or Marcelo, to tell them that he would be leaving. After all, it would only be for a week, maybe two.

With each step Bellamy took through the city, he thought of another country calling his name. Perhaps being away a month wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe two months would be just enough time to feel human again, to pretend that he wasn’t destined to be a part of a war the real world didn’t dare declare.

It seemed simple, then. Walking through Verona until his feet hurt, calling a cab to travel the rest of the journey – it was easy. There was a straight line from A to B with a minor deviation for tea. No war, no battles, no loss, no guilt, no sin. For the first time in his life, Bellamy felt light, though it was too ridiculous a notion for him to ever put to paper. It was so, so simple.

And because it was so easy, a month turned to two, to six, to a year. He called home once during that first year, and he spoke with his mother for precisely three and a half minutes. He didn’t call home again for three years after that, and aside from sending the occasional postcard, Bellamy lost himself completely in the world. There were no shadows outside Verona, simply sunlight and warm rain. He drank, ran, lived – and a couple times, he even fell in love. This was life, he was sure of it. This was what everyone deserved, no matter their sins or their past. This was the reason people awoke each morning, and why they were able to fall asleep each night. Life was culture and sunsets, books and movies, artifacts and creations. Life was not Verona, and it was certainly nowhere to be found in war. For four years, Bellamy was untouched by loss.

But all good things come at a cost. He was in Scotland when he got the call, and he remembered it clearly. He had just stopped for coffee, and a swirl of steam had escaped the lid to mingle with the rain trickling from the skies above. His boots made no noise against the pavement, and he had nearly dropped his umbrella was trying to extract his phone from his pocket. It had been years since he had heard heartbreak, yet barely-disguised sobs were the first sound to break across the speaker.

“We need you to come home.”

Nearly a thousand miles away, the war had found him. It was time to pay back his debt.

Extras: I know it’s nothing huge, but I did end up making a Pinterest board for Bellamy! You can find it here, and I did my best to channel several different aspects of his personality and belief system.