#now that would be devastating in the best way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

norikuna · 22 hours ago

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LAST FRIDAY NIGHT — choso kamo

welcome to the christmas tour ! take a seat in section (d) and let the show begin !

prologue. → it's been seven days since you wobbled into your apartment and almost threw up on your best friend. seven days since you confessed your love to him. seven days of radio silence as you've done your best to shut him out, hoping that the earth swallows you whole. there's no way he's going to want anything to do with you now!

but it's been years since choso had started silently loving you.

want to try sitting somewhere else ? take a look at the ticket chart again !

pairing. choso kamo x afab!reader

warnings. vírgin!choso, spítting, kíssing, makíng out, thígh kínk (mild), yuuji being a menace 😭

word count. 8k! song inspiration. last friday night — katy perry

a/n. i can't believe i don't write for choso more. i really put a lot of love into this fic but i wish i had expanded on it a bit more 😭 one thing abt me is that i love adding side characters to cóck block

mp3. think we kissed, but i forgot!

"did you hear about the girl who lives in delusion? breakups happen every day — you don't have to lose it."

you jab at the skip button like it's personally offended you, cutting off the mournful strains of the evermore bonus track mid-verse. normally, you'd let the singer's poetic misery hold your fragile heart in a pretty gentle chokehold, for she understood your heartbreak like a nobel laureate in emotional devastation. but not today.

not on this particularly dreary friday, right before christmas, where even ms. swift's dulcet agony felt obnoxiously on the nose.

pinned under the suffocating weight of your quilt, you let out a dramatic sigh that could rival a victorian heroine wasting away from heartache and humiliation.

with the theatrics of someone clawing their way out of a shipwreck, you work one arm free, waving it weakly into the air like your tragic signal of defeat.

the cocoon of your quilts and covers isn't warm nor comforting. it's a smothering trap, a quilted tomb of your own making.

"this is it," you mumble to the empty air of the apartment, your voice muffled by layers of fabric, "this is how i go."

the universe, for its part, remains unbothered by your suffering.

with a theatrical groan that would earn you a standing ovation in a one-person tragedy, you yank the quilt over your head. plunging yourself into darkness once more.

but unfortunately, the muffled strains of your 'sad girl winter' playlist refusing to take the hint seep through, like overly persistent ghosts of your bad decisions in the past. it seemed that evermore was feeling less like a balm for your soul, and more like the soundtrack to your public humiliation.

somewhere in the tangled chaos of your bed, half pillows and half-sulking regret, your poor and neglected nintendo switch lies face down like it gave up on your hours ago. its screen has long since gone dark, but if you listen hard enough, you can almost hear your animal crossing villagers whispering conspiratorially, drafting a formal petition to evict you.

no doubt tom nook is already sharpening his capitalist claws, repossessing your house with an unsettling amount of glee.

but the rest of your room is not much better. the string lights on your walls flicker half-heartedly, casting an uneven glow over the wreckage of the past week.

it's not the charming nor dramatic kind of mess that makes for an artsy photo dump. no, this is the slow and unflattering unravelling of someone who let life beat them up with zero resistance. if rooms could file restraining orders, yours would have done it by now.

teetering laundry piles of discarded sweatshirts are haphazardly stacked in the corner. nearby, an empty hot cocoa mug sits, sticky with the remnants of whipped cream. candy cane wrappers are strewn across the room, the aftermath of a peppermint explosion that made your jaw ache.

but the true centrepiece of this disaster? your phone, face down on your nightstand. neglected and on silent. the one object in this room that's probably begging for attention, and one that you've been skilfully ignoring. and yet, right on cue, it buzzes again.

lighting up with a contact number that you've been ignoring all week.

choso.

and you squint at the notification, at the glowing screen that makes your eyes sting in the dim light.

sweet, dependable and utterly loyal choso.

your best friend of over a decade. the one person that you can't bring yourself to face.

the one person that also deserves so much better than this radio silence, and yet the last person that you can humanly confront. especially not after what happened last friday night.

and here, good friends, lies the crux of your problem.

that doomed night, seven days ago, has mostly dissolved into a series of blurry and fragmented snapshots. like a bad, half-finished film that you'd walked out of halfway through.

but the lead up? oh, you remember that part with the kind of clarity that should have been reserved for more important moments.

you could still feel the heat of storming out of that overpriced restaurant, half-drunk and fully pissed off, tears streaming down your cheeks and thickening your throat.

your ex-boyfriend? well, he had been your current boyfriend, before he decided to break up with you. in public. for all that classy, emotional damage that was so in character for him.

and with a line so perfectly cliché, it practically begged to be immortalised on a 'worst breakup excuses' list in cosmopolitan: i'm sorry, baby. i just don't see it working anymore. we're just too different. oh! and i found someone else.

oh, sure. but you should have been glad to have been rid of the man-child that thought frankenstein was the monster's name, the man who commented 'oxford study' on innocent tiktoks, and called pinterest 'girl instagram.'

god, what a fuckin' loser.

fuelled by a mix of public-induced heartache and questionable tequila choices, you had practically charged across street crossing. your feet hitting the pavement with the reckless kind of abandon reserved for teenagers sneaking out after curfew.

and there choso had been in your apartment. your best friend had been sitting cross-legged on your rug, surrounded by wrapping paper and ribbons. probably wrapping yuuji's christmas gifts with military precision. he had been balancing a roll of tape in his mouth, scissors over his lap dangerously close to the family jewels. but you had barrelled through the door like a feral cat in a downpour.

his eyes had widened, a little startled, as you made your entrance. the tape had fallen out of his mouth, chestnut hair falling over his face as he gaped. you couldn't blame choso, of course. you had looked entirely like a bedraggled, disheveled mess in a storm. cheeks streaked with mascara trails, but then everything went...fuzzy?

what did you remember? crying. lots of it.

and boy, was it a show. the kind of weeping where your face contorts into a puffed-up, berry-red disaster, and you would feel the headache creeping in even before the tears had finished.

choso's arms had caught you before you could face plant into the couch. solid, broad. warm and familiar.

you had caught the scent of clove and pepper, alongside faint citrus that you had been associating with him over the years. you had been saying something, raw and desperate.

your words had spilled out of you like water from a broken faucet.

and here you were now, reaping the glorious consequences of your own unfiltered word vomit.

seven days of stewing in your own shame and regret. but seven days were not enough to undo this level of self-sabotage. you briefly considered the options: faking amnesia, dropping out of university entirely, or best case scenario — moving to antarctica and herding emperor penguins.

you groan, sinking deeper into the abyss of your covers. and then, of course, your phone buzzed again. the dull and persistent vibration drilled into your skull like a tiny, digital drill.

cho 💜

(01:09am) hey, are you doing okay? (08:42am) tell me if you need anything! (04:23pm) hello? did i do something?

you peek at the screen, trying to avoid making eye contact with the tiny and terrifying letters. your sheet mask scrunches uncomfortably, making you look like a particularly pathetic mummy. choso's sweet and utterly patient messages were a sharp control to your gross sulk, and his concern makes you want to curl into a ball and crawl into a snowbank.

outside, christmas snow fell gently, blanketing the world in a soft and untouched white. it was like something out of a dream, a world of calm and peace. peace that your trifling ass didn't deserve.

if choso wanted to speak to you, he'd have to drag you out of your self-imposed misery himself. and even if he were to arrive at your apartment door, he'd only find a note tacked to the wall. with a map leading to the south pole.

so, what exactly had happened last friday night?

the memory rolls out like an old film reel, all jagged and distorted. the kind that you can't skip, even if you wanted to. it comes in fragments, each one more excruciatingly clear than the last. the haze of vodka-infused whipped cream shots over hot drinks slowly melting away like a bad handover.

the door to your apartment? you remember that part with embarrassing clarity. you had kicked it open with awful, ragged flair. your heel slipping on the floor, and you had nearly stacked it. face-first into your own doorway, standing there with the grace of a giraffe on roller skates.

the second the door had slammed shut behind you, a gust of frigid winter shot through the apartment like a chill reminder of your situation.

choso had been sitting cross-legged on the floor by the coffee table, in the midst of complete, barbaric chaos. the roll of mauve wrapping paper teetered precariously on his dark jeans, and scissors dangled from his lap while a stripe of tape was wedged between his teeth. in between the mess of clippings and discarded tape, he seemed more like an absurdly morose-looking christmas elf that had been tasked with being santa's helper after an entire bottle of mulled wine.

but as you had walked in, or rather stumbled in, his gaze had shot up. his chestnut hair falling in messy curtains around his face, with one unruly strand intertwined with a red-white rogue ribbon. choso's face had twisted in alarm, his usual solemn manner replaced by someone who looked like they were trying to figure out whether they needed to brace themselves for good or bad news.

"hey," he had said, voice soft but sharp, like he was trying to handle fragile glass. choso had spat the tape out of his mouth unceremoniously, and he had been tugging the ribbon free rom his hair, concern all over his fine features, "what's wrong? are you okay?"

and you? a disaster. drunk, crying, furious. the recipe for an emotional molotov cocktail.

"i hate him," you had snarled, yanking off your beige coat, hurling it in the general direction of the couch. instead, your aim missed entirely. flopping halfway onto the floor, and halfway across choso's knee.

choso simply plucked the coat off his leg with two fingers, gingerly draping it over the arm of the couch. your best friend was frowning as he set down his oversized scissors, rising to his feet in a fluid motion. amber-hazel eyes flicked to yours, wide with alarm as he stepped closer, "are you hurt? is this about —?" he was hesitating, "your boyfriend?"

"no, my ex-boyfriend!" the words were ripped out of you, and your voice pathetically cracked halfway through as tears spilled down your flushed cheeks, "and 'm not hurt, cho. unless you count emotional damage," punctuating your statement with a tragic, breathy hiccup.

choso's perpetual frown deepened, as thick and unruly brows knit together, "okay," he said, voice low and steady, "do you want to sit down? i can get you some water, wait." his steps are slow, purposeful as he closes the distance between you gently, with measured care. or like he was defusing a bomb.

but you were having none of his gentle care, "no, i don't want water! i want — i want to un-date him," you wail, arms flailing as you start pacing like a caffeinated hamster, "god, i'm so stupid for dating him in the first place. and yes, i know, stop looking at me like that. i know you want to say i told you so, but he's such a —," you pause mid-rant, clawing the air for the right word, "a troll. a goblin, an ogre."

choso blinks, "maybe you should just get some fresh water in you," but there's an underlying layer of grimacing amusement painted over his quiet features, "and i didn't even say i told you so."

