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notdeadyet09 · 4 years

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Cherry slushees are the only reason to wake from the dead

Read on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/27466426

Ship: Valeyne with hints of Wayleska

word count : 3591

Warning: Jerome.... uses a gun at one point and t’s kind of manipulative

Weekly visits to the graveyard were almost as constant as weekly threats on Bruce’s life. They were tedious and usually not very exciting. The most action anyone could get was if Jerome’s Maniax were trying to cause trouble again. Bruce should have been thankful for the lack of trouble (he wasn’t). After all, as much as he would never admit it, Jerome wasn’t ever boring

It was unusually cold for September, Bruce noted while wrapping his jacket tighter around himself. The cold seeping out of his breath, little vapors. Bruce could faintly remember a time when his mother had called it “the last remembering blood of the dragons”. There were no dragons anymore, no time for playing games of fantasy and fairy tales. Though he wouldn’t be surprised if they showed up again this was Gotham after all.

It would almost make him laugh, dragons flying over the perpetually gray skies, lighting them up with fire. Maybe if there were dragons it would be the reason today felt different. Something being decidedly off. It had started with Bruce missing his alarm. Though it almost seemed a primary to most people Bruce never missed his alarm, whether it be the clock in his head or the phone on his phone, he was always up at 5:30 in the morning. But today he slept in, waking up only when Alfred had come to look for him (Alfred seldom woke up when Bruce did, sighing about old age and needing rest. Bruce could almost agree with him).

So after his entire schedule had been thrown off, he had to deal with the unfortunate circumstances of one Selina Kyle, turning up, high as a kite. It wasn’t often that she smoked but when she did, she went all out. Bruce could surmise that she did most things that way.

After laying her down to sleep and answering a few questions that no one would ask unless you were high as a kite (Bruce had almost burst out laughing when she asked him if he slept upside down, like a bat) and bidding Alfred a warm farewell he’d slipped into the cold Gotham air.

Weekly visits could have seemed risky, the routine of it all making it easy to find him, but in Bruce’s heart, he didn’t care. If nothing else he had to make sure that Jerome was dead. He didn’t see Jerome die. He could only assume what laughter he went out on (if he was laughing). But he did see the body before they put it in a cheap coffin and a small service that only the other twin attended. Bruce certainly didn’t think about how he stood there, hiding behind a tree, listening to the empty words of a hired priest. No, he really didn’t think about that. He also didn’t think about the stab of a bad feeling when he heard about Jerome’s death. The sickly way that tears almost surfaced. Because why wouldn’t they? Jerome was someone that Bruce had never claimed to know well but from a few choice words at the diner, he understood enough

“No one helped me… ever” it was said with almost disbelief, and barely disclosed humor. Though it did mean something to Bruce. What makes someone like Jerome happen. Cause it really wasn’t care and help.

Bruce shook off the thought, reminding himself of what Jerome had done. It was no matter who made him like this, he still did terrible things. Things that kept Bruce up at night. Like spraying Jeremiah. Oh, Jeremiah. Burce almost grimaced at the thought of the man before the gas. A good man. Someone hurt by their own twin brother and left one last trap after it was all over. What would Jeremiah say if he knew who Bruce was reminiscing about?

He didn’t feel like answering that question today, with all of the feelings that went along with it. Why would he be mad? It's not like…. Like anything. It’s nothing Bruce thought as deftly made his way through cleanly cut grass and pale grey headstones.

It was, unfortunately, familiar; the feeling that dropped to the pit of Bruce’s stomach as he froze taking in his surroundings. Something was wrong, terribly fucking wrong. Displaced earth the color of late-night coffee and a shovel lay next to an open grave.

Jerome’s open grave.

Bruce instantly whipped around, almost expecting Jerome’s Maniax to come falling down from the sky like flying monkeys. His breathing becomes sharp but quiet, ears straining to hear anything that might give him a clue. Bruce knew that he should be calling Jim or Alfred or hell, even Jeremiah but something made him digress. Something made him want to stay here and fight. To fight like the dragons that didn’t exist anymore. The incredible itch to fight and win wasn’t something new theta Bruce had expected but it was something that he largely never dealt with. Never dealt with who caused it. Later he could deny the almost giddy feeling of finally something happening. Later maybe he wouldn’t need to. But now he just stood his ground, digging expensive boots into the soft late-night coffee dirt.

Bruce didn’t seem to notice the curling of his fists, the rosey fingertips still numb from the cold, and looked up and the bright gray sky. It was the kind of gray you’d find on harsh winter days, the stark blue’s and harsh whites of snow simulating the city. You’d never see the sun, but it always loomed. Loomed wasn’t the word most people would call the sun, that being reserved for fear and clowns at children’s birthday parties. Bruce thought the word made sense, as Gotham seldom was like everywhere else.

Bruce resided to urge to call out for Jerome’s cult, knowing that they had to be here somewhere, somehow. Calling them out would only make them hide more. It was an aspect the Bruce never got, seeing how taunting Jerome only made it easier to find him. Though it may be because the Maniax were only cheap imitations, not the real thing. Bruce should stop thinking like that shouldn't he, the almost fond smile he got when talking about the late face stapler sleeping back into practiced apathy.

Sighing, Bruce walked over to the grave, crouching down to talk about the cold soil in his fingers. It was fresh, as only dirt used to cover your worst (best) enemy could be. Likely dig less than a day or so. Why hasn't anybody noticed? Maybe there wasn’t anybody left to notice the sickly part of him answered, referring to the king night guard that had always let them in. Bruce happened he wasn’t dead. Strike that, Bruce knew he wasn’t dead. After all, what good was hope if he didn’t know it (that’s all hope’s good for). The shovel was interesting, placed haphazardly on the ground as someone had just thrown it there. Maybe they had. Maybe they were running and hiding, though Bruce doubted that they could run carrying a casket, seeing how it was missing.

Must have been more than one person then. That at least narrowed the list done to basically everyone.

“This is getting nowhere,” Bruce muttered, still rubbing dirt in between his fingers. Only now had it donned on him that he should call Alfred. Even though calling Alfred was likely the first thing that anyone else would have done (either that or they didn’t know the man well enough). But Bruce did, barely bothering to wipe the dirt off of his hands before reaching into his coat. The black coat almost seems to envelop him, like the night sky lacking stars. There weren’t ever any stars in Gotham, cloud cover, and light pollution getting in the way. After all the first time Bruce had seen stars, real stars were in Switzerland. When he was 12. Someone might call it sad, or as the missing dead man would say, absolutely fucking hilarious.

Bruce could see it as funny too, only seeing the stars after the passing of his parents. Passing was such a kind and soft word for murdered in an alley, used by stuffy old people paying their respects (and apparently 19-year-old billionaire vigilantes).

Shuffling around Bruce finally realized something. He left his phone at home. Shit. Shit. Shitshitshitshitshit. Bruce could almost laugh. Of course, this was the day he left his phone at home. It only served as evidence that something had it out for the poor boy, something with a cruel sense of humor.

He did a final pass over, making sure that at least he had some weapons; that being his chain, a Batarang, and what could only be described as the shock pen (a name given by a very high Selina). I was basically a mini taser that was sure to be illegal everywhere but this was Gotham after all.

The silence in the graveyard almost froze like it was waiting for a cue. And cue it did get, in the form of familiar laughter. Jarring, hysterical laughter that Bruce had only heard from one man. Bruce whipped around coming face to face with a smiling man holding a slushie.

Fuck.

“Heya Bruice,” The familiar nickname and the smiling face of Jerome Valeska couldn’t be mistaken for anyone other than a man coming back from the dead. And of course, he’s back. It’d only fit for what fluid rules mortality in Gotham ran on. Because the old lady that had passed away a month ago didn’t get to come back but of course, the psycho clown gets too.

“How?!... How the fuck are you alive,” The words came out shakily, the resolve Bruce had been building after Jerome’s death less steady than he thought. But I suppose seeing a dead man can do that.

“Such language,” Jerome gasped, the words scratchy. He paused coughing once before taking another slurp of the slushie. Where’d he get that and who he had killed to get it Bruce didn't want to know, instead reaching in his coat to pull out a Batarang. But something stopped him.

That being the sharp click of a gun and metal being pointed in his direction. Because why wouldn't Jerome have a gun?

“Whatever you’re going to pull out of that very expensive coat of yours, I suggest you don’t," he was smiling, a sickly kind of smile that was almost fond (bruce almost wondered if Jeremiah got it from him). He was dressed in what Bruce could only assume he was buried in, a cheap tux that lacked any source of flair and panache. Almost like the one he’d been wearing at the gala when Bruce got the little white scar that seems to burn against his neck now.

Surveying what little option he had left, Bruce decided on just sighing and putting his hands up. He’d hoped that Jerome was still a little stiff form y’ know coming back from the dead and that he would be a little easier to take down. One could only hope as Jerome laughed a bitter laugh, eyes trained on Bruce’s face. He was looking for something, whether it be a sign of what Bruce was going to do or just a plain crazy that sent a chill down Bruce's spine.

“How are you here?” The words came out steadier this time, as the surprise of a dead man walking began to diminish. Another day, another psycho clown twin brother of your sort off boyd=friend rising from the grave.

“Well funny story-,” Jerome said scratching the back of his head with the gun. The safety wasn't on “- I woke up, tired and in real need on a slushie and y' know the place on 4th and Baker street sooooo….” he paused, letting false tension build. Still the showman as always.

“You came back from the dead for a goddamn slushie," Bruce interrupted anger and disbelief coating his voice. It was in character though for the red-haired man to take death like it was only a nap between classes at the rich school’s bruce used to attend. It should have frightened him more. A lot more, but Bruce could only focus on the almost giddy smile of a man happy. “Oh, and by the way, how is my little…. Fuck he’s older than me now!” It didn't take a genius to figure out who he talking about.

Nor did it take a genius to see the slight flush on Bruce’s cheeks. Jerome paused slightly, scattered thoughts flashing through his head. Did something happen? Did they happen? It almost made Jerome cringe before he remembered the gas. The little trap for a little brother.

“Your damn trap worked if that’s what you're wondering,” Bruce answered the question unsaid. It could be easily forgotten how good the dark knight was at reading people, years of charity balls and betrayal would do that. But that still didn’t answer the flush. If the cold (was it cold? it’s hard to tell when you’ve been dead) was to blame or something else entirely. Jerome hoped for the cold. He wasn’t ever a liar, or blind, Bruce was cute and interesting, almost more interesting than anyone in Gotham and to think that his brother, infected by the same insanity as Jerome had snatched him up made him sick to his stomach. Though that could be whatever bugs he hadn't thrown up yet.

“Are you blushing over dear old Jeremiah Brucie boy,” Barely contained anger made Bruce freeze. What was Jerome getting at? Though Bruce knew that an answer might only anger him more if it is a true one at that.

“Why should you care, Jerome?” Bruce was overwhelmingly aware of the flush on his face, reconsidering if it would be best to try and fight him now. After all the last time Jerome saw Jeremiah he was still sane (maybe he never was a little voice whispered). It would have been cute if it didn’t mean that Jeremiah had won.

And Jerome never lost, but when he did he was one hell of a sore loser.

“Because I want to know if that bitch went to the cute billionaire before I did,” It was said casually, obviously feigned but still casual. The words took about five seconds to register in Bruce's head before he choked on his own breath.

"You’re not funny Jerome,” He hissed through his teeth, wrapping the coat further around him before asking another question.

“How the hell aren’t you cold,” He pointedly looked down at Jerome’s bare feet, stained blue and covered in dirt. Jerome didn’t answer, instead picking up another slush from the ground. Why hadn’t Bruce seen that?

Again, though it might have just been the shock of a very cold and odd day, it took a few seconds for Bruce to realize what Jerome was offering.

“How do I know that you didn't do something to it,”

“I’ve only been alive for one day and you really I’d kill you like this, with no one watching,” So It was just them. But it did bring back sick remembrance of dead butlers and staples. Of the Carnival where Bruce had bargained for his life and almost ended up taking Jerome's. Bruce nearly shook his head, trying to dislodge frozen memories and focus on what’s in front of him.

“Just give me the goddamn slushee you fuck,”

“The mouth on this kid,” Jerome handed him the plastic cup, only ⅔ full. Bruce pointedly ignored that Jerome had likely drunk from the straw that he would before talking again.

“First of all I’m older than you and second, how exactly are you planning on making my life a living hell this time,” He was tired, and it almost offended Jerome, that someone was taking more of Bruce’s energy then he was. So he did what every good performer does when something isn’t going their way… try to seduce the audience.

“Y’know I was going to shoot you,” a glare was sent his way, form tightening “but I decided no I’m just going to have some fun with my favorite volunteer~,” He purred the last words, relishing in the momentary shock spreading over Bruce’s face. Sadly it was smothered over by priced apathy and feigned emotionless. Jerome knew better, saw the little cracks in the mask Bruce seldom took off.

“But I could always just… try to kill your butler again,” It was a cheap shot, both of them knew that but it worked, as Bruce lunged forward with new fury in his eyes.

Jerome slid left only to be tripped by Bruce’s longer legs (when had he gotten so fucking tall?). The newly found breath was knocked out of him and a punch landed to his face. Familiar pain bloomed, with the slight tearing of skin. It had been sewed on better this time before he was put in the ground. Bruce could see the giddy surprise when he easily took down Jerome, practicing moves against dead men. Getting the gun was easy, one strike to a fragile wrist and it was flying to the other side of somewhere. Jerome’s skin was cold though, even more like Jeremiah. Or maybe Jeremiah's was like Jerome’s. It was uncanny, the familiar of their positions. NO smeared face paint or mirror shards this time. Bruce loomed over Jerome, tired fury burning in his eyes.

Bruce looked older, Jerome noted, remembering the offhand comment Bruce had made. That meant that Bruce had to be 19 at least. Less boyish charm and more hard angles. Still the same smell of rich person perfume. Seriously, if Jerome could count on one thing from the otherwise surprising boy (Jerome still refused to call him a man) it was that the rich floated off of him. “This… feels familiar. I can’t put my finger on it though,” Bruce glared at him again before noting how he stood. Oh.

“Shut up or I will make you shut up,” It should have come out harsh and grim like the “bat growl” Selena had nicknamed it. But instead, it sounded breathless, like this had been the fight he was searching for.

] “I’d like to see that Brucie~” Again with the flirting. Jerome wasn’t even thinking about the knife in his pocket, only focused on the very angry man on top of him.

Bruce found it hard to think as well, acting on instinct. That seemed to happen a lot around Jerome. Case in point smashing his lips against Jerome’s. Fuck.

His lips unsurprisingly were smiling. But they tasted like dirt and ort and cinnamon. Why did they taste like cinnamon? Bruce could hardly compare it to the few kisses he shared with Jeremiah. They were different, Jeremiah being like mint, a lemon, cold and sharp.

Oh, and Jerome was kissing back, like really kissing back. Through giggles and muffled words, Bruce didn’t want him to say. Jerome was like kissing gasoline. Like poison and fire and crescendos in crappy club music. It made Bruce want to laugh.

On the other hand, Jerome Was laughing, kissing someone who felt like the beating sun on burnt skin and ducking your head in ice water. Jerome would swear that something had zapped him every time Bruce moved his lips. But then it ended, Bruce pulling away with wide eyes.

“What the fuck did I just do?” He whispered, not getting up from the familiar position on Jerome. What the fuck indeed. And Jerome was still laughing, before looking up with eyes filled with danger. Danger that Bruce had seen in his own.

“Well I’m pretty sure you just made out with a mur-” he was cut off by bruce’s hands shoving themselves over his mouth. Half tempted to lick them before he looked up and saw the most emotion he’d ever seen on Bruce Wayne’s face.

Shock and a faraway look were the easiest to spot, but the remaining anger and guilt came pouring out of him like oil. His lips were bruised, and his hands shaking. Jerome could watch him like this for hours.

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said sheepishly, lifting his hands from Jerome’s face.

“What’s there to be sorry for darling, except for pulling away,” Jerome on the other hand felt like he was flying. He hadn’t lost after all. And y’ know he got to kiss a very pretty boy who almost killed him once. That seems to let Bruce finally come to what little sense he must have had left and lifted himself off of Jerome.

Only now, after Bruce had gotten up did Jerome notice the cold. It almost made reach to pull Bruce back down. But he didn’t, instead opting to watch the dark-haired man with happy eyes. Bruce wasn’t running like he should have done. He didn’t seem to be doing a lot of things he should be doing today wasn't he? Instead, he just picked up the slush and sat back down next to Jerome.

“So I’m guessing nobody’s going to know about this,” Jerome spoke, breaking what surprisingly wasn’t an awkward silence.

And Bruce was laughing. Laughing quietly but still laughing. Holy shit Jerome was in love. It was sweet and fragile, like a spider’s web but and the same time sharp and harsh. The wonderful paradox that was Bruce Wayne Jerome supposed as he started laughing too. And there they were, a man who repeatedly refuse to stay dead and a man who stubbornly refused to kill, laughing like children in a graveyard.

#valeyne #Gotham #dc #bruce wayne #jerome velaska #jerome x bruce #fanfiction #over1k

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komahinasecretexchange · 5 years

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Title: Sanctuary

Author: @sonivegas

For: @notcoolhajime

Rating/Warnings: G/T Rating; intrusive thoughts about self-harm, but nothing too disturbing or prevalent!

Prompt: Recovery/Crushes and Confessions

Author’s notes: huhehe guess who!!! I LOVE YOU SM and i was so thrilled to be your exchange partner i was ready to make several gifts for you but alas…. arm…. though admittedly everything i touch becomes a train-wreck and my brain was all over the place writing, i am sorry in advance, BUT i hope you like it enough nonetheless, june!!!!! <3

Like most things people call unpredictable, Hinata was certain that his affinity, which he considered to be curiosity, for the unknown really would land him into trouble one day or another. Though truthfully, he could consider the fact that calling them ‘unpredictable’ in this day and age would be discrediting the progress they’d made since the simulation. Said progress included days with unspoken calamity stickling under everyone’s skin, leaving nothing but utter chaos in their wake, when even one person was pushed over the peak of their cracking eggshell a bit too early. They were tired, naturally. Broken limbs and fractured souls and disbelieving eyes, with the distinct scent of a musty kind of smoke permeating the air every now and then even till this day, if only there to taunt them.

But of course, it was a lot to process after the hell they’d been through, and it had taken every bit of those five years to finally make some degree of an inch of difference. Some days tended to be worse than others, however. Even leading Hinata to occasionally subject himself as a rag doll to merely appease Saionji from bullying Tsumiki to tears every day. In those times, Koizumi proved herself to be some godsent blessing with the gifted ability to calm the storm in mere seconds, compared to Hinata’s droning hours of consolation. Still, nothing could bite more than the exasperated glare the Ultimate Photographer would snipe at him – if Hinata thought about it, it was not unlike saying, “This is why I can’t trust you useless boys to do anything right.” Quite frankly, Hinata sometimes wished he could share the same sentiment, especially in despite of his goodness-believing heart. But even on their worst days, Hinata considered himself lucky that despite taking on the burden of helping each of his classmates overcome their problems, they all understood that everyone was making a conscious effort to be kinder to themselves, making an effort to change themselves. Well… Almost everyone.

“Oh! Hinata-kun, there you are!” And of course, as if on cue, he would show up. And there it was… that pestering bubbling heat and increased heartrate yet again. All that for an oft rambling and hope-obsessed clown. Hinata lifted his gaze from the restaurant table to meet Komaeda, a gentle smile playing on his face, not unlike a warm greeting. Though the boy in question seemed rather… out of breath than usual. “Were you looking for me?” ‘Is that why you’re panting and paler than a bottle of baby powder’ was the other snarking question he meant to ask, but Nanami had already told him off for being too blunt earlier that morning when he’d accidentally made Tsumiki cry. He wasn’t particularly fond of getting chewed out every time he opened his phone or laptop for work, only to find her glaring angrily back at him through the screen. Despite being the usually kind-hearted and hyper-realistic AI that he and Naegi managed to restore, she sure was… firm, at times. “Kindness is everything in these times, Hinata-kun!” she’d spoken true and befitting as the self-proclaimed Jabberwock Island peacemaker; not to mention, Hinata’s impulse control. Komaeda quietly tucked his hands into the pockets of his green jacket, shaking the hood off from his mess of white hair. The same green jacket he’d worn throughout the program, the same green jacket that he almost never takes off. “Well, actually, Naegi-kun is waiting for you outside. He has a shipment for us because of the, uh… rather unexpected weather.” “…Unexpected weather?” Hinata’s voice lilted in a bit of alarm, “Was there supposed to be a typhoon?” Apparently, judging from the mystified look on the other’s face, Hinata stood corrected. Still, a small but nervous smile played on his lips, “Not… really? I mean, you see, –"

“IT’S SNOWING BALLS DEEP, MY GUY!”

Mioda’s voice hollered out seemingly no where, booming through the opened doors was more like an electric jolt bouncing off the walls of the restaurant, loud enough to make both Komaeda and Hinata nearly jump out of their skin. Then again… that kind of volume was something they had yet to get used to, despite living alongside the embodiment of an amplified sugar-rush. And there wasn’t a surprise in the world that could make Komaeda look paler than a ghost, because as usual, he’s no more than a few tones shy of looking like a ghost. But to his credit, he had seemed healthier than he did in the program. But putting that aside, to Hinata, her line struck him as rather… peculiar, as he furrowed his eyebrows. Almost incredulous. Almost like she said… “It’s… what?” In an instant, the Ultimate Musician marched up till she was merely inches from the other’s face, slapping two hands on both cheeks just to squish them a little as if they were mochi. According to Hinata, saying that her magenta eyes were excitedly sparkling with one-hundred volts of energy would be a criminal understatement, even. “Ssssssnnnooooooooowwww,” she spoke, dragging out her syllables with surprisingly more patience than Hinata could ever consider her capable of. “Snow! It’s snow, Hajime-chan. It’s snowing, Haji—” “Ya-huh.” Hinata’s voice dripped in sarcasm, or rather disbelief, “And this here is literally a tropical island.” Even looking outside to the window of the restaurant, it was hard to tell if it was true or not – the skies were clear and blue, after all. He’d have noticed something wrong with the weather in the morning, wouldn’t he? Komaeda’s lips ghosted something like a grin, “You’re not wrong to be suspicious of a claim like that. That’s what I thought so too, but Naegi-kun came by with winter jackets for us because of the unexpected snowfall. That’s what I was trying to tell you earlier.” When their eyes met, the gears in Hinata’s mind slowly clicked together every bit of information. Not that he really needed to anyway, as when Komaeda began to shrug off his jacket, it was clear that the poor kid had been out of breath and shivering from being trapped in nothing less than a frosty snowstorm. Still…

A vibration in his pocket. Hinata immediately knew who it was. “Hinata-kun!” Nanami’s muffled voice resonated as he reached for his pocket, “Good morning, I just woke up a little while ago, but I happened to overhear!” Nanami’s avatar on screen stood with her hands clasped together, eyes glowing with about an eighth of Mioda’s excitement, “I know you’re confused but, looking at the special weather report the Future Foundation relayed to me a few minutes ago, it looks like this is sort of a rare climatic condition on the real Jabberwock island. Unlike the Neo World Program that almost always had sunny weather.” She paused to ponder for a moment, “Ah, plus, you know, global warming… I think.” Hinata’s lips pressed firm, letting out a loud huff through his nose as he watched her expression slightly pixelated, change to a gentle, but thoughtful look through the phone screen. Nanami continued, “I know how much the cold bothers you, but… I’m pretty sure it’s not some kind of ploy by the people to make us miserable.” There’s a slight lilt in her voice when she says that, almost amused, “It’s been years since you’ve all repaired the city anyway. I think, given the time of year, we should simply take it as it is and make the most of it.” “I absolutely concur, Nanami-san!” A familiar, regal tone of voice chirped up the stairs from the lobby. Noticing upon her entrance, Sonia had already taken the liberty of dressing herself for the winter, apparently having dug into the new shipment of winter jackets, though Naegi himself was no where to be seen. Being dressed in a baby blue faux-fur and silk trench coat, with Persian patterning at the hem and sleeve cuts, was rather fitting of her dignified but casual style as the Ultimate Princess. A voice from within Hinata’s head (that he didn’t want to hear) said that the Persian pattern ‘was actually and more specifically, an Iranian design, reminiscent of the Imam Mosque in the Isfahan province of Iran.’ Kamukura droned on like a bee humming by his ear, continuously supplying him with even more trivia as if he’d rehearsed the entire history of the ‘Safavid dynasty’ for this very day. But by that point, Hinata had already turned the volume dial in his brain to zero; a setting that he wished would stay as the default, but alas, he knew he owed much to Kamukura anyway for how far they’d come as survivors of a killing game. Might as well give him some time to shine. He figured that he’d be bored to death and back again if he too had to be sanctioned off to a corner of some mundane and talentless guy’s brain. Especially considering Kamukura’s lack of tolerance for uninteresting things, it’s a surprise he hadn’t gone into a hundred-year slumber to save himself the trouble of listening to Hinata. Or disintegrated from boredom by then anyway. Trailing significantly behind Sonia were Tanaka and Souda walking side by side, talking excitably about some new zoo tycoon game they’d heard about. Though with both having become surprisingly chummy in recent years, it wasn’t the most astounding sight to see. But granted, Hinata would be lying if he said it still didn’t make him smile a bit at least to see them joking around and sharing interests. Admittedly, it was both odd and endearing to see two former rivals in love (or rather, a genuine candidate and a one-sided lovestruck fool) become best friends. It had started off rather straightforward; clearly remembering the day Souda requested, insisted even, that he wanted to sit down with Tanaka and talk to him properly, saying that after taking time to reflect on the events of the past, he wished to apologize for his behaviour in the program and his treatment toward Sonia in the near future as well.

Surprisingly mature, Hinata had thought, and it turned out that the Ultimate Mechanic had in fact matured beyond his looks, greatly, through some damn near ground-breaking miracle. Souda had even taken it upon himself to recreate a miniature version of Nezumi Castle for Tanaka’s hamster companions as a token of friendship. Saying Tanaka was pleased would, once again, be a rather grave understatement, so far as going to rather shyly pledging his lifelong companionship, in his own unique way, to the teary-eyed young man who’d bowed a full ninety degrees forward.

If he had to think about it, Komaeda really wasn’t the only one who had the power to make Hinata’s heart stir. Every time he would be lucky enough bear witness to a slightly kinder change in behaviour from his classmates, without fail, there would be a rush of warmth filling his chest. Though undoubtedly a different feeling from the sensation that coursed through him, reserved for just that one person; but Hinata felt that he should digress from such thoughts when the boy in question was standing in front of him, unperturbed and unknowing of it all. Nonetheless, Hinata would rather have everyone get along in peace. He’d rather everyone build on from their pasts. They’d never be able to forget it, but at least they’d be able to learn from what had transpired.

At least they had another chance at life, right?

“Hinata-kun?” Yet again, that soothing voice brought his thoughts back to the present, grounded him. Komaeda was definitely still a work in progress when it came to being kinder to himself, but he had definitely grown to love his classmates wholeheartedly even disregarding the idea of talent. For now, this would do. Grey eyes met green in curious concern, and a kind, rejuvenated smile rested on Hinata’s lips to reassure the other boy. “It’s nothing.” A step closer, a little bolder, and he let his fingertips barely brush his shoulder, “Why don’t we all head outside and just enjoy the day then?”

White. Just cold and white. There wasn’t a single damn inch as far as Hinata could see that wasn’t covered in snow.

Sure enough, as they stood there freezing with frigid air chilling and drying out their lungs, Naegi had sent them off with a wave accompanied by a dashing smile and a carefree, “See you later, don’t get sick in the cold, Hinata-kun!” leaving the winter supplies behind, heating system parts and all. Easy for him to say, when he lived in an apartment funded by the Future Foundation. Rather easy for him to say, when he didn’t live on a crusty old island with parts breaking down every other day, hearing Souda breaking out into the hysterics of a banshee-like fit from witnessing his handiwork falling apart due to weathering and bad luck before his eyes. Though, as always, Komaeda tended to topple the blame of faulty parts onto himself. A bit of a stupid and breathy, “Ahaha… what rotten luck for me to be around and cause so much misfortune on everyone again,” would come out of Komaeda’s mouth every second day, and with Souda curling into fetal position on the floor all the other days. Hinata had always thought it to be the obviously visible rust and metal-eating acidic residue but, of course, what did he know?

The parts sent along to them were probably table scraps, he knew he could expect that much; despite all their work for the Future Foundation, even rebuilding the city with the rest of his class and doing additional charity and rehabilitation work for the survivors, there would still be passing comments a little too harsh for their own liking. Whether they were on the way to Naegi’s office, or running an errand for Kirigiri, there was always a snide comment or cold shoulder out of nothing but prejudice, but they’d gotten used to it by now. They had to. Undoubtedly, they were the ones to get the second-hand materials. Maybe they were still nothing more than an afterthought to them, discarded, removed from society’s ranks like used rags back onto the island where they’d tried to kill each other, though they voluntarily wished to come back. Even so, they were nothing more and nothing less than the Ultimate Despair.

However unkind the few cold-hearted were, over the years in and out of the city, at least most of the members had warmed up to them. Possibly a result of the tireless hours of labor, nursing those who became sickly back to health, and putting their lives on the line for the city they sought to destroy all those years ago, together. It was the least they could do. Hinata knew by the sickly look on The Imposter’s face, or the exhaustion lining both Kuzuryuu’s and Koizumi’s features, that they were all trying their damnedest to do their best and make up for the loss they’d caused. Even through their worst days, bickering and hair pulling and terror riding through their bones, they tried their best while rediscovering the bonds they had once forgotten. That earnestness in those seemingly hopeless yet hopeful days was all that mattered to him. That’s all that should matter to anyone at this point, if he could be honest with himself. Hinata found himself prying away from the rest of the class, most of whom stood around gawking and poking at the snow like school children seeing a heavy snowfall for the first time in their lives. Taking hold of the box cutter Souda lent him from his toolkit, Hinata sliced open the top of the second box that remained unopened. Supposedly, these held the parts that he’d later let Souda tinker around with to build what Naegi was a heating machine, and surprisingly enough, the bottom of the box and the snow under it wasn’t stained with rust. ‘Maybe we got parts that weren’t drenched in acid rain for once’ he found himself joking with a half-exasperated smirk on his face. Though, if he were completely honest, it wasn’t far fetched from the old truth at all. The new truth, however… “We got brand new parts?!”

Souda’s voice chirped (correction: shrieked) loud enough to be heard across a baseball stadium. To say Hinata was merely confused by such statement would be rather dry. And yet, there Souda was; eyes twinkling, almost bright enough to rival Mioda’s one-hundred volts, (though he’d sworn he heard her distant whooping about another machine in the box) immediately digging through steel parts like a fox leaping headfirst into snow if only to bury half its body in it. Rather fitting, seeing as there was snow everywhere. Fitting, seeing how from his side profile whilst preoccupied with the fallen snow, even Komaeda looked like he could be Souda’s arctic fox companion, ready to indulge in winter’s joy as well; complete with his sly demeanor, bright eyes, cunning wit and charm and… being that kind of unconventionally yet infuriatingly attracti— “Ah, there’s also a note in here… Yo, Hinata, take care of this, would ya? It’s time for me to finally get cracking on some real machinery.” Hinata’s head whipped back to Souda as he stood, watching him attempt to pop his knuckles but failing soundlessly, instead excitedly stretching his arms over his head now that he’s in his element at long last. Throwing his hands on his hips and taking a heavy breath in, he looked just like an eager elementary school kid in spirit, just with the body of a 26-year-old, “Just like, look at this! It’s state of the art tech?! I can’t believe they got their hands on this, and I…” As nice as it was to see Souda excited, Kamukura or not, Hinata had no particular fancy in machine parts, especially something like air conditioning parts. But if Souda could practically get off to it, he really wouldn’t be one to stand in his way. Yet again, he digressed from that mental image with a grimace on the inside and a polite smile paired with a thumbs up on the exterior. Not even Kamukura had the energy to interfere; for once, the two of them concluded unanimously with what could be summed up as, ‘Yeah, just let the man deal with it.’

The note, now in Hinata’s grasp, however, garnered an interest from both of them. “To the…” A pause. He blinked once, then twice. Was he reading this right? “To the… graduated class of 77-B… this, among some other incoming shipments, are our gift to you.” Hinata read out loud to everyone. It wasn’t the ‘Remnants of Despair’, it wasn’t a vaguely sugar-coated reference to ‘criminals’, it wasn’t any other biting remark or degrading comment they’d grit their teeth and smiled through during their gruelling days of work. Simply, the graduated class of 77-B. “Despite our differences in the past few years, we here at the Future Foundation have come to acknowledge the efforts that you all have put into rebuilding the city.” Hinata paused, taking a deep breath, “In the past week or so, our dispatched team has done a thorough final cleaning, rehousing any remaining rehabilitated survivors into the buildings that you all have helped to rebuild. There is no longer any need for your services, as we have a fairly capable maintenance team. We will still provide necessities to Jabberwock Island until we can establish finer details for currency, as we realize that it is still too scarce to be of fair value. You are free to return to the Future Foundation for work, or consider this an early retirement or rehabilitation, though the supposed pension may not be grand.”

Pulling the paper away from his face, he carefully read the last line with a steady voice, “For the misconduct and poor treatment due to our negligence and distrust, we hope that you can accept our apologies. Thank you for your hard work. Signed, Togami Byakuya.” There was little to do but tuck away the letter and let the words sink into his mind. His mouth felt dry all of a sudden, feeling a rush deep in his chest like pain and relief at the same time. At long last… at long last, they could be seen for a little more than criminals. Without a doubt, the burden of their crimes would still be carried on their backs, but… “Hinata-kun…” Komaeda’s hand found it’s way to his shoulder, crouching beside him, Hinata unaware of when he himself had come down to his knees at all, “I’m surprised it’s Togami-kun of all people addressing us so politely, I would’ve thought it was Naegi-kun this entire time.” He let out a chuckle at the thought, probably imagining it as well. “But isn’t it a good thing, then?” “I mean, who knows, Togami might as well have been held at gunpoint by Naegi to write nicely.” Hinata responded, watching Komaeda throw his head down to try and hide his laughter, though he wished he could see it anyway. He continued, “…But by “a good thing” you mean, to be acknowledged as Ultimates?” Hinata’s eyebrows furrowed in slight confusion. To that, Komaeda merely smiled warmly, “To be acknowledged as equals, as people, people who have been redeemed as symbols of hope.”

Hearing Komaeda’s words and turning back to him, the way the sunlight caught his eyes and reflected off the crisp and pure white snow made him seem like he was glowing. Maybe he was, in Hinata’s eyes at least. It made him think time and time again about how things had changed since they’d first arrived back on the real island; they couldn’t even say they were truly “back” because nothing was ever quite the same as the program. Nothing was the same except for the feelings that stuck to them, buried inside them. The motivations, the pain, and the horror. All of the ugly aspects and hardly ever the beautiful. What could you make of the place you spent the most traumatizing days of your life in. The place where you were full of feelings of distrust, confusion, and betrayal, where the wrong choice could be the end of the road for everyone. The place where you both loved and feared the people you lived alongside. Someone like Komaeda in the Neo World Program, full of hysterics and twisted tongues and horrible ideals that had truly rolled the game into motion – someone he never fathomed to forgive or trust another day, and yet, when he looks at the same man now, he’s overcome with the strangest feeling of hope. Dare he say happiness, even. Happiness for the fact that they had all slowly brought out the best within themselves despite their trauma and loss. The hope that contrasted so starkly against their despair, much like the hardships in any average person’s life tends to illuminate the good. It gave him peace of mind, for their second chance at life. Even Komaeda, despite his persistent self-deprecating ways, had been able to make at least an inch of progress. Maybe not towards himself, but to others – he’d come forward, trying to change his way of thinking, bit by bit each day. Speaking of a new hope, the one that they had built together, instead of the ideal he had to desperately cling to all his life for sanity in a world where fate would backlash at every step of the way. It took an immense amount of trust on both of their parts, but it was worth the risk. Things had definitely changed. And he was okay with that. __

It was only a day after arriving back on the island that Komaeda had immediately started disappearing for most of the day. Whether he was trying to punish himself or test the trust of his overly-kind classmates, he didn’t quite know. Perhaps all he probably wanted, was to merely… Decay. Like rotting fruit that was never sweet to begin with, just the regretfully wrong choice to pluck from the tree. The one that would undoubtedly infect the rest of the barrel. It was just a mistake.