"no," you blurt, your head snapping so fast that your neck immediately files a complaint in the form of a sharp crick, "i don't want water. i want —"

and then, your brain short-circuited. because that's when you'd actually looked at him. like really looked.

warm hazel eyes framed by dark, sleepless circles that seemed to follow choso around like cursed ghosts. soft, feathery strands of mahogany hair that refused to stay tied back, and tumbled rebelliously into his face. that damn sweatshirt, loose and charcoal gray, and perfectly slouched over his broad shoulders. the sleeves pushed up just enough to reveal forearms so solid that they could make a renaissance sculptor pack and quit.

and like a freight train at full speed, like whee-woo, the realisation hit you. choso kamo.

your best friend in the entire world. your steady and reliable, and kind to a fault best friend. better than any stupid ex that you'd ever had.

and because tequila is the nectar of chaos, and heartbreak has no filter, your mouth decided to unleash the words that you would haunt you for the next week.

"i should have been dating you."

the room is silent, as choso freezes entirely. like someone had smacked the pause button on him, and his hand, mid-reach for a glass of water, stops cold. his eyes are wide, mouth parting as though he hadn't yet processed what you had said.

"what?" choso finally manages, the words soft and stunned, like he wasn't sure that he had heard you correctly.

you, in your infinite wisdom (or rather, drunken idiocy), barrelled on like a bull who had just seen red cloth, "i'm so serious! you're the one i should've been with all along!"

you wave a hand at him, as if showcasing him to an invisible jury, "you're smart and you're sweet, and you actually care about me, unlike him!"

choso blinks, his expression unreadable, "okay," he says slowly, setting the glass back down on the table, "i think maybe, uh, you should sit down?"

"i don't wanna sit down, i want you to stop looking so perfect right now."

there's a faint flush creeping up choso's neck, like red pigment staining cream watercolour canvas, "perfect?"

"yes!" you hiccuped, teetering over the couch, "you're supposed to be my best friend, and instead you just stand there with your stupid forearms, and your everything, and it's not fair!"

choso doesn't move, doesn't even speak. just stands there, vaguely dumbstruck. like you had hung the moon, and then yanked it back down to earth to hurl it at his chest.

"i should've been dating you, cho," you declare again, louder this time, and your finger jabs his broad chest like it was somehow his fault, "you're the best, y'know that? and you're so hot, how did i not realise this sooner?"

your best friend's expression goes on a journey of varying emotions, shock and disbelief, panic and confusion. all while his candied pink lips open and close, "uh," because by now, eloquence had left the room for both parties. his hands hovering awkwardly like he wasn’t sure whether to steady you or flee. his ears noticeably red, the flush creeping down his neck.

but drunk-dumped you wasn't done. oh no, this was your oscar moment. the hill you were going to die on. the ted talk that no one asked for.

and you were on a roll now, "i mean, look at you! you've got the broody, hot guy thing down so well, and you know that's my type. and everyone knows it, like why aren't we dating already?"

choso's mouth curls again, but no sound comes out. he looks like he wants to crawl into a snowbank and bury himself there forever, "okay, i think maybe you should sit down before you hurt yourself, or, uh, the furniture."

"i'm fine!" you'd declared, throwing your arms up in defiance just as your knees decided that they were absolutely not fine. you wobbled, and in an instant, choso's warm hands are on your shoulders, steadying you with ease.

the searing heat of his touch makes your heart lurch in a way that felt far too real for comfort. you look up at him, his face close enough that you could see the faint freckles dusting his nose, and your breath hitches.

he's close enough now that his lips could press against yours with the mere turn of his head. but you know that choso's just too kind and thoughtful to kiss you in this state right now. he also looks like he's about to gently suggest that you pull yourself together. you wouldn't know, because you've just bulldozed right over him with zero brakes.

tears stream down your face still, but they're starting to slow. sticky and hot, tacking to your cheeks, as you deliver the final blow, "if i asked you to kiss me now — like genuinely right now, would you, cho?"

you would never know what choso's reply would be, because you hiccup violently. the kind that punches your chest and makes you sway. fate was never done with you, because your stomach lurches in warning. you had clamped a hand over your mouth, eyes wide with panic.

choso, bless his heart, had looked ready to throw himself in front of you, "bathroom. now," he'd commanded, his voice taking on a rare, firm edge.

and that's right where your memory cut off, mercifully plunging you into the black void of your vodka-soaked brain. no idea if you'd made it to bathroom. no idea if you'd thrown up all over him, classy as always.

but the last thing you did remember, the thing that haunted you eve now, like a ghost tapping on your shoulder, was the look on choso's face. wide-eyed, jaw slack. like you had flipped his entire world upside down.

choso sits cross-legged on the cold dorm floor, the faint creak of wood beneath him. in his hands is a neatly wrapped gift, small and unassuming. but painstakingly chosen for you. the crimson ribbon, shiny and festive, catches the light of the desk lamp.

it wasn't extravagant, nothing flashy nor pricey. but it was thoughtful, personal. something that he had picked out weeks ago, back when everything between you two had been normal.

back when you didn't look at your phone, and decide he wasn't worth answering.

choso's thumb grazes the corner of the box, smoothing over the edges of the paper that he had meticulously folded after watching youtube tutorials. but now? the box felt heavier than it had any right to. would you even want this anymore? would you even want to see him?

choso sighs, letting his head tip back against the edge of his bed frame. it was a tight and awful feeling, something small and sharp that had wormed its way into his chest.

it wasn't just the silence. it wasn't even the unanswered texts or the way you’d been avoiding him like he was the human incarnation of bad news.

it was the fact that you were you. his best friend. the person he always knew how to read — until now, when everything felt scrambled.

he stares at the gift again, his brows furrowing. he'd been turning this over in his mind for seven straight days, wearing grooves into his thoughts like a track stuck on repeat. did you regret it? did you even remember what you said?

and worse — what if you did mean it?

that last thought was the one that always hit hardest. he exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, the dark strands falling back into his face. somewhere on his desk, his phone buzzed softly, and for a second, his pulse jumped. but when he checked, it wasn't you.

because of course it wasn’t.

"pathetic," choso muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

seven days.

seven long, agonising days since you'd stumbled into your apartment like the ghost of heartbreak past — tear-streaked, half-drunk, and dropping words so raw they’d knocked the air out of choso's lungs.

seven days since you’d looked at him like he was everything good in the world — right before nearly puking on him and passing out on the couch in a heap of drunken devastation.

and seven days of brutal radio silence ever since.

choso groaned, dragging a hand down his face as he slouched against the edge of his bed. he got it — why you'd be embarrassed. he, he was still processing it, the memory looping in his head like a cursed highlight reel.

"you're amazing, cho. you're perfect."

the words echoed, soft and slurred, over and over like a broken record choso couldn’t shut off. a selfish part of him — a really shameful, awful part — had been glad your ex was out of the picture. not that it was a surprise; choso had never liked that guy. too loud, too cocky. the kind of guy who thought buying overpriced cologne absolved him of skipping deodorant.

but then there was the other part of him — the one that made him feel like a jerk. the part that felt guilty for feeling anything at all. because he wasn’t supposed to feel this way about you.

choso wasn't supposed to have spotify playlists privately curated with all your favourite songs. wasn't supposed to have started buying extra hair ties, just because the thought of you stealing one was so annoyingly appealing.

and he definitely wasn't supposed to have been quietly, hopelessly in love with you for five years and counting.

how many times had he messaged now? four? five? enough that he was starting to feel like that guy, the one who couldn’t take a hint. what if you'd sobered up and realised last friday was just drunk nonsense? what if you didn't like him like that at all?

had he not spent seven days drowning his misery in tubs of mango and pistachio ice cream? enough was enough.

choso's thumb hovered over your contact for a long, stupid second, debating whether to send one more pointless text. but before he could add another "hey, just checking in," he swiped away and hit a different contact. a boisterous teenager with a shock of pink hair.

he shoots off a quick text, almost grimacing as he hits send.

Choso Kamo: Need advice. Got a hypothetical situation. yuujithegoat2003: if this is smth weird i'm not googling it for u

choso rolled his eyes, already regretting this decision. but he needed to hear an outside opinion.

Choso Kamo: It's not weird, serious this time. If someone confesses something private to you while they are drunk, then avoids you for a week, what do you do? Hypothetically?

a pause, and then:

yuujithegoat2003: is this someone a hot girl lol

choso sighed, his dry lips twitching despite himself.

Choso Kamo: Yes. Also, serious answers only. yuujithegoat2003: ok ok. do they remember what they said? Choso Kamo: Most likely not.

yuujithegoat2003: huh...so did they say something good? or was it rude? Choso Kamo: It was good. Really quite good. yuujithegoat2003: bro this seems easy, just ask if they meant it.

choso blinked at his phone, at the...almost reasonable response. suspiciously reasonable, coming from his younger brother.

Choso Kamo: And if they freak out? Or say that they didn't mean it? yuujithegoat2003: then u say 'just kidding' and blow the place up and leave the country. i can get u a fake id, i know a guy. i know lots of guys.

Choso Kamo: You need to stop being influenced by Gojo Satoru. Just because his public break-up landed on national news does not make it a premise for my own situation. Hypothetical situation. yuujithegoat2003: ok, gojo just said no one gaf abt your love life anyway. seriously tho if u like this hypothetical person, just be chill. don't be all intense and scare them off bc its never that deep.

Choso Kamo: Love is that deep. Especially when you care for the other person a lot. yuujithegoat2003: ur so dramatic bro. anyway good luck.

yuujithegoat2003: also if you get rejected don't tell me bc i can't handle second hand embarrassment. thx. gtg to work. these pizzas don't deliver themselves ay

choso glances down at the gift still in his lap, the ribbon he'd so painstakingly tied now a little crushed — much like his pride. the box stares back at him accusingly, as if to say, what's the plan here, genius? wait for her to magically show up?

choso exhales through his nose, sharp and frustrated. sitting here wallowing wasn’t doing him any favours, and neither was yuuji's unhelpful voice.