Despite the generosity of Kamukura’s skills, alongside Hinata’s well-wishes, maybe all it was that he merely felt obligated to bring everyone, including himself, back to life; for a second chance, for redemption, for “hope”.

And he hated it.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this was it? He was supposed to die, even with regrets writhing somewhere in him, even with words left unspoken, it was fine if he was just left to die. He wasn’t supposed to see him again. He wasn’t supposed to wake up every day, seeing her wrist hanging lifelessly where his used to be. It didn’t matter if there were things left with loose ends, when a life is taken by someone’s hands or even their own, they cannot come back to life. That was never the reality he was forced to grow used to. Not matter how long he would sit praying with clasped hands and white knuckles for hours on end, incense and prayer bells ringing in his eardrums until he could hear the ringing in his sleep, eyes burning and heart aching for another chance to say, “Have a nice day at work,” just for a mere chance to see the ghost of his hope all those days. Even if he couldn’t get any closer to them in the time that they were alive, because it was as if a wall stood between them; no matter how hard he ran, the distance never closed between him and his loved ones. Maybe now, he realized, that they were sparing themselves of his horrific luck cycle, only to be struck by it anyway. Hopeless. Futile. Just like him. At least a realistic hope, void of such grandeur and delusions like a second chance at life, was the only thing his luck would ever validate. Not some fantasy, nor would it entertain a chance at a happy ending. It wasn’t supposed to, and ideally, he would have stayed dead if not for the meddling reserve course student who he tried so hard to despise. Who he knew he should despise. But things would have to stay this way, he supposed. Orchestrating another suicide would be too troublesome, too exhausting, too much of a hassle to clean up. Going out in silence like a light without wasting any resources would be the better option anyway, wasn’t it? Even if it was the difficult way of leaving for good. At least there would be no chance of bringing a shrivelled corpse back to life.

Though he was buried in his thoughts, Komaeda could make out someone standing beyond the door from the shadows on the ground. Before even seeing his silhouette, he know who it was; and he knew he shouldn’t even be in here. The door to the warehouse flew open at last, exposing Hinata under the frame, with yet another stern and annoyed expression as he eyed Komaeda sitting on the dusty ground. Even someone like him would be disgusted after all. The air between them was mostly silent, as usual; after arriving on the island, Komaeda made sure to distance himself from everyone and drop the act of friendliness out of politeness. After all, no one should have to deal with someone like him for longer than necessary, not even if they’d all done terrible things. He was an attempted murderer, at that, knowing Hinata had figured it out during that last trial he’d heard rumors of. Even if he did feel that he was justified at the end of the day.

And it was always Hinata. Every day he would disappear from the main island and away from everyone, he’d always be the one to bring him back; often wrapping his fingers around Komaeda’s left wrist in a firm, almost scolding manner, and pulling him along behind him out of whatever rut he’d dug himself into for that day, like some mechanical ragdoll on autopilot. Komaeda would often stare down at his wrist and fantasize about whether it’d tear right off his arm if Hinata was rough enough with him. Still, intrusive thoughts wouldn’t linger long enough when he could feel the heat of a living person on his skin. “So,” he’d started that day, “why is it that you insist on holding my hand every time you drag me back? Afraid I might run away?” He spoke in a low tone, something akin to apathy or embarrassment in his voice that he hoped Hinata wouldn’t catch. Hinata, on the other hand, didn’t seem bothered to turn around, “You could say that, and also that you always seem lonely when I find you.” “I don’t need your pity, Hinata-kun. Especially not from the likes of you.” That was the biting remark he’d expected. Rejecting, insulting, as if he hadn’t heard it all before. Still, the way he spit out those words made him feel the exhaustion he’d carried on from sleepless days even stronger, though he did nothing but treat the brief silence with a near-crushing grip on Junko’s rotting hand, knowing Komaeda couldn’t feel it in the slightest. “It’s not pity… and I don’t care what you think of me, even as the reserve course student you hate so much, but I know where I stand in this world.” Hinata spoke with a sigh, not letting emotion betray in his voice, nor did he let the insults get to him. One of the many things he’d learned he had control over better in his adulthood than in his youth, evidently. “It’s about time you do too.” “Oh, so it’s not pity? Enlighten me, then.” Even without turning around, Hinata could feel Komaeda spiralling as he spoke, “Isn’t it rather fitting that scum like me stays isolated in that warehouse, like a bird in a cage?” Komaeda said, a small laugh leaving with his breath at the end. “And what would you know about where I stand? I already know my place.” “Clearly you don’t.” Hinata slowed his pace down, knowing the conversation was going into uncharted territory, though it needed to be said, “At least, not with the way you’ve been treating yourself even after waking up a second time.” Komaeda froze. “Waking up…?” His lungs felt like someone filled them with smoke, like he couldn’t contain his voice anymore – feeling a burning sensation on his face he’d never really felt before. “Waking up?!” He stepped away from Hinata, tearing away his wrist like he’d just been burned. Some deeper part of his mind was gravely disappointed that Junko’s arm didn’t rip off from his flesh and skin right then and there. Bleeding, though it would only be his own fresh blood. Junko’s would be nowhere to be seen. “What would you have done if we weren’t in the program? If we had died for real, like we were supposed to, then what would you have to say to everyone who died? That’s not how this world works!” Komaeda started to pull at the fabric of his jacket in frustration, to the touch it was shabby and damaged and discoloured, even beyond it’s physical appearance – just like him. Hinata still wouldn’t fully face him, and that only aggravated him. Arrogant, foolish, reserve course student. His eyes widened, throwing himself further into shouting out, “You call your hope, some gaudy and artificial rebirth, ‘waking up’? And for what, the sake of criminals who destroyed the world—?“ “Get over yourself, Komaeda.” Hinata finally snapped back to the other boy. He’d done his best to keep his composure, and he wasn’t about to mess up entirely now, “Thinking of yourself at a time like this, when everyone has a second chance to redeem themselves. You think we don’t know what reality is? You think I liked waking up those first few days to see the face of a murderer looking back at me in the mirror? You think I liked having to throw up because I felt sick of myself for deaths which I had little to no memory or feeling of remorse for? It’s not like any of us expected to even have another opportunity.” Hinata’s sucked in air through his teeth sharply, jaws clenched tight when they weren’t moving, feeling something like adrenaline in his veins. Adrenaline, he thought, or maybe anger. “Komaeda, do you honestly think I haven’t regretted waking up, even once?” Hands that he didn’t realize were tightened into a fist pulled a little harder, watching Komaeda’s anger slowly drain from his expression, “So, what, are you going to tell victims like Koizumi and Mioda they don’t deserve another chance at life because of who they were? This isn’t just about us, but are you going to deprive yourself of another chance just because you’re hung up on the past? Give me a fucking break.” Komaeda couldn’t do anything but stay silent, this time not meeting Hinata’s eyes, but letting the warm air and the scent of summer rain on asphalt fill his lungs and slowly wash out the frustration he’d felt moments ago. Once again, it was always Hinata. It was always Hinata who managed to both infuriate him and ground him every time. “Then again, I never could understand that ‘hope’ of yours, even at the very end. Still…” Letting his now quivering grip relax, Hinata took another deep shaky breath, closing his eyes for just a moment to figure out what he wanted to say. There was no room for mistakes, especially when he had an opening like this with someone like Komaeda Nagito. “You’re allowed to be angry at the outcome, I can’t dictate how you’re meant to feel. But I know you still have a place in this world, despite everything. Even if it’s difficult to remain here, you still belong with us, as an equal in 77-B. As a friend.” At those words, the tension seemed to dissipate slowly; but there was still never any sure telling, Komaeda could revert right back to building those thorn walls around him, desperate to keep well-wishers out lest his luck bring them misfortune. But Hinata needed the change. They wouldn’t be able to move forward without the acknowledgement alone; he wanted to move forward with everyone no matter how long it took, including Komaeda. Especially Komaeda, even if he couldn’t quite understand why he was so desperate for him to follow. “Not even your luck can stop you from taking pleasure in the simple things in life. Not as long as we’re around to support you. But nothing will change unless you want it from your own heart… though, just so you know, I do want to see you happy some day.” Hinata reached for his hand, his real hand, and smiled gently despite everything – to remind him that everything good and everything bad in their lives was most definitely real, that he wouldn’t be alone when facing them, that there was better means of retribution that didn’t lead them to suffering quietly. Not every bit of damage will disappear, but even if it means some things may merely fade, others will heal eventually.

“Tsumiki took a crash course for counselling and now runs a therapy clinic, with help from assistants at the Future Foundation.” Hinata looked to the sky, wondering when patches of it started to change a little from red to purple. “Let’s go together tomorrow, okay?”

Komaeda faced the floor and mumbled under his breath, leading Hinata to furrow his eyebrows in confusion, “Huh? Did you say something?” At that point he’d also noticed he was still holding Komaeda’s hand. Neither of them seemed to notice or care a whole lot, so of course he wouldn’t be the one to bring it up. Though Komaeda’s insults were mostly empty, but when caught off guard, it wasn’t like his confidence was high enough not to get curb-stomped by the jabs anyway. “So you’re talentless and hard of hearing too, huh?” Komaeda shot an unimpressed look at him, to which Hinata could merely shrug weakly before the other let out a sigh, “I said, Ultimate Persuader.” Komaeda’s lips ghosted the slightest hint of a grin, as he immediately casted his eyes to the floor, “I guess… I bet it rubbed off on you from Kamukura-kun, but it’s fine. I’ll take you up on your offer, if you so insist.” And that was that, Hinata supposed. Though some days were more troublesome than others, Komaeda found himself wandering back to the warehouse less and less to plot the way the Spear of Gungnir pierced his abdomen in the program, neither would he lay on the filthy ground and pray to rot in silence where he lay. Instead, he’d let Hinata gently grasp the fingertips of his right hand, every Sunday afternoon on their way to the third island.

–

“Ah… so a karaoke machine, is it?” “No shit, it’s a karaoke machine. Big brother, don’t you have ears? Or eyes, for that matter? Ones that aren’t always following that cotton-head creep?” Saionji stuck her tongue out distastefully at Hinata, eventually skipping away from the stage where the machine had been propped up gracefully thanks to the heaving efforts of what Souda dubbed one lazy afternoon as, The Muscle Hustlers, Owari and Nekomaru. Hinata, like most people with at least a bit of taste, despised that name; though at least he didn’t demand a cash refund for violating his ears unlike Saionji.

Hinata didn’t pay any attention to that snide remark either, though he wondered if she merely came around to insult him for fun. After all, Saionji was always full of them, and entertaining or even refuting them would only end up with someone on the verge of tears – usually Saionji. Though it wasn’t her being driven to tears that he feared as much as he felt bad for; it was Koizumi’s wrath that he actually feared. Making someone’s girlfriend cry would do that, he supposed.

After spending a bit of time on his own, mostly tweaking things or vegetating, he’d come out for the invitation to the party at Titty Typhoon, apparently to congratulate themselves on an early retirement… or rather, graduation. And by the looks of the karaoke machine, decorations, and booze on the table, things were about to get rather loud rather fast. Though, he had to really hand it to Mioda for whipping everything up so quickly; she really was a different kind of motivated when it came to music and parties. On their own, they were enough to make her excited but, together with an alcohol-enthused Kuzuryuu looking forward to the drinks, it was something like getting the already-hyper Mioda Ibuki to chug an energy drink and a coffee at the same time. Basically, a rather dangerous combination that Hinata would consider getting Kamukura to split an atom would the safer option between the two. Even Imposter had a hard time keeping up with everything despite being one of the main organizers, and honestly, who could blame them? At least, it looked like everyone had arrived and was having a relatively good time. Hanamura was busy in the kitchen, whisking away at comfort food made gourmet by perfection; even he had come around to accept that it wasn’t bad to embrace his roots with homely cooking, to honor his mother. For her sake, he’d also given up on perverted tactics and jokes over the years. Though he never quite brought it up, but Hinata eventually noticed anyway. Everyone else had someone to talk to or something to do – he found Komaeda laughing and chatting with Pekoyama over their soft drinks, Nekomaru and Owari helping with aligning the lights on stage, in exchange for glazed hams to their hearts content, bellowing out cheers as they lifted giant rods of iron off the ground to move to storage; all the while, Tsumiki stood by and panicked, crying out to be careful as the two of them hoisted everything with nothing but their bare hands and a whole lot of willpower. He saw Sonia, Gundham, and Souda playing card games at their own table, watching Sonia slap down a card with a triumphant grin and watching the other two crumble before her. Fuyuhiko, on the other hand, he spotted near— “Hinata-kun?” Nanami’s voice chirped beside him, snapping him out of his trance. He’d almost completely forgotten that she’d woken up for the party. He huffed at himself, some insensitive friend he was. “Sorry, it’s all good Nanami. I was just thinking about… things.” “You were spacing out and looking at everyone. Especially you-know-who.” “You-know-who?” He snorted, “What are you, a grade schooler?” “You-know-who means Komaeda.” She bellowed out louder than she needed to, and, naturally, the man in question whipped his head around at the sound of his name. Hinata felt like sweating buckets. Or being struck by lightning. Nanami, on the other hand, relished in his embarrassment and waved at Komaeda through the screen, which he had cheerfully reciprocated before turning back to Pekoyama who merely smiled between the four of them. He took a deep breath, “That,” he jabbed toward the screen, “Was unfair.” Throwing his back to the wall again, he huffed irritably, only to hear Nanami chuckle quietly. “Sorry, sorry. But, tell me honestly, do you see it too, then?” Hinata’s eyebrows creased a bit at the question, “See what?” “The way everyone has grown.” A somber atmosphere settled between them at those words. “Yeah. I do.” Hinata cast a small smile at her, which she warmly gave back. She exhaled, as if letting out all her worries in one swift action. Hinata wished it were that easy, but he was more than grateful to see that his friend could allow herself to relax for once. “Well…” she spoke, glancing at each of her classmates, “I’m glad I got to see it, even if I’m not exactly… real.” Hinata stiffened, “What are you saying? Of course you’re real.” His crossed arms let down, hands folding behind his back as his head turned towards Nanami, who idly fidgeted with the cuff of her sweater like a nervous child, “You existed in all of our lives as our friend and you’ll always be our dearest classmate. You’re undoubtedly real to all of us.” His chest ached a bit as he said so, knowing full well about all that Nanami had done for everyone, knowing full well what Nanami means but refusing to truly acknowledge that. He supposed it was a bit selfish of him, to live in a bubble of ignorant bliss when the irony was that he’d been fine with accepting reality every other way. But this way was still too difficult, even for him. “You’re the one who’s been helping Tsumiki with the therapy sessions after all. Helping all of us. There’s no way I could ever forget that.” He felt a knot in his throat that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard he swallowed, strangely enough. Though there was nothing particularly emotional going on unless loud music, friendly banter, and a celebration they’d make sure to remember truly counted. Somehow, he still felt like crying of all things. “Ah… I was trying to keep that a secret… but it’s okay.” She smiled, and Hinata knew that no computer monitor would be able to contain her warmth and kindness. “It’s funny… I guess I’m a bit of an existentialist, even if I don’t quite exist.” Hearing those words, Hinata found himself hesitantly opening and closing his mouth, wanting to refute them; he knew everyone still had their sore spots, but above all he knew how much Nanami had to suffer all this time. Each and every one of them had suffered. But Nanami… she had to watch them gruel through the whole process, every day, even if the others were vile with each other during their first few days of waking up. Even when things felt like they were getting better, someone or another would relapse, and Nanami, without fail, would be there to rescue the deteriorating situation when Hinata had his hands tied. Not knowing how to say it properly, Hinata subconsciously patted the top of the monitor, getting a confused sound from Nanami before awkwardly shoving his hands back into his pockets. “S-sorry… still not quite good at the whole ‘emotions’ thing.” “Mhmm…” She laughed, “Neither are any of us, but that’s fine, Hinata-kun.” Their quiet chat was soon broken by Mioda’s voice on stage, beaming and hopping as she asked everyone to find seats, before bringing out a shoebox with a hole on the lid. According to her, whoever’s name would be drawn from the box would be first up to sing; karaoke was going to be consisting entirely of her favourite songs from anime and video games of her choice, with the singers completely randomized, meaning, it was a matter of luck. Luck. And his thoughts, as always, trailed right back to the Ultimate Lucky Student, who he found with his hands knitted together gracefully as he looked up at his friend on stage with an encouraging smile. Mioda, having caught his attention, all but winked back. Rattling the whole box like a pair of maracas, Mioda eventually picked out a scrap piece of paper from out of the box with her eyes squinted shut, peeking out one eye like a child once it was unfolded. A cattish grin on her lips as she read out the name, “Ibuki picked… Ko-ma-e-da Nagitoooo-chaaaaaaaaaaaan!” Pointing straight at the seemingly unlucky winner, who sat with an expression that changed from his warm smile, to somewhere between giving up and straight up petrification as he slowly stood, getting a handful of cheers from the rest of the class.

Maybe it was the lights, or the way Komaeda was practically glowing as he climbed up on stage, that made him more emotional than usual. Hinata didn’t think often about his feelings, lest they get carried away and become something like infatuation. He wondered, quietly while casting a glance to the computer screen again, if Nanami could analyze and pick up on the storm of emotions whirling in him.

“Okay! So, I’ll only play a song you know, from some anime that we’ve watched together, if you’re cool with that!” Mioda chattered away as she stuck her face into the amp, adjusting frequency levels with enough skill and precision that there wasn’t a second of feedback. Komaeda all but shrugged resignedly, legs stiffly pressed flat together, and hands clasped tightly in what looked like nervous habit… awfully cute, if Hinata could be honest. Mioda stood up, microphone in hand and whispering into Komaeda’s ear, his expression going from anxiety, to surprise, to anxiety again. “Really?” He looked unamused at whatever she’d said, exasperated even, before he went right back to being nervous, “Mioda-san, you know I can’t sing, I’ll only hurt everyone’s ears,” he’d whispered back with urgency, almost with a bit of shyness, unaware that the mic was picking up on his voice perfectly despite whispering. “You’ll be fiiiine, Nagito-chan! I’ve heard you since before, you’re amazing!” Mioda hugged him from the back and squeezed, while Hinata felt the slightest twinge of jealousy that she got to hear him singing before. “Oh… please don’t say that about tr—” he shook his head, “About me.” He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, “But if you insist…” Mioda winked at him, pointing a one-hand finger gun at the karaoke machine, the music turning on as she “shot” it. Faintly, he could hear Fuyuhiko curse in disbelief, “How the hell…” before being hushed by Pekoyama. As the lights everywhere else dimmed, Mioda’s voice was heard once more, “Nagito-chan will be singing ‘Song of Truth’ by Do As Infinity!” The sound of the instrumental filled the room, most notably, the sound of a stringed instrument. “The jinghu,” Kamukura supplied, “It’s a Chinese instrument known for it’s unique high-pitch melody.” Hinata supressed a sigh, resisting the urge to whack his forehead (as if it’d do anything but sting) but begrudgingly stored that information in his brain anyway. He tuned out everything, focused on the boy on stage; visibly less nervous, much to Hinata’s relief, though he kept his eyes shut, he could’ve sworn Komaeda peeked and smiled at him before taking a deep breath.

The first few words from him resounded. A melodious hum reverberating from quiet lips, foreign, but sweeter than honey. It’s just as calming of an effect – it’s not overpowering, not really, but the sound has a way of making gears click into place, make the lights seem less glaring, but a softer bloom instead; it made him glow in a manner that’s ethereally… beautiful. Charmingly complimenting the soothing grace carried in each note of his song, and the way his silver eyes would momentarily betray melancholy even in low light.

It trailed goosebumps up Hinata’s arms.

Hinata knew that he wasn’t the only thoroughly mesmerized in the room, but in some ways, he couldn’t be bothered to take his eyes off the boy who’d made a prisoner out of his attention, much like his own heart as he’d begrudgingly learned over time. As he’d learned of the unwavering and pure affection, he accepted it with endearment little by little. Komaeda wasn’t such a bad guy, after all. Misguided, surely, but it wasn’t like they weren’t all at fault for what had transpired. It wasn’t like Hinata didn’t have blood on his own hands, despite taking a different name and form. But at their core, there was no lying about it. They weren’t bad people. There was still time to learn and recover from their pasts. And they had, Hinata was certain that they most definitely overcame their greatest hurdles. And now that the bigger storms were calmed, there was still time to take Komaeda’s hand and show him what it’s like to live without fear; with unconditional… love, was it? Love from himself and their classmates, their friends. It would be okay, so long as they kept living and pushing forward. Being with Komaeda, growing alongside him, learning and understanding him over the years… it had only affirmed his affections, it had only made him want to stand beside him and help him be happy, just as he had done the same for him on the many nights Hinata would break down.

Hinata listened to the song, not bothering to filter the way the words strike him any longer. He’d simply let his emotions flow knowing he couldn’t push them away quite as easily anymore. He would stop pretending that he wasn’t shamelessly staring, watching the way his expression would crease just slightly at the more difficult lines, at the stronger notes. He would stop pretending that he didn’t notice how Komaeda had started to take care of himself a little more, even if it was out of reluctance. He would stop pretending that he didn’t appreciate how he went out of his way to support his classmates through difficult times and moving past their sins, even if he was still rough around the edges. He would stop pretending that he didn’t care, that he didn’t have feelings for him, as much as a mess they both were. As Komaeda’s song came to a close, the rest of the class broke out in cheers and praise, most of them hollering in surprise at Komaeda’s bit of hidden talent as he stood there like a nervous doe. In the back of his mind, Hinata thought it to be rather timid for someone who’d threatened to blow up five islands, but he felt that he could be cut some slack from all that nonsense. Nothing quite made sense back then, after all, but he was happier to know the real Komaeda. All the while, Hinata felt suddenly overwhelmed with just how empty his lungs felt after everything and rushed out for air as discreetly as possible. Though trying to be inconspicuous, he was sure at least Nanami would have noticed… unless she fell asleep, that is. Nonetheless, Hinata slipped out the front door quietly amidst the chaos, taking in the chilly air in deep breaths as he placed himself on the nearby bench, suddenly taking notice of the ice-skating rink near the ruined beach the others had probably set up. He was sure that the third island wasn’t the cleanest island, rather, it was the one that held the second-most amount of junk right next to the fifth – but all in due time, he supposed, every last one of the islands would be properly cleaned up soon enough now that they were done with the mainland.

After what he guessed was ten minutes, he could very faintly hear Sonia’s voice in a duet with Owari; a surprising but lively combination, and the song seemed to be fairly upbeat even if he couldn’t make out the words. Even so, it warmed his heart. Maybe because he felt like a forty-year old in a twenty-seven-year old’s body, it was like the world moved far too quickly during his youth. There never was much time for him to really be a teenager, if he really thought about it. There was too much going on between the blurred lines of his childhood memories, the bandages, the arguments in the kitchen, all while he pored hours day in and out into his studies for cram school and exams; and then there was Hope’s Peak, and all the pain and frustration and longing to be significant that came with it. It consumed those years, burning them faster than cotton, like his life was nothing more than fodder for entertainment and testing the limits of ground shattering low esteem for a boy who knew no better than to give up his body to some greed-driven scientists, and that if some cruel God was out there taking pleasure out of his hellscape of a life, well… he knew that by the fact that he was still alive meant that he had the last laugh, at least. The sound of boots crunching in the snow approached from behind, and, lucky him, it was Komaeda with two hot drinks in his hands. “So, this is where you disappeared, huh?” He sat down beside him, shivering a bit at the touch of the frozen bench before handing Hinata his drink, appearing to be the hot tea that Koizumi prepared with Sonia much earlier. “My singing was pretty atrocious, huh?” He laughed softly and glanced towards the fairy lights decorating the posts and fences outside, right before Hinata’s eyes went wide, “What?! No! Of course not, it was amazing, I didn’t even know you could sing that beautifully— I just… needed some air.” Komaeda looked at him with skepticism, though the light bit of pink on his cheeks betrayed otherwise; that biting look of “reserve course student” had been long gone, but he probably still enjoyed lightly jeering on Hinata on a good day. “Hmm… well, if you say so!”

A beat of silence passed between them, with nothing but the gentle lapping sound of the ocean shore, and the muffled music and cheers from within the music venue. Hinata loved moments like this, where even if it was silent, Komaeda’s company never quite felt anything except comfortable. If they were still in the program, undoubtedly, he’d probably beg to differ but… now that he got to know about his favourite side of Komaeda, things were different to say the least. It reminded him of the Komaeda that waited for him to wake up on that otherwise lonely and terrifying day.

“Say, do you think we’ve changed since waking up?” Hinata spoke quietly, as if worried he’d break the solemn atmosphere. Komaeda shifted in his seat, smiling, “Without a doubt, Hinata-kun.”

Hinata looked up to the sky; hoping the clouds would clear soon. It had been a while since he’d seen the stars in their full glory, and even now, there were still days when parts of the sky seemed more purple than blue. Like the sky, they could never completely heal either, but even that was alright. Healing was never a straight path in the first place. “I’m glad you think so too.” “It’s actually funny you mention that, Pekoyama-san and I were talking about the past as well… how much we’ve changed as a class.” Komaeda spoke somberly, watching his expression become something like nostalgic, his breath coming out as visible puffs of hot air at this time of night, “We talked about how we both considered ourselves tools for a greater cause, we never really put much value on our lives until our loved ones would say otherwise with their near-dying breath.” Komaeda paused, lazily rubbing his thumb over the length of his fingers in a half-hearted attempt to keep warm, and smiled. “I always knew she was pleasant and a great symbol of hope to me, but… now that I got to speak with her a little more, she really is a wonderful person… I guess we both had a lot more in common than we thought, huh?” Hinata nodded, quietly scraping, folding, and smoothing the compacted snow with the tip of his boot, as he listened to Komaeda talk his heart out for once, “Ever since that day you brought me out of the warehouse, and every time I would try to hide again, you would be the one to help sever that need to hurt myself. And I…” Komaeda fell silent, taking a shaky breath, making Hinata finally look back at him. His head was lowered to where he couldn’t meet his eyes, the street lights catching the white of the snow and the white of his hair, and Hinata had to all but resist the urge to pull him close and comfort him. “Do you remember the day we were all in the restaurant during a typhoon, Owari-san had taken up a blindfolded eating contest against Nekomaru-kun? Owari-san had won that, and when Saionji-san started to make fun of her, she playfully stuck a pork rib bone covered in sauce on the back of her kimono and it got stuck there like glue.” He smiled meekly at the memory, lifting his head again, “I don’t remember a time since we woke up that we laughed that hard. I probably wasn’t one of the people that laughed too much, I think. Because when we collected ourselves, I’d… broken down already.” The memory from five years prior was vivid, even today. He remembered standing close by the entrance of the restaurant, seeing at least three people doubled over, and Hinata in tears. Even somewhere in his hardened heart at the time, he felt joy. A different kind of warmth, like being together with a family. Feeling a fleeting but all too real spark of happiness. That joy was short lived when the reality started to set in. That sweet happiness had a rather bitter aftertaste when that single thought crossed his mind.

I tried to murder these people.

Overwhelmed by guilt, by frustration, his knees buckled as if the weight of his actions suddenly took a heavy toll on him, and before he could understand what was happening or how he was really feeling, he began sobbing like a child. Everything he had tried to do in the program was what he had known to do since the start, since the beginning of his life, in order to counter his luck and find the one thing that could defy it – hope. And yet, it was all wrong. If it weren’t for Hinata, then they wouldn’t be here, laughing, crying, creating a new life together because they were forced into a life or death game at the prime of their youth, when they should have been trying to find a way out. He was the one to tip the scale, he was the one to spark the fuse when it didn’t need to; at the cost of his own life, it was fine, but now when he looked at the others, he felt a tightness in his chest. He always despised dirty tricks, and he never was a good liar. Yet, he found that he did nothing but cause calamity. It suddenly felt clear as day how wrong he was, even if it was his means of surviving all throughout his childhood; what good was that when he was there to merely throw away his life? How selfish of him to play some sacrificial God and right their wrongs when, as Hinata had said that there was always, always another way out that didn’t have to have them suffer. So Komaeda cried. He cried like someone truly had died, crying out apologies over and over to no one in particular, like the child who had seen his parents get killed before his eyes once more, traumatized again and again like a pearl in its shell. And just as imperfect. He realized what he was trying to destroy for an ideal world when a world like that never existed, it was simply the imperfect yet endearing reality before him. And that, if this is how reality is today, then Hinata truly had forgiven him, and not out of reluctance – and he knew that he’d accepted Hinata as well. Amongst all this, not even realizing when Sonia, Hinata, Koizumi, Nekomaru, and his other classmates had knelt beside him, confused and apprehensive but still kind in the gesture alone. To comfort him of all people. They weren’t close, and yet… somehow, he felt that they could understand his regret and frustration. After all, they carried their own mistakes as well.

Somehow, Komaeda had to make it up to them one day and gain their trust, even if he wasn’t worthy of it. But for now, things were fine as they are. He was… happy, with the way things now are. Hinata exhaled, finally bundling up that bit of courage and letting his hand rest on the other’s shoulder and squeezed lightly; he wouldn’t admit nor deny the fact that he likely moved a few inches closer, not that it really mattered. “If I can be honest, I was wrong about you. You’ve… grown a lot since before.” he said, sticking out his legs to stretch only to hear his knees pop embarrassingly loud. Joint pain in your mid-twenties was a different kind of hell, altogether, and his timing was impeccable. “S-sorry, that was—” He cleared his throat, only for Komaeda to give an understanding nod. “Anyway, I’m glad that you don’t see yourself that way anymore. I’m glad that you gave everyone a chance, and most importantly, yourself.” Hinata’s voice softened, something like affection and pride welling in him. “I don’t want you to have to worry about your luck, or your health. After all, his luck will balance it out and… with how your treatment has been going successfully, I think we’ll be okay.” Hinata tried to ignore the way Komaeda quirked his eyebrow at the way he referred to Kamukura, but everyone and their mother probably knew about that complicated internal conflict already, “Kamukura and the others have been trying really hard and if they come out with a breakthrough. It’d be huge not only for us, but for anyone else affected similarly.” “Us…?” Komaeda hung onto that word, feeling a tightness in his chest. Hinata floundered to cover his embarrassment, but all the other boy did was laugh it off delicately. And in one graceful motion, he stood up, boots crunching in the snow as he took Hinata’s wrist in tow behind him. A small grin rested on his face as he tugged Hinata, who followed without much question, to the ice rink. Hinata stretched slightly after sitting for so long, carefully glancing between the ice rink and Komaeda, not quite enjoying the implication of him looking so lost in thought. “So, Hinata-kun, how badly do you think it’d end if we tried skating with snow boots on?” “Huh…” Hinata looked back at the other looking mildly impressed, “Look at you, taking risks for once in your life. I don’t know how to skate.” “Neither do I!” he joyfully replied, as if that were any more reassuring, “And as if me living and breathing isn’t already a risk,” Komaeda retorted, albeit those words were more playful than morbid, “Besides, if we fall through thin ice and end up with hypothermia, I could very well blame Kamukura-kun’s luck, couldn’t I?” he laughed, sticking a foot out at the edge of the rink to test just how slippery . Hinata grinned something mischievous, and at that, he took hold of Komaeda’s shoulders and shoved themselves out into the ice, both of them speedily spinning out of control for a moment while gripping onto each other’s arms for safety across the makeshift rink, like there was nothing but melting butter beneath their feet. Or, well, ice really would be close enough. Immediate regret, if their cries of panic were anything to go by; it wasn’t one of Hinata’s brighter ideas, but he’d be lying if he said this wasn’t fun either. It was rather surprising with how their balance, or rather, lack of it, didn’t get them killed was a mystery as they found themselves twisting and slipping in every direction. Komaeda eventually crashed into the pile of fresh snow, having given up on a graceful landing, with Hinata following closely and just barely crushing him – instead, he’d landed on the man’s prosthetic arm on his stomach, cursing as he did. Though the slight adrenaline was still running through him, Hinata immediately pried himself off the snow, worriedly taking hold of Komaeda’s arm to check it for any damage and babbling, “I-I’m so sorry, are you hurt? I didn’t mean for things to get that crazy…” He didn’t look back at Komaeda, feeling too embarrassed for practically crushing his arm in a stunt, and instead pulled the hand closer to his face, furrowing his eyebrows and inspecting between the metal joints and slender fingers that weren’t quite unlike Komaeda’s real hand. He wasn’t quick to notice that he was far from being in pain either, rather the silent realization that he had been holding his hand rather intimately hit him like a truck, heat pooling in his cheeks for reasons beyond the chilly weather. “Don’t… worry about it, I’m absolutely fine.” He smiled it off, watching Hinata give it one last wary eye to the prosthetic and back to Komaeda, before setting the arm down. Hinata sat looking down at the other lying in the snow, who had by then closed his eyes and breathing slowly, stretching his arms far out as if he was making the slenderest snow angel the world had ever seen or hugging the wide-open night sky. With a heaving breath and an endearing gaze, Hinata broke the silence, “I had my doubts, but… you really are still Komaeda Nagito.” Komaeda’s eyes slowly opened again at those words, “What do you mean?” “I mean that the boy I met at the beginning of the program, the boy I met at the end of the first trial, and the man I know now… they’re all the same.” Hinata’s voice felt a little tired from all the yelling, but he continued anyway, “I was scared that, I would never be able to see the kind-hearted friend I made at the very start ever again. One of my first friends, who I felt, at the time… betrayed me.” Hinata paused, catching the slight wince on Komaeda’s face. Though they were Komaeda’s contrived and warped ideals back then, he too was probably shaken by Hinata’s revelation as well… and now, somehow, it made sense when he started to piece together his luck cycle, his absolute dependency on hope, his desire for escapism from such a hellish fate and to merely live a normal life. And how ironic it was that they had the lives that each other yearned for. “But every good and bad thing about you, it was still always you, but… you’ve been able to overcome your fears, your shortcomings, with patience.” Hinata felt his heart picking up the pace, but smiled to cover his nervousness, “I guess it just means I can like you more now. Not that I could bring myself to hate you in the first place.” Komaeda pushed himself upright on his elbows, tucking in his knees and drawing his lips into the slightest smile, “Was that supposed to be some sort of confession?” Hinata scoffed, “Sure. But you think I’d give a half-hearted confession like that? Who do you think I am, some untalented reserve course student?” Hinata give a weak shove to Komaeda’s shoulder, to which he just laughed off. With his hair dusted with the sparkling white snowflakes like glitter, it became clear that Komaeda’s peachy hair had started to grow back, overtaking the lifeless white mid-length; and yet despite the healthier contrast against the snow, he didn’t look any less angelic. As Komaeda got up off his elbows, shaking the snowflakes and water droplets off the tips of his hair and jacket hood, Hinata caught himself wondering how everyone at the party was doing. When he cast a glance towards the music hall, he could faintly hear the voices of Souda and… what he could’ve sworn was Kuzuryuu, of all people, singing along. Komaeda laughed something short and sweet, catching the same drift as Hinata and the latter shaking his head in disbelief and amusement. Hinata’s attention was drawn away when Komaeda cleared his throat, “So what about you, then? You’re always looking after everyone else, so it’s only fair I ask about you, isn’t it?” Hinata’s chest tightened. “I’m fine, honestly. I’m just glad that everyone can take a break and focus on getting themselves better, since we’re done with the Future Foundation for the most part, you know?” He shifted in place, casting another glance at the sky and seeing a handful of stars peek through at long last. There was always a part of him that also wanted to hide behind the clouds when he didn’t want to face the world. “In that case, you can take it easy.” “I… really don’t want to hear that from you of all people, but…” Hinata held his breath for a moment, feeling the constraints holding his emotions in starting to falter, starting to feel even more tired, “No. It’s not enough.” The words that left him hitched at his voice. He had to be much stronger than that. “I haven’t done enough to make up for the damage I’ve caused. It’ll… it will never be enough.” Emotion flickered across Komaeda’s face, and Hinata hoped it wasn’t pity. “I see…” He spoke, huffing out whatever potential biting remark he had to say. Though instinctively, Hinata felt passive anyways. Instead what came out was the simple phrase he’d heard many times before, “Is that really the extent of your hope, Hinata-kun?” He had heard it so many times before; accusatory, disappointment cutting deep and nestled within those words – the words he heard during trials, like some sort of test that both drove him to the answer and drove him insane with irritation. Knowing, hearing, the incompetency he’d always treated himself with being thrown back at him by a mere stranger the moment he felt like giving up. Even if it was strangely motivating. Except this time, it was different. When Hinata met the calm grey of Komaeda’s eyes, there was no bite or disgust, his words alone were quiet, careful, almost like a genuine question and not the condescending tone he’d thrown on him and the others during the program. He knew it wasn’t a taunt. It couldn’t be. “You know… I thought I should’ve despised you when I found the truth. I knew you should’ve despised me with every fiber of your being. But I don’t think you did, not after seeing how you’re still so kind to someone like me. And it’s because of you that I have a new hope.” Komaeda reached out, holding the tips of Hinata’s cold fingers with his own freezing hands, just as he had all those years ago. “You’ve worked hard enough, Hinata-kun.” Those words were so simple. And so powerful. “You can rest now too. I’m proud of you, you know that?” Hinata felt like his heart stopped and started again at double speed. He felt like the lump in his throat just wouldn’t fade. The same one he’d felt earlier threatening to push him over. Neither would the pain crushing his chest keep it from feeling like it was difficult to breathe. Hearing the same words of reassurance he’d given to the rest of his classmates, time and time again, being returned to him by Komaeda of all people… somehow that struck him with a different kind of joy when he thought about how far they’ve come. Somehow that struck him with a different kind of grief, when he realized that he was just as damaged as they were. He was taking the brute force of the impact, after all, wasn’t he? He was allowed to cry, he was allowed to mourn, he was allowed to feel frustrated for the trauma they’d gone through watching their friends die, having to inspect their cold bodies and petrified and bloodied faces, having to prosecute the killer whom they considered a friend and standby to watch them be killed, and come back to the reality that they had caused so much suffering in the real world. He was allowed to feel remorseful. But he had just this moment, and the many more to come, to take a few steps back and try again. And he knew, that before anything else, over the years he had the chance to create a new life alongside his classmates – and the fact that Komaeda held him silently as he cried, not unlike the way Komaeda did all those years back. For that while that they sat there on the frozen ground surrounded by pristine white snow, there wasn’t a sound in the air but the quiet hum of a song that Hinata could already feel vibrating through his chest, all until his sobs quietened to a single hiccup. Undoubtedly, it filled him with that same feeling of peace and courage that he felt was strongest when he was by Komaeda’s side, watching him grow as his charming friend, as his kind-hearted classmate, and simply someone he’d come to care about more than he thought he’d like to admit. But it felt like, now, it really wasn’t such a bad thing to admit. He knew how Hinata had been carrying their burden wordlessly until now, watching him over the years and letting Hinata take his time, and the fact that, truthfully, Komaeda’s arms felt like the safest place in the world; Hinata knew he loved him, and though it wasn’t an easy road, he couldn’t say that it wasn’t worth it even if he wished there was an easier path there. “Komaeda…?” “Yes?” “I know you’re not stupid.” Hinata’s voice was only slightly muffled, buried in Komaeda’s shoulder, while his chest and face burned, “You were the first one to figure out the cases and help me even if I was slow. Even if you admittedly made it a bit harder and… I hadn’t treated you properly back then.” Hinata slowed his breathing a little, to catch his words, to catch his breath, to demand his heart to stop ricocheting off the walls of his ribcage, “So, you know then, how I feel about you. I meant it the first time I said it earlier.” For the second Komaeda’s grip loosened, Hinata felt his heart drop – only for him to tighten his embrace even more so, “What, that you’ve been flirting with me for the past five or six years?” He spoke with a devious grin, relishing the way the panic on Hinata’s face became more evident by the second. Komaeda laughed, “I mean, you pick up a thing or two in therapy, especially once you start to learn about the people around you. Since I’m not really good at these things, everyone was pretty helpful when I tried to figure it all out! Well, talking with others in a way that didn’t weird them out was never quite easy for me, and I guess I still am a bit awkward but… in some ways, I’ve gotten a better idea of what I should say.” Komaeda kindly ignored the shell-shocked expression Hinata wore at his revelation, albeit he found it amusing, and let that beat of silence pass peacefully. With hope in his grasp, in his arms. He takes another breath in, the same cold air, the same air that Hinata held with bated breath merely moments ago, loosely wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his forehead on his shoulder as he spoke, “I have always loved you, even when I tried not to. And I meant it the first time I said it, too… in the program, that is.” He pulled away, with a determined look, and the lightest hint of a smile on his face. And that was when Hinata saw confidence in his eyes, in his words, for the first time. The same Komaeda that was his very first friend on the island. The same Komaeda that had broken his trust. The same Komaeda that learned how to live again, who makes Hinata want to live, not just survive, by his side. “Even now, I still love you. These words… I know they—? I know they seem heavy but, trust me when I say that I’ve thought about it more times than I’d… like to admit.” Komaeda cast his gaze away, that confidence slightly wavering, only for Hinata to laugh inwardly and gently bump their foreheads together in endearment. Whatever made it easier for him to express his feelings, he had come this far at least was more than enough. “…That is, if you’re okay with someone like me. If you’re okay with me being the way I am.”