"yeah, sure," he mutters under his breath, shoving the box into his jacket pocket. he stands abruptly, grabbing his jacket off the back of his desk chair.

if you weren’t going to talk to him, fine. he'd bring the conversation to you. answers, he thought, stepping out into the cold. the winter air bit at his face, but it was bracing, grounding even. one way or another, tonight was going to settle this.

the knocking was relentless.

you tried to ignore it at first, clutching your blanket like it was a shield against all outside forces. whoever was at the door would get the hint eventually. probably. hopefully.

but no, the knocking persisted, evolving into a deliberate rhythm, like some overzealous drummer auditioning for a garage band.

"unbelievable," you groaned, peeling your headphones off and tossing them onto the pillow where they landed with a hollow clatter. if this was the pizza guy you'd ordered from two hours ago, he was wildly late, and you were too broke to tip him anyway.

dragging yourself off the mattress felt like an olympic event. your legs wobbled, your blanket fortress collapsed behind you, and your pride was buried somewhere under the covers still. at least you'd showered earlier — small victories.

your damp hair dripped cold trails down the back of your oversized sweatshirt, and you caught a whiff of cocoa butter as you shuffled to the door. that was…something acceptable at least. but then the mirror by the entryway betrayed you, reflecting sleep-swollen eyes, and the faint ghost of face mask residue clinging stubbornly to your skin.

perfect. a vision of grace and dignity.

you yank the door open, ready to unleash a pointed what do you want? — but the words lodge somewhere in your throat.

smooth. and oh, just your luck.

there stood choso, a walking anomaly in the drab matrix of your sad little existence. his tall frame fills the doorway, backlit by the flickering hallway light, clad in a baggy black tee and faded denim that didn't quite match the nervous energy rolling off him in waves. his hair was tied up in a messy bun, spiky strands sticking out like an afterthought, and of course, he looked unfairly good for someone who had probably spent the past week avoiding the sunlight.

"uh, hey," he says, his voice softer than usual — careful, even. like he thought you might throw the nearest piece of furniture at him and sprint into the night.

"hey?" you echo, voice brittle as you folded your arms tighter. the sweatshirt you were wearing — his sweatshirt, one that he had left here weeks ago — suddenly felt two sizes too big and painfully obvious, "what are you doing here?"

choso scratches the back of his neck, his gaze flickering over you briefly before darting to the floor, "i needed to see you."

"at…eight at night? without warning?"

"would you have answered if i'd texted you?"

the air between you stilled as your brain scrambles for a retort, but he had you dead to rights. with a reluctant huff, you step aside. "fair point. just come in."

choso hesitates for half a second before stepping inside, his presence making your already small apartment feel even more claustrophobic. he's taking a quick glance around, and you watched, mortified, as his eyes landed on the pile of crumpled tissues precariously close to a half-drunk mug of cocoa and a bottle of jack daniel's teetering on the edge of the coffee table.

"sorry for the mess," you mutter, your voice defensive as you crossed your arms tighter.

"it's fine," choso says, a little too quickly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. his gaze lingers on you for a beat longer than necessary, "i didn't mean to…interrupt."

"you didn't interrupt anything." you wave vaguely at the disaster zone that was your apartment.

choso's lips twitch, almost like he wanted to smile but wasn't sure if now was the time, "look, i just —" he trails off, his usual dull voice faltering as he pulled something small and neatly wrapped from his pocket, "i came to give you this. and talk."

you stare at the gift in his hands, shiny crimson ribbon and all, your pulse kicking up like it had somewhere urgent to be, "christmas came early? thanks, cho," you say, mirroring his words with the kind of ease that only comes from too many shared silences. "i'm fine, though. i wasn't up to much."

choso cracks a small, half-hearted smile, but it's like watching a flicker of light in a dim room — there, but not really there. "i tried texting," he says, glancing at you, searching for something.

"i know," you murmur, suddenly finding the floor very interesting, "i just wasn't in the mood for much talking."

choso huffs, a sound halfway between exasperation and amusement, "i noticed," he says dryly, and that only makes the air in the room more thick and uncomfortable.

you sigh, letting your shoulders slump as you flop back onto the couch, curling your knees up to your chest like you're trying to make yourself small enough to disappear, "so, what? you came here to check if i'm still breathing?"

"kind of," choso admits, settling awkwardly on the edge of your coffee table, his long legs folded beneath him in that way that makes him look like he’s trying to physically contain himself. his knees bump into yours, and you have to fight the urge to pull away, like you could get too close, "but mostly...i came to talk about last friday night."

your stomach does a horrifying little flip, the kind that sends cold fingers crawling up your spine. you stare at him, silently willing him to read the begging look in your eyes and back off, but he doesn't. he's never been the type to take the hint.

"i've been thinking about it all week," he continues, his voice quiet but steady, as if he's preparing himself for something big, "and i need to know if —"

"nope," you interrupt, holding up a hand, "nope. we're not going there."

choso blinks at you, like he's trying to process the sudden barricate that you've just put up. but you're so not ready for this conversation, not now, nor ever. and you'll be damned if he gets any closer to the minefield. he scowls, his brows knitting together like he's resisting the urge to push you off the couch, "why not?"

"because it doesn't matter, okay?" you lean your head back against the couch, staring at the ceiling like you can will this conversation away, "i was drunk as hell, cho. you're overthinking it."

he scoffs, his voice sharp now, like he's cutting through your flimsy deflection with a blade, "i don't think i am."

you wince, shrinking a little under the weight of his stony gaze, "why does this even matter?"

"you think i can just brush it off like it didn't happen?" and there's a rawness in choso's voice that hits you harder than expected.

your cheeks heat up, a fiery blush creeping up your neck, "i didn't mean it," you mutter.

"yes, you did," choso snaps back, with uncharacteristic heat, and he leans forward, enough to close the distance between you two, "and you know how i know? because you've been ignoring me all week. if it was just some drunk nonsense, you would have laughed it off by now. but you haven't."

you open your mouth to argue, to push back. but the words stick heavy in your throat. nothing comes out, and it must prove choso all the more right, because you watch as his bottom lip is captured by his teeth, suddenly watching plush skin split.

"do you want me to apologise?" you ask finally, voice a little too sharp for comfort, "because i will. i'll say i'm sorry for putting you in that position and —"

"i don't want an apology," choso cuts you off, and the dim light of your apartment makes the dark circles under his eyes stand out like bruises, "i want the truth."

you freeze, your heart thudding like a drum in your chest, "what truth, cho?"

"that you meant it," choso says softly, "that you meant it when you said that you wish it had been me."

the words hang in the air, heavy and electric. your breath catches, as your mind goes blank. an entire power outage, as you blink at him like a fish out of water. finally, after what feels like an eternity, you force the knot in your throat to loosen just enough to speak, "yeah," you whisper, "i meant it."

choso's whole body seems to deflate, like he's been holding up the weight of the sky. his shoulders slump, and the sheer relief on his face hits you like a tidal wave. it's almost enough to undo you. there's a sound, soft and shaky and far too vulnerable that escapes him.

neither of you move. the moment stretches out, fragile. like it could snap in half if either of you dared to breathe too loud.

then, choso is the first to move.

there's no hesitation, no uncertainty. just pure intention, like a dam finally bursting open. he shifts forward, hands finding their way to your waist with an urgency that makes your pulse go into overdrive. choso's grip is firm, but there's a reverence to it, as if you're something he's waited his entire life to touch. he pulls you to him, and you can feel the heat of him flood your chest, your blood, your bones.

"what if you regret this?" you murmur into his chest, voice muffled as your arms slip around his necks, holding onto the beautiful man like he may float way.

"not a chance," choso replies, and his voice is raspier than you've ever heard it, like he's saying it more to himself than to you.

choso kamo finally kisses you.

the kind of kiss that feels like a storm is finally breaking over clear skies, with an unrestrainted longing that crashes over the both of you.

his sweet lips meet yours with a hunger that makes your head spin, raw and real. choso clearly doesn't want to hold back, and neither do you.

his hands tighten at your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers thread through his hair, tugging lightly at russet strands.

choso groans into your mouth, a soft and burning thing that ignites every nerve in your body.

without breaking his hold on your lips, his wide hands slide down, finding the back of your thighs, making you shamefully clench them closer together.

but he's tapping them in silent invitation, and you leap into him, your legs wrapping around his waist as he lifts you effortlessly. the world around you blurs as he stumbles backwards.

and when the back of his knees hit the edge of your bed, gravity does its job. you both tumble into the mattress in a jumbled mess of limbs and muffled laughter, your heart pounding so loud, as you muster up the courage to prod your tongue at his lips, letting him part his mouth so you can take up more of choso.

you land beneath him, his weight pressing into you in the best way possible, sending sharp spikes of heady arousal through you. and you blink up at him, breathless.

choso is so close now, his hazel eyes locked on yours with a rare intensity, like the calm façade is entirely shattered now. but there's a smile on his lips, a crooked little thing that sends a rush of warmth through you.

"hi, choso," you whisper, your voice soft yet breathless as he chases your lips again, a desperate hunger in his eyes. it's as if he can't bear to be apart from you, even for a heartbeat.

"hey," he murmurs back, that low rumble sending shivers down your spine, igniting a heat you can't ignore.

you keep pressing kisses to his glossy lips, the world narrowing down the press of his mouth and how choso's hands cradle your waist like you might slip away if he doesn't hold on tight enough.

without breaking contact, choso shifts, his strong hands guiding you gently, firmly.

"don' wanna crush you," he spills against your mouth, his voice low and rough, and before you can reply, he flips you effortless.

the movement is seamless, fluid even. and you're suddenly perched atop him, straddling his thighs and sinking into the worn denim of his jeans.

he's leaning back against the covers beneath him, as his chest rises and falls in unsteady waves as he gazes up at you. expression caught somewhere between awe and hunger.

choso looks so completely, heartbreakingly in love with you that it leaves you breathless. his hands tighten on your waist, fingertips pressing with a near bruising intensity into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt that clings to your frame.

his cheeks are flushed a deep, telling pink, and you can't help the soft, teasing coo that slips from your lips as you trace the curve of his temple with gentle fingers, "is something wrong, cho?" you murmur.

his lips, swollen and glistening from your kiss, part slightly, his breath uneven and catching on the edges of unspoken emotions, "nothing. nothing, i swear," he says, the words tumbling out rough and raw, his voice pitched low and vulnerable.

his hands slide you closer, his grip firm but trembling slightly, and his next confession nearly undoes you, makes your core moisten even, "just…never done this before."