A genuine smile, warm and gentle and loving despite the cold, rested on Hinata’s lips. “What better time than right now?”

#komahina #fanfiction #komahina secret exchange

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vampirefreakism · 5 years

Text

The Scientist (Chapter 32)

Summary: In the events following Asgard’s destruction, Loki finds himself on Earth seeking refuge to await the inevitable. Much to his surprise, it comes from a source he would never have expected.

The Soundtrack So Far

Warnings: none

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: I am still posting on AO3, but I’m experimenting with not adding the link on this chapter so this story can show up in the tags

Masterlist

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Tony Stark did his best to be a generous man. He was responsible; always trying to upkeep his space and the relationships he was blessed with. Sometimes things fell apart and out of his grasp, but he took it in stride. Tony may have been wealthy and famous his entire life, but he was no stranger to struggle and failure. Based on the positive influences he surrounded himself with, he always found a reason to pick himself back up and keep going.

At the compound, Tony did what he did every time it snowed and arranged for his robots and designated workers to clean the roadways and parking spaces for the employees coming back to work. His vacation renewed him. Devoting time and full attention to his betrothed was a gift in and of itself. As he stood in his office, he made a mental note to take more time away with his love. Pepper Potts would reiterate herself time and time again how much he needed to rest. He complained but never fought her. She was always right.

“Welcome back, boss,” FRIDAY greeted. “How was your trip?”

“Romantic as Paris could be.” Tony waved a hand, summoning a display. “Say, I forgot. How were the specs on the kid’s new suit?”

“Compliant, but a bit tricky.” A full-body digital image of the suit spun above the virtual table. “The material from the Commodore spacecraft is an excellent medium, but it requires more physical testing than the usual.”

“When do you think it’ll be ready?”

“I can have simulation ready within the hour.”

Tony plopped down into a desk chair and spun around. “And what about Mark 50?”

“I can do a simultaneous run.” An image of his new suit appeared beside Peter’s, both rotating in tandem.

“Yup. Do that.” Tony got up and jogged over to his bar and fridge, all set with a variety of spices, fruits, and vegetables. "Has our favorite little biologist arrived yet?"

“Yes. Ms. Fields has been here the better part of an hour.”

“An hour?!” Tony fiddles with the spoon in his hand, nearly dropping it. “Why didn’t you tell me when she got here?”

“It wasn’t important. You don’t have a meeting scheduled with her today.”

“I sure don’t,” Tony mumbles as he scoops a few spoonful’s of turmeric into the blender. Blessed be to Luna for showing him the wonders and benefits of Indian spices. “How about we surprise her?”

"That can be arranged. Will you need her packages as well?”

“Mm-mm.” He shook his head, voice muffled behind a dollop of Greek yogurt. “I’ll bring her to it. Make a little adventure out of it.”

“Of course, boss.”

Tony made a delightful blend of leafy greens and juicy reds, portioned appropriately for two. As he waited for his concoction to smooth out, he shrugged on a crisp blazer and a clean pair of Gucci sunglasses. A chiming from the machine drew him to it once again. Careful not to dirty his outfit, he filled two lidded cups and journeyed down to the labs, greeting everyone he could along the way.

The riveting tunes of Duran Duran graced his ears as he slowly approached the biology lab. It was the title song off of his favorite album, ‘Rio.’ A grin on his face, Tony took the remaining steps to the door and bumped the edge of the doorway with his shoe.

“Knock-knock, Lulu,” he greeted. Luna lifted her head from the microscope and flashed him a toothy smile.

“Hey!” Even without her glasses, she could recognize Tony’s silhouette anywhere. “Let me wrap this up real quick so I can give you a proper two-armed hug.”

Slipping her glasses back on, Luna covered the Petri dish she was examining and turned off the microscope. She hurriedly took off her lab coat and gloves, impatient to wait one moment more. She shuffled over to him and into his open arms, squeezing him tight in her own.

“Ooh, now that’s what I call a hug,” Tony gushed, holding her as close as he could without losing his grip on their drinks. Feeling the chill of the smoothies in his hands, he released her and led the way down the hall to the lounge. “How was your winter vacay? Hope you didn’t miss me too much.”

“It was good, and we missed you just the right amount. Well, me more than him, but you know.”

“‘We?’ Oh, right. You and your guy.”

Luna scoffed. “He’s not my guy.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tony let Luna take a seat first. “How’d your mother take him being there, by the way?” He dropped down onto the couch beside her.

“Hm?” She tilted her head, his inquest taking her for a spin.

“What’d you tell her about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Ominous?” he reiterated.

“Oh, right.” Luna shook her head out. Tony almost caught her on her lie. “Um, I just told her he was my new boyfriend, and he was spending the time with me since his family is overseas.”

Tony nodded. “And how’d she take it?”

“She bought it. It was a nice time.” Luna shrugged, forcing the tension from her nerves. “Suspected absolutely nothing from either of us.”

“I would expect no less from the Master of Lies.” Tony handed her a cup, prompting a change of subject.

“Aw, Tony, you didn’t have to!” Luna thanked him as she cradled it with both hands.

Tony dismissed her gratitude. “Oh, please. I wanted to.” He couldn’t let her know how it made him feel, but his smile gave it away. To hell with it. “Cheers to you, sad girl.” He tapped the lid of his cup against hers.

“And to you, Mr. Charitable.” They took a unison swig. The taste settled from sweet to a tang, finishing off with a bite from the spice. Luna crossed on leg over the other and angled her body towards Tony, elated with his little surprise.

Tony threw an arm over the edge of the couch, letting his thumb graze lightly against Luna’s shoulder. “So what’d you do to ring in the New Year? Nothing I would do, I hope.”

Luna giggled. “Not much. I got some sparkling apple cider and a large assortment of designer chocolates. We watched some ‘Star Trek,’ then the ball drop, and then some more ‘Star Trek’ until I couldn’t keep my eyes open.”

In his best monotone voice, Tony replied, “That’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever heard in my entire life.” Luna’s loud laugh made him suppress his smile. He couldn’t break his character now. “You should be ashamed of yourself.” He giggled a little. He couldn’t contain it.

Luna pats her chest and lets her laughter die down. “Ok, fine. What did you do?” She took a sip of her drink.

“Oh, you know. When in Paris, do as the Parisians do.”

“Which is?”

“Watch fireworks, kiss under the Eiffel Tower, and celebrate with a bang in more ways than one.” Luna let out a scandalized gasp as her eyes went wide and her mouth agape.

“And you’re calling what I said ‘sexy’? Wow,” Luna said as sassy as she could. They share a brief laugh.

“Say, did Loki do anything with that phone you said you were gonna give him?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s been good with it so far, I think.” Luna put her cup close to her mouth. “Apparently, Peter gave him his number.” Her statement was muffled, but Tony heard well enough.

“He what?!”

Luna nodded. “Mhm. They’ve been sending each other memes the entire weekend.”

“Has the kid Rick-Rolled Loki yet?”

Luna furrowed her brow. “I’m a little surprised you know what that is, but no, he hasn’t.”

“The kid sent me that darned song a few months ago under the guise of it being a video of him drinking five Red Bulls in under five minutes,” Tony explained and threw a hand into the air. “Can’t believe I fell for it.”

“It’s a good song, though. Not gonna lie.”

“Yeah, it is.” He paused, tilting his head back and taking a long swig of his smoothie. With a satisfied gulp, he moved on to his next point. “Hey, you know what? We haven’t had one of our lab meetings in a good while?”

“No, we have not.”

Tony placed his cup on the table and brought his hands down on his thighs with a loud slap. “Let’s have one right now.” He pushed himself off the couch to standing. “I really want to see what you've been working on.”

“Oh, I think you’ll really like what I’ve done so far,” Luna said, giddy about his willingness to take the initiative. In her turn to lead, she took him to the lab, discarding their empty cups along the way. “Alright, so you remember how I told you I was investigating Loki’s DNA?” She handed Tony a pair of large rubber gloves and took small ones for herself.

Tony snapped his pair on and checked his shoes. “Mhm. Did you find the source of his crazy?”

Luna scoffed a little. “He’s not crazy, but I did get some interesting results when I spliced it with that of a C. elegans.” Taking great care, she shifted the Petri dish and lifted the lid. Tony stepped closer, peering inside.

“What is that?” he muttered, seeing the uncharacteristic tracks left by the tiny worms.

“Ice,” Luna whispered back. Tony’s head snapped up, his face and silence communicating his dumbfoundedness. “Yeah, I couldn’t believe it either. They survive in room temperature as they should, but they love the deep cold.” Luna placed it back on the bench. “I even put them in a tub of dry ice, and they were fine. Nothing I did could hurt them. They even laid eggs.”

Tony leaned on the table edge. “When did you do all this?”

“A couple months ago.”

“Months?!” he exclaimed, taken aback. “These things are only supposed to live half of a week!”

“I know! I was surprised too! They can’t seem to die!” Luna grabbed her lab notebook and opened it to the latest entry. Standing next to Tony, she showed him her data. “Just from that sequence I used, their lifespans have increased 1000% already.”

“Already? You’re saying it could keep rising?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.” Luna closed her book.

Tony’s shoulders dropped. “This is dangerous stuff, Lu. I mean, in the wrong hands…”

“I know.” Luna held her hands in front of her. “I’m keeping all digital files on my private server and all papers under lock-and-key.” She pointed to a storage cabinet with a clear lock on the front. “No work is brought outside of this room.”

“If Loki knew you were doing this, it spells ‘danger’ for you.”

“He does know, but on a top level. I told him about the worms because I was happy my hypothesis worked, but that’s it. I’m careful.” Luna took off a glove and put her bare hand on Tony’s arm. “You can trust me on that.”

“I do. It’s just… I just…” Tony shakes his head.

“I know. I understand.”

“I know you do.” He covers Luna’s hand with his and smiles, grateful for her counsel. “On a lighter note, I believe Christmas presents are in order.”

Luna gasped and pointed at him. “Yes! Yes, they are!” She took her other glove off and lay it beside the first one. “First off, I have two for you.”

Tony smirked proudly and crossed his arms. “Two? I knew Santa was real.”

“Tony, you flatter me,” Luna giggled. “Let me get my bag.” She strode over to her personal cabinet and opened it.

“Hey, come on.” Tony nodded his head towards the door. “We’ll do it on the way.”

Luna bunched up the handle and held it tight. “To where?”

“To where I have your present.”

“Ooh, I get one?” She followed close behind him out of her lab and down the hall. “Now it’s my turn to be excited.”

Tony waved her off. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, kiddo, time’s a-wastin’.”

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

A short trek down the stairs and the duo found themselves entering the lower garage. It had been freshly cleaned during the holidays, and the available cars polished and waxed. On their way to a table, Luna eyed them with desire. Tony loved his expensive toys.

“So,” Luna set her bag down and brought her hands together with a clap, “who should go first?”

Tony raised a hand. “Uh, it should be me, because I’ve been waiting since the end of November.”

“An awfully long time to wait, so I won’t keep you any longer.” From her bag, Luna pulled a small white box and a framed piece of paper. “Ok, so first, we have this.” She placed the frame on the tabletop and slide it over to Tony. He adjusted his glasses and took a gander at it.

“Is…is that-?” He picked it up, getting a better look at it. In his hands, he held a detailed portrait of his likeness, done up tastefully in reds and oranges.

“Yup, that’s you.” Luna grinned, leaning over the table. “Loki kept sneaking peeks at it while I was working. Little devil,” she snickered.

“He’ll look at anything if you keep it a secret long enough.” Tony didn’t bother looking away from his new art piece.

“Mhm,” Luna hummed, pleased with his reaction to her gift. “And the second one.” She held the little box and took the lid off, revealing a handmade string bracelet in colors of red, orange, gold, and silver.

Tony's eyes flitted to it, and he smiled tenderly. Reaching with one hand, he took it around his fingers and rolled it onto his wrist. It was his third one from her.

“You know me so well.”

Luna smiled back. “I try. A billionaire is hard to buy for, so I make due.”

“Oh, this is more than ‘make due.’ "He held up his picture and turned it for Luna to see. “This is going in the center of the art wall at home.”

“Again, you flatter me, boss.”

“Unlike some people, I speak the truth, and this,” he looked to his artwork, sighing, and chuckled, “is gorgeous. Makes my present for you seem a little subpar.”

“A subpar gift from you? Never in your life.”

“Since we’re on the subject, we should get that show over with.” The frame tucked safely under his arm, Tony tilted his head towards one area of the garage and led the way to it.

On the counter by the wall sat four boxes, all wrapped in colorful paper and of varying sizes. Tony stood beside the lineup and gestured grandly to them.

“Tony,” Luna started skeptically, “this can’t all be for me.”

Tony held his hands behind his back and rocked on his feet. “No, the one on the far left is for you, the second one is for DUM-E, and the biggest ones are for FRIDAY and the kid.” He paused, not taking himself seriously. “Yes, it’s all for you. Now open the darn things, or I’m keeping all of it.”

“Alrighty, boss, but you’re gonna have to help me.”

At a loss for which box to pick first, Tony stepped in and pulled the tape off of the third box from the right. Luna moved up beside him and held the top flaps open as he pulled the Styrofoam-encased object out. With great care, they worked together in uncovering it, occasionally stopping and brushing stray foam and plastic from their clothes.

Their efforts weren’t all for naught. Upon a clean space on the counter, Luna’s gift sat for her to look at. She passed her fingers over the edges, trying to decipher what she was looking at. Under a Plexiglas cover, it housed a round disc, a small lever, and a weighted arm with a small needle on the end of it. The needle caught Luna's eye and helped her tie her pondered thoughts together.