"really?" you whisper, eyes widening as you take him in — the flush on choso's cheeks, the way he won't quite meet your gaze, the way he holds you like you're something precious.

the realisation that he's never shared this part of himself with anyone else tugs sharply at your heartstrings, "never?"

choso swallows thickly, nodding once, his voice a quiet hum as he admits, "mhm."

"ah, you're so cute, cho," you giggle, watching as the man scrunches his nose in mock protest.

"tch, 'm not meant to be cute."

you huff, feigning disappointment, "and here i was, wishing you a very merry christmas eve." he whines as you lean in, pressing a teasing kiss to his neck, right where his heartbeat thrums beneath his pale skin. your lips find their home at the juncture, and you can't help but smile at the way he whines at your touch, bucks his hips up into yours.

"must have been real good to get a holiday gift like this."

you pull back just enough to admire your handiwork, a little red bloom that blossoms on thin skin, bruised petals that mark him now. choso's swallowing thickly, his adam's apple bobbing, as a soft whine escapes his lips again as you lean in, this time closer to the jaw. leaving a trail of kisses in a messy that makes choso squirm.

you press your thumb against his lower lip, feeling the soft and trembling skin quiver under your touch, "hey. open up," you coax, a teasing lilt colouring your voice.

choso looks up at you, his wide eyes clouded with desire as dark strands of hair fall across his forehead, "huh, what?"

you tap his lip again, impatience bubbling in your chest, "c'mon, open your mouth. properly," and the way he immediately obeys, parting his glossy lips sends a thrill through you. the scent of clove and citrus envelops you as you lean in closer, running your tongue over his lower lip.

you let a glob of spit fall from your lip into his mouth, with a thick thwack! echoing in the air. you deliberately miss, just a little bit, to watch him squirm as he swallows, eyes fluttering shut and inky lashes staining his cheeks.

"so good, aren't you? good at playing nice, hah," you use your thumb to smear the slick over his lips, just a bit. to watch him shudder, entirely captivated by you. it's exhilarating and makes your cunt clench around nothing. probably seeping through the thin material of your shorts and onto his thick jeans.

bang bang bang!

a sharp knock that booms at your door, enough to make your ears ring. you hear choso groan beneath you, shifting slightly so you can feel the full, thick curve of his bulge right where you need him most.

"think we can ignore that?" he rasps, his voice rough and low, the sound of it leave slick strands clinging between your thighs.

you spread your legs just a little wider over him, watching as his frown dissipates and his jaw drops, distracted by the preview you've given him, "i'm really hoping so."

but whoever is at the door has no intention of being ignored. another knock rattles the wood, followed by an all-too-familiar voice yelling, "hey! open up! delivery!"

your brows furrow, recognition sparking, "cho, isn't that—"

he cuts you off with an apologetic sigh, lifting you off his lap with surprising gentleness. choso sets you down on the quilt, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before muttering under his breath, "it better not be."

you watch him go, more than a little distracted by the sight of his broad shoulders and the way his messy hair bobs with each step. already, you're plotting exactly how you’ll get your hands back in it once he returns.

choso swings the door open, and you hear a collective, "what the hell?" echo through the apartment — one part you, one part choso, and one part…

"itadori yuuji?" you blurt, leaning over to get a look. sure enough, there's choso's younger brother, standing in the doorway in a bright red pizza delivery uniform, balancing three large boxes in one hand and his phone in the other.

yuuji blinks at the two of you, then raises an eyebrow, his expression a mix of confusion and something vaguely accusatory before reading off his phone in a robotic voice, "uh…merry christmas eve. i have three pizzas. extra cheese. stuffed crust," he pauses, not able to keep the act up as his golden eyes narrow, "but, uh — bro, what happened to your face?"

you bite your lip to keep from laughing as choso straightens, his expression caught somewhere between mortified and furious, "yuuji—"

but the younger man's attention shifts to you, his gaze taking in the oversized sweatshirt you're wearing, choso's sweatshirt, and his jaw drops, "oh hell no. this is the hot girl you texted me about?"

choso visibly flinches as you burst into giggles.

"that's like your best friend? that's like my sister-in-law!" yuuji throws up his hands in mock disbelief, "you really keep your circles tight, huh, man?"

before choso can even respond, yuuji leans in closer, squinting at his older brother, "and seriously, dude, what's all that on your face?"

choso groans, snatching the pizzas from yuuji with one hand and shoving him toward the hall with the other, "okay, that's enough. get out."

"you haven't paid me! that's against the law!" yuuji protests, but choso grabs the scruff of his brother's uniform collar, steering him out the door.

"i'll pay you double. triple. just leave."

"my pizzas are probably cold now anyway," you call out, adding fuel to the fire.

"yeah? well, you look a bit too busy to eat them anyway," yuuji swivels his head over his shoulder to wag a finger at you with a grin, before choso finally shoves him fully into the hallway.

as the door slams shut, you hear yuuji's muffled voice echoing, "i'm telling everyone. i'm telling dad. i'm telling sukuna. i'm telling gramps, gojo, nanami —"

you can hear their bickering voices fade down the hallway, to where choso is probably gonna pack him into the car and send him off.

you glance down at the box you'd set aside earlier, your curiosity getting the better of you. carefully pulling at the ribbon, you open it to find a small scrapbook, beautifully made. inside are photos and clippings of you and choso: movie ticket stubs, receipts from late-night takeout runs, train tickets from your trip to the coast.

your chest tightens as you run your fingers over the familiar handwriting scrawled in the margins, a quote from a cheesy romantic movie that you had forced choso to watch with you a few months ago. what an honour it is to be loved like this.

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wannabespacesmuggler · 2 days ago

Text

D.D. | Shane's Girl [10]

Part Ten | Masterlist | Buy me a coffee | Check out the playlist

Summary: Daryl Dixon knows he shouldn’t be thinking about you when he’s alone at night in his tent. Hell, he shouldn’t even be looking at you throughout the day. You’re not his. You’re Shane’s girl. But Daryl doesn’t like the way Shane treats you. And he certainly doesn’t like how you’re forced to play ‘loving girlfriend’ to a man with eyes for another woman at the camp.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x female!Reader

Warnings: Shane Walsh is the worst, angst, canon violence, mentions of tobacco use, chapter follows “Tell it to the Frogs” but dialogue and events are paraphrased.

Word Count: 3K

Author’s Note: Me posting twice in a week? Unheard of. I've just been feeling very inspired for this story and this chapter just took on a life of it's own. I try to keep these chapter under 2,000 words, but this one is a tad longer. Hope you all enjoy! As always I would love to hear what y'all think.

After an eventful night around the campfire, you return to your empty tent. A part of you was thankful when Shane told the group that he was taking watch tonight, but another part of you recognizes that he’s simply trying to delay the inevitable. You’re just not sure you’re ready for that conversation right now. Not after the whiplash of emotions you experienced today: from the joy of one of your best friends returning from the dead to the devastation you felt for Daryl at the realization that Merle didn’t make it back from Atlanta.

You had asked about the older Dixon’s absence during a lull in the conversation after you’d all finished dinner. Rick explained what had happened in Atlanta, and though you understood why he chose to handcuff Merle on the roof, your heart broke for Daryl. When you asked if they planned to return to the city for him, you were met by a scoff from Shane and a mumbled good riddance under his breath. His reaction made you sick to your stomach. You may not care for Merle Dixon, but Daryl does. And for all you know, he’s the only family that Daryl has left.

The prolonged silence that ensued after your question was an answer in itself. They didn’t plan on going back for him.

You lie down on your cot, sighing as you stare into the darkness above you. Your mind is still racing at the realization of Shane’s infidelity. You hadn’t gotten a chance to process the insinuation during the constant commotion this evening, but now that you were alone, it’s all you can think about. You roll over, closing your eyes and hoping that some sleep will give you a clearer perspective on your dilemma. But even though today took pretty much everything out of you, sleep never seemed further away. The idea of holding onto all of this alone is exhausting, but who are you supposed to talk to right now? Rick and Lori just got each other back. You barely know Glenn and Dale. And even though you’re friends with Andrea and Amy, anything told to the sisters tends to spread through the camp like wildfire. You wish Daryl was here.

But then there’s your second problem. How do you explain to Daryl that the group left his brother in Atlanta? And how will he respond? Daryl’s just started opening up to you, and you’re depending on that budding friendship now more than ever. You’re afraid he will pull away from the group due to the betrayal. And you wouldn’t blame him — betrayal weighs heavy on your heart right now.

You let out another sigh as you turn onto your back. You pull your thin blanket over your head, trying to physically block out the thoughts spiraling inside of your brain. In an attempt to calm yourself down, you pull Dale’s book out of your backpack and ignite your small flashlight. You open the book to where you left off, but instead of getting further into the novel, your eyes drift to the crumpled piece of paper acting as your placeholder. Finally, you drift off rereading Daryl’s hastily written note.

When you wake, you’re met with rays of morning sunlight filtering through the flaps of your tent. You blink the grogginess out of your eyes. Even though you slept more than usual last night, your body feels like it didn’t get any rest. You gather your strength and manage to get off of your small cot, groaning as your feet connect with the ground. Hopefully, you’ll feel better once you busy yourself with something to do around camp.

Exiting your tent, you’re met with a surprisingly empty camp. Your brow furrows as you sweep the area, but a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips as your eyes land on Rick talking to Carol by the RV. Having Rick Grimes back in your life still feels like a dream. You make your way up to the pair, and Rick glances over your way.

“You look as tired as I feel.”

Although his words are said in a humorous tone, his eyes hold a look of genuine concern. The small smile on your face grows a bit wider at the sight. Rick Grimes isn’t your blood, but you’ve considered him your family since you befriended Lori all those years ago.

“Just a restless night, I suppose.”

You attempt to brush off the concern nonchalantly. The last thing you want to do is worry Rick as he’s settling back in with his friends and family. But even though he lets out a warm chuckle at your response, the concern etched into his features doesn’t dissipate. Rick opens his mouth to reply, but is cut off by a woman screaming. The two of you look toward where the sound is coming from, somewhere off in the surrounding woods, before looking back at each other with wide eyes.

“Lori…”

Without another word, the two of you race off into the woods with Carol not far behind. As you both get further into the forest, you begin to hear a medley of concerned voices. And finally, you find a small clearing with the entire group gathered around Sophia and Carl. Rick rushes over to his son, but your eyes are fixated on an inanimate walker lying beside a deer carcass. Your hand subconsciously lands on your hip and grabs the hilt of your hunting knife. Although it looks like some of the men handled the walker, you still have a sinking feeling in your stomach as your eyes rake over the jagged bite marks that trail down the deer’s neck.