“Tony, what is… is this…,” she stammered a little. She didn’t want to jinx what her heart was telling her.

Tony rotated his hands around to coax out the rest of her question. “Come on, genius. Use your words. It’s a…”

“Is this a record player?” Luna whispered. Tony snapped his fingers.

“Bingo! And she gets the prize!” he praised, eliciting a gasp and an ecstatic response from his young friend.

“You got me a vinyl record player?! Tony! This is amazing!” Luna grabbed his arm and shook it. “Wait, is this because of that one time I casually mentioned how jealous I was that you had one?”

Tony tilted his head from side to side. “Mm, probably, but I wouldn’t count on it.” Luna laughed, brimming with joy. “You’re very welcome, by the way.” She took a hand off of him, fanned her face, and covered half of her mouth. “Oh, don’t get all teary-eyed on me. No need for that.”

Luna groaned, throat tight from emotion. “I’m sorry. I’m just really happy." She bit the inside of her cheek, but nothing could suppress the smile she wore.

“I can tell,” he said tenderly.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark.”

He waved a hand. “Oh, come on now. None of that.” He patted the hand she still had on him. “Now, I can show you how to connect all the pieces, or I can leave that up to you and your intellect. Either way, you're putting all this -” he gestured to the unopened boxes “- in your car by the end of the day and making your boy toy very jealous.”

Luna chuckled, giving up on correcting Loki’s unfortunate nickname. “So, uh, what are all the pieces?”

“We have the turntable itself,” Tony placed a hand on it, “the power amp,” he moved to the first box by them, “pre-amp," he stepped out of Luna's grasp pointing the second box, “a set of speakers,” he indicated the box furthest from them, “and all the necessary wiring and instructions included. I may have gone overboard on the wires, but hey, can’t go wrong in having lots of backup supplies.”

“No, of course not.” Luna paused, taking everything in: the lavish gift, his generosity, the expense he considered to be pocket change. No, it was pocket change for him. “Tony, this is so much.”

“But do you like it?” He folded his hands, hopeful for a positive answer.

“Oh, I love it. I love it so much,” Luna affirmed, smile broad and shining.

“Good, because I only treat my friends like this.”

The two scientists shared their moment for only a second longer as FRIDAY chose the next one to break it.

“Boss, the diagnostic run on the suits is complete. Would you care to see the results now?”

Tony stepped back from Luna and stood straight with a proud smile. “Since I’ve seen your work, do you want to see mine?”

Luna mimicked him. “When do I ever refuse? Let’s go.”

----------

Taglist: @the-doctor-9-10 @pinkieperil @sherlockfan4life

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calvinjohaanson · 3 years

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ainmunaqadh · 7 years

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memory log 0.5

Ain’s P.O.V (point of view)

Ishtar Academy. The research facility thats well known throughout the solar system. Here today, me and my batch of students from my school will be going to a trip there. Only the 12th grade year of students of my school had the privilege to go there due to some odd...reasons we students don’t know. Probably because they knew we were all training to become Guardians. Whatever reasons, we certainly didnt want to miss out this chance. Though some parents didn’t really approve of this trip, but after some explanation they seemed pretty okay with it soon after including my strict father. The trip was just a few days trip and just a day at the Ishtar Academy to not make the protective parents worry as it will be our first time into space. It felt like a dream to head to Ishtar Academy. They discovered plenty of things over there. I really liked researching and this could a chance to sharpen my skills for my dream job. A researcher. This was just a day trip and literally everyone was feeling anxious including myself. My father fortunately had a few days off before he go back to his work with Mr. Bray. My father did some lecturers about life choices. Those parent-child talks. You know the thing. He’s a protective dad after all.

Soon enough, the day came and all of us went into the space ship that looked like sci-fi space trains from Mass Effect. Almost like the Normandy but bigger. Once on board, we all took ourselves to our rooms and shared rooms with some friends of the same gender for safety reasons.

“Hehe, I’d be glad if I managed to catch an attention of a fellow researcher. It’d be awesome to do their work!” My friend Lidwina exclaimed as she rises from her bed.”To think to become a guardian and research at the same time, oh wait that’s a Warlock thing.”

Charmaine, one of my friends, looked toward me as she was sitting on her bed with her legs crossed,”Ain you want to be a Hunter actually right?”

I was on my bed, sketching on my sketchbook. I was sketching out myself as a guardian with my own Ghost(which I’ll soon have). Thinking, saving lives and doing good deeds to achieve great sense of honor and nobility.”Yeah, my mentor is a Hunter so I’ll be a Hunter. But being a Warlock doesn’t seem bad either it is?” I chuckle to myself, thinking myself as a Warlock instead of a Hunter.

“Boo. Warlocks are space wizards and nerds. Look Goh, Hakimi, Wong and the others. Nerds and they fit the Warlock stereotype.” Lidwina crossed her arms and did a pouty face hearing my last sentence. All three of us are going to be official Hunters some day. When that day arrives, we’ll all make it worth for us , our mentors and everyone else in our lives.

“Oh please, not all Warlocks are like that. Same goes for Titans and Hunters. Like what if a Warlock can do well with knifes? What if a Hunter wants to float like a Warlock? What if a Titan fights more like a Hunter?” I finished up the final touch ups in my sketch as I indeed looked awesome in my cloak with my mentor Brendan by my side.”In fact, let’s make a bet. If one of us attains both classes, be it Hunter-Warlock or so on combination, the other two losses. ”Don’t jinx it if it happens to me especially. Chances are high if you’re keen on it. Up to the Traveller really.”

Lidwina and Charmaine looked at each other with slight hesitation. I rarely make bets but when I do, I would win no doubt as the probabilities of my winning were like...99.9%. Even so, they nodded and agreed.”Fine.”

Days passed, we finally reach to Venus and there stood the famous Ishtar Academy. I could’ve swear some of us would like to go continue our studies there once we graduated out of high school. We were greeted by some of the professors there and were much welcomed. We were taken around the place and it was huge. Bigger than any university we’ve been to. The professors even asked what job we’d like be to part of aside from being Guardians. They were happy to hear some of us like to continue their higher education here at Ishtar Academy.

“Alright students, I’m sure you all got your piece of papers we just handed out to you. Listen, those lucky enough will have a name written on their paper. If you get a name, you will be spending time with that person who is a fellow researcher here.”

Everyone looked at their folded piece of paper in their hands. Some crossed their fingers and hoped they get a name.

“Alright kids open your paper!”

Everyone then unfolded their papers before a lot of groans and cheering was heard all around. The groans were probably from those who got a blank page and the cheering was from those who got a name. I just stood there in silent. I got a name. Dr Maya Sundaresh. She sounds like a prestigious person from the sound of her name. Her name even sounds pretty.

“Ain you got a name? Wah lucky you!” Lidwina showed her blank paper as she looked quite upset but calmed herself anyway.

“You lucked out Ain. I didn’t get a name either. I heard Goh did. As expected from the top student of our batch.”Charmaine shrugs as she held out her blank page before putting it back into her pocket,”Those who didn’t get a name will go around the Academy with the staff members to the projection room. We’re going on in a 3D simulation project to test our skills as guardians.”

“Ah that sounds grand. Wish I could join but of course I’m going to be with Dr Maya. A real experience.I ‘ll see you both later.” I walked off according to the directions showed on the map to Dr Maya’s lab office.

Once arriving there, I knocked on the door to let her know I was coming in.”Hello? Dr Maya?”

Exoâ€™s P.O.V or Cayde

Still an average day for a fixture like me. Like usual day. I just stood there close by the door way while watching over Dr Maya who was as usual focusing on her research. I still haven’t felt anything. Just this ache in my cold husk that gave up to the ice long ago. Maya will never see me other than a fixture. Nothing else. Because I’m not a living being in the flesh. I was just metal. With not much memories from when I was human, that doesn’t matter. I’ll just remain like this anyway. Unless someone with a good and pure heart came into my life. Chances are pretty grim.

But then I heard a knock and voice outside the door.

”Hello? Dr Maya?”

The door slowly opened as apparently I was the first thing that greeted her. She just looks at me for a moment before she smiled. Smiled. The first time...someone actually saw me as an actual being and not some kind of nutcracker statue or anything that’s usual ignored. Her hair was a soft ebony black and slightly wavy. Her skin a fair colour and her eyes a dark brown like the soil from Earth. She reminded me of Snow White somehow. Her smile...bright as a star that I felt something in me. Maybe my wish was heard.

Dr Maya immediately looked back from her work once the girl entered the room. The girl wore a school uniform. White blouse and a long sky blue skirt. Simple but it definitely looked cute on her. Her wavy hair was long as it was tied up into a ponytail. It definitely added something to her appearance.

“You’re a student from that school are you not? You got my name?” As always, Maya sounded serious but this time she sounded friendly to not scare the girl.”Dr Maya Sundaresh but you probably know my name already.â€”

“Yep!â€ She held out the paper with Maya’s name on it,”I’m Ain! Honoured to meet a researcher like you!”

Ain....that was quite a name. Pretty in fact. Short but pretty. Like herself. Her voice was something else too. Feminine but had a leadership sense to it. This Ain girl seemed like something grand in the near future perhaps.

Dr Maya and Ain immediately got back to what Maya was doing but starting with the basics. Maya told Ain about their research on the Vex and Ain had pointed out a few facts. She was a real smart kiddo. Brilliant like Maya but more...brilliant than Maya. Sure she was nervous and stuttered a few times but it actually made Maya chuckled. Have I never saw her chuckle or even smile before. Ain had that cheerful and happy go lucky aura. Ain even told Maya about her becoming a Guardian soon. A Hunter in fact. Nice choice. Her skills will be fantastic to say from her description of results in her training. It was harsh but important. Maya prepared a lab coat her size. She looked like a mini professor to be honest. Her giggles were really something too. All I could do was just watch even during Maya taking a picture of Ain in her lab coat. I was just a fixture. In the background. Nothing important than metal. At least just to Maya anyway. Ain smiled at me. Maybe she thinks of me differently.

Hours passed and apparently it was time for Ain to gather up with the other students to head back to Earth. I was feeling sad to see her leave. Sad? I actually feel an emotion? That’s a progress. To think a girl like her made me feel this way, may be she’s the actual person I need to see myself better. To put up myself as an individual and not a fixture.

“Thank you Dr Maya. For the tips and everything. Hope that I’ll pass the final exam!” She turns around to walk back to the door way with her own ID card in her pocket. The ID card will give her access to any part of the place, if she plans to return to which I hope so. She then stops for a moment before looking over to me. Her dark brown eyes meeting my aqua blue optics. She smiled at me once more.”It was nice meeting you too.”She then resumed to walk out of the room and Maya just straight went back to her work without gazing at me or whatsoever. Ain was the only that noticed me as an actual person.

Ain is....quite an interesting person to say. Interesting I mean....I could’ve swore...I could have a crush on her. Probably. It was hopeless anyway. I won’t see her again.

Or maybe I will. When I do, I won’t take her for granted.

Ain’s P.O.V

As much as it was interesting to be with Dr Maya, that blue Exo looked intriguing as well. Despite not speaking or all, he just made sure we would be both safe from harm. He was the security officer after all. I see in his optics. Widening whenever I smiled or look at him for a moment. I could’t tell if he felt anything. Dad didn’t specifically say if Exos could feel anything or not. Still, Iâ€™d just smiled just in case so he would’t feel left out. He was quite tail. Normal for a male exo to be that tall. I only reached up to his shoulders. Yes I am indeed small.’

Receiving the ID card from Maya, I put it in my pocket before heading out to the others at the entrance as it was time to head back home. Just then, I stopped to look to the Exo once more.

I smiled,”It was nice meeting you too.” Of course, his optics widen slightly to which I chuckled softly while walking out of the room. He surely was quite of an Exo. Almost good looking. Okay I will admit that. He is rather a good looking Exo but that doesn’t mean I like him...maybe.

Back at the entrance, we took a lot of group photos and even with the professors that were gonna say their goodbyes to us. Everyone else also got an ID card. Just in case we plan to return. Once we got onto the ship, we all got the windows and waved to the professors.

That night, all of us were back in our rooms. Talking about what we did at the Academy. Of course, Lidwina and Charmaine asked me plenty of questions

.“Anything else”

I sigh to Lidwina’s question,”well there was this Exo who is the security officer. He was quite interesting too. He didnt speak but he was always surprised whenever I smiled at him.” I chuckled once more, remembering those moments.

“Ohhhh....an Exo hmm? Never practically saw one myself.” Charmaine crossed her arms and smirked,”Surprised to see you smile at him? That sounds obvious.”

I then punched Charmaine’s, but not too rough,”Oh no no. It‘s not like that. Honestly. I felt his pain of just being in the background. I wanted to make him to feel like an individual. Exos have a mind of their own after all." But I never told them that Exos were actually once humans.”So I did. By smiling at him and actually paying attention to him.”

Lidwina snickered quietly,”awww how sweet of you. Caring for a robot” To which she earned a pillow hit right in her face.

“Anyhow, we should head to sleep. It’s getting practically late.” I was right somehow. It was almost midnight and we were supposed to wake up early tomorrow. And yes I used this as an excuse to get away from more questions.

Lidwina did the pouty face once more before crossing her arms,”Uh fine. But you better tell us more tomorrow. The whole class.”

Charmaine giggled softly hearing this,”presentation. Goh and those who got names will tell their stories as well.” She lies down on her bed before yawning softly with Lidwina yawning as well.

I lied down on my bed with my head on my pillow and my blanket covering myself. We were all indeed exhausted from going here and there.” Will do. Good night you two.”

“Good night..”

I snapped my fingers as the lights automatically switched off with all of us going into dreamland or just a deep sleep.

To be honest, that Exo was more interesting than I thought. I sure hope I can spend more time with him. Or maybe talk to him to hear his voice.

I’ll definitely won’t miss chance.

#destiny the game #destiny 2 #V: Student and Trainee( Pre-Collapse Ain)#Maya Sundaresh #Cayde-6 #OC #my writing #mun rp #THIS TOOK ME A WHILE BUT IVE DONE IT #now I'm sleepy and stressed #need sleep

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pendragonfics · 7 years

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The Tests of Time

Paring: Bucky Barnes/Reader

Tags: gender neutral reader, POV reader, reader is a mutant, and also a secret agent with S.H.I.E.L.D., slow build, storytelling, radio communication, compliant with Captain America: The Winter Soldier, featuring Winder Soldier too, Bucky has issues, a few words in some languages (Russian, Polish), set both before and after Captain America: Civil War, heavy angst, fluff.

Summary: Maybe it was because you were the only one who had connected the dots - who had figured out that the angry angel and the flighty one-handed man were the same person.

Word Count: 3,975

Posting Date: 2017-04-24

Current Date: 2017-06-16

You were a second-generation immigrant, but that didn't stop those cruel words. Even if you were American, there was just something about you - perhaps it was the appearance, or that name of yours, or even what you brought to eat for lunch in your Tupperware - which made those nasty comments and grubby handed people treat you like you were a second-class citizen. Just because you spoke another language at home behind the closed doors of the apartment. Just because your blood came from the cold and the snow and had a deep history of being wrapped in things greater than itself.

There was a sort of story, a folk tale that your grandmother had told your mother, and a story that your mother had, and she'd told you both accounts as a child. It was fantastical, phantasmagorical for bloodlines to have a story that was passed on, and this one was no different.

There was the narrative of Grandmother Svetlana, who on the way to return from town selling coal in the colds of the Polish winter, had been lost in a snow drift too far from the house for a search party to have found her.

She would have died there, but her stories told of a man, with wild eyes, the only words she had shared were her thanks, and his curt Russian accent calling her a 'zgubione kaczątko '. Lost duckling. He had been walking by, wearing one of the military coats she had seen on Russian soldiers by the boarder, and had shed it to share once he had taken her from the snow.

That coat was the only reminder of that day - a remnant of a sort of fairy-tale. Grandmother Svetlana's story was of a man who had saved her life; she would always talk of him as if he was an angry angel, who had delivered her to her doorstep from the grasps of the old Gods, who had disappeared before her father had answered the door. The memory of the angry angelic man stayed with her, even when she began to lose her mind following the death of your dear Grandfather.

Your mother's story was different. She was not being protected by someone in her account, but rather, protecting.

She'd just uprooted her mother and father from living in Pennsylvania, to move to a little place in the East of Minnesota, in a more manageable property for her ageing parents, and, to find a place where she could raise the child she was carrying with a stable living. Not a soul knew of the father, of who he was and did and did to her, and she kept it that way. It was a long drive over, and wanting to take it in two days, Marcia _______ had stopped at a cheap motel overnight, had settled in her ageing parents to sleep, and took a little walk through a corn field.

Not in her greatest imagination had she thought to come across a wounded man. Eyes marked with bruises and black dust, they were staring deep into her soul, the shade of blood mottling his paling skin, a silver space-age hand, dark blood soaking the black clothes he wore.

Your mother said of him uttering in a mixture of Russian, French, Czech, Polish - and only because of your mother's heritage, she knew what he was speaking of, what he needed. Luckily again, your mother was a nurse, and before too long, he was cleaned up.

The man had noticed her abdomen protruding through her shirt, and had commented, his words rusty from years of disuse, "You are with a child. You help me, when I could hurt you ... why?"

As a kid, you'd always found that part fascinating. Perhaps it was because it was you he was talking about, or maybe because your mother was such a trusting and compassionate woman and would defend those who could not defend themselves with her strength and every breath she had in her body.

Apparently, she'd just replied something along the lines of being a good person, and had given him a sandwich she'd had tucked in her jacket. She took him to the motel, and buying out another room, gave him a bed for the night. Her story ended there, as the next morning, the bed was bare, with no signs that a soul had been there except the military-like made bed, and a do not disturb sign crushed by a firm grip.

It was those stories you grew up on - while the kids your age played with fashion toys and watched Spongebob Square-Pants, you had a cloth doll who wore a thick jacket, and had a silver hand and a mask of black dust covering his eyes. Even though you were eight, your drawings would be full of the mysterious man who had graced both the matriarchs of your family's lives. Maybe it was because you were the only one who had connected the dots - who had figured out that the angry angel and the flighty one-handed man were the same person.