A rustling in the woods pulls your attention away from the carnage, and suddenly, everyone is on high alert. You watch as both Shane and Rick get in front of Lori and Carl, shielding them with their bodies as they draw their guns up toward the sound. Your tense shoulders relax, and a relieved sigh escapes your lips as Daryl appears from the dense forest brush. Everyone drops their weapons as Daryl raises his hands. Shane groans as he spots a handful of squirrels that Daryl has tied onto a rope in his left hand. Daryl glares at Shane for a second before his eyes land on the mangled deer lying on the forest floor.

“Son of a bitch!”

Daryl approaches the deer, angrily muttering about how he’d been tracking it for miles. He kicks the deer in frustration and drops to a knee to assess the damage the walker has done.

“I was gonna drag it back to camp — cook us all up some venison. What do you think? Think we could cut around the chewed-up parts?”

Daryl’s proposal earns him several disgusted groans, and Shane responds.

“I wouldn’t risk it, man.”

Daryl sighs disappointedly before standing up from the deer. He wipes off his hands on the front of his jeans. His eyes harden slightly as he looks over at Shane.

“That’s a damn shame. Got some squirrel though — that’ll have to make due.”

From behind him, the walker begins groaning and Daryl rolls his eyes as multiple people cry out in horror. In one swift motion he swings his crossbow from behind his back and shoots the walker square between the eyes. Daryl’s eyes scan the small crowd that has gathered around all of the commotion. His posture relaxes ever-so-slightly as his eyes meet yours. He gives you a subtle nod — a small gesture you’ve grown accustomed to. Instead of nodding back, you drop your eyes to the ground. You’re not quite sure how to face him right now — overwhelmed by a mix of embarrassment over your current predicament with Shane and guilt that you didn’t go to Atlanta after learning about Merle. Realistically, you know that there’s no way that you could go on a lone rescue mission to the city to save Merle, but you still feel like you should have done something.

Daryl’s brow furrows, and his heart clenches at your reaction. What happened while he was gone? Daryl looks around and suddenly realizes that everyone in camp is staring at him with a disheartened expression — everyone except Merle. His eyes quickly scan the group once more before he starts making his way toward their shared tent. Everyone moves to follow him.

“Merle! Merle, where you at?”

You move to step forward. If anyone was going to break the news about his brother, it should be someone who cares about him. But before you can speak, Shane pushes you behind him and takes the lead.

“Daryl, just slow up a bit. We need to talk to you about Merle. There was a problem in Atlanta.”

Daryl chews on his bottom lip for a second before responding.

“He dead?”

Your heart breaks as you watch Daryl’s expression drop.

“We’re not sure.”

Daryl’s face hardens at Shane’s answer.

“He either is or he ain’t!”

Rick puts a hand on Shane’s shoulder before things get too heated between the two hot-headed men. As Daryl’s gaze shifts from Shane to Rick and his eyes narrow.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Rick Grimes.”

Recognition flashes in Daryl’s eyes as the name immediately reminds him of the numerous stories you’ve told him about the man you consider a brother. His gaze flickers to you briefly before shifting back to Rick. For your sake, he pushes his anger aside for a moment and chooses to listen to Rick. You watch intently as Rick explains the events that happened in Atlanta. Daryl’s nostrils flare, and his grip tightens around the squirrels he’s holding.

“You’re tellin’ me that you handcuffed my brother on top of a roof and left him there?”

“Yeah.”

And then all hell breaks loose. Daryl throws the bundle of squirrels at Rick, causing Shane to launch himself at Daryl. You rush forward as Shane tackles Daryl to the floor. You’re yelling at Shane — begging him to get off of Daryl. As you attempt to pull Shane off of him, Shane reaches back and pushes you off of him. Daryl yells as you hit the ground hard. Rick helps you up, and there’s a collective gasp as Daryl, who has managed to get out of Shane’s hold, pulls out his hunting knife.

“Stop it!”

You step in between the two men — back to Shane. Daryl’s chest heaves from the physical activity, and his eyes don’t leave the man behind you.

“Daryl.”

Finally, his eyes meet yours, and his face softens ever-so-slightly. He sighs before dropping the knife. You nod at him approvingly before turning to look at Shane. Although Daryl seems to have settled down, Shane is still fuming. His gaze is like daggers as he continues to stare at Daryl. T-Dog steps forward to diffuse the situation.

“I dropped the key, but I locked the door. Nothing should be able to get in there — we just have to go back.”

You hear Daryl grunt from behind you. As you turn to face him, he’s chewing on his bottom lip again. You can practically see the gears turning his head.

“Just tell me where he is so I can go get him.”

“I’ll go back with you.”

Lori clenches her jaw at Rick’s words, obviously upset by her husband’s decision. T-Dog nods at Rick’s words before stating he’ll join them. Shane mutters a string of expletives under his breath as Rick glances around the group. His eyes land on Glenn, and he shifts his feet nervously.

“Really, man?”

“You know the city better than anybody. It’d make me feel safer knowing you’re there with me.”

Glenn hesitates for a moment before nodding. Rick gives him a small smile, and Shane lets out an exasperated sigh.

“So that’s your big plan, man? You, T-Dog, Glenn, and Daryl?”

“And me.”

Suddenly, everyone’s eyes land on you. Shane’s expression hardens as his eyes meet yours. His gaze is ice cold, but you don’t back down.

“The hell you are!”

“I’m going, Shane.”

Shane huffs before taking several steps toward you.

“Are you outta your goddamn mind? This is Merle Dixon we’re talking about.”

You glance back over your shoulder at Daryl who is nervously shifting from one foot to the other. He’s watching the interaction attentively. Just like always, he’s prepared to step in if Shane loses his cool.

“He’s still human, Shane. He deserves better than to die handcuffed on top of a roof like a rabid animal.”

Shane’s expression tightens as his gaze briefly shifts between you and Daryl. His gaze eventually focuses back on you and his eyes narrow.

“You’re really gonna do this for him?”

He juts his chin towards Daryl, and you let out a dry laugh due to the absurdity of this conversation. Everyone’s watching the stand-off between you and Shane intently — you’d be embarrassed by the attention if you weren’t so angry.

“This doesn’t have anything to do with him, alright? It’s about doing the right thing.”

Shane takes another menacing step forward. You know what he’s doing — he’s trying to intimidate you into submission, but you’re done with this. He squares his shoulders as he towers over you, but instead of cowering, you stand your ground.

“That’s bullshit. If you leave with them, we’re done.”

His voice is seething. He’s desperately trying to regain control of the situation — the ultimatum is proof of that.

“We’ve been done, Shane.”

You turn to leave the conversation, but Shane reaches out and grabs your wrist. The grip he has on you is bone-breaking, and you let out a surprised yelp as he pulls you back towards him. Immediately, Daryl springs into action. A low, threatening growl rumbles in his throat as he moves toward you.

“Don’t fucking touch her.”

Shane’s grip tightens at Daryl’s warning. You squirm due to the pain shooting up your arm. You desperately try to wriggle out of Shane’s grasp, but it’s too tight.

“Stay out of this. She isn’t yours.”

“Are you deaf? She ain’t yours either.”

Before Shane can react, Rick grabs his shoulder. He looks at you and Shane with wide eyes, obviously confused about what has happened between you both during his absence.

“Brother, what are you doing?”

Finally, Shane releases his grip, and you immediately backstep away from him. Daryl places a gentle hand on your shoulder and moves you further away from Shane. Rick’s brow furrows in confusion as he watches Daryl precautiously step in front of you. He’s obviously missing something here. The last time he saw you both — before the accident, before the coma — you were laughing with each other during dinner at Rick and Lori’s. He remembers your joy. But now you’re looking at his best friend with nothing but discontent. And Daryl, the man that Shane warned Rick about last night, is the one protecting you from a man you shouldn’t fear. Rick shakes his head before addressing the rest of the group.

“Alright everyone, the show’s over. Let’s all cool off for a bit, okay?”

The group begins to wander off in different directions. But Daryl and Shane continue to stare each other down until Rick grabs Shane’s shoulder again.

“Shane, let’s go.”

It sounds more like a warning than a suggestion. Finally, Shane tears his eyes away from Daryl and stomps into camp. Rick gives you one last apologetic look before following after his best friend. You let out a sigh of relief and let your shoulders drop as the tense encounter finally ends. Daryl turns to face you, and his eyes immediately drop to your wrist, which is already beginning to bruise.

“You ‘lright?”

You nod wordlessly, still overwhelmed by everything that just happened. Daryl moves you back toward a fallen log to sit you down before he cautiously grabs your wrist. You’re so far away right now you don’t even respond to the touch. He drops down on one knee and gently assesses the damage that Shane caused, making sure nothing’s broken. Once Daryl is content with his assessment, he meets your eyes. His expression is brimming with worry as he searches your face.

“You sure you’re ‘lright?”

Finally, you meet his eyes, and Daryl’s heart breaks at the sight of your broken appearance. He’s overwhelmed by his need to protect you — a feeling that’s becoming increasingly common for him as he spends more time with you. This time, you simply shake your head. Honestly, you have no idea what you feel right now.

Daryl nods and takes a seat beside you. He feels like a fucking idiot. He never should have left you here for so long — not after everything you told him about Shane, everything he’s observed over the weeks you’ve spent in camp together. Before he can kick himself further, you speak again.

“It’s over, right?”

Daryl looks at you softly and nods.

“It’s over.”

“But he’s still…”

“You ain’t gotta worry about him anymore. I promise you, I ain’t gonna let him do anything to you. Not anymore.”

You’re overwhelmed by the sincerity in his tone and the devotion in his eyes. He promises to protect you like he’s taking an oath. And for the first time since he left on his hunting trip, you feel safe. You nod, honestly believing that Daryl would put himself in harms way for your own well-being. Hell, he already did. You lean back against the fallen log and Daryl reaches into his pocket before wordlessly offering you a cigarette. A warm laugh bubbles in your chest at the gesture and Daryl wishes he could record the sound. You take the cigarette and give him a small smile.

“You’re a bad influence, Dixon.”

A smirk pulls at the corner of Daryl’s lips as he hands you a lighter. You take it graciously and Daryl watches you light the cigarette between your lips. You hand the lighter back to him before taking a long drag.