---

But that was all in the past. Therapists called it a phase, and some people thought it to be an obsession, or a really messed up idea of idealising something that happened years and years ago. Heck, even a fortune teller your grandmother knew thought you were odd, but perhaps it was because four years later you found yourself locked in a secure area for super powered people. You know, slightly-more-serious-than-personality-odd kind of odd. It was then your mother visited you in the S. H. I. E. L. D. facility, and confessed that your father had been a delinquent metal-manipulating mutant, and she had run off with you to keep you safe from him.

It was the heartfelt heart-to-heart that swayed, S. H. I. E. L. D., and they decided to train you up, and take you on as a young apprentice, becoming a part of a response team for super-powered people like you. After all, you were the tough one - with an indestructible body that, from many simulations, had withstood the force of skyscrapers falling onto you.

And that, apparently, gave you the authority to lead. And leading - that was something you did very well.

It was a Sunday, and with not many stores open around the area, you found yourself and your response team in the quinjet, waiting around on the outskirts of Washington D. C., chilling near the Patuxent River. Your team was a mis-match of Coulson's on a good day, filled with the people who had nowhere to go, and nothing to do better than standing up for the little guys, and giving them a fresh start. A few people were mutants like you, a few ... not so much. Just last week you took in three teens from an accident and give them a place to live and not go mad with their new abilities. Work perks.

But now, you were just sitting. Lounging. Waiting. But it was then your radio was patched into - only S. H. I. E. L. D. personnel knew the code - and you were, to your surprise, on the receiving end of the iconic voice of Steve Rogers, the Captain America.

"Agent, ______, come in, Agent ______, 4-10?" his all-American voice crackled over the static connection.

Instantly, you felt your limbs at odds, reaching as fast as you could for the radio. "10-4, Agent _______ speaking. Is this Captain Rogers?" You ask, and before he can respond, you add, "We're at radio silence, nobody is coming in on our outward calls. What is going on?"

You hear a dark laugh at his end, but instead of his voice replying, you hear another legendary superstar of the workplace, Natasha Romanov. "Agent ______, an enemy named HYDRA has infiltrated S. H. I. E. L. D. 10-33, the Winter Soldier has risen from the dead, and is currently attacking the base in Washington D. C. Roger."

Without hesitation, you speak up, "10-200, Rogers, Romanov?" you ask, and clicking the connection off, you call your team together, and make organisations to drop the camouflage, raise the shields and make way to the location that was only a quick ride into the city.

"S. H. I. E. L. D. HQ, Agent _______." Romanov replied. "We're counting on your unit. Make contact on arrival. 4-10?"

You nod, radioing back in. "10-4. Over and out, Captain Rogers, Agent Romanov."

---

The ride in was quick, but what was even faster was the melee before you. The Helecarriers you were supposed to be assigned to almost a week ago were falling from the sky, or in the process of it. You could see where one was coming down, falling into the water before the headquarters. But if your eyes were wrong - and they were rarely wrong - you were watching a man in all black dragging the good captain Rogers from the depths of the lake.

"Report to Agent Romanov immediately," you delegate, turning to your team. "It's a long shot, me trusting you, because even if you are sleeping HYDRA agents, we've had a good run. Don't go shooting each other." You give them a sly smirk, "Don't want to blow this shit-show higher than it is already."

At that, you left your team to their devices, tracking the footsteps of where the Winter Soldier himself stood. You had a relatively normal childhood beside the obsession with the guy from your mother's and grandmother's stories, and tracking full grown men in the woods was not a big hobby of yours. But, it seemed fruitful - as in the clearing, stood HYDRA's weapon of mass destruction, the man himself.

But it's then it hits you, and you realise.

The man with a silver space age hand who wore all black and covered his face in black dust, he was no myth. Your family had met him. Just like Natasha Romanov had told you of the Winter Soldier, the guy who had shot through her body on a mission years back. Because both people were real, and they were the man standing before you.

"Отойди!" He growled. Back off.

Putting two hands up, you cursed yourself for wearing the standard outfit for S. H. I. E. L. D. agents, surrendering to the man who was reaching for a weapon that he didn't have at his waist. Like your mother, and her mother, you had never left your roots, and dabbled in bits and pieces of Slavic languages, and knew what he was getting across.

"Я здесь не для того, чтобы причинить тебе боль," you cry out, your hands raised high and your boots being quaked in. I'm not here to hurt you. Even though you can't get injured, thanks to your mutant gene, any blow he lands on you will probably hurt like hell, and you're sure that you're scared. Heart racing as he walks toward you, you panic. "You know me - Ты знаешь меня!"

He stops still.

"I was not born, and you met a woman who looked a little like me, oh my god, you probably don't remember - uh, years and years ago. She cleaned your wounds and gave you a bed to rest, ah...Я не родился, а ты -,"

"-the Nurse," he whispered. His eyes were sad, and lost. "She gave me a Бутерброд. My mind is full of sludge, I can't remember much, but - the lost duckling, who looked like you as well ... and the man on the bridge, I knew him too, and he knew me..." He breathes. "Why can't I remember?"

Slowly, you lower your hands. "You mean Captain America, uh, Steve Rogers?" you ask him. "I know people who can help, we can help you remember. I work with Steve Rogers," it wasn't technically a lie, since you were both linked through the S. H. I. E. L. D. workplace. "My name is ________," you reach a hand to him, but the spell is broken.

"Нет!" No! He cries, taking a step back. "Не трогайте меня, я раняю все, что я касаюсь!" Do not touch me, I hurt everything that I touch!

You can't help but laugh at that, albeit lightly not to spook the Winter Soldier. "Nothing can hurt me, Енот." You grin. Raccoon. "You have a name, that you know? Or am I just going to call you piękny chłopak?" Beautiful boy.

He shakes his head. "The man on the bridge ... he called me Bucky." He sighed, wiping a hand over his face. "Дерьмо." shit. "How do I know I can really trust you, though, little _________?" He asks.

You were a second-generation immigrant, and even if you were American, there was just something about you - which made people often ask you that question. Perhaps it was the appearance, or that name of yours, or even what you brought to eat for lunch. You take a step toward Bucky, reaching a hand out to his once more.

"My mother raised me on stories of you, nice stories where you did no harm to my blood relatives, Баки - Bucky, you can trust me because I am not the men who did this to you. I'm American born. I'm from a line of survivors, Bucky." Your hand touches his, and feeling the cool skin on his hand, you wrap your fingers around his palm, between his fingers. "I want to see if I can rub my luck off on you. Позволь мне спасти тебя." You plead.

Let me save you.

He nods, slowly, eyes grazing behind you to see if anyone had followed you. But there was not a soul there, and you did not expect him to agree.

"Do you have a safe house?" He asks, those eyes of his fluttering around like fireflies in mid night. And just because your blood came from the cold and the snow and had a deep history of being wrapped in things greater than itself, you nodded. "Take me."

---

In the safe house you stayed with him, until he decided that he had enough of U.S.A., and together, you arranged with contacts you knew from working on the field for a place to live in Romania. It took time, like everything does, to get settled, to help him wind down from all the drugs and the training, but without it, he was cold turkey, sometimes better off with them at small dosages than without. Some nights, you would be by his side, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a rag after his nightmares, other nights, locking yourself in the closet to get away from the thrashing and crashing that followed the outbursts of the soldier with no general.

But you’d read up on him – after all, after you’d gone AWOL, S. H. I. E. L. D. did all it could to have you taken care of remotely. Your mission wasn’t like any other you’d been on, what, with extraction of mutants and people in the field, but something a little closer to home: you were his career. If you weren’t there making sure that James Buchannan “Bucky” Barnes was taking care of himself, HYDRA could come in and swoop him off to being a machine again.

Unluckily for you, you were doing something that was much closer to home than ever: falling in love. While Bucky took his time, slowly filling a backpack up with memories and fragments of moments in notebooks, you couldn’t help but fall deeper and deeper for the man who you watched heal before you for years after the Washington incident. You both looked nothing like you did back then – you’d let your hair grow out, and he had taken to facial stubble, and tying his hair back with your headbands.

But came the day when the safe house was invaded, by Captain America, no less, and all three of you were running for your lives because who would know, by being a good guy and not leasing yourself off to become a service to government agencies (from your experience, often swayed by the likes of HYDRA) you were then a bad guy, and were running off.

But somehow, you were split up, and you’d lost the Star-Spangled Man, and your Bucky. You were left with the choice of running back into the fire (literal machine-gun fire) to be with the super soldiers, or, to just keep running. You were halfway across the country by the time the Director of S. H. I. E. L. D. found you, and halfway out of your comfort zone when you heard that everyone who had sided with Steve Rogers had been locked up in a secure facility for their ‘crimes’. But after your medical check-up, and a debriefing, you were given the keys to one of the bunks aboard the Helecarrier.

For the next four hours until touchdown, you cried, not only thinking of how you’d screwed up what mission they’d assigned to you after you had latched onto James Buchanan Barnes, but how you’d left him just like that in Romania, and that this was it. Just like the generations before you who had a moment with him in which that was passed down to the next person, this was your story. That you fell for the guy, brought him out of that dark place in his head … but left him in the instant the fire was reigning.

Thank goodness that the bunks were sound-proofed.

---

It’s three months later and you’re still without a new mission, just spending all your time in the S. H. I. E. L. D. facility that you started all this super-powered journey on. Every once in a while, an Avenger would pop on in, and say hello to the personnel in the area, do their job and such. If they saw you, they didn’t see Agent ______, like they would have before the incident, no, they just saw the mutant who had lived with the freaking Winter Soldier, man! for a year, or give you a sad sort of side-eye if you were in the same room. But you didn’t live with the Winter Soldier. You’d lived with Bucky.

The Winter Soldier was HYRDA’s creation. Bucky Barnes was not, and would never be.

Bucky, he liked to eat ice-cream, but didn’t like caramel. Plums were his favourite fruit, but if they weren’t in season, he’d be okay with grapes, or mango. He’d dream of 1942 too often, waking up to be disappointed to be stuck in a boarded up flat on a continent he wasn’t born on. He liked rock music, though, how you’d dance to it, and you’d get him from the table, and dancing along to The Clash or whatever was on the radio. He liked to shower with the door locked, and would often leave his towel out, and you’d have to trade it through the barely-open door to him. He liked to watch you as you read a foreign book in the moonlight, trying to understand another language, and how he’d end up teaching you bits and pieces of new words.

It was a Sunday when you were organising your room. You’d seemed to have gathered a collection of books, all replacements of the ones you’d left in the safe house in Romania, but they were all over the place, and so was the bed, and the closet – ugh, you didn’t even want to think about that mess. But with the door open, you were pumping the original recording of Should I Stay or Should I Go, and with your hair tied up, you delved into the housework.

But not a minute after the song began, there was a knock at your door.

“Daisy, if you’ve got a problem with The Clash, you know where you can shove it,” you shouted above the punk band’s guitar riff, but turning, you didn’t see Daisy Johnson, fellow agent, but the form of the guy who haunted your dreams, with his getting-too-long hair, and the eyes that knew your freaking soul and that silver prosthesis that you’d held when dancing with him back in Romania. “Bucky?”

A smile grew on his face. “________.”

Immediately, you turn to music off, and whatever was in your hands they were dropped, and rushing toward him, you wrapped your arms around his waist, holding him tight, inhaling the scent that was completely Bucky. “Oh my gosh, I had no idea if you made it out, there were no reports on you … I – I was so worried about you!” you cry out, your head pressed against his chest. You weren’t sure if there were tears coming from your eyes, or if there was just a little precipitation, but you couldn’t help it. “Wait, your arm, it isn’t the same –,”

He nods, stepping back from your embrace. “I lost it in the fight with Stark, and then King T’Challa of Wakanda built another one for me. It’s not heavy, it – it almost feels like a real arm. Except, it’s silver,” he jokes. Your hand glides over the metal, seeing the way it’s plated, how it works.

“Remind me to send the King of Wakanda a thank you note,” you muse. You meet Bucky’s gaze, and hurriedly, you add, “I mean,” you drop your hand from touching his arm, “It’s nice. Looks good. How are you, Bucky?”

There’s a pause. Then, “It’s not the same without you.” His eyes follow the room behind you, taking in the half-cleaned mess of a sleeping area you’re calling home as of now. “Wait, is that – that’s the book we were reading before they framed me, right there,” he points to the shelf across from the bed where the book with the green cover is lying down. “Don’t tell me you gave up and bough the English edition.”

You shake your head. “Nope, it’s in Romanian.” You grin.

Bucky beams. “I’m between jobs, what, with the Avengers on suspension, and, ah, if you’re not too busy, maybe we can read it together sometime? I –,”

“I’m between missions,” you interrupt, almost incredulous from the parallels. “I’m free now, if you are.”

---

It’s three years later, and you’ve been cleared for the Avengers Initiative, and so has Bucky, and you’re both living in the facility in upstate New York like two homeless people with superpowers beyond their wants and needs. You’re often tempted to finally make some sort of contact with your father, but after meeting the Maximoff twins, and realising who their father was, you just gave up. Erik Lehnsherr could just go to hell. You’re also often tempted to dig deeper into your history despite knowing your maternal side’s ongoing meetings with Bucky Barnes throughout the ages, but you don’t.

Somethings are left better buried.

In the Avengers facility, it’s quiet in the afternoons when nobody has anything on. There are birds, and the trees turn colours in the seasons and the chitter of chatter and friendly banter from the warriors who assemble to protect the world flows out through the open glass doors, the open plan living area something from the dreams of middle class citizens, or just those who are like Mr. Tony Stark, and built it all himself.

You’re sitting beside Bucky, a glass of orange juice in one hand, his in the other. The sun is warming your back, your head upon his shoulder, and surrounded by friends, this moment if almost a nirvana. You’ve been to hell and back with James Buchanan Barnes, sure, but the hell-scape of the cold and snow that your blood had been born from, and his turned into had ended. Sure, you were a second-generation immigrant, and he was a guy torn from his home to become something he was not, but you had made it through the fire. The tests of time.

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes/reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x oc #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic #avengers x reader #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics #gender neutral reader

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mynameisdreartblog · 5 years

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Vacation Resorts 3

Libra: Beresheet Hotel. “And like a smoggy monster breaking its dormancy from civilization by emergence from the olden well, there sprang forth an unnegotiable howl. It called upon all the night-walking villagers of the nearby town to seek where such a call beckoned them. One by one — as if it were a plague that swept all known — were these men (now turned nightwalkers) dragging their tools along the ground loosely from their holsters, implying a lack of human care. All were approaching towards that which mysteriously spoke all the tongues of the native land, and with such hypnotic trance and a strange, audible dreg. As the nightcrawlers walked further from their schedules, the beaten dirt paths began to glow iridescent with scratch marks, heavy footprints, and mysterious mounds. <The sound of shifting pages becomes audible> Thereafter, the fluorescent scratch marks had become replaced with new scars: Signs of desperation to escape a chaser or several. The heavy footprints dig even farther into the earth as iron-toed greaves crush the ground… <The sound of shifting through pages becomes more urgent> The mysterious mounds now tear their shrouds as bones, trickling with leftover flesh, arise from the dirt with uncovered magics conjuring a halfway resurrection.” [,] So, what did you think of it? «Wow, that’s… pretty wordy: Why were you writing like that?» Firstly, that’s better than immediate compliment. Secondly, this was from a writing exercise back when I was in high school to be very descriptive in your language. My teacher never had the guts to tell me I was being too descriptive, so they slapped a good grade on it. «High school? God, that must’ve been ages ago back in… 1950-something.» October 1953, and I was the first of my high-school class because I enrolled just six years after they founded the school, making me a dinosaur retrospectively. «Heh! What was your inspiration for this?» My rational sense would tell me that it was when I decided to think really hard about Mediterranean terrors from days old, but the truth tells me that I never had an interest in that until I graduated. «It sounds way too much like northern Europe to be Mediterranean.» Well, I didn’t wanna play into Greek tropes.

Cancer: Portal Del Lago Hotel. Ah, “racoon with yams.” I wonder what else you have in this fridge. «It’s all yours; I haven’t checked up on it in a while.» You know what that tells me? It tells me whatever’s in here isn’t passable for any human consumption. «Yet, you’re still digging through it. Keep this up, and you’ll end up the next racoon to be in those canned yams.» Pfft, you and your office jokes. <Springe digs several inches further into the employee fridge, looking at the treacherous back to see what vile horrors lie there.> Ah, it’s nothing too bad: Just some leftover feijoada and a bag filled with miniature coxinhas. I’d reheat some of it if I knew they didn’t have my name on them. «Who brought the “racoon with yams” then?» I don’t keep tabs on every person here. Hell, I don’t even keep tabs on all the patients who see me. «Only the ones that open their hearts to you, right?» Ugh, don’t make it a mushy thing: Sometimes you don’t like the bile you find inside… or in this fridge, Jesus. <Springe pulls out a strangely warm bag of chips, and the contents within it contain a strange, black bile that falls out. It appears to be alive in some way, which doesn’t terrify Springe as they’ve dealt with rogue intestines before.> Oh, it’s wriggling! «Did someone put biological material in the wrong fridge again? I thought I issued an announcement about that!» <Springe tosses the creature in the nearby trashcan and continues digging through the seemingly endless employee fridge. Meanwhile, the biomass crawls its way out of the trashcan and slithers up through Springe’s pants, leaving a slimy but unnoticeable trail behind it.> «Uh, did you see that?» <Springe acts confused.> Huh? No. [,] «My lunch break is almost up, so I’m afraid I won’t be here ’til the point where you’re existential in your fridge spelunking.» <Springe, completely oblivious to the world outside of the fridge, is experiencing temperatures so cold that their eyelashes have frost on them. Also, they can’t hear pleas from outside: This is normal, you see.> Will there be eternal comfort at the end of this? I don’t know: Is there eternal adventure? Is there another quest at the end of it? People don’t tend to think beyond the end. People hold onto things all the time despite this, and I’ll be getting somewhere with this soon. <The clouds of breath coming from their mouth form unforgettable skylines.>

Virgo: Caspian Riviera Grand Palace Hotel. <There’s nobody else in this scene except for Bluma and her solitary thoughts. To conjure a scene, it’s a cold night somewhere in intercontinental Central Asia: Snow aligns the corners of a window seemingly located here to perfectly accent a contemplative thinker needing to subconsciously observe it. That contemplative thinker today is our subject Bluma: What could she possibly be pondering within her mind? Is she trying to figure out the supposed ’hard problem’ of consciousness; aligning the stars to see what multitudes her purposes contain; maybe she’s just taking the moment as it is? One can only wonder.> [,] The folder of topless anime women has been sitting in my files for years. How did it even accumulate? Oh yeah, there’s a whole story behind it, and there’s nobody here to tell it to, which is fantastic. So, I really liked this old dating simulator where you’d date cute girls (and boys) that were based off classic monsters in Western mythology. It wasn’t a cutesy anime style though; it looked like it was drawn by someone who makes action-shows about barbarians, but I didn’t care since the game was mostly text anyways, so the positive chemical rush that gets into your head was worth it the whole way through. I did eventually find one with the same concept but with an anime art-style only fifteen years later… I’m getting sidetracked; what was I talking about? Oh yeah, the folder. Well, at the end of certain routes in the game, you’d receive a timelessly risqué picture as your reward, and I decided to uh… make a collection out of them as a way to preserve the reward I had received. Wait, am I talking about the same game? There are multiple games that had topless women at the end of them as a reward, and I’m confused which was which again… One had a protagonist named Alyosha, and the others were some American names: Nothing potentially related to anything else. [,] <She places her fingers on her temple and creates an iconic pose to represent the methodical nature of humanity. She knows she’s artwork in living form, and it aches her at every moment to be seen as just another person among her flock. This is the tragedy of the image we place upon ourselves when we observe reflections: Distortions are all that we live by, and the true gasp of the self comes through in this pose.> [,] I’ll search for that folder again, and if they’re not where I think I last placed them, they’ve likely manifested into specters that guilt me every time I look at porn.