Goddamn.

He always thought those cowboy killers would kill one day — but he was wrong. You’re going to be the death of him and he’s okay with that. Because he can’t think of a more wonderful way to go.

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haveyouseenthisskeleton · 2 days ago

Note

Skeleton's adult children said they couldn't come for Christmas this year, but shows up as a surprise to celebrate with him and S/O (who was warned about it for the food lol). For the main boys!

Undertale Sans - Sans was slightly down about not seeing his kids this year. Family is everything for him and he was just sad he couldn't celebrate with the people he loves the most. He's genuinely shocked and confused when he opens the door and finds his two kids waiting. That's the best surprise ever. He really doesn't care about the presents, that's a present big enough for him already. He's cheerful all night.

Undertale Papyrus - He found it oddly suspicious you cooked so much honestly and he had a feeling something like that was about to happen. That or you wanted to stuff Sans like a Christmas turkey or something, he wasn't too sure. Papyrus is excited about his kids showing up and acts like he didn't expect it at all with a bit too much passion.

Underswap Sans - Well, he's on service on Christmas day anyway so he didn't have time to process his S/O would be alone on Christmas. He's surprised to see both his S/O and his kids come to fetch him by force so he spends Christmas with them. His boss was already aware. He is happy to have a day off, but it also means he needs to go through a family dinner and he's not too excited about it.

Underswap Papyrus - Being the original Mr. Dad, Honey was devastated to not have his babies home for Christmas, and even quite depressed, even though he was happy to celebrate with his S/O. He's crying on his knees when he opens the door and finds all of his children here. He's so happy he faints actually. When he wakes up, he has no idea what's going on, he's just happy.

Underfell Sans - He understands. His children are big and they have their lives now. Just like Edge, they don't have any more time for little old him. He was kinda resigned to his fate until he opens the door and finds them all here, both his children and his brother. Uh??? Red says they shouldn't have come and everything, but he can't hide for long he is actually a tiny bit relieved they didn't forget about him. It seems he didn't mess up educating them all after all. That's a little bit comforting.

Underfell Papyrus - He was fine with the idea as he would have seen them all on New Year anyway. He didn't understand why his S/O insisted on cooking so much food and he started to argue when someone rang at the door. Ah. So that's why. Ah, ah, very funny. You think you are all so clever, right? He's pouting, and he won't give the kids their presents before the next day just to show he's mad lol. He's stubborn, and you won't convince him to say he's actually happy to see them.

Horrortale Sans - .... Were you not supposed to come? He doesn't know, he kinda forgot. Oak just assumed they were coming and set the table for them anyway, so everyone thought he knew already. He didn't. Or, well, he did, but unwillingly. He's just happy his kids are here.

Horrortale Papyrus - He knew that it could happen so he set the table for his children anyway. Willow doesn't like to be unprepared in case something unexpected happens, so he did like the kids were coming anyway. And look at that, he knew he was right! Willow is happy he cooks for 200 people (even though you're just eight, help), no one is going to starve tonight. You're all going to be dying in bed the next day so you can't leave, which is also part of his plan to keep you longer at home. Next time, you'll think about visiting more often.

Swapfell Sans - Nox was secretly hoping for it the second he saw his S/O cook way more food than they could eat in one night. He's kinda waiting all day at the window like a sad puppy, or running to the window every time there's a loud car in the street. Of course, when his S/O stares at him, he immediately acts like he's bitching on the neighbors like usual, he has a reputation after all. He even falls asleep waiting for them at some point. When his baby comes, he's so excited that you're pretty sure you've never seen him like that in your entire life. Nox feels like it's not really Christmas as long as everyone is not home.

Swapfell Papyrus - He asks his child to prove him they're not an evil clone of his child. And he won't move off the way before you do. You come here uninvited, and he's going to troll you to make you pay after making him believe you were not coming. He eventually lets them in after they tell a joke that actually makes him laugh. He's just happy his kid is home.

Fellswap Gold Sans - He calls his S/O delusional and in denial all day, and now he's shutting up for good. He's even a little mad that they actually showed up and made him look like an idiot. How dare you do that to your old father? Now he has to apologize and he hates to apologize! Go apologize to your other parent for him this instant!

Fellswap Gold Papyrus - He's a little disappointed and resigned to only cuddle with S/O tonight when the kids show up out of nowhere. Coffee is speechless. And not prepared??? Why didn't you say you were coming? He's not ready! All the gifts are in his room! He's panicking now. You said they were not coming, now nothing is ready and everything is wrong. Christmas is stressful man!

#undertale #underswap #underfell #horrortale #swapfell #fellswap gold #sans #papyrus #undertale ask blog #undertale asks #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons

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danganronpasurvivoraskblog · 2 days ago

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Dangancember 2024 - Danganronpa Top 24 Class Trials - NUMBER 2🥈: Danganronpa 2 Case 5

//I'm willing to bet that almost EVERYBODY thought this one was going to get Number 1 on this list, and to be fair, when I did a ranking years back, it DID get the reward for my best case back on Reddit.

//But in case this list, compared to that one, isn't evidence enough, my opinions have changed a bit.

//I feel the need to remind everyone that this ranking is based primarily on my general feeling of each of these cases, taking into account the characterization, investigation, general mystery, plot twists, etc. If we were ranking this purely on investigation and mystery, without my personal feelings towards a case involved, this one would be Number 1.

//When it comes to Danganronpa cases, Game 2 Case 5 is not just the crown jewel; it’s the one everyone expects to see perched at the top of any "best trials" list.

//And yes, I hear you already, "Oh, how predictable. Case 5 at the top? How original!"

//But let’s face it, sometimes the popular opinion is popular for a reason. I don’t do contrarianism for sport, folks. If something’s obvious because it’s correct, then I’m not going to waste time pretending otherwise.

//Could I have slapped some other case here, like 1-2 or V3-1, to make things spicy? I think it's spicy enough that this one isn't Number 1, but that aside, we’re not here for hot takes; we’re here to appreciate brilliance, and Case 5 is absolutely, unequivocally, that case.

//Now, let’s address the elephant in the room, or perhaps the giant robotic animal mascot if we’re staying on brand. This case is legendary for reasons beyond just "it’s good."

//Put simply, there is no other video game or mystery-themed franchise that could pull this case off OTHER than DANGANRONPA.

//It’s part mystery, part madness, and 100% the kind of twist-riddled storytelling that no one can replicate. You’d need the full chaotic toolkit of Danganronpa’s narrative rule-breaking, character complexity, and absurd-but-brilliant logic leaps. Without those, you’re just a murder mystery fan with a dream.

//Why does this case stand out so much? Because it takes what we think we know about how these games work, how mysteries work, really, and throws it straight into Monokuma’s metaphorical incinerator. In most murder mysteries, the setup is fairly predictable: Person A offs Person B, usually for some selfish reason, like wanting freedom or holding a grudge.

//Danganronpa usually follows that formula, with the added twist of a deadly game show setting. But then along comes Case 5, flipping the script so hard it leaves you reeling. It doesn’t just upend expectations; it takes them out back, ties them to a rocket, and blasts them into space.

//And yet, it’s not just shock value. Beneath the twists and turns, this trial is meticulously crafted, intertwining its revelations with the overarching story in ways that make your brain do somersaults. It’s equal parts emotionally devastating and intellectually satisfying. If you’re a fan of intricate mysteries and gut-punching twists, this case isn’t just going to impress you, it’s going to live rent-free in your mind forever.

But don’t take my word for it (well, okay, do, since you’re reading my review). This case’s reputation precedes it. If you’ve played it, you know. And if you haven’t…well, let’s just say, the bar for storytelling in murder mystery games is about to be set unreachably high.

//Let's dive in!

//Let’s be real: by this point in time, you’re knee-deep into this game, so many are dead, and you know something’s about to go down with Nagito Komaeda. The ominous buildup and his increasingly unhinged behavior practically scream, “Buckle up, this is gonna get wild.”

//So when you eventually stumble upon his body, it’s not exactly shocking that he’s the victim. What is shocking, however, is everything else about this chapter. The setup, the stakes, the twists, and oh boy, the absolutely brutal state of his corpse. Seriously, if you thought previous trials in this game had upped the ante, Chapter 5 snaps the bar in two and sets it on fire for good measure.

//The setup alone is chaos incarnate: Nagito has hidden bombs around Jabberwock Island and cheerfully announces that if they go off, the entire island and everyone on it will sink straight into the ocean. Naturally, this sends the remaining students—Hajime, Chiaki, Fuyuhiko, Akane, Kazuichi, and Sonia—into panic mode as they scramble to defuse them.

//Just when they manage to avert what feels like certain doom, they discover a warehouse is suddenly engulfed in flames. Conveniently (or suspiciously?), fire grenades are nearby, and the group decides to toss them into the inferno in an attempt to extinguish it.

//Crisis averted, right?

//Wrong.

//When the smoke clears, they find Nagito’s lifeless body inside, and it’s unlike anything the series has thrown at you before.

//Let’s talk about that body discovery scene because…wow. Danganronpa doesn’t shy away from gruesome, but Nagito’s death takes the cake. His body is covered in cuts, there’s a knife stabbed straight through his right hand, and, as the pièce de résistance, a massive spear is impaled directly through his chest. It’s horrifying, grotesque, and easily one of the most graphic and unforgettable discoveries in the entire series. If you’re not audibly gasping by this point, you might need to check your pulse.

//But here’s where things get really interesting: despite being the victim, Nagito is also the villain of this chapter. His death isn’t just the result of some random grudge or desperation; it’s an intricately planned act designed to manipulate and torment everyone left alive.

//It’s peak Nagito. Brilliant, twisted, and utterly maddening.

//I don't know if I can talk about Nagito himself without repeating things that I've already said, because he’s come up multiple times in this countdown already (and spoiler alert, he’s not done yet), and for good reason.

//Calling him "memorable" feels like the understatement of the century. This guy is the embodiment of chaos, and his very existence has transcended the game to become a full-blown meme.

//But there’s a reason for that: Nagito isn’t just weird; he’s fascinating. He’s the kind of character who sticks in your brain long after the credits roll, equal parts horrifying and hypnotic.

//What makes Nagito so unique is his complexity. On the surface, he seems like an unassuming guy with a fairly mundane talent. But peel back the layers, and you’ll find one of the most manipulative, unsettling, and downright creepy characters in gaming history. His self-loathing is palpable, but it’s overshadowed by his ability to twist every situation to his advantage, or just to create absolute bedlam at ease.

//He’s so committed to his warped version of "hope" that he’s willing to employ the most extreme, morally dubious methods to achieve it. In many ways, he’s the second game’s true antagonist, even if he doesn’t fit the traditional mold. Fuck Junko and Izuru.

//And Case 5 is essentially Nagito’s magnum opus. It’s the culmination of everything that makes him such a standout character: his intelligence, his unpredictability, his disturbing charisma, and his willingness to do whatever it takes, even die, to prove his point. The result is a chapter that feels less like a murder mystery and more like an elaborate psychological chess match.

//So, while Chapter 5 might technically be about solving Nagito’s death, it’s really about unraveling Nagito himself. His influence permeates every aspect of the case, making it one of the most unforgettable and genre-defining moments in Danganronpa history.

//The investigation is okay, but again, as I said for 1-2, it's how they all culminate into the trial that it really works, so let's not waste any more time, and actually get into talking about that.

//For starters, I want to say that the pacing of this trial is BRILLIANT. Every twist and turn feels meticulously timed to keep you on the edge of your seat, while the ideas introduced all tie into the case’s central themes, on top of being innately shocking.

//When the students first discover Nagito’s body, the sheer brutality of the scene makes it look like he was tortured for information before being killed. There are cuts all over his body, a knife impaled through his hand, and that massive spear skewering his chest like the world’s most horrifying centerpiece. It screams “murder most foul,” and naturally, the students start theorizing about who could’ve done something so horrific.

//But quickly, they realize that it wouldn't make sense for someone torture Nagito for information if his mouth was duct-taped shut. Though Kazuichi especially argues for it, that one little detail flips the entire narrative on its head. If he couldn’t speak, then the torture couldn’t have been for interrogation.

//The students realize this, and their next leap in logic is to suspect that maybe Nagito wasn’t murdered at all. What if he orchestrated his own death?

//After all, this is Nagito we’re talking about, a guy who thrives on chaos and has a disturbingly cavalier attitude toward his own life. Using the rope attached to the spear, it seems plausible that he could’ve rigged a setup to drop the weapon onto himself, making it look like an elaborate suicide.

//This is...somewhat true. But in true Danganronpa fashion, the obvious answer is never the correct one. The suicide theory falls apart under closer scrutiny, leaving the students, and the player, scrambling for answers.

That’s when the horrifying truth comes to light, and boy, does it hit like that fire truck that killed Celeste.

//Nagito set up the scene so that the warehouse he died in would catch on fire once the students opened the door. To get through, the rest of the group grapped a bunch of fire grenades to put the fire out, and all of them grabbed at least one, and threw it into the flames.

//However, this single act causes them to plummet head first into the trap that had been set for them.

//Nagito, ever the agent of chaos, actually rigged one of the fire grenades with lethal poison gas. When the students threw the grenades to extinguish the warehouse fire, one of them tossed the poison grenade, dispersing the gas and killing him. Suddenly, what seemed like a murder mystery or a suicide case becomes something far more twisted.

//And here’s the kicker: nobody knows who threw the poison grenade. Not even the person who actually did it!

//By mixing the poison grenade with the others, Nagito ensured that the identity of his killer would be COMPLETELY RANDOM. This wasn’t just a murder; it was a gamble, a deadly game of Russian roulette where none of the participants even knew they were playing. As I said it’s the kind of mind-bending twist that only Danganronpa could pull off, and it perfectly encapsulates Nagito’s philosophy of chaotic hope.

//Monokuma obviously knows which student threw the poisoned grenade as well, and obviously, if the students get it wrong, they are ALL SCREWED.

//The brilliance of this setup is how utterly hopeless it makes the trial feel. Class trials are all about deduction, piecing together clues, and eventually uncovering the truth. But how do you solve a case where even the killer doesn’t know they’re the killer?

//For the first time in the series, it feels like there’s no way forward, no light at the end of the tunnel. The murder is, quite literally, impossible to solve using traditional methods. It’s a masterstroke in subverting the player’s expectations while also reinforcing the themes of despair and uncertainty that define the series.

//This moment also highlights why Nagito is such a standout character. Only he could come up with something so convoluted, so meticulously planned, and yet so chaotic at its core. He turns the class trial, a system designed to uncover truth and punish the guilty, into an instrument of despair.

//By making the killer’s identity random, Nagito forces the group to confront the idea that justice might not always be attainable. It’s a chilling reminder of how far he’s willing to go to prove his warped ideals about Hope and Despair.

//Thematically, this case is a perfect storm. It pushes the students to their absolute limits, not just intellectually but emotionally as well. How do you come to terms with a murder that has no clear perpetrator? How do you move forward when the very foundations of the game’s rules have been shaken?

//The trial becomes less about solving the mystery and more about grappling with the moral and philosophical questions it raises. It’s a level of depth and complexity that sets it apart from anything else in the series.

//Of course, this wouldn’t be a Danganronpa trial without a good dose of drama and tension. Watching the students wrestle with their guilt, fear, and confusion as they try to piece together the puzzle from start to finish, and then reach the absolutely horrifying situation they land in, is both heartbreaking and riveting. The stakes, genuinely, never reach higher than this, and the outcome feels completely uncertain and TERRIFYING.

//By the time the truth is revealed, you’re left in awe of the sheer audacity of the writing. It’s the kind of storytelling that leaves a lasting impression, long after the game is over.

//Ultimately, what makes this so effective is how it combines narrative brilliance with gameplay innovation. It’s not just about what happens, but how it makes you feel as a player. You’re questioning everything you thought you knew about how these trials work. It’s a case that breaks the rules, challenges your expectations, and delivers a story that’s as thought-provoking as it is shocking.

//But if you thought we were done, no, we aren't quite yet. What comes after this kicks the trial into a, somehow, HIGHER gear.

//Despite Nagito’s seemingly impossible-to-solve murder, the students DO manage to piece together the truth. And the resolution is haunting, depressing, and brilliantly layered, as it ties back to one of the game’s longest-running mysteries:

//The identity of the traitor.

//Monokuma drops the first breadcrumb early in the story, mentioning that the island was prepared for specifically 15 students but somehow, this group ended up with 16.

//This anomaly immediately plants the suspicion that one of the students is a traitor working for, what we eventually discover, is the supposedly evil "World Ender Organization." It’s a mystery that looms over the entire game, and Nagito, being Nagito, becomes obsessed with uncovering the truth.

//This obsession drives much of Nagito’s increasingly erratic behavior. His bizarre stunts, from his cryptic speeches to the explosive warehouse gambit, are all rooted in his desperation to expose the traitor. Though his motives aren't quite what they seem.

//The events of Chapter 5 are essentially his ultimate gambit for this mission: an elaborate plan to force the traitor to reveal themselves by staging an unsolvable murder.

//But this isn’t just about solving a mystery. Nagito, in his twisted logic, decides that sacrificing himself is a small price to pay if it means exposing the traitor and their connection to the World Ender. If everyone else has to die as collateral damage? Well, that’s just fine with him. It’s peak Nagito, both brilliant and horrifying.

//But...if this plan is at risk of killing everyone, and the poisoned grenade was thrown by a random person, how exactly was it supposed to work?

//What makes this trial so exceptional is how it builds on a recurring theme in Danganronpa 2: the way characters use their Ultimate Talents to achieve their goals. Each case in the game showcases this idea in unique ways.

Teruteru uses his cooking skills to conceal a murder weapon.

Peko exploits her swordsmanship to stage a clever escape.

Mikan manipulates her role as a nurse to fabricate an alibi.

Gundham weaponizes his hamsters to immobilize his victim.

//But this trial falls into this theme while also switching it up, by making the victim the one who uses their talent to manipulate the outcome. And Nagito’s Ultimate Lucky Student talent once again takes center stage, and its application here is as ingenious as it is unsettling.

//Nagito’s luck is unlike Makoto’s relatively tame version in the first game. It’s tangible, almost supernatural, and eerily consistent. Whether it’s winning a game of Russian Roulette with an almost fully loaded revolver in Chapter 4 or orchestrating the chaos of this trial, Nagito’s luck always seems to tilt events in his favor, even when it’s to his detriment.

//This trial showcases his mastery of his talent, as he uses it to create a scenario so convoluted that solving it requires an extraordinary leap of faith. It’s a testament to how his character embodies the unpredictable nature of luck, both as a tool and as a weapon.

//When the students are left with no other options, Hajime proposes a bold theory: the person Nagito was targeting with his poison grenade must be the traitor. With the clock ticking and no clear path forward, the group takes a gamble and calls for the traitor to reveal themselves. And here’s where the trial delivers one of its most gut-wrenching twists.

//Instead of the group uncovering the traitor through deduction, the traitor steps forward voluntarily. It’s Chiaki Nanami, the Ultimate Gamer and a beloved figure in the story.

//Chiaki’s betrayal is particularly heartbreaking because of how central she’s been to the trial system in Danganronpa 2. She is effectively Hajime's equivelant to what Kyoko was for Makoto, being his closest ally, and often providing critical insights and support during investigations and debates. Her calm demeanor and love for her friends make her an endearing presence, so her reveal as the traitor feels like a betrayal not just to the characters but to the player as well.

//Even if I've always felt Chiaki might be a bit overrated, it’s hard not for me to feel a pang of sadness as the truth comes to light. And yet, this reveal also solidifies the brilliance of Nagito’s plan. His twisted methods worked: he exposed the traitor, even at the cost of his own life.

//Genuinely, the reaction to Chiaki stepping forward as the traitor is one of the most soul-crushing scenes in the game thus far, and for good reason.

//Chiaki is the most perfect candidate to play the role of the final killer in this game, because she’s the one student on the island that everyone universally adores. She’s the epitome of the "can do no wrong" character. Which for me personally, is something I've never liked about her, but it does work in the buildup to this revelation.

//She’s sweet, dependable, and always there to lend a hand during trials with her sharp insights and calm demeanor, just as her supposed "father" Chihiro was. The same applies to Kaito in V3, as he's the universally loved wildcard who shoulders a heavy emotional weight heading into the endgame.

//So, when Chiaki confesses to being the traitor and asks the group to vote for her so they can save themselves, her classmates react in the most predictable way possible: absolute, unrelenting denial.