Sagittarius: Peermont, the Grand Palm. When you’re finished with all your internships, make a pile of all your previous work and burn it. «…Wait, that’s it: That’s all the advice you have for me?» Um, yes? «No, no, no, there must be a catch to all of this. I came searching for you ever since you did a presentation for our class in the town square!» You would’ve been better off eavesdropping if you were gonna end up disappointing by seeking me. «I don’t get it, and I feel like I’m being played with by not getting it.» I feel like I’m being played by only knowing who you are from less than an hour prior. I wanna start by asking you an oppressive amount of questions, and then maybe that advice will become more helpful. [,] <A sequence of intense interrogation goes underway in a discrete ally: Not worth disclosing the specifics of, really. A bunch of questions pass until the juicy one finally arrives.> «So, this is it, huh?» There’s many it(s) you’ve been assessing to, so I’m unsure. «Just tell me what this tech is!» Well, the truth is I have a magical object with me that resembles something you’re familiar with: A note of proven merit that allows me access to any profession. I’m not a hustler — I’ve transcended that lifestyle a long time ago — I’m rather a cosmic agent sent here to experience every occupation created by humanity. «I think I believe you.» Ah, I know you want it, but you may not like my methods: I suck all I can out of a single experience, and then I float around in a state of purposelessness until the next fixation comes along. It’s a painful life few are willing to embody. «I’m ready for whatever it takes, including that. Finding you and asking for the elaboration I need has been on my mind since that day when I was young and you were younger. Angels came down upon me and guided me to this moment: I’m sure of it.» I was sure of a lot of other things too, but a lot of that assuredness just felt like it was filling a bigger longing. «I didn’t come here for doubts! I came here for the opposite of that… whatever that is, and you’re that.» Yeah, yeah, I’m not planning on adding “guru” to the list of occupations. «You’re dragging me out to reach a conclusion: That’s what I feel inside of me, right?» Ah-hah, you’re starting to realize now! «I turned myself into my own means!»

#Zodipunc #Zodiaccupuncture #Libra #Cancer #Virgo #Sagittarius

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bmaxwell · 6 years

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Top Games of 2018

For me 2018 was the year of Playstation VR. I never felt especially drawn to VR, assuming I’d give it a try one day years from now when the tech would be improved and more affordable. My buddy brought his headset over and I tried it out briefly but wasn’t blown away. My kids loved it though, so when opportunity presented itself, I traded in my Nintendo Switch* for my own PSVR bundle.

Apart from that, 2018 wasn’t as strong a year for my kind of games as 2017 was. Most of the AAA blockbusters of year didn’t quite land for me or weren’t appealing enough to make me want to try them at full price.

That said, I still had to put some games I genuinely enjoyed outside of my top 10. We’ll start off with a couple of categories I’d like to call out before getting into the ones that didn’t quite make the cut, followed by my ordered top 10.

Old Game of the Year: SUPERHOT VR

2018 was the year of PSVR for me. SUPERHOT VR pulled off the triple header of making me feel like a total badass, making me feel like a clown, and reminding me of how wholly out of shape I am.

In the world of SUPERHOT time only moves when you move. The VR stages each take only a minute or two, and are played in batches of ~5. When you are killed, you start that batch over from the beginning. At first, I hated this. I don’t want to replay the same stuff again and again! But then I started getting familiar enough with these encounters to do them really fast, make no-look shots and the such. And it feels fucking awesome.

The game made me feel like a clown when, after finishing a stage where I was ducking behind a low wall for cover, I reached out to put my hand on the wall to help me stand up and promptly fell right on my ass. This happened more than once.

One time I was sweating profusely after a SUPERHOT VR session and my wife asked “You okay?’ the way you’d ask a child if they’re okay after picking up all of their toys. “Superhot is a workout!” was my response. She just looked at me with a smile that said “That’s stupid in an adorable way.”

I amend my statement to “Superhot VR is a workout for people who don’t work out.”

Also very good old games: Persona 4, Transistor, American Truck Simulator, The Lion’s Song

Best Music: Donut County

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Sometimes it’s nearly impossible to separate a game from its music. One feels incomplete without the other. So it is with Donut County.

Also some fine music: Moonlighter, Pit People, Tetris Effect

Honorable mention: Return of the Obra Dinn

This game is such an impressive package. The visuals, the audio design, the entire concept is just cool and unique. I wish I was better at the game. There’s some combination of intelligence, patience, and focus that I lack for Obra Dinn. I have started over twice as of now.

The game casts the player as a sort of insurance claims adjuster auditing a recently-discovered ship that had disappeared 5 years ago (in 1803). You are equipped with a magic pocket watch that lets you see and hear the last moment of each person’s life on the boat, you get to walk around a still scene like a diorama. You're tasked with figuring out each person’s name and how they died. It requires attention to detail, deductive reasoning, and a few minor suppositions along the way.

It is such a neat thing and it is so exhausting and difficult for me. If I could find a way to grapple with it in a satisfactory way, it would be very near the top of this list.

Honorable mention: Yoku’s Island Express

Developer Villa Gorilla threw together Metroidvania gameplay, a light and breezy tropical setting, and pinball of all things and gave us Yoku’s Island Express. It’s a charming, well-made little game. I wasn’t sure it would come together as well as it did. It sounds like a gimmick, but it’s a quality game full of personality. I had it mentally penciled in on my top 10 until very late in the year.

Honorable mention: Dead Cells

Dead Cells is one of those games that appeals greatly to me on paper. The controls are tight, there are plenty of unlockables to work toward, and the game makes it easy to get into a good rhythm flowing from fight to fight. I put a lot of time into the game and, while I enjoy and admire it, Dead Cells never really hooked me the way I thought it would. I still had a great time with it, it just never quite reached my too-high expectations.

Honorable mention: Florence

It’s hard for me to know how to rank a game like Florence. It took me about 30 minutes to complete from start to finish and there isn’t much cause to replay it. I try to judge a game by how well it does what it sets out to do, and by that metric Florence was a huge success.

This largely dialogue-free mobile game beautifully captures the feeling of finding romance and tells a touching story that doesn’t play out in the way I expected. The music is gorgeous, and the game makes good use of the phone’s touch interface.

In this day and age, a short mobile game that you have to pay for ($3!?! *gasp*) is a hard sell for a lot of people, which is a shame because Florence is a work of art that deserves to be played.

10. Gris

Seems like every year there’s one game that sneaks in right at the end of the year and complicates the top 10 list. This year that game was Gris. Gris may be the most artistically beautiful game I’ve ever played. The closest thing I can compare it to is Journey, though they aren’t similar enough to feel like one would make the other obsolete. Gris’ visuals are creative and inspired. They frequently match the game’s melancholy tone, but they are also often vibrant, lush, and playful. It’s outstanding music walks hand in hand with the visuals, with mournful piano and strings.

Something impressed me about Gris is that it doesn’t feel like it’s trying too hard to be a video game, it is content with being a piece of art (something I wish I could say for 2017′s Hellblade, a near-miss for me that failed in this regard). There are no enemies to fight. No pits to fall in. And those elements gave me a freedom to explore with abandon. The game was never going to kill me or punish me for wandering off the track. The game’s puzzles never got complicated enough to fluster me, pulling me out of the experience.

The game tells you very little in the way of story, leaving you to take from the imagery what you will. Because of that, it didn’t quite resonate with me the way Journey did. Gris isn’t a great video game, but it is a great experience that knows how to get out of its own way.

9. Tetris Effect

Tetris is one of the best pure, easy to learn but tough to master video games ever made. The Tetris Effect added trippy visuals and terrific music along with the ability to play the game in VR. I’ve heard plenty of people say “I’m not paying $40 for Tetris.” While I can understand that approach maybe if you’ve bought a lot of the many versions of Tetris to have come out over years, the price tag is justified by how much the additional effects add to the experience

Tetris Effect bills itself as a trippy experience where you can, like just chill out and think about how we’re all connected and just, like, we’re all together, right? Get into a zen place with some Tetris and some chill music and, like, maybe you play Tetris in a dark room where every time you complete a line, the windows open momentarily letting some light in. Or maybe it’s snowy Tetris where each line is accompanied by the sound of snow crunching under winter boots. The game has dolphins, and birds, and windmills and just, like....space....man.

The crazy thing is, that all works. Especially in VR. A game where I’m Tetrissing against a backdrop of hot air balloons and hearing a song about how all of life is connected could have easily come off as tryhardy, hammy, and insincere. But Tetris Effect was a hopeful bright spot in a year that saw a lot of darkness.

8. The Red Strings Club

This game’s themes of control and free will set in a dystopian future really resonated with me this year. The way you pour different drinks to put people in a specific mood during conversations is really inventive and just plain fun. Red Strings Club made me think about my world views and question them, which is rare for a game to pull off. It overstayed its welcome a little bit near the end, but it was still one of the most memorable experiences of the year.

7. Donut County

When I finished Donut County, I was initially a little disappointed. I played the game from start to finish in about 2 hours, and I wanted more. I think that’s a normal reaction, I also believe that there’s value in a game that does what it does well and finishes before it overstays its welcome (see also: Moonlighter). On its surface, Donut County is a game about swallowing things up into an ever-widening hole in the ground. Looking a little deeper, it’s about gentrification and how those with privilege have no regard for those without.

BK is an awful little shit, but he’s also an adorable and well-written little shit. The game’s dialogue is smartly written and conveys conversations sent via text in a believable way. The soundtrack is a toe-tapping joy, and once again this game does not overstay its welcome.

6. Moonlighter

A few years ago I played game called Recettear where you owned a shop dealing in fantasy RPG goods, and alternated between dungeon delving for stock and haggling over prices selling that stock in your shop. I never quite fell in love with that game, but I thought the concept showed a lot of potential. I’m surprised that we haven’t seen more of it. So when Moonlighter came along with its “get shit from the dungeons and sell it in your store” premise and and gorgeous pixel graphics, I was all in. When I heard the music, I knew this would be in my top 10 for the year. 2018′s game music pales in comparison to 2017 (as do most other years) but Moonlighter’s music was among the best of the year.

Everything about the town is peaceful and soothing, which is important in a game like this. Finding respite, and caring about home gives context to everything, and helps anchor me to the game. If the town is uninspired then there’s a voice in the back of my head while I’m fighting in the dungeons asking “Why do you care about any of this?” The dungeon runs have a lovely push your luck element where going deeper means more danger but also more wealth, and I am great/awful about convincing myself to push for one more floor.

The game isn’t without its faults, most glaringly the inventory system. You have to constantly move things around your backpack and throw stuff out, and there was no mouse support so a tedious task became mind-numbing. Which is a shame, because the game gives you good reason to be constantly shuffling things around your inventory. I also would have liked a few more options in the town for upgrades and new buildings, but the flip side of that coin is that Moonlighter took me about 20 hours to complete and never wore out its welcome. It left me wanting more, but I’m not sure that the gameplay loop would have held up for longer. It serves as a good reminder that not every game needs to be padded out to a 40+ hour experience.

5. Dragon Quest XI

My very first RPG experience was Dragon Warrior on the NES. The experience of walking out of the starting village and fighting a smiling blue slime with a cypress stick is big part of my gamer DNA. Dragon Quest has never forgotten its roots - to a fault, some would say. It’s a valid complaint, but not one that I share.

One of my favorite games ever was Dragon Quest VIII on the PS2. I hadn’t played a Dragon Warrior Quest game since IV on the NES, and DQ8 recaptured those crusty old RPG’s that made me fall in love with the genre. Dragon Quest XI feels like more of Dragon Quest VIII, and that is no bad thing.

Give me more turn-based combat set in a colorful world full of the best worst puns, goofy monsters, where I am a mute hero who must save the world from the great evil. It’s tired old Japanese RPG tropes all the way, and I am along for every mile of this ride.

4. Moss

Moss was not my first VR experience, but it was the game that really made me a believer in the medium. The game feels like being inside a diorama. You’re guiding your adorable little mouse heroine Quill on a journey to find her uncle. Much like with Astro Bot, making me fall in love with the character went a long way toward making me fall in love with the game.

The beauty of the forests broken up by moments in the library as the day turns to night and the candle burns lower and lower really made this feel like it was mine in a way that is rare for a game. I felt like a kid again for a few hours, something I never expected to feel again. The moment to moment gameplay is pretty by the book, and it isn’t impressive in screenshots or video. But that feeling of “Holy shit I’m inside this video game!” is something I won’t forget.

3 .Slay the Spire

Slay the Spire is another game that reminds me how futile and silly it is to take these things seriously. How do I compare a card game to an RPG to a racing game to a game about rolling debris up into a giant ball?

If this list were ordered by time spent playing, Slay the Spire would be number one as I am nearing 300 hours. It’s a deckbuilding rogue like with 3 different classes, each with their own unique set of cards. You move from room to room through a map doing combat, buying cards, resting at campsites, and engaging in little story events. Each run has the controlled chaos of doing your best with the choices you are given. Most runs follow an arc where I come up with a plan for how to my deck effective, I feel unbeatable for a short time, then it all falls apart and I can’t believe I lost.

Don’t let the visuals put you off (I don’t think they’re bad but they’re not my style). Don’t be scared off by the term “rogue like”. Play Slay the Spire. It is perfect at what it does.

2. Monster Hunter World

Like a lot of people, I’d never played a Monster Hunter game before and only knew of it as a weird, opaque Japanese game about fighting monsters. World was touted as a more welcoming game in the series, a Monster Hunter for the rest of us. And the fact that the game does a rotten job of onboarding new players to go along with the game’s awful implementation of (fun once you get it working) multiplayer were just enough to help me tip it down into my #2 slot.

Monster Hunter World scratched an itch I’ve had since I fell off PS2′s Demon Souls years ago after a dozen hours or so. It’s a game that made me work at it to appreciate the experience. The Barroth (the 5th monster you hunt) was the first monster to kill me, and it did so repeatedly. It was a point in the game that forced me to decide whether to work at improving or give up. I looked at the Barroth’s weaknesses in my journal, changed my gear accordingly, and loaded up on items before heading back out. This was the moment I fell in love with Monster Hunter World in a way that led to me putting over 100 hours into the game on my own, then more again with a friend playing on PC.

Monster Hunter World is a game where I got more powerful over time not just because of getting better gear, but because I feel myself getting more skilled at the game. Improving mastery is an incredibly satisfying feeling in any game, and this one had me sitting at the end of the bed playing into the small hours of the morning, continuously doing One More Hunt when I knew I should have gone to bed hours ago.

1. Astro Bot Rescue Mission

Monster Hunter World dropped early in 2018 and had me captivated for months. I loved it and, after looking at the 2018 release schedule, mentally penciled it in as my likely 2018 game of the year. That held true for most of the year, until the most unlikely hero of all came along: a corporate mascot in a character platformer. I mean, it’s a robot wearing a fucking PSVR helmet.

The robot rescue portion of Sony’s tech demo-esque Playroom VR was the highlight of that experience, but by no means was the idea of an entire standalone game a slam dunk for me. Quite the opposite. In fact, I would have likely never given the game a second thought had the game not started receiving the kind of praise I couldn’t ignore. People were saying that it did for VR what Super Mario 64 did for 3d platformers.

That elicited one of those “What?! Bullshit!....let me see that.” responses from me. As it turns out, that’s a pretty fair comparison.

Astro Bot isn’t just an excellent platformer that happens to be in VR; it feels more like a well-made character platformer elevated to greatness by way of VR. The world is vibrant and joyous, but it also does an incredible job of integrating the player into the game world. In Astro Bot the player’s perspective is behind the robot you are controlling. He is ever running forward and you are being pulled along with him. This isn’t terribly unusual, the player is the god controlling his tiny avatar and surveying the world before them. And it is so with Astro Bot, at least at first glance.

It doesn’t take long to realize that you are in the game world. You have a physical form. You cast a shadow. Your little Astro Bot buddy will occasionally look up at you and wave excitedly. I wanted to hate this. But couldn’t. He is goddamned adorable. The entire game is goddamned adorable.

The stages are colorful and inventive. And they involve the player in some pretty creative ways. Obstacles and enemies must be headbutted. Your controller will get different modifications from time to time, changing it into a water blaster, or an automatic gun (that feels like it is shooting tennis balls), or a hookshot. The game frequently rewards being inquisitive about its environment. Peeking down over an edge, or around a corner, or standing up from your seat to look around typically pays off with some coins, or a little robot to rescue.

And the little robots are so ecstatic when you rescue them. They fly around the screen and land in the touch pad on your controller. They pop out and wave at you gleefully before disappearing until the end of the stage where all the bots you rescued do a little dance for you. Your Astro Bot does the Carlton Dance. I can’t not love this. I really did try.

*I love the Switch hardware. I really do. And the library of ports is getting more impressive every day. I just wish it had more exclusives I could get into.

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