//Instead of nodding grimly and doing what needs to be done like every other time, they outright refuse, dragging their heels like stubborn toddlers who don’t want to eat their vegetables. Watching this unfold is both heartbreaking and oddly hilarious, as it highlights just how much the group collectively loves her.

//Hajime, bless his poor, conflicted soul, finds himself in the unenviable position of having to convince the group to face reality. This includes arguing against everyone, particularly against Sonia, who is especially resistant to the idea.

//Imagine trying to sell an unflattering truth about someone universally beloved while standing in a room full of people who would rather rewrite history than accept it. That’s exactly what Hajime has to do. Everyone goes to great lengths to deny Chiaki’s guilt, even twisting their earlier testimony to absolve Chiaki, and it’s like watching a courtroom drama where the defense lawyer loves their client so much they’re trying to argue the laws of physics out of existence.

//What makes this sequence so powerful is how the game adjusts its tone and pacing to reflect the emotional gravity of the situation. The trial’s usual high-energy minigames, complete with intense, upbeat tones and kickass music, suddenly shift into something quieter, heavier.

//Take Sonia’s Rebuttal Showdown, for instance. The usual sword-clashing music is replaced with a somber track, setting a melancholic mood. This silence isn’t just an absence of sound, it’s a deafening reminder of the emotional stakes at play.

//Even Hajime’s iconic "No, that’s wrong!" line is replaced by more desperate, sorrowful dialogue, hammering home the fact that despite arguing against, her, he, above EVERYBODY ELSE HERE, wants to accuse Chiaki THE LEAST.

//But he knows he must. She’s essentially asking him to kill her so that the others can live, and he’s left with no choice but to comply. It's tragic, raw, and incredibly effective storytelling.

//As if the emotional gut punches weren’t enough, the trial then drops a bombshell about the overarching narrative: the Future Foundation, which had been framed as the antagonist group, are actually the good guys. Chiaki and Monomi, as their representative, was working against Despair all along.

//This twist retroactively reframes the story, making Chiaki’s betrayal feel even more bittersweet. Monomi’s steadfast support of the group also takes on a new light, as her actions were driven by a desire to protect them, not manipulate them like they all believed. It’s the kind of twist that makes you sit back and rethink everything you’ve assumed about the game up to this point.

//And then there’s Nagito, whose insane brilliance looms large over this trial. At first, his actions seem designed to expose Chiaki as the traitor and ensure her execution. But after the trial, it becomes clear that his motives were far more complex, and arguably even more unhinged.

//After discovering that the other students were former Remnants of Despair, key players in Junko Enoshima’s plans, Nagito developed an intense self-loathing and a burning hatred for his classmates that completely paralleled his initial admiration of them. In a bizarre twist of logic, he decided the traitor was the only good person among them and concocted this elaborate trap to ensure their survival.

//Nagito’s plan, of course, hinges on his Ultimate Luck, which he uses to make the trial seemingly impossible to solve, and his hope was that Chiaki, as the traitor, would survive by default while the rest of the group received a wrong verdict and were executed. It’s a plan so convoluted and morally dubious that you almost have to admire the audacity of it.

//However, it’s also hilariously short-sighted upon reflection. Killing everyone except Chiaki would have effectively handed victory to AI Junko, whose goal was to plunge the world into even greater Despair. Of course, Nagito had no way of knowing that, but it's still funny to think about that had Hajime and Chiaki not been able to stop his plan, Junko would have won.

//In hindsight, Nagito’s plan might seem downright idiotic, but it’s this blend of genius and madness that makes his character so compelling. The sheer absurdity of his actions adds a layer of dark humor to the trial, even as the emotional stakes reach their peak. It’s a masterclass in how to balance tension, tragedy, and character-driven storytelling.

//The effectiveness of this lies in how it forces you to confront uncomfortable truths. Chiaki’s true identity, Nagito’s madness, and the group’s denial all intertwine to create a narrative that’s as heartbreaking as it is unforgettable.

//It’s a rollercoaster of emotions, packed with twists and turns that redefine what a Danganronpa trial can be. If the goal was to leave a lasting impression, this chapter more than delivers. And let’s be real: who doesn’t love a trial that combines emotional devastation with a side of absurdity?

//The revelation that Chiaki unknowingly threw the poison grenade ties everything together in a tragic bow. The class trial’s conclusion sees Chiaki and Monomi executed in a sequence that’s as heart-wrenching as it is inevitable. Nagito’s gamble paid off, but at what cost?

//The fallout from this trial leaves the remaining students reeling, their hearts shattered and their resolve tested like never before. It’s a moment that defines the series, not just for its shocking twists but for its emotional depth and philosophical complexity.

//What makes this trial so effective is how it uses every element of the Danganronpa formula to maximum effect. The mystery is intricate and satisfying, the stakes are sky-high, and the emotional weight of the characters’ decisions is palpable.

//It also serves as a perfect showcase of how the class trial system can be manipulated. This concept is revisited in Danganronpa V3, where Kokichi and Kaito pull off a similar stunt to challenge Monokuma’s control.

//I want to end this review by going over basically all the key points of why this trial is amazing, even though I have already done some analysis here already, and I admit, a lot of this will be repeating myself.

//But to make this review as official as it can be, I need to make sure the information is presented well. I can break down why this trial is fantastic into 5 main catagory's.

#1: This trial massively subverts the formula.

//The Danganronpa series has a well-established formula: a murder occurs, the class investigates, a culprit is identified, and they’re executed. Rinse and repeat, right? It’s a satisfying loop for those who love unraveling mysteries and piecing together evidence, but just as you start to feel like you’ve cracked the game’s rhythm, this trial throws an absolute curveball.

//The Danganronpa series thrives on its formula of uncovering killers, but Case 5 in Goodbye Despair flips the script in spectacular fashion. Instead of a straightforward murder, it begins with what looks like a suicide, leaving players and characters scrambling to make sense of Nagito’s maddeningly intricate setup. With no clear culprit, the trial forces you to rethink how cases are solved entirely.

//Nagito’s genius lies in using his Ultimate Luck to orchestrate an elaborate plan where every clue feels like a trap. By staging his own death and planting conflicting evidence, he creates an unsolvable mystery to expose the traitor among his classmates. This subversion of expectations turns the investigation into a mental labyrinth, testing the player’s logic like never before.

//The trial doesn’t just break the usual flow; it’s a deep dive into Nagito’s twisted obsession with hope and despair. His plan, theatrical and chaotic, challenges everyone to grapple with impossible choices. It’s peak Nagito—equal parts brilliance and insanity.

//Speaking of...

#2: Nagito’s Genius and Madness

Nagito's role in Case 5 is nothing short of mind-bending, as he masterfully pulls double duty as both the victim and the mastermind. Only Nagito could turn his own death into a trap, complete with poison, a fire grenade, and a spear, because why use one method when you can use three and confuse everyone in the process?

//It’s a move that’s equal parts genius and absolutely unhinged, perfectly reflecting his complex character.

//What makes this setup so effective is how it’s not just a murder but a moral battlefield. Nagito’s goal isn’t just to die but to force his classmates to uncover the identity of the traitor hiding among them. This escalates the already high stakes into a psychological tug-of-war, where trust erodes and tensions boil over.

//Nagito’s twisted ideals of hope and despair come to life in this trial, making his actions as brilliant as they are baffling. His chaotic orchestration is both a testament to his intellect and a reminder that, in the world of Danganronpa, no situation is ever as simple as it seems, especially when he is involved.

#3: Chiaki's Death

//Chiaki's reveal as both the killer and the traitor is an emotional wrecking ball disguised as a plot twist. Up until this moment, Chiaki has been the group’s rock, dependable, sweet, and seemingly incapable of harm.

//Learning she��s the traitor completely flips the script, forcing one to rethink every smile, every piece of advice, and every moment of quiet solidarity they’ve shared with her.

//It’s like finding out your favorite cozy sweater has been secretly plotting against you this whole time. The twist doesn’t just pull the rug out from under you; it sets the whole floor on fire.

#4: The Complexity, the Detail, and the general Presentation

This trial is a masterclass in making players second-guess everything they thought they knew. From unraveling how poison ended up in a fire grenade to deciphering Nagito’s absurdly elaborate setup, the mechanics of this case are both brain-bending and deeply satisfying.

//Every tiny clue matters, and the game’s pacing doles out twists like it’s hosting a plot twist buffet, except every dish leaves you more anxious than the last.

//The atmosphere is dialed up to eleven, with every element working in perfect harmony to mess with your emotions. The ominous tension builds like a slow-motion train wreck you can’t look away from, and when the trial reaches its devastating crescendo during Chiaki’s execution. It’s the musical equivalent of someone punching you in the soul, ensuring the emotional impact of this case lingers long after the trial gavel falls.

And #5: The Themes and Emotional Impact

//Nagito's actions are the embodiment of his twisted mantra: hope born through despair. His scheme is a masterstroke of chaos, forcing the group to grapple with betrayal, sacrifice, and their commitment to surviving together.

//Chiaki’s tragic death serves as a painful but pivotal moment, galvanizing the group to push forward despite their grief. It’s a gut-wrenching reminder of the game’s central theme: even in the bleakest moments, hope can still shine through, though it might leave you sobbing into your controller.

//Unraveling Nagito’s convoluted plot is satisfying on an intellectual level, but the real punch comes when you realize the cost of discovering the truth.

//Chiaki’s confession, laced with bittersweet acceptance, and the group’s collective sorrow turn the courtroom into a theater of heartbreak. By the end, you’re not just grappling with the logical fallout of Nagito’s manipulation, you’re left questioning your emotional capacity to survive the gauntlet of despair Danganronpa throws at you.

//And...that's about it. There really isn't that much to say that hasn't been said already. Ultimately, this trial is the most series-defining chapter in Danganronpa history, and every other trial should stand by its example.

//It encapsulates everything that makes the series special: the blend of hope and despair, the unpredictable twists, and the deeply human conflicts at its core. It’s not just a murder mystery; it’s a philosophical puzzle, a character study, and a testament to the creative heights of the genre.

//No wonder it stands tall as one of the best moments in the series, if not its crowning achievement. And personally, I do believe that it's hands down the best case in the entire franchise.

//...

//Except for one...

#danganronpa survivor #danganronpa #ranking #danganronpa 2 #dr2 #mod talks #chiaki nanami #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #akane owari #dangancember 2024

